Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s carnage the moment Obi-Wan opens his eyes.

As if this is a flash-back, bodies litter the streets of Zehava with screams and the familiar pews of blaster fire filling the air.

People rush by, mostly young adults that look a mixture of terrified and outraged. Some of them are in white plastoid armor that’s nothing like the scraps of protection the Young had worn with blasters in their hands.

These are proper soldiers and, hauntingly, they all have the same face.

But it seems they are not the ones attacking. Instead, some guide people into houses and urge them to stay there while others rush ahead, to the white building in the middle of the city.

It’s a beautiful thing, elegant with sleek lines and many windows which means it’s an easy target. Obi-Wan might be fourteen, but he’s seen enough war by now to know this is potentially the most vulnerable building in the city.

“The hospital!” someone shouts, and a shiver of almost-recognition shudders down Obi-Wan’s spine. “We can’t let them get to the hospital!”

The man that rushes past him has auburn hair and a beard. He looks both determined and heartbroken, yet a fire obviously burns in the man’s blue eyes.

His eyes, Obi-Wan realizes with a startle. Because standing next to him with horror on his face is a future version of himself, here in what must be a future version of Zehava.

Again at war, Obi-Wan thinks mournfully even as he follows after his future self as the man sprints forward. He clenches his fingers around the frayed and dirty edges of his Jedi robes—something his future self isn’t wearing—as he has to run to keep up. But he must find out what’s led to this, how he can prevent it. They have only just secured peace and even if a vision shows only a possible future, Obi-Wan knows the lengths he’ll go to to see Melida/Daan safe.

“Triumvir Kenobi!”

One of the soldiers runs into view, some of his armor orange instead of white and on his helmet Obi-Wan can see both tally marks and a Twi-Lek’s face.

“Waxer, where is the Commander?” future him asks, and the Force is almost thick with worry.

This Commander must be someone important, Obi-Wan thinks. He wonders if it’s Nield, for if Melida/Daan is to have an army there is no-one else that he can see leading it.

The soldier—Waxer—nods his head towards the white building. “At the hospital, sir. He was visiting some of the shinies and— they’re trying to evacuate.”

Obi-Wan frowns. What are shinies? Are they important?

Waxer turns his head away, pressing something at the side of his helmet at the same time a warning rings through the Force.

His future self’s eyes widen and he looks ready to run off again.

“Triumvir, wait!” Waxer calls after him and runs to follow. “There’s hyena bombers incoming! We have to get all the civvies out of here.”

“No, I can help!” the soldier gets in reply, and Obi-Wan feels faintly happy at the fact that even when older he will still help all he can without hesitation. “We fought too hard for our peace to give it up. I won’t—” A commlink beep interrupts him and future-him answers quickly. “Nield! Tell me you’ve got someone working on those particle shields.”

“We’re trying, but it’s gonna be difficult,” comes the reply in what must be adult Nield’s voice.

“A clanker threw a grenade sir,” someone adds from the other side, the words rather dull just like when Waxer is speaking with his helmet on. Another soldier, perhaps, Obi-Wan thinks and makes a mental note to find out what a clanker is.

His future self strokes a hand over his beard with a sigh. “Right, okay. Well, keep trying. Cerasi?”

“Helping to take the kids to the underground shelter,” Nield replies, “and you, Obi-Wan?”

Determination flashes in blue eyes. “I’m going to the hospital. Cody is there and—”

A loud explosion drowns out all other noise, the ground shaking at the impact of a bomb taking out a small block of buildings. Dust, smoke and fire rise up together with bile in Obi-Wan’s stomach as he sees this rebuilt version of Zehava being destroyed.

He stands frozen, body numb. By the time he turns his head, as if he’s woken from a haze, more soldiers in white and orange plastoid armor are in the streets and the conversation his future self was having with Nield has finished.

Nield, who isn’t at the hospital. But this Cody is. This Commander Cody, who must be important.

“Sir please,” Waxer says, gently taking the other’s arm as it’s obvious future Obi-Wan is trying to sprint away. “I understand, I do. But the Commander would want you to be safe.”

His future self glares at Waxer. “The Commander is putting his own life at risk to save our people. I won’t let him do that without me by his side,” he says, voice steady and gaze unwavering, challenging the other to disagree.

“Fine,” Waxer says even if his expression looks anything but fine. “Fine. So we go to the hospital.”

They don’t make it.

They are forced to watch as another bomb is dropped, this time on the easiest target in the city.

The hospital.

“No,” his future self breathes as he comes to a stumbling halt. “Cody,” he whispers, the name a broken plea from his lips and he falls down to his knees with a sob, the Force choking Obi-Wan with grief and anger that washes over him like a tsunami that destroys all it finds in its way. It’s like a noose around his neck, tightening and suffocating. His mind is an echo of Cody, Cody, Cody while it feels like his heart is ripped from his chest.

It forces him to the ground, gasping without drawing air and as another hyena bomber passes low overhead, the world turns black.

Chapter Text

Anger is like fire.

It needs only an ember and before you know it, it’s licking at your feet.

Hot and red, crawling up up up until it’s all around you and you can’t escape. It burns the skin, boils the blood. It consumes and destroys, leaving nothing but an unsalvageable ruin of your soul filled with dark, dark ashes behind.

Obi-Wan feels the walls of the Theed hangar burn like embers every time he enters it.

It had taken him by surprise the first time, mere weeks after the Naboo Crisis had ended—now thirteen years ago.

Back then, Melidaan had little to offer Naboo; they still don’t. Yet that had not stopped schools from making blankets for the homeless out of Melidaan wool, nor had it deterred bakeries from making huge batches of comforting stroopwafels—caramel filled cookies typical for Melidaan. Not when the Naboo had come to Melidaan in their time of need.

So it was Obi-Wan, as Triumvir appointed the responsibility of interplanetary relations, that had set course to Naboo in a rather beaten-up courier ship filled with small comforts.

Back then, he’d felt the fiery anger licking at his feet the moment the tips of his boots touched the hangar floor. He’d heard, of course, about the Sith—and who killed the Darksider. Yet he had not expected it to be this intense.

As if all anger that was housed within the Sith had exploded into the walls upon his death, and now remains for every Force user to feel and, if not careful, be swept away in.

Yet Obi-Wan was done with anger and war. Had left that life behind when they’d stopped the fighting and reunited the Melida and the Daan. And so he took a deep breath, collected all those little flames of anger licking at his feet and released them into the Force.

Now, he does so every time he’s in the hangar. Slowly collects little embers and snuff them before a flame can be born of them. Hopefully one day he will arrive without having to do so, but he knows well how long it takes to completely remove the Force scars of war.

The difference between Melidaan and Naboo, however, is that while the Force scars on his home planet speak of victory and peace, the traces left of the Naboo Crisis serve as nothing but a harsh reminder that being part of the Republic means nothing when it comes to safety.

“Triumvir Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan looks up in both delight and surprise to find none other than Senator Padmé Amidala stride up to him from the hangar entrance.

Radiant and fashionable, as Padmé always is, in her emerald green velvet dress. Its long bell sleeves drape just slightly off her shoulders and the mermaid-style skirt, edged with silver embroidery, swishes as she walks.

She fits so well with the beauty and grace that is Naboo, just as Obi-Wan is so obviously a child of a planet with far less need for such elaborate displays of fashion. For even if he wore his nicest wool tunic—the burgundy one, with a high collar, black trims stitched with gold embroidery and a gold, diagonal zipper running from his right collarbone down to the top of his left thigh to the edge of the tunic—he still feels painfully underdressed.

Obi-Wan bows his head. “Senator Amidala.”

Padmé comes to a stop in front of him and, when their eyes meet, she giggles. Her Senator-persona disappears like snow in the sun and she is quick to draw him into a hug with a wide smile. “I’ve missed you, my friend.”

“And I you, darling,” Obi-Wan says, pressing a quick kiss to Padmé’s cheek before they withdraw from their hug. “I did not know you’d be back from Coruscant. Are you here for the summit as well?”

“I wasn’t sure I could make it, which is why I haven’t mentioned it. But I’m happy to not have to miss your visit. Nor Melidaan’s first attendance at the summit,” Padmé says and reaches out to take Obi-Wan’s hands between hers. “It means a lot to all of us to have you here. To have you speak to us. We need stories of hope now more than ever.”

Obi-Wan gives Padmé’s hands a squeeze. “After all the IRCA has done for us, we are grateful we are finally in a place where we can pay some of it forward.”

None on Melidaan will ever forget the help of the Intergalactical Refugee and Compassionate aid—IRCA for short. Least of all Cerasi, Nield and Obi-wan—the Triumvirate that together with the People’s Elected Council leads the planet.

Obi-Wan still remembers the dilemma the Young had faced all those years ago, sitting at a long table in the Unified Congress Building in Zehava that after bombings stood on foundations as shaky as the peace they’d brokered. For the Young knew of pain, suffering and war. What they did not know, however, was peace. Negotiations, rebuilding and governing were as foreign to them as hyperspace.

To all except Obi-Wan.

All eyes had turned to him, as if to ask now what.

Obi-Wan had taken deep breaths, had taken seconds—perhaps minutes—to breathe his rising panic into the Force. For he was fourteen, a former Padawan learner—albeit with tragically little experience. Too young to fully know what was needed. But at least at the Temple he had learned that the Jedi were not the only ones helping all those that lived in the Galaxy. And so, the Young had called upon the IRCA.

Their salvation.

Shocked at the malnutritioned child soldiers that had reached out to them in desperation, the IRCA had responded at record speed and Bail Organa—one of the IRCA’s founders—had personally come to Melidaan to oversee the proceedings.

They received emergency aid, food and care they were in desperate need of. But most importantly, over the years that followed they were taught how to rebuild and how to govern. It might still be a work in progress, but slowly Melidaan starts to prosper.

“I wish I had been there,” Padmé says as she links her arm with Obi-Wan’s and guides him out of the hangar. “Fourteen year-old Obi-Wan must have been a sight to behold. I can only imagine what Bail’s face must have been like when he received your call.”

Obi-Wan dismisses his friend’s amusement and curiosity with a somber shake of his head. “I do think he went through the seven stages of grief in less than a minute. Be happy you weren’t there, Padmé,” he says as they leave the hangar and step out into the warm afternoon sun. He pauses, and Padmé can’t help but do the same with their arms still linked. He gives her a wry smile. “War isn’t kind, as you well know.”

Padmé sighs, heavy and burdened. Her eyes trail from the banks of the Solleu river, over the elegant domes that make up Theed. In her eyes, Obi-Wan recognizes the look of someone that has seen war at too young an age—even if there shouldn’t be any age at which one sees war. “Indeed,” she mumbles, offering no further reply.

He reaches out his free hand and lays it over the arm she has linked with his, offering a silent comfort and apology for words that were perhaps harsher than he intended them to be. “Which is why I’m here now. The IRCA needs all the support it can get, with the amount of refugees this kriffing war is leaving behind.”

Padmé gives him a small smile. “The summit doesn’t start until tomorrow,” she says. A light tease to shake off the gloom mood they’ve found themselves in. With a little tug of her arm she gears them back into motion. “Tell me, how has life on Melidaan been? I’ll guide you to your accommodation as a reward.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “I know my way around Theed, my dear,” he says.

He tells her about Melidaan all the same. Spending time with a beloved friend he so very rarely gets to see is reward enough. That, and whatever Senate gossip Padmé shares with him in delighted whispers.

After Bail Organa has given a welcome, the first person to speak at the IRCA summit is Obi-Wan.

He delivers his story, Melidaan’s story, with eloquence and passion. That the horror of war is not just war itself, but also its aftermath. That the process of recovery and rebuilding can long outlast a war, for it takes only a minute to flatten a building—or a city, for that matter—but to rebuild it takes not only time but also resources. How Melidaan had stood in peace surrounded by nothing but destruction, their only resource the relief that at least the fighting was over. How the IRCA had rescued them, had gone above and beyond in their support, in their compassion.

It is as much a story of hope as it is an introduction to the main topic of this years’ summit. A better intergalactic approach to manage forced displacement, the reuniting of families and the support of planets and communities devastated by the Clone Wars.

As it is Melidaan’s first time attending, Obi-Wan spends most of his time listening. Yet he does not mind. In fact, he finds great comfort in hearing the passionate discussions between those that in this room, during this summit, have put their differences aside. Because the IRCA is a collaboration of planets and philanthropic corporations and individuals independent of the Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

A breath of fresh air to a Galaxy stifled by the choice to join either one or the other, if you ask Obi-Wan. He certainly feels that here, something is achieved. The IRCA does good for those otherwise forgotten, without the need for politics.

Here, they all serve one purpose and that is to help others.

Obi-Wan can’t think of something nobler.

As always when Obi-Wan visits Theed, he is invited to dinner at the Naberrie family home. It is something he looks forward to, always a pleasure to see the Naberries that opened their arms for him ever since the first time he visited.

It’s also a relief to be able to spend an evening surrounded by Padmé and her family after three long days of discussions.

Discussions which in Padmé’s case aren’t over yet, with affairs to settle now that she’s back on Naboo—albeit shortly.

So as he’s lounging on the couch in Padmé’s office, waiting for her to finish her business, he calls Cerasi and Nield.

After he’s shared all discussions they had and achievements they reached during the past three days, Cerasi tips her head to the side and asks: “How were the people?”

“Nice,” Obi-Wan replies with an innocent smile. 

She wants to know the gossip, now that the business part of their conversation is over. Tensions between people, if someone managed to somehow make the war worse with all these different sides represented.

But it’s not what she asked—not out loud, anyway.

Nield huffs. “Don’t be coy.”

Obi-Wan grins. They know him too well, Nield and Cerasi. They’ve shared a bond ever since those first few weeks on Melidaan, when it was nothing but a warzone and they lived in the sewers. But now, over two decades later and leading a planet together, they are his family. Siblings in all but blood, which also means he can’t fool them.

“It was all very civil. We weren’t allowed to talk about politics. Heard someone say they instigated that rule some years ago after a rather uncivilized discussion that ended up with someone’s nose broken.”

Cerasi guffaws. “And here I thought all these senators were proper.”

Nield chuckles. “Must’ve been tense to have a room full of important people that aren’t allowed to talk politics. Did someone combust trying to contain themselves?”

“Not visibly,” Obi-Wan says and then grins. “But there were certainly some frustrations.”

“Felt it, didn’t you?” Nield asks, wiggling his fingers in the air with a teasing grin; his usual gesture when it comes to Obi-Wan and the Force.

Obi-Wan’s only response is a roll of his eyes with a small smile playing on his lips.

To most, the Force is an elusive thing. After Qui-Gon had left Melida/Daan, he had to explain to the Young that he could still feel and use the Force, even if he had left the Jedi Order. That the Order’s teachings were still important to him, not because of a longing to return but because they serve to hone an individual’s skill to use the Force. He’d explained to Nield, after the other had felt betrayed finding Obi-Wan meditating one night, that it was like firing a blaster without ever having been taught how to do it properly. You will either miss or put yourself and others at risk. That had seemed to put things into perspective for Nield, and afterwards he’d taken Obi-Wan’s remaining dedication to an Order he’d left in stride. He’d taken time to get a basic understanding of the Force after that, and nowadays is quite happy to let Obi-Wan read a room or grab a pad with either a flicker of his mind or wave of his hand. The teasing, Obi-Wan knows, is done out of love, not mockery.

“I think it’s a good rule,” Obi-Wan says, “this way the IRCA can accomplish things. One of its strengths is its diversity and focus on helping others. With both Republic and Separatist representatives, even if politics are only discussed outside of IRCA topics, I’m sure it’ll influence things."

Nield huffs. “Without a doubt.”

“More planets should strive to be like Melidaan,” Cerasi says, pride clear in her voice. “Our strength and peace lie in our neutrality.”

When he feels a flicker of amused disagreement brush against his mind, he looks up. Padmé, it seems, is finished with her responsibilities for the day and is watching him from the doorway.

He raises an eyebrow at her and she just shakes her head, waving a hand at him to indicate he’s free to continue the conversation.

He doesn’t get the chance, though, Nield and Cerasi already having noticed his distraction.

“You’ve got to go?” Cerasi asks.

Obi-Wan hums. “Padmé is back.”

Cerasi grins, craning her neck as if that’ll allow her to see outside of the holo-call. “Hi Padmé!”

Chuckling, Padmé makes her way over to the couch and sits down next to Obi-Wan. “Hello both,” she greets with a small wave.

Cerasi and Nield aren’t as close to Padmé as Obi-Wan is. Acquaintances more than anything else, certainly they don’t share as intimate a friendship as Obi-Wan and Padmé do. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t happy to catch up with her.

After a few more minutes of chatting, Obi-Wan ends the call. He slips the holo-transmitter into his pocket as they both stand up. “Shall we?” he asks, offering Padmé his elbow.

Padmé easily curls her fingers around Obi-Wan’s upper-arm. “Yes, we shouldn’t let mother wait any longer. Sola has already told me she has prepared food for half an army.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “As always.”

“Some things never change,” Padmé agrees.

“Indeed they don’t,” Obi-Wan agrees with a laugh as they make their way through the corridors. “Now my dear, I can feel your curiosity,” he says, even if curiosity isn’t quite the right word. But something is on her mind, Obi-Wan doesn’t need the Force to know that—even if it does prove him right.

Padmé sighs thoughtfully. “It’s not a curiosity per se,” she says, voice as careful as the words she speaks next. “I just find Melidaan’s stance interesting. I would imagine that as a planet so against war, you would try to do everything you could to stop it.”

“We have seen enough war. Melidaan fought for decades, have we not deserved our peace?” he asks sharply.

He will have this conversation because it is Padmé, but if he’s honest he is tired of the topic. Especially after the endless discussions they had only a year ago, when the Republic had tried to make their case in an attempt for Melidaan to join them for the favorable location of their planet. For when the Republic comes knocking on your door, a simple no won’t suffice. That in itself had already had a backwards effect, for certainly not accepting a simple rejection with grace, without argument, can’t be a good tactic.

He hasn’t spoken much about it with Padmé. She had been working on pushing a bill through the Senate at the time and hadn’t been on the delegation sent to Melidaan. So he will allow her this, even if the tinge of guilt in the Force makes him wonder if she’s now regretting the turn of conversation.

“Of course you do. The whole Galaxy does.”

“But that is not our responsibility. Besides, we are doing something with the IRCA. For us, that’s enough. Joining the Republic– ah,” he holds up a finger and gives Padmé a pointed look before she can open her mouth. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t what you were fishing for, my dear.”

Padmé looks slightly abashed. “Perhaps.”

“Most certainly,” Obi-Wan quips back. Then, as they leave the royal palace behind them and continue their walk under the dark evening sky, he sighs. “Joining the Republic won’t bring us anything but war. We are not like Naboo. We are a small, relatively poor planet. Even if we were to get involved, there is absolutely nothing we could change.”

“Even the smallest planet can make a change,” Padmé says. “You know what I fight for, Obi-Wan. What Naboo fights for. Even one additional vote can help tip the scales.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “It will not be Melidaan’s.”

Padmé sighs. “I suppose part of me is jealous that you are not involved,” she admits in nothing but a whisper. The words almost like betrayal spoken in the streets of not only Padmé’s home, but that of the Supreme Chancellor as well. “This war brings so much suffering. Not just to the Galaxy’s inhabitants but also to our morality. Every week the Senate passes a bill that makes me question its intentions. I have it easy, I know. But hearing stories of the front-lines, seeing bills pushed through for more Clone troopers… it makes me wonder if there is still enough good for us to come out victorious.” Guilt and sorrow alike fill Padmé’s being, swirl in the Force around her as she speaks.

With his next step, Obi-Wan ensures he’s just a tad closer to her and lays his free hand over hers in a comforting gesture. “As long as there are people like you in the Senate, there is still good in it.”

He doesn’t speak of his own opinions on the Senate, about the same lack of devotion to a good cause that Padmé is expressing. That all he sees is greed, the same greed that once almost destroyed Melidaan.

But Padmé doesn’t need those words.

 “I just hope it is enough,” she says wistfully.

“It will be,” Obi-Wan says with a reassuring smile, “you mustn’t lose hope, Padmé. Compassion and kindness will always prevail.”

Padmé’s parents greet him warmly, Jobal drawing him into a hug while Ruwee clasps his shoulder with a heavy hand.

“Always such a pleasure to see you,” Jobal says with a smile and ushers both Padmé and Obi-Wan out of the hallway and into the dining room. “Now come. You busy politicians are right on time. Sola and I just finished dinner.”

Padmé grins at Obi-Wan. “Told you so.”

Obi-Wan chuckles but doesn’t get a chance to reply as he is bodily attacked by two giggling girls.

One wraps herself around his legs while the other hugs his waist with a delighted “Obi!”

“Oof!” Obi-Wan lets out a harsh breath and it is only with a bit of frivolous use of the Force that he doesn’t stumble back. That doesn’t mean he isn’t chuckling in delight, though, and places a hand on each of the girls’ heads. “Well if it isn’t a pair of kowakians!”

“Nooo!” the girl around his legs moans and then jumps back, spreading her arms as she toothily grins up at Obi-Wan. “It’s Pooja!” she proudly proclaims and waves a hand at the other girl, her sister. “And Ryoo.”

Ryoo steps back and ruffles Pooja’s curly mop of hair with a roll of her eyes. “He knows that.”

Pooja pouts and swats her hands up to her sisters’ still on top of her head. “Don’t touch.”

“Girls! Leave Obi-Wan alone.”

Obi-Wan looks up to find Sola, Padmé’s older sister and the girls’ mother, standing in the kitchen doorway. “They’re no bother.”

“Aah, but they did promise me to set the table,” Sola says and waves her girls over.

Padmé watches her nieces disappear into the kitchen with a small frown. “You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

“Sure it is. The girls need to learn how to handle responsibility,” Jobal says, “I made you help me when you were young, too.”

“And maybe Obi-Wan can keep an eye out.” Sola winks at Obi-Wan before she too disappears into the kitchen.

“Making our guest work,” Ruwee says, shaking his head but there is nothing but amusement and fondness surrounding him. “Come,” he tells Obi-Wan with a wave of his hand, “sit and leave the girls. If we lose a plate, we have enough of them.”

In the end, it is Padmé that follows Pooja and Ryoo as they set the table with plates, glasses and cutlery. Sola chuckles from the kitchen and Obi-Wan only once has to nudge a glass away from the edge of the tray Pooja is carrying with immense concentration.

“You know,” Sola says to Obi-Wan when they’re halfway through dinner, “Padmé’s boyfriend is a Jedi.”

“Sola!” Padmé cries, a blush on her cheeks. “Ani and I are just friends.”

Obi-Wan hides his smile behind his glass. Just friends is a blatant lie and they all know it. Why Padmé insists that she is only friends with Anakin Skywalker is beyond Obi-Wan, when it only takes her speaking about the man for a minute to see the loving gleam in her eyes.

“Sure,” Sola laughs and then turns to Obi-Wan. “You were a Jedi, right?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “A Padawan, I left the Order when I was thirteen.”

“Ah, then you wouldn’t know him. He is even younger than Padmé, after all,” Sola teases, smirking at her younger sister.

Padmé rolls her eyes and primly continues eating.

“Did you know,” Sola continues, turning to Obi-Wan with a conspiring smile, “that it was his Master that killed the Sith here in Theed during the Crisis?”

It’s like a rock drops into his stomach together with the words. His shock is mainly at the fact that Master Jinn has a Padawan. Considering Obi-Wan’s less than ideal and turbulent year with the man that should have seen a mind-healer, not gotten a Padawan, he is rather surprised. Both at Master Jinn’s choice to take on another Padawan when he so obviously had to be coerced into taking on Obi-Wan, as well as the fact that the Council let him.

He feels for the young man that had to put up with Master Jinn.

“No,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, “I was not aware.”

Sola hums. “He did. Even though they were peacekeepers back then, he still fought to save us all.”

At the head of the table, Ruwee sighs. “A damn shame they couldn’t have stayed peacekeepers.”

Padmé puts down her cutlery and gives her father a sharp look. “Someone has to fight for us, for the Republic. We should be grateful for the Jedi. And the Clones, for that matter.”

“We are Padmé,” Jobal replies instead of her husband, the look in her eyes making it clear this is not a new topic of conversation for the Naberries, “you know that.” 

“You think you would’ve been a General too, had you not left the Jedi?” Sola asks, and Obi-Wan wonders if she is curious or if this is a terrible attempt to change the topic.

“Most certainly,” Obi-Wan says tightly. It is something he has thought of a fair bit, after all, since this war started.

Ruwee gives Obi-Wan a wan smile. “Then let’s all be grateful that you are not.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t feel guilty as he quickly agrees, but it’s a near thing.

Obi-Wan leaves Naboo the next day.

When the planet is out of view, he wriggles in the pilot-seat a bit until he’s comfortable and pulls up a datapad. Unfortunately, his ships hyperdrive is yet to be fixed—something he should have done in Naboo, now that he thinks of it, but it’s been broken for months and it’s not like they need it often—so regular travel it is. Meaning he has quite a few hours—almost two days, in fact—to kill.

All the better, he supposes, when he looks at all the messages and reports he has to read.

Fifteen hours into the journey he’s cleared half of the to-do’s on his datapad, meditated and stretched. He’s considering going for a nap when the proximity alarm beeps.

Considering he’s near the borders of Republic Space, it’s most likely a patrol unit wanting to run his registration. He quickly swivels the pilot-chair around so he can receive the incoming message, but—

There is no incoming call.

He frowns.

He tries to reach out to the approaching ship, but he is only met with silence. If that didn’t put him on high-alert, the warning nudge of the Force certainly does. A second later, the proximity alarm beeps again.

Alerting him to the presence of a second ship.

Then a third, then a fourth.

Kark, he thinks, what is this? Worry rolls into him like the coming tide, his eyes flickering up to the HUD to make sure that his deflector shield is functioning. When that’s confirmed, he pulls up the images from the back camera.

What he sees makes his heart sink.

Separatist vulture droid starfighters.

An unbidden sliver of fear curls in his gut, andt he firmly grabs it at its roots and throws it out into the Force. He must keep a cool head, think the situation through and decide on what he is going to do.

There is no doubt they are here for him, considering he is out in the middle of nowhere and hasn’t seen any ships for at least three hours. The hows and whys of that will have to wait.

The alarm beeps faster, kicking up Obi-Wan’s heart-rate at the same time.

The vulture droids are closing in. He glances at the radar, sees the red dots come nearer faster and faster. Like an order has been given.

He needs to move.

Fast.

With a swipe of his fingers he turns off the auto-pilot and takes hold of the steering stick. His is no N1, but his single J-type engine still packs a punch. Plus, he has the element of surprise—if that even applies when one is being followed by droids.

He kicks the engine up into the highest gear and makes for the planet below. It’s his only option, unable to out-fly or out-maneuver the droids with his meagre flying skills and that is ignoring the fact he lacks the weapons to even consider fighting back.

The vulture droids follow and open fire.

It shouldn’t be a shock, but Obi-Wan still feels it flash through him. Hot and white, like a flash grenade. The whole ship rattles, shakes and groans at the onslaught of blaster shots.

Obi-Wan curses, can’t do anything about the warnings popping up on the HUD, the red blinking light that now illuminates the cockpit nor that thrice-blasted alarm blaring. Can’t worry about his only shield, well over-due on maintenance and already in critical condition.

He can’t, not when both adrenaline and the Force scream at him to go, go, faster! Even if it is impossible, even if he is already pushing his poor, undeserving courier ship to the brink of its capabilities, he tries. Pushes and pushes and prays to the Force that his thoughts and will alone manage to push just a little more power into his humble ship.

Another blast.

He loses the deflector shield, his curses drowned out by the alarm that that sets off.

It’s the beginning of the end.

Something at the back of the ship explodes, the blast pushing him further and faster.

Right down to the surface of the planet.

The safety straps dig painfully into Obi-Wan’s chest and shoulders as he’s almost thrown out of his seat and his hands are clenched around the steering stick trying to pull up, sideways, anywhere but down straight into collision course with the planet below.

But it is no use.

Down, he will go.

Chapter Text

There’s an alarm blaring.

It whines and wails, high-pitched and frantic like a panicked, pained bird screaming right in Obi-Wan’s ears.

His whole body feels like it’s been squeezed into one of the smaller caverns in the Melidaan sewage system—he barely fit in them back when he was a tiny welp, so he has certainly outgrown them now. Or perhaps it’s like he’s been dropped from the cliffs behind Zehava and landed at odd angles into the river below. Because what else can cause this full-body ache? Like every part of him is battered and bruised while at the same time something is buzzing underneath his skin. Tries to urge him to move, do something, even if the back of his hurting head tells him his arms would tremble were he to lift them.

What could possibly—

The crash!

His eyes fly open, panic in his chest and he is immediately overwhelmed by a wave of nausea and dizziness.

He closes his eyes. Swallows once, twice, until he feels the burn of bile subside.

Slowly, then.

Slow and steady does it, the nausea staying at bay as he takes deep breaths—breaths that sting something fierce in his chest, like with every movement a virbroknife is mercilessly pressed deeper and deeper into his skin.

This time when his eyes are open he can take in his surroundings. Or rather, he can conclude something is most certainly wrong because he’s seeing double.

Karking sithspit.

He groans, blinking a few times before the two steering sticks swimming in front of his vision merge into one. Around him, the cockpit doesn’t look too bad. Everything that wasn’t attached has now found a different home, and even some things that were attached have relocated themselves.

He reaches out and flicks on the HUD. Something sputters in protest, the HUD flickers ominously and then dies. Well, it’s not like he is going to fly himself out of here, so it’s no real loss. The only thing that needs to work, really, is the emergency locator beacon.

He holds his breath as he presses the button to activate it. The thing might not have a magnificent reach—certainly it won’t reach either Naboo or Melidaan—but without it he is doomed for sure.

Without so much as a hitch, the beacon activates.

He lets out a long relieved breath that turns into a wince when his chest burns but at least the beacon works. It’s not his only luck. The windows are also still in one piece, surprisingly enough.

When he peers out of them, nothing but whiteness looms in front of him.

Ice, judging by the way the light of the moon and the red of his blinking emergency light ominously spread over the surface. Of course he has crashed on an ice-planet. 

It does mean, though, that he should get up. Find more layers to wear before the cold creeps in more than it already has. Even if he doubts getting up is going to be fun.

He releases the safety belt, grits his teeth with a hiss as he needs to shrug it off. Kark, kark that hurts and idly he wonders if he’s broken every single one of his ribs because it sure as fuck feels like it. No matter, he must carry on. He braces himself, counts to five before he pushes himself up and stands—

Searing, blinding agony shoots through him. A soundless scream passes Obi-Wan’s lips, the pain flashing through his body, his left karking leg, like lightning. Quick, bright and destructive.

His left leg trembles, the only warning he gets before it gives out entirely. With a broken cry, Obi-Wan falls to the floor with a dull thud. His ribs, his leg, his head, he doesn’t think there is a single inch of his body that doesn’t hurt.

He lies there, staring blindly at the ceiling with his chest heaving, his heart racing and tears stinging in his eyes.

Alone, in agony and cold.

There is no pain, there is life he reminds himself—the first time he’d murmured his own desperate addition to the Jedi Code, Nield had tried to patch up a blaster wound on Obi-wan’s shoulder. It had brought him comfort then. The reminder that if he felt pain, he was alive.

Now, it’s much the same. He should have died—the vulture droids had certainly tried to ensure that—but he didn’t.

He won’t.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for the pain to subside to a bearable level, but it does.

He picks himself up off the floor and slowly hobbles through the narrow corridor to the lounge area, avoiding putting pressure on his wounded leg.

Never before has he been this grateful that the ship is so compact. Cockpit at the front, lounge, a bunk bed and an it-fits-if-you-don’t-stick-out-your-elbows-sized fresher in the middle and the cargo hold at the back.

Thankfully, the tiny fresher does have a small medkit and once he’s retrieved that and all the blankets from the bunk, he gratefully sinks down onto the couch in the lounge. 

He disinfects his hands, and gets to work.

There is little he can do for his ribs or his head, other than take painkillers and rest, but the wound on his leg needs something—that something being more treatment than he can offer himself, but he supposes slightly-less-than-average wound-care is still better than none at all.

As he works, he tries to focus on Roenni’s explanations back when she’d given the whole Council mandatory first-aid lessons. Certainly, her soft cadence and slight Alderaanian accent, that she’d picked up getting her medical degree at the university there, are a much better thing to focus on than his pain.

The sting that seems to go all the way down to his toes when he uncovers and cleans the wound. The burn when he disinfects with what might as well be kriffing acid. The throbbing—in tune with the same drum-like feeling in his head—when he dresses it.

Clean, disinfect, dress.

Use bacta if you have it. Make sure the dressing is sterile. Make sure the dressing is tight enough but not too tight.

Clean, disinfect, dress.

There is no pain, there is life.

When he’s done, he takes double the recommended amount of painkillers, but if that is going to do him in then so be it.

He allows himself to sit for a few minutes, breathing softly and staring off into nothing trying to keep the panic at bay as the reality of the situation starts to sink in.

Crashed on an ice planet.

He should check the rest of the ship and then his surroundings. Needs to figure out where he is, if this is a populated planet and, if yes, if he’s managed to crash near a settlement. Needs professional medical help, better equipment to call home or at least arrange a ride back home.

But first, he needs to rest.

The Force seems to agree with a content wave of meditate, heal.

He, however, is no Jedi. 

He meditates, yes. Tries to still live by the Code because one does not need a title to value a way of life. But the reality is, his education stopped when he was thirteen. He never learned the art of healing meditation.

But with the Force insistent, he supposes it doesn’t hurt to at least try.

He gathers a blanket around his shoulder, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t feel better when he resurfaces from his meditation. Luckily, though, he also doesn’t feel worse.

Blanket still around his shoulders, he limps to the cargo bay. At least there is still enough power coming from the generator that the door opens when he presses the button.

Unsurprisingly, there’s a hole in the back of the ship.

A big, gaping hole through which Obi-Wan can see fuel leaking from the engine. The engine that keeps the heat on, which in turn keeps the cold out.

Horrendous cold, which enters through the gaping hole and which now also pulls at Obi-Wan’s skin. It’s like a sharp burning sensation, digging through his skin and settling into his bones in seconds. The gust of wind that howls through the wracked cargo bay doesn’t feel cold at all. It’s almost like it’s fire, burning his skin.

It is the worst cold Obi-Wan has felt in his life, and it’s only been mere seconds.

He retreats back to the couch, shivering and numb. It takes him two cups of tea, three blankets and a bit over an hour before his skin has stopped feeling like it’s on fire and he feels relatively warm again.

At least one question is answered. If he doesn’t want to freeze to death, help will need to come to him.

He jolts awake, his ribs and head protesting at the action and the constant pain throbbing through his body flaring like a flash grenade.

But it’s all second to the panic in his chest and the worry in his mind. Because he doesn’t remember turning the emergency locator beacon on.

“Kark,” he curses. “You idiot, how could you forget?” he mumbles to himself, a scowl marring his face. That beacon is his only salvation, his only way off of this planet and even then it depends on the will of the Force and sheer dumb luck more than anything else.

It takes him five minutes to struggle to the cockpit, his leg screaming murder when he accidentally puts pressure on it 

He checks the emergency beacon.

It’s on.

He frowns to himself, scratching his beard as he looks at the green light indicating the beacon is on. A relief and an enigma both.

He heaves a sigh and takes a moment to mentally prepare himself before he limps back to the safety of the lounge. With both the doors to the cockpit and the cargo bay closed, it’s the only space where a little heat seems to still hang in the air—although anything can be considered heat compared to the frigid air outside.

He shivers, burrowing himself into the pathetic heap of three blankets on the couch, wondering still when he turned the beacon on.

He doesn’t remember doing it.

He’s lost the engine.

The ship’s now on its emergency power generator, which means at least the red emergency lightning has died.

The only benefit.

With the emergency power generator on, the ship’s functionalities have been reduced to the bare minimum needed to survive. A single strip of weak fluorescent light for visibility, minimal heating, the emergency beacon and the oxygen regulation system.

For survival in space, it’s all very effective.

Obi-Wan, however, isn’t in space.

Drowsy and tired, Obi-Wan settles in to meditate again. He’s not skilled enough to improve his situation, but at least he can keep it at bay using both the Force and painkillers.

He shivers and tries not to worry. It will only burn energy he can’t spare.

But when an insistent beep indicates another ten percent drain of the generator and a computerized voice states there is currently twelve hours of oxygen left, there is still a somewhat hysterical voice in the back of his mind screaming that oxygen isn’t the problem.

The beacon!

Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open, his sleep-addled brain struggling to catch-up but somewhere, his instincts are screaming.

Did he turn on the beacon?

Before he can get himself to shrug out of his warm blankets and limp to the cockpit, he is dragged back into sleep.

In an hour or two, he will wake again with the same panic in his mind.

He’s run out of painkillers.

Obi-Wan glowers at the empty packet lying on the table in front of him for a few seconds. Although it could be minutes or hours. His sense of time has gone off like too-old bantha-milk with how much he sleeps and how weird the day-cycle on this planet seems to be.

With an irritated sigh, he flicks his fingers and the packet flies off the table. It hits the back wall of the galley with a soft thud. A frivolous use of the Force and wasting energy he doesn’t have.

It doesn’t even offer him the satisfaction he was hoping for.

He is still in pain, a constant throbbing in his head, ribs and leg. Like his heartbeat is shooting dull tendrils of pain through his whole body and exploding into sharp agony that reaches all the way to his toes when he makes a wrong move.

Without painkillers, it is only bound to get worse.

He frowns down at the beacon. It’s not blinking, even if he just turned it on.

Why won’t it turn on? How can it be?

He racks his brain trying to find an answer, but his mind is sluggish, as if it’s been stuffed with Melidaan cotton. 

The only thing that’s happened is that the emergency power generator has run out of energy.

Oh, Obi-Wan thinks with a heavy, sinking feeling settling in his stomach. Oh no.

He stares at the beacon.

He blinks once, twice, and then the tears come.

They slide down his cheeks, warm and desperate and the hopelessness in his chest becomes a black hole that swallows him.

He has no beacon, no light, no heat and for the first time since he crashed, no hope.

He’s stopped shivering. Does that mean he isn’t cold anymore?

Does it mean he is close to being frozen, like the rest of the planet? That the Force can’t sustain him any longer?

Has his stay from execution finally come to an end?

Kark, he hopes so.

Someone is trying to get in.

He can hear the scratching and banging at the door separating him from the cargo bay. There are voices as well, but he can’t hear what they’re saying over the loud beating of his heart and the rush in his ears.

Is he being rescued, or is he going to meet his end in an unfortunate turn of events?

He reaches for the blaster on the table. He put it there when he first started to bunk down on the couch, a precaution he hoped he wouldn’t need. But one never knows what comes crawling out of the cracks of a deserted landscape. 

He’s not a terrible shot, not when he can always tweak a blaster bolt’s course just a bit with a nudge of the Force, but at this point he’s uncertain if he even has enough strength to properly squeeze the trigger.

Someone must have stuck a crowbar between the seal that keeps the two sliding doors closed in the middle, because the door cracks and groans loudly as little by little it is pried open. 

Obi-Wan raises his blaster with weak hands and prays for the best.

In the cracks of the open door, a helmet appears and a flashlight shines into the room. “This is the Grand Army of the Republic! Is anyone alive in there?”

Relief burns through Obi-Wan so brightly it pushes his pain, cold and exhaustion to the back of his mind. Someone is here.

He has been rescued.

“Yes,” he says in reply, his voice a soft rasp from disuse.

But it seems it is still heard, for the helmet disappears and the same person shouts: “We found him! He’s alive!”

He’s alive.

The blaster falls from Obi-Wan’s hands, hitting the ground with a loud thud and a relieved sob escapes him. “Yes, I am.”

Light floods the room when the door is pried open. Obi-Wan’s still squinting when a figure squeezes himself through the opening. “Thank Fett’s balls,” the figure—a man—says. “Curie, with me. Wooley, get the hypothermia kit ready.”

Twin echoes of “Yes sir” follow the command. 

By the time Obi-Wan’s eyes have gotten used to the influx of daylight and sunshine now falling into the ship, someone is kneeling in front of him.

A soldier—a Clone—that removes his helmet and looks at Obi-Wan with sharp eyes. “Triumvir Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan blinks drowsily, he’s suddenly very tired. He wonders why the medic is frowning at him. Ah yes, that was his name wasn’t it? He nods. “That’s me.”

“I’m Steady, Chief Medical Officer. Me and Corporal Curie are going to look you over, all right?” Steady asks, his hands hovering at Obi-Wan’s sides while the Corporal is moving the table to make space and another trooper is laying out what looks to be blankets on the floor.

The moment Obi-Wan nods, there’s hands on him. Gentle but insistent, careful yet probing.

It’s a bit of a blur after that.

CMO Steady talks to him throughout the procedure. Commentary on what they’re checking for, Obi-Wan supposes. But Obi-Wan doesn’t care much for massive hemorrhages, airways and respiration. And he certainly already knew that his ribs were broken and his leg hurt.

No, Obi-Wan just wants to sleep. He feels drowsy, his whole body heavy with exhaustion and certainly no-one minds if he just closes his eyes for a moment while the medics work.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls out. “Try to stay with us, all right?”

“‘m tired,” Obi-Wan mumbles, the words feeling slow and sticky in his mouth.

He doesn’t hear the reply, mind half into sleep already.

He does hear Curie’s soft curse and sluggishly thinks that that can’t be good.

“Sir? Core temperature is 30 Celsius,” Curie says.

“Let’s move him.” Whereas Curie had sounded worried, Steady’s voice is firm and unwavering. “Wooley, how’s that kit?”

It’s a question the medics don’t wait on to be answered, carefully helping Obi-Wan to stand even before the full sentence has left Steady’s mouth.

“It’s fine,” Obi-Wan argues as he’s trying not to stumble on unsteady legs, “I’m not shivering anymore.”

“That’s not actually a good sign,” Steady says, a tad gentler now, as Curie and him support Obi-Wan the few steps he has to take.

They sit him down on some sort of insulated blanket that Wooley’s put down and then wrap another one around his chest. This one’s thicker, though, stiffer too and above all, it’s warm.

By the time the three troopers are done, Obi-Wan is completely cocooned. He closes his eyes, drowses for a few seconds before panic rises in his mind. “Oh!” he says and turns his head to Curie. “Can you turn the beacon back on?”

At least now he doesn’t have to drag himself to the freezing cockpit on a painful leg.

Curie squats down in front of him with a frown. “Beacon, sir?”

“The emergency beacon. For the—” Obi-Wan cuts off abruptly, blinking to himself. “Oh. Suppose I don’t need rescuing now that you’re here.”

There is a moment of silence and then Steady is squatting in front of him too, a frown on his face. “Get the medi-scan and run a full analysis. I’ll start the TBI evaluation.”

“TBI?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Traumatic Brain Injury,” Curie provides with a kind, patient smile.

Obi-Wan frowns in disappointment. “So no sleeping?”

Steady shakes his head with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid not.”

His body warms. Somehow, it’s worse than the cold. Pins and needles and a burning sensation like his skin is on fire.

He’s about to comment on it when three other clones stride in. One obviously a leader, flanked by two others.

“Steady,” the leader says, “can he move?”

“Unless it’s to my medbay, I’d prefer not.”

The leader sighs and takes off his helmet. “Longshot’s reported a storm front coming in from the south-east. There’s no way to get through it with the LAAT’s without taking unnecessary risks. I’ve sent Waxer and Boil to scout for shelter. When they give word, we have to move out.”

Steady sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Commander—”

“Commander?” Obi-Wan mumbles to himself and peers at the man—the Commander—with slightly narrowed eyes. At first glance, he looks the same as the medics, what with them being Clones. But they’re all different, from the lines on their face, the scars on their skin, the look in their eyes and, perhaps most prominently, their presence in the Force.

Steady honors his name, feeling like a steady pillar of strength. Curie feels softer than his CMO, like the kind of person that has endless patience. And then there is the Commander, who feels as resilient as an aged tree with roots that could weather any storm. Who feels like Obi-Wan has known him his whole life.

“Force,” he says with a titter and catching everyone’s attention, “next you’ll say your name is Cody.”

The Commander raises an eyebrow. “It is. Have we met?”

Obi-Wan blinks. “Commander Cody?”

The Commander—Cody—shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He regards Obi-Wan with an impassive expression, giving away absolutely nothing as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and dryly says: “Last I checked.”

Hyena bombers passing over at too low an altitude. An explosion. People screaming, Zehava destroyed. Smoke in his lungs, ash in his mouth, tears in his eyes. Cody, Cody, Cody—

There’s a hand on his shoulder, comforting and grounding and careful. “Triumvir Kenobi?” Curie asks.

“I’m—” he nearly chokes on the words. Stops abruptly when he feels something, someone in the Force that can’t be real.

Achingly familiar and a distant memory both, his eyes snap up to he pried-open doors just in time to see him enter.

Older, looking weary and tired but still very much the same.

Master Qui-Gon Jinn.

“I’m hallucinating,” Obi-Wan says. He turns to Steady, who is looking at him with calculating eyes, and repeats: “Something is terribly wrong. I’ve started hallucinating.”

“Obi-Wan…” Jinn says, a confusion and worry to his tone that is as foreign as the presence of the man whom Obi-Wan hasn’t seen for two-and-a-half decades.

Obi-Wan laughs, and if it’s a bit hysteric, well that’s exactly how he feels. The cold must’ve gotten into his brain. Or maybe something really is terribly wrong inside his head, the medics never did say anything after their TBI evaluation.

“General, perhaps it is best you leave,” Steady says, carefully diplomatic but his tone leaving no room for contradiction.

It seems, though, that some things haven’t changed much over the past three decades as Jinn asks: “You are sending me away?”

“All due respect, sir, I don’t think your presence is helping. He might be doing better than anticipated, but that doesn’t mean anything when we’d anticipated a corpse.”

Obi-Wan swallows, the words hitting him like a slab of duracrete.

They’d been expecting a corpse

 He can’t blame them. Not when he’s certain that if he’d been Force-null he wouldn’t have made it. Not when his body still prickles and burns as it’s heating up and despite the painkillers he’s still in pain—something about lower dosage due to hypothermia.

He survived. He did.

He closes his eyes and whispers to himself: “There is no pain, there is life.”

Obi-Wan remembers the day the war broke out.

How a cold shock of recognition had shot through his body when he’d seen a holovid of the battle on Geonosis. He’d known then, without a shadow of a doubt, that the Clone troopers were the soldiers from his vision. Cerasi, Nield and him had decided right then and there that the GAR should be kept as far away from them as possible.

War would not come to Melidaan again.

His only solace is that at least he sits at the back of an icy cave rather than a sewer in Melidaan. But that doesn’t mean Obi-Wan’s heart isn’t heavy as he watches the two men conversing at the entrance of the cave. Two men he wished he’d never run into, one of a past he left behind and one of a future he does not want.

He finds himself surprised, though, how at ease he feels surrounded by the platoon of Clone troopers.

But here, huddled as far away from the entrance to the cave as possible, even if they are clad in armor, there is no war. There are no headlines and holovids celebrating Our Clones in White while in the same reel they show the destruction of war.

Here, however short the moment may be, they are just men.

Men that are bored—aside from the two medics, constantly at Obi-Wan’s side and checking his vitals—and try to pass the time with conversation.

The current topic is where each trooper would want to go for shore-leave if they could pick any planet. The planets of choice range from interesting to exotic whereas some are downright scandalous.

Obi-Wan listens with only half an ear, his head still feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and sleep still tugs at him near constantly.

He perks up, though, when one of the troopers wistfully says he’d like to explore Naboo.

“Naboo is nice,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “Was just there.”

The trooper makes a delighted noise. “Really? That’s so lucky.”

Obi-Wan hums, eyes still closed. “They hosted the IRCA summit.”

A hush falls over the cave and next to Obi-Wan, Wooley asks: “You were at the IRCA summit? But they are Separatists!”

Obi-Wan blinks his eyes open and looks at Wooley. “They’re not,” he says with a small shake of his head. “Some of the planets part of the IRCA are in Separatist space, but there are also Republic planets. Or neutral ones, like Melidaan. It’s a collaboration of those that only want to help.”

Someone scoffs. “They’d help more if they fought to end this karking war.”

“I’ve heard the IRCA achieved some great things,” Curie says next to Obi-Wan, giving a small wave with the medi-scan in his hand and offering Obi-Wan a small smile. “Especially when it comes to refugee safety and protection.”

“Or they can let the Republic take care of things,” another Clone argues. “Why work with the Separatists, like traitors?”

Obi-Wan frowns. Traitors, is that what they think of the IRCA?

“That’s enough.” Steady says before Obi-Wan can defend the IRCA, living up to his promise that any conversation including Obi-Wan should be as light as possible. “Switch topic, boys, or the conversation is over.”

The conversation doesn’t pick up again, though, when General Jinn approaches the group with his trademark peaceful smile. “I would actually like to ask if I could have a conversation with the Triumvir.”

Steady makes a be my guest gesture to the spot next to Obi-Wan and the troopers shuffle to the side to make space.

Jinn leans his head to the side slightly. “In private.”

As the troopers scatter—someone muttering a Privacy in a tiny cave, what a joke!—to get out of the way, Steady gives Jinn an unimpressed look. “You get five minutes. Tops.”

“Of course,” Jinn replied serenely.

Obi-Wan doesn’t sulk when his former Master sits down next to him, although he feels annoyed no-one bothered to ask if he wanted to have this conversation.

“Obi-Wan,” Jinn starts. Obi-Wan has never heard the other man sound so hesitant and careful. “How are you?”

“Better than a few hours ago.”

Jinn sighs, possibly at the lack of answer.

But Obi-Wan isn’t going to provide him with one. Not when he is so out of his depth. When his body hurts despite the pain medication, when warm is something within reach but hasn’t settled in properly yet, when his head feels like it might explode from all the cotton that seems to have been stuffed in there.

Not when he doesn’t owe this man a single thing. For Obi-Wan might have forgiven—for his own sanity—but he hasn’t forgotten.

He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself—air in, emotions out.

His ribs burn.

Kark, he can’t deal with this right now.

“You thought I was a hallucination.” Jinn sounds surprised and regretful.

Obi-Wan scoffs—another sharp flash of pain, bad idea. “Yes, well excuse my surprise. I had not expected to see you after over two decades of your silence and absence.”

“You left—”

“I have hypothermia and a concussion,” Obi-Wan interrupts, his voice as cold as the indignation rolling through him. How dare this man! “Your timing could not be worse, Master Jinn.”

Silence reigns in the cave, the troopers’ attention far from subtle and Steady’s glare a warning directed at his General.

Jinn, at least, looks chastised. That, however, doesn’t deter him from saying: “I heard what you said, earlier. There is no pain, there is life. You are aware, I’m sure, this is not part of the Jedi Code.”

Obi-Wan grits his teeth and blindly stares at a random rock. “Have to find some solace when a fourteen-year-old is treating your blaster wound and no-one’s seen bacta in at least a year.”

“A situation that could have been avoided,” Jinn says, neutral and serene as if he isn’t continuing with the same questioning as before.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. Breathes in and out, ignores the pain in his chest and the drumming in his head as he does so. Was the man always so infuriating?

Thankfully, Steady saves him from answering. “General, I do believe that is five minutes.”

Jinn hums questioningly, but doesn’t argue—which, honestly, says more about the medic than it does about the Jedi. 

When Jinn leaves, Obi-Wan gives Steady a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“You are my patient,” Steady says in lieu of a You’re welcome.

A minute later, when the medic is running another analysis on his medi-scan, he softly says: “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a fitting addition to the Jedi Code.”

Despite his exhaustion, Obi-Wan doesn’t sleep much that night.

Every time he closes his eyes he sees the hospital from his vision explode, hears his own screams losing both his city and his heart.

Not that being awake is any better.

Because more often than not, Obi-Wan’s gaze finds the Marshal Commander.

He watches and he worries and he wonders. Why was the GAR on Melidaan? Why was Zehava under attack?

And, unbidden and almost guiltily, he wonders why he loved the other man. Something he shouldn’t waste his time on, for the future of his vision is not a possibility anymore. Not with Melidaan’s distance from the Republic, not with their adversity to this war.

No, Obi-Wan has done all he could to ensure his vision would forever remain just that.

If that is at the sacrifice of possibly loving the Marshal Commander sitting at the mouth of the cave looking at him with distrustful eyes, that is a small price to pay.

Obi-Wan doubts he could love a man who he only associates with destruction and pain anyway.

By morning, the storm has cleared and Commander Cody gives the order to head to the LAAT’s.

It’s only a twenty-minute trek over the icy planes to reach the LAAT’s and the only one inconvenienced by that is Obi-Wan. Which means the overall mood is rather cheerful, and it speaks of some care in the leadership that the troops are allowed to just be that. They’re not rowdy or unruly by any means, just a tad lighter in their step, perhaps, and Obi-Wan can feel the lack of tension clearly in the Force.

It all goes to shit remarkably fast.

“Incoming!” someone hollers. “Hyena bombers incoming!”

“Cover, find cover!” the Commander barks.

It’s all the men need, even if it’s utter chaos as they scatter and spread out to rocks, ditches and anything not flat ice to provide some sort of cover.

Obi-Wan is running on adrenaline and instinct—the instinct that crawls its way out of the back of his mind like the Young had crawled out of the sewers.

Some things never truly go away.

Stay low, find cover, grab a fallen blaster when you pass it and don’t look at the face of who you took it from—you might recognize the face.

Move, move, move until you’re hidden from the Separatists—hidden from the Elders.

His back is pressed against a rock, his breathing harsh. His chest aches and aches and aches, just like his trembling leg and his pounding head. But none of that matters. None of that fully registers as his blood boils under his skin, panic clings to his mind and sweat prickles at his neck, his armpits, his back, everywhere.

An explosion.

It’s deafening, drowning out the screams—both the ones shouting orders and the ones screaming in anguish.

The ground shakes. The rock wall behind Obi-Wan rattles and pebbles rain down onto him and the troopers next to him.

His breath is stuck in his throat, palms sweaty and sticky against the blaster he has yet to fire. Around him the Force feels—

Hands on his shoulder. Shaking him harshly, insistently until Obi-Wan’s teeth rattle in his mouth and the panic clears.

“You okay?” a trooper—Longshot, isn’t this Longshot?—demands. “Kark, please be okay!”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan grits.

Kark, he thinks, get yourself together. You can do better than be a liability hiding behind a rock.

“Good.” Longshot pats his shoulder. “Yea, yea, good.”

“Longshot!” Commander Cody ducks behind the rock with them, a blaster in his hands.

“Commander!”

“We need you up front, I want as many of these bombers down as possible.”

Longshot nods at the weapon he’s holding, a PLX missile launcher. “I have four missiles left, sir.”

“Then you better make them count. You two,” Cody waves at the other two troopers with Obi-Wan, “cover Longshot. I’ll protect the Triumvir.”

“You don’t have to,” Obi-Wan protests as the other troopers dart forward, “go to your men.”

Men that, for as far as Obi-Wan can see, are preparing a counter-attack from a ditch half covered by a rocky over crop.

The Commander shakes his head. “No can do, sir. General’s orders.” 

“Your General is an idiot,” Obi-Wan shoots back incredulously. “That is a terrible tactical decision.”

“The Force provides,” Cody says, faux-serene in an almost perfect imitation of General Jinn as he rains a string of blaster-fire onto a bomber.

It doesn’t do much harm, but Obi-Wan supposes it’s mostly cathartic.

He certainly feels like shooting something at this point.

The bomber’s assault continues, their numbers only thinning out slowly with how few PLX missile launchers they have.

A trooper with white armor darts onto the open plains. He’s carrying a PLX and aims at at the bombers coming in for another attack.

One man against three bombers. It’s insanity.

“Trooper, get cover!” Cody orders.

Too little, too late.

Obi-Wan squeezes his eyes shut until the bombers pass.

“Thumper!” Cody vaults over the rock and towards the fallen trooper. He drops to his knees and bends over the other, his worry as clear in his movements as it is in the Force.

Thumper reaches out and clutches at Cody’s shoulder. He says something, too soft for Obi-Wan to hear.

“I don’t care, kid. Come on,” Cody replies.

Before the Commander can do anything, Thumper’s body slumps in his hold.

Unconscious–not dead. Obi-Wan can still feel the other in the Force.

Obi-Wan shudders, Cody curses.

A warning screams in the Force.

“Watch out!” Obi-Wan screams, even before he’s seen the bomber coming towards them.

It’s no use.

The Commander can’t out-shoot or out-run the bomber. He rolls the ice in an attempt to get out of the way of the blaster fire that hits the ice with sharp tak-tak-tak’s.

He’s hit regardless.

“Kark, kark, kark!” Obi-Wan curses.

Cody groans, red blood spilling over white ice.

He’s a sitting duck out there. An easy target and as good as dead if no-one does anything.

Obi-Wan is closest.

He runs so fast he all but skids over the ice. He makes it to the Commander and Thumper—to the fallen PLX—but only just.

His left leg gives out, forcing him down to the ground with a gasp.

“Triumvir, get back!” the Commander roars.

“And let you both die? I can fight.”

On the horizon, the bomber makes a 180.

“You can’t even stand. Get back, that’s an order.”

“I’m not your trooper,” Obi-Wan snips back without looking at the Commander. He picks up the PLX, arms shaking as he does, but thank the Maker for adrenaline. He aims at the hyena bomber coming right at them, and pulls the trigger.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan wakes up feeling better than he has in days.

Warm, drowsy in a way that means he’s on the good drugs, and in a bed. The bed is in a slightly upright angle, and both his head and arms are resting on soft pillows.

After Force knows how long in the cold, it might as well be heaven.

He opens his eyes to the dimmed lights of what must be a medbay, immediately flooded with relief.

“Welcome back.” Steady appears in his line of sight, checking the screen next to Obi-Wan’s bed. When he seems satisfied with what he sees, he turns to Obi-Wan with a raised eyebrow. “When I said rest, I did not mean be a lunatic and run out onto a battlefield.”

“They were going to die,” Obi-Wan protests weakly while he tries to look around the medbay without moving too much, trying to find both the Commander and trooper he’d tried to save with a burst of panic in his chest.

To his relief, Thumper is in the bed across from him, still asleep. And the Commander—

“So you decided to make corpses out of the three of us?”

The Commander is in the bed next to his, and is giving him a thoroughly unimpressed look. 

Obi-Wan gives him a pleasant smile. “You’re welcome.”

Steady sighs and raises his eyes to the ceiling. “You two deserve to be next to each other,” he says.

The medic draws the privacy-curtain and spends the next few minutes checking over Obi-Wan before giving Obi-Wan the full details of his injuries and expected recovery trajectory.

His core body-temperature is back to normal and there shouldn’t be any long-term effects from the hypothermia. He’s on painkillers for his fractured ribs, which will take roughly six weeks to heal. Here, Steady gives him a warning look. “No strenuous activity while you heal, although you should stay active. We’ll assign you to a physical therapist to help with rehabilitation and to find the right balance. He will also show you some deep-breathing and coughing exercises to help prevent a collapsed lung or lung infection.”

Obi-Wan inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you. For all the help and the care.”

Steady raises an amused eyebrow. “I’m not done,” he says and continues. He explains the wound treatment for the laceration on Obi-Wan’s leg and the management of concussion recovery. It all amounts to taking rest, but not too much and slowly reducing pain medication while increasing physical movement and return to everyday activities. He’s informed he’ll stay in the medbay for at least another forty-eight hours just in case, after which he’ll be assigned a bunk and daily appointments with the medics until his return to Melidaan.

Later, when he’s close to falling asleep he hears a soft thank you from the bed next to him. He smiles to himself and murmurs back: “You’re welcome, Commander.”

“You will not interrogate a patient in my medbay!” Steady is on the other side of the medbay, near the entrance, and still his voice is loud and thunderous. Just like the expression on his face as he looks at General Jinn.

Jinn, who looks as serene and unimpressed as Obi-Wan remembers from his time as a Padawan. “You were there, Captain Steady. It is obvious this was a trap. Medbay or not, the Triumvir must be questioned.”

In the bed next to Obi-Wan’s, Cody sighs. It’s so soft, Obi-Wan is certain he is the only one that hears and when he glances at the Commander, his expression is schooled into nothing but professionalism. “I am inclined to agree with Steady, sir,” he says, voice unwavering even when he is faced with Jinn’s judgmental eyes. “Both the Triumvir and myself are recovering in what is considered a safe and public environment.”

“I know the Triumvir saved your life,” Jinn replies tartly, brushing Cody’s comment aside without consideration, “but he is also the one that endangered it.”

Inside Obi-Wan, some abandoned part of him that is still a hopeful thirteen year-old initiate wanting to be chosen aches at being distrusted by the Jedi Master. He shoves it down and away, reminding himself he has let go of his past. That he has accepted a long time ago that Jinn’s opinion of him will always be tainted by the man’s own trauma.

Besides, despite the initial sting of such obvious distrust, Obi-Wan can’t fault the man for it. For in the end, even if Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn once knew each other as intimate as Master and Apprentice, the reality is that now they might as well be strangers.

Obi-Wan clears his throat, the sound catching everyone’s attention but he is only looking at Jinn from where he’s seated in his bed. “It wasn’t a trap.”

That is all encouragement Jinn needs to swoop into the room and towards Obi-Wan.

Steady follows at his heels. “General, I said you can’t—”

“I believe it is fine if the Triumvir is willing to talk,” Jinn interrupts with a wave of his hand.

Steady isn’t deterred. “He might be willing, but I am his assigned healthcare provider. He needs rest, and his thinking might still be impaired.”

Jinn stops and turns to give Steady a flat look. “While I appreciate your dedication, Steady, this isn’t the time. Kenobi isn’t a guest, he is currently part of an investigation and standard operating procedures dictate we must speak with him as a priority.”

Before a doubtful looking Steady can reply, Obi-Wan says: “I feel fine.”

Fine meaning the cotton in his brain is gone and he’s only on a mild dose of pain medication to keep the headache at bay. He gives Steady a small, reassuring smile. “Besides, it will be a short conversation. There is hardly much to say,” Obi-Wan says with a small shrug—and he has to bite back a wince as his ribs burn at the movement. Fine apparently also means that he needs to be a bit more mindful of his movements as he heals. He looks up at Jinn, who is now towering over him at the side of his bed. He raises an eyebrow. “Or do you think I staged my own near-death experience to do what exactly? Attack the people that saved my life?”

Jinn considers him for a moment before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I think it is best you perhaps tell me more about Melidaan’s attendance at the IRCA summit on Naboo.”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to roll his eyes. He had not expected for the Republic—or the members of the GAR, at least—to hold such flawed ideas on the IRCA. “The IRCA is an independent charitable organization, much like the Service Corps. We are not Separatists,” he states firmly. “The fact that I was shot down by Separatist vulture droids should be proof enough for that.”

The statement earns him a frown from the General. “The Separatists tried to kill you?”

“Yes. Although I don’t have the faintest as to why,” Obi-Wan says, letting out a soft and frustrated sigh. When he speaks next, it is with a pointed look at Jinn. “The only ones Melidaan has aggrieved is the Republic. But I am assuming they will not result to assassinating a planetary leader just because they refuse to join them.”

Jinn raises an eyebrow. “You would be right in your assumption. But the fact the Separatists shot you down does not mean you can’t be working with them.”

“We’d sooner work with the Republic,” Obi-Wan says with a scowl. It’s true they don’t hold love for the Republic, but they are still better than the CIS. “Have you taken the flight recorder from my ship? You will see it were indeed Separatist droids that shot me down. Unprompted.”

Jinn leans his head to the side. “Suspicious in and on itself.”

“Does the Force tell you there is any deception to what I have just said?” Obi-Wan argues, raising an eyebrow at the other man. “Surely it will tell you that all I speak is the truth.”

Jinn looks peeved at the words, if only for a fleeting moment.

It’s enough to confirm for Obi-Wan that he’s right and the other knows that he’s been told the truth.

It seems, however, Jinn isn’t quite so willing to accept it himself and he turns a questioning gaze to Cody. “What do you think, Commander?”

The Commander has been quietly following the conversation, just like everyone else in. He looks slightly aggrieved at being dragged into it and his eyes flicker from Jinn to Obi-Wan. He looks thoughtful for a moment, yet his shields are so strong Obi-Wan can’t even get an inkling of what’s going on in the other man’s mind at either the conversation or Obi-Wan’s knowledge of the Force—and Jinn’s lack of surprise at that fact.

Then, Cody turns to Jinn. “If the Force says that the Triumvir is telling the truth, I think it is worth listening.” He gives Jinn a placid smile. “The Force provides, right General?”

Jinn looks absolutely constipated at having what are most likely his own words thrown into his face, and Obi-Wan tries very hard not to laugh.

It is interesting, though, to see Jinn deflate after another second or so. As if Cody’s rather snarky words are enough to make him backtrack and reconsider the situation.

Either way, Obi-Wan finds himself grateful for Cody’s words when Jinn nods, mumbles a “Thank you, Commander” and with one last look at Obi-Wan deems the conversation finished.

Certainly, the Marshal Commander is a very efficient man if he can shut Qui-Gon Jinn up so effectively.

“Obi-Wan.” Nield’s eyes are wide in shock, his mouth slack but it only lasts a second before relief takes over. A shuddering breath, a relaxation at the side of his eyes and a wide smile that seems to go from ear to ear. “Cerasi! Cerasi come here. Hurry!” he hollers. “It’s Obi-Wan! He’s—” he breaks off on a shuddering breath and a hint of desperation tinges his voice when he breathes: “You’re alive.”

Obi-Wan swallows, a lump in his throat. He gives Nield a wan smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he jokes.

It falls completely flat.

“Kark Obi-Wan,” Nield curses, “we thought you—”

“Yea,” Obi-Wan interrupts before Nield can finish—before he can say died—and his voice is soft and frail and hoarse, “me too.”

“Obi!” Cerasi’s relieved shout booms through the small speakers of the handheld holoprojector and a second later her blue image appears next to Nield. There’s shock etched onto her face and tears clinging to her eyes.

“Hello darling.” 

“You’re alive! I–” she falters, takes a shuddering breath and when Nield lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, whispers: “We were so scared.”

Obi-Wan wishes he was with them, that he could hug them and bury his face in Cerasi’s long red hair and feel the grounding weight of Nield’s hands against his back. That he could assure all of them that he is still alive. But all he can offer at this moment is a soft: “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You swear?” Cerasi asks, looking doubtful.

“Alive doesn’t mean fine,” Nield adds, somehow managing to give Obi-Wan his trademark pointed look through the blue holo.

Somewhere in the medbay someone sorts at the comment—serving as a reminder that this isn’t actually a private conversation, even if the clone troopers around him are at least pretending to be doing something else.

Obi-Wan sighs.

He probably should know better than to offer either Cerasi or Nield placating answers anyway. Even if the words are offered as a comfort, they will always prefer the truth. A personal preference as well as a remnant of the war—when alive hardly meant fine and even the smallest of gashes could infect.

“Mostly fine,” he offers with a thin smile. “I should make a full recovery in less than two months.”

“Mostly fine,” Nield repeats with a raised eyebrow.

Cerasi lets out a short laugh and bumps her shoulder against Nield’s. “We'll take it. When neither us nor Padmé had heard from you…”

Nield frowns and, when Cerasi trails off, asks: “What happened? Where are you?” 

“I got shot down. But it’s—”

“Shot down!” Cerasi echoes, her face pale and shocked.

“Who?” Nield demands with a growl, fierce anger burning in his eyes. “Was it the Republic?”

“Hey!” Razor, one of the Clones in the medbay, cries in offense.

He’s immediately shushed by someone else, but the damage has already been done.

Nield’s eyes narrow. “Who’s that? Obi-Wan, where are you?” he demands.

Obi-Wan sighs. It’s not that he wasn’t going to tell Nield and Cerasi anyway, because this is information they have to know. It’s just that he’d have preferred to perhaps share it later. When the medbay isn’t as full as it is with troopers healing after the attack on the ice-moon they rescued him from. Because when it comes to holding grudges, Nield is vicious. He sinks in his teeth, and never lets go.

And the grudge he holds against the Republic is almost as big as that he holds towards the Jedi.

“I’m on the Maverick,” Obi-Wan says, careful and slow so he can take his time to pick his words. “A Republic cruiser.”

Nield’s expression darkens in an instant. “Excuse me!?”

“Not,” Obi-Wan says firmly before Nield can start a tantrum, “because they shot me down, but because it is the GAR that saved me.”

“They can still be the ones that shot you down,” Nield snorts, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Obi-Wan sighs. This feels very much like the conversation he had with Jinn just an hour ago. It’s a good thing Steady’s shift has ended and it’s Curie leading medbay for the moment. The CMO would most likely have snatched the comlink from Obi-Wan’s hands muttering cutting comments about rest and limiting stress. Although Curie might do the same if he doesn’t deescalate this quickly. “They don’t fly vulture droids,” he counters, hoping it will settle Nield.

“The Separatists attacked you?” Cerasi asks, “Why?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No clue.”

“They ought to leave us alone, both the Republic and the Separatists,” Nield spits, anger burning in his eyes. “Whatever they want, they are not getting it.”

Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Now is not the time,” he says. He understands Nield is thinking of a few months ago, when the Republic tried to move heaven and earth to get Melidaan to join them because they were conveniently located. When the Republic hadn’t taken no for an answer, Melidaan had to fight an uphill battle to get the Senate representatives off of their planet without bloodshed.

“I’m sure Nield is just as grateful as I that the GAR rescued you,” Cerasi says, voice just a little louder and her statement obviously meant for their audience rather than Obi-Wan. After a moment of silence, she raises an eyebrow. “So, are they also bringing you home?”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says, chuckling awkwardly, “about that…”

Cerasi and Nield are as happy hearing that the Maverick won’t actually cycle by Melidaan until after their upcoming campaign as Obi-Wan had expected them to be.

After reassuring them that yes, he will be fine and yes, it is really agreed he would be brought back as soon as possible, his next call is to Padmé.

She answers after a few seconds, and while she is relieved and slightly tearful to see him—demanding to know if he’s fine, what happened and Obi-Wan is having the same conversation again—she also doesn’t seem as shocked or surprised as Cerasi and Nield had been.

Obi-Wan raises an accusing eyebrow. “Something tells me you already knew the GAR rescued me.”

“Yes,” she says with a bashful smile and even through the holo Obi-Wan can tell a blush is staining her cheeks, “I was already informed.”

Obi-Wan is no fool. He leans his head to the side with a smirk. “Ah yes, your trusted friend.”

Around him, some troopers snicker and the Force feels nothing but amused around the men. So far for keeping a secret relationship a secret, he thinks.

“Indeed,” Padmé says, clearing hear throat. “Unfortunately, General Skywalker was too far away to come himself, but General Jinn agreed to postpone their own mission to search for you.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “What?”

Padmé, oblivious at Obi-Wan’s sudden confusion, continues talking. “I was so worried when I hadn’t heard from you when I knew you were supposed to be back on Melidaan already. And when I commed and Cerasi said she didn’t know where you were either. I had to call for help.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan mumbles, feeling rather surprised at this information.

Padmé had called for help. Not only that, apparently the 212^th had gone out of their way to rescue him. To search for him. He’d simply assumed they were planet-side regardless and he’d merely been lucky to be discovered.

“I’ll be sure to thank everyone properly,” he says, feeling rather embarrassed. He swallows, wondering how big an asshole he seems in the eyes of the clones at his lack of gratitude.

Once he’s finished his call with Padmé, he turns to Cody with an apologetic smile.

The Commander is already looking at him with a small, curious frown.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I thought I’d just gotten karking lucky that your battalion found me during your mission. But now it seems that I was the mission.”

Cody hums in recognition of the words.

“Thank you,” he says and hopes it sounds as heartfelt as he means for it to be. “I know you most likely didn’t have much choice, but thank you all the same. I owe my life to you and your men.” He lets his eyes trail from Cody’s confused expression to give small smiles to the men around him.

Men, he realizes, that wouldn’t be in medbay in various states of injury if it hadn’t been for Obi-Wan.

He looks at Cody with a wry smile. “I do admit I feel rather guilty now. If it had not been for me, you would never have been on that planet. Would never have been attacked.”

The Commander gives him a calculating look. Lets it rest heavily on Obi-Wan for a few moments as if Cody is trying to stare into his very soul–searching for an answer to a question Obi-Wan doesn’t understand. Then, he gives a half-shrug and turns back to the datapad in his hand. “Being under attack is part of our jobs. For as far as battles go, this was a good one that ended with no mortal casualties,” he says drolly, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. “In fact, considering we also succeeded in our mission and rescued you, I almost ought to thank you for your assistance in boosting morale, Triumvir.”

For a You’re welcome it’s really rather terrible.

Obi-Wan lets out a surprised laugh. “At least something good came out of this then.”

If he feels the burn of Cody’s eyes against the side of his head, he ignores them just like he ignores the fact that he finds it remarkably easy to talk with the Commander.

Curie confiscates his com after he’s made his approved and agreed two calls, with a kind smile and the words Unless you want Steady to take it instead. Also, try to limit the use of your datapad before I’m forced to take that, too.

Obi-Wan recognizes a threat when he hears one, and doesn’t complain.

“Wise choice,” Thumper says with a chuckle as Curie saunters back to his desk-space near the entrance of the medbay.

It’s been a day since Obi-Wan was brought to the Maverick, and twelve clones of the forty-sized platoon that rescued him are currently still in the medbay with him. Soon to be eleven, he assumes, considering Cody has been passive-aggressively arguing with Steady why one of the highest ranking Clone Commanders should not be stuck in a medbay with some blaster wound that’s really not all that bad . Steady looked very close to actually discharging Cody just to be rid of the man.

Obi-Wan turns his eyes from the disgruntled Commander to Thumper, who is in the bed across from him. The clone has taken a liking to him, and Obi-Wan guesses it’s because he saved the man’s life.

When Thumper catches his eyes, he shakes his head. “Medics are terrifying.”

Obi-Wan thinks of Roenni, whose golden eyes—inherited from her Pantoran mother—go from kind to fierce the moment she sets foot within the hospital, and chuckles. “Terrifying indeed,” he agrees. “I know a medic, she only reaches my shoulder but I promise when she sets foot in the hospital she seems to grow a head taller at least. One look and no-one would dare disobey her orders.”

“So natborn medics are the same?” Thumper asks with an excited grin.

Obi-Wan hums. “I would say all medics are the same, clone or not.”

“Wouldn’t know, sir. I’ve never met anyone that wasn’t a brother or a Jedi,” Thumper replies, almost wistfully. “You’re the first.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in surprise.

Razor, who is in the bed next to Thumper, scoffs. “Liar. You’ve met Kaminoans.”

Thumper rolls his eyes. “Aiwha-bait doesn’t count.”

Obi-Wan’s mind, however, is still on Thumper’s previous words. Still in disbelief, because he knows he’s heard right but somehow it feels as if he can’t have. “You’ve never met anyone other than your brothers, the Jedi or the Kaminoans?” he asks.

Thumper nods, “Yea! I’m just a shiny, sir. Only been with the 212th for one campaign. This’ll be my second.”

Somewhat fleetingly, Obi-Wan wonders how old Thumper is—how old the clones are, in general—if he’s never even met a random person. How sheltered he must have grown up. Of course, he’s heard it all. They are clones, created to be soldiers but hearing a news reel and actually hearing the devastating fact for himself are two different things.

It makes him sad and angry all at once, the injustice of it burning under his skin and he is yet again grateful that Melidaan is not part of the Republic.

“You have no war where you’re from, right?” Thumper asks, oblivious to Obi-Wan’s thoughts. He peers at Obi-Wan with wide, curious eyes.

It’s an expression Obi-Wan is well acquainted with, Cerasi’s little boy Hugo throwing it his way whenever he catches Obi-Wan using the Force. Obi-Wan can’t help but smile fondly as he softly and gratefully says: “We don’t.”

Not anymore.

“What’s it like?” Thumper asks almost breathlessly.

In the bed next to him, Razor laughs. “Why do you wanna know?” Razor asks with a teasing raised eyebrow. “Gonna leave with the Triumvir when we bring him back?”

“No!” Thumper’s eyes widen. “I just— I’ve never seen a planet without fighting. Jus’ curious,” he mumbles, sounding almost embarrassed.

Razor huffs. “So you wanna know about a Seppie planet?”

Thumper frowns. “He’s said they’re not.”

“And you believe him?”

“I do.” Cody’s voice isn’t loud, but it is firm and certain and throws the entire medbay into silence. It also draws everyone’s shocked eyes to him.

Including Obi-Wan’s.

Cody looks sure and steadfast, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know what he has done to get this man into his corner but he knows it is something he should be grateful for.

“Right,” Razor mumbles meekly after a moment, “right. My apologies, Commander.”

Cody raises a sharp eyebrow. “I’m not the one who you should be apologizing to.”

Obi-Wan coughs and offers first Cody and then Thumper a smile. “How about I tell you about Melidaan,” he says, because the last thing he wants is cause animosity between the clones.

So he tells them about his beloved Melidaan instead—the Melidaan they are still shaping, creating both new traditions and bringing back old from a time long ago, when they hadn’t yet tried to completely decimate their own culture through war. 

How in winter het Veluwemeer—a lake just south of Zehava—freezes over completely when the conditions are just right. How they’ll all go out with their ice-skates and even the littlest ones that can barely toddle along get brought onto the ice by their parents. The races they have, although Obi-Wan isn’t skilled enough to join them, and the split-pea soup they’ll eat when both their fingers and insides are frozen after a long day out in the cold.

The flax fields that stretch far and wide outside the borders of the Zehava suburbs, where the flat terrain stretches undisturbed, sometimes for hours if you took a drive by them. How he always enjoys late spring so much, when the flax blooms and the fields look whimsical as the flax’s little, sky blue flowers bob on a soft breeze. The gold tones the flax turns into when it’s ready to be harvested, and instead of little flowers it are soft golden seedheads that bob on the breeze, the seeds rattling in their pods calling the farmers to their fields.

The foods he loves the most. The sweet stroopwafels and perhaps eccentric drop, licorice that one can get in both sweet and salt variants and Obi-Wan’s rarely met an off-worlder that’s actually liked it. The herring from the other side of the planet, fished in the sea near the northern seaside city of Zandvoort, that’s deliciously soft and fatty and best when smothered in raw onions.

When Obi-Wan finishes, Thumper sighs wistfully—a feeling that’s wordlessly echoed in the Force by some of the other clones. “I’d like to visit once.”

Obi-Wan smiles, his heart aching in his chest as he bites back a You’re welcome to.

When Obi-Wan is released from the medbay with the instructions to take rest and a daily appointment with a medic and a physical therapist for his remaining time on the Maverick, Wooley is waiting for him at the entrance.

“Hello,” Wooley greets, “I’m here to give you a tour of the place so you don’t get lost.”

Obi-Wan wonders if somewhere in the man’s instructions there had also been something about not letting the Maverick’s temporary guest wander around a Republic cruiser unattended, but he’s best off not asking.

Wooley has a mohawk and a lopsided grin that makes him look rather mischievous. Obi-Wan hadn’t really noticed that first time, what with him being on death’s doorstep. But now that Wooley is taking him around the ship with a slight bounce in his step and running commentary on points of interests and anecdotes that really don’t mean much to Obi-Wan, he does.

He is also not a medic, as Obi-Wan had initially thought.

“But in the wreckage, you were there,” Obi-Wan says as they turn into a long hallway that’s rather crowded with troopers going about their business—and taking a small pause in that business to look at Obi-Wan when he passes.

Wooley chuckles. “I was just helping. Took an extra course, after Krystar. I’m no medic, but I can help, you know? Every squad must have at least one trooper with intermediate life support training in case shit hits the fan. Which happens a lot.” Wooley flashes Obi-Wan a grin. “Especially since my squad, we’re ARC’s.”

“ARC’s?”

Wooley’s shoulders straighten a bit and he radiates pride as he says: “Advanced Recon Commandos.”

A special unit of some sort then, Obi-Wan thinks. “And now you are babysitting me.”

“Could be worse. Trust me.” Wooley shrugs.

Obi-Wan chuckles. With a ship this size, he can only imagine the different kinds of duties one can be scheduled on. “Oh I do.”

“Plus you’re not all that bad, Triumvir.”

Obi-Wan waves a hand in the air. “Obi-Wan is fine,” he offers. Back home, he hardly gets called by his title and he’ll admit he’s getting rather tired of hearing it constantly.

Wooley hums and pauses at a wide side of doors that he waves a hand at. “Well then, Obi-Wan, here’s the mess hall. Avoid mornings between six and seven-thirty and evenings between five-thirty and seven. Shift change is a real bitch and there’ll be no free seats.”

The doors slide open and a gaggle of troopers spills out. Behind them, inside the mess hall a cacophony of voices, laughter and what sounds a lot like an argument from the mess hall. It feels like a hundred voices—might, actually, very well be—that wash over Obi-Wan like a tsunami. It’s overwhelming, the sudden burst of sound accompanied by the feeling of so many beings in the Force, even if somehow every single trooper has at least some basic shielding.

When the last trooper is out, the doors close and the hallway is relatively silent again.

Obi-Wan feels as if his ears are ringing and he lets out a soft breath.

Wooley chuckles as if he’s painfully aware of how overwhelmed Obi-Wan is and pats Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “And lots of shouting. Come on, gym’s next.”

The last stop of the tour are the sleeping quarters. The doors of the turbolift open to reveal a long hallway, stretching off into the distance where the Clones walking are nothing but little specs—bringing home just how terrifyingly big the Maverick is. Narrow corridors lead off of the main hallway, with Clones darting in and out of them constantly. It’s obvious that this is a space where the troops feel comfortable, at ease. They are more casual, some even missing parts of their armor, others standing around in little groups just talking and laughing.

Obi-Wan’s still taking it in when Wooley waves his hand around. “So layout’s pretty simple. Rooms are accessed through the corridors, which branch off of the main hallway. Each corridor is numbered, and there’s six to a room and shared freshers every third corridor.” He turns to Obi-Wan with a grin. “For your convenience, you’re in corridor one.”

Obi-Wan chuckles in relief. “Good. This place is a maze.”

“It’s just the sheer size of it really,” Wooley says, walking towards the first corridor on the right and turning into it. “The shinies get lost all the time, so you’re not alone. Just remember that the ship’s divided into five-deck sections. Each section has its own sleeping quarters, a gym, rec-room and a mess hall. That’s all you’ll need. Oh, and medbay. But that’s way up high. Closer to the hangar and the bridge.”

“Right, thanks,” Obi-wan says with a nod, but his mind is distracted.

For in the corridor, the lightheartedness he felt before falls away. Here, the Force feels slightly cold and wet. Here, grief clings to the walls.

Obi-Wan wonders if it has something to do with the pauldrons. They hang on the walls next to the doors of each room. Initially they look like decoration, but there is no logic behind the number of pauldrons per room. Obi-Wan wonders whose they are, if they belong to the clone staying in the room.

But Wooley doesn’t offer any information, and so Obi-Wan doesn’t ask.

“We’re here,” Wooley says and stops in front of a door on his left-hand side. He keys in a code in the pad next to it, reciting it out loud for Obi-Wan to take note.

The door slides open to reveal one of the smallest rooms Obi-Wan has ever seen. It contains a single bed, two shelves mounted above it and that’s all the space will allow for.

“The Commander thought that you’d probably prefer your own room,” Wooley says and then, after a small pause, peers into the room with a small frown. “Well, it’s more of a supply closet with a bed,” he concludes and then he’s looking at Obi-Wan with that lopsided grin. “But it’s all yours.”

Obi-Wan smiles at Wooley. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, because no matter the size of the room he’s grateful they assigned him one, “I appreciate it.”

“Still gonna have to use the shared freshers though.” Wooley’s grin turns a bit sharper, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Hope you don’t mind. Heard natborns can be a bit…” he trails off, waving a hand in the air.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Prudish?”

Wooley chortles. “Yea, that.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I’ve got enough experience with communal showers,” he says. After the war, before they had finished rebuilding all they’d had were communal areas. Sleeping, showering, eating, everything had to be shared because there simply was not enough rebuild to do it privately. “The room’s perfect. Truly, I’m grateful for all that you and the rest of the troops are doing for me.”

“Well you did save the Commander and Thumper,” Wooley says with a smile. “Like I said, Obi-Wan, you’re not all that bad.”

Thinking of the kindness he’s received and Melidaan’s efforts—his efforts—to keep the Republic and the GAR as far away from them as possible, Obi-Wan is certain that the smile he gives Wooley in reply doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Obi-Wan is considering trying to find his way to the mess hall when his door chimes.

He gets up and opens it to find Jinn standing on the other side.

“Triumvir Kenobi,” Jinn greets with a small nod of his head.

Obi-Wan inclines his head. “General Jinn.”

“I was wondering if you would have a few moments to talk,” Jinn says.

“I think my schedule will allow it,” Obi-Wan replies with a huff and steps aside the bare few centimeters the room allows. “Come in. I assume this is a conversation best had in private.”

Jinn steps in with a nod and doesn’t fill the silence when the door closes behind him. Instead, he takes a moment to look at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan assumes he is being regarded in much the same way as he is regarding the man that now stands in front of him. Looking at Jinn doesn’t come with the barrage of emotions he’d expected it to.

He had always expected that if he were to ever reunite with his former Master, it would come accompanied with a longing. A sense of regret, perhaps, to tell him he made the wrong choice by staying on Melidaan. But it hasn’t come. Not when the man in front of him looks exhausted from fighting a war in ways that are painfully familiar to Obi-Wan. Not when the lines of grief are carved as deep into Jinn’s face as they are in the Force that surrounds him.

Looking at a man he had always regarded as larger-than-life as a child and seeing him this despondent, it is clear there is nothing to regret.

Jinn clears his throat. “Why I’m here,” he starts, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “is because our slicers have finished analyzing the flight recorder from your ship.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says with a nod and pushes down any inkling of disappointment that grows with him. It doesn’t matter that he had perhaps been expecting an apology. He doesn’t need one when it is this long overdue. “Why don’t we sit on the bed. I know the room is small, but it will be more comfortable.”

He is right, of course, that it is more comfortable than having two adult, grown men stand chest-to-chest in the small room. It is also karking awkward.

Jinn either doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care. “Your story checks out,” he says, turning his head so he can look at Obi-Wan with a rather complicated expression on his face. “It were Separatist droids that attacked you. Considering this, we believe this was an attempt on your life rather than an attack on the GAR. We were not supposed to be in the area, nor could they have suspected that we would be coming to your aid. The question, however, is why they would attack you.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “Like I said, I don’t know. But it is a matter that we will certainly investigate. I could, if you wish, let you know the results of our investigation. Considering it was the 212^th that rescued me, it is the least I can offer.”

“Thank you,” Jinn says, although there is some uncertainty in his eyes.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “You seem surprised.”

For a moment, Jinn regards him silently. Then, he lowers his eyes with a wry smile tugging at his lips and an inkling of guilt surrounding him. “I had expected something more gleeful, perhaps.”

“That my words were proven right?” Obi-Wan asks and shakes his head. “You have your men to protect, I understand very well that you can’t just take me by my word alone. We might have known each other once, but neither of us are the same people any longer.”

It is a truth that Jinn had perhaps not expected to hear, Obi-Wan thinks, as the man sighs. He leans his elbows on his knees and stares at the wall as he asks: “Do you regret it?”

“Do you?” Obi-Wan shoots back sharply with a frown directed at Jinn. He feels the same indignation as he had in the cave, wondering what in the Force’s name is going on in Jinn’s mind. If he has learned, grown, changed or if he still clings to the belief that it was him that was betrayed that day on Melida/Daan.

“What I said in the cave—” Jinn says, soft and an uncharacteristic hesitant lilt to his voice, “it was tactless. The choices we made are far behind us. But if there is anything I would wish for you to know it’s that…” Jinn falters momentarily. Searching for words with a pinched expression.

Obi-Wan watches the man silently and does not fill the silence.

Jinn glances at him, his eyes soft in a way they shouldn't be allowed to be when looking at Obi-Wan. “You have grown into a fine man.”

It’s not an answer to his question, but the words do take Obi-Wan by complete surprise.

Some childish part of him is happy that his former Master is proud of him and another part of him is furious that the man thinks this matters at all. After decades of silence, why does he have to hear this now?

“In fact,” Jinn continues pleasantly, as if he has not just said something that’s tilted Obi-Wan’s world sideways, “I do think that perhaps we should take this reunion as a sign from the Force. I would certainly not be opposed to getting reacquainted with you.”

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes.

Slowly, the meaning of the words sink in. Slowly, he looks beyond the slightly hopeful smile on Jinn’s face and at the facts.

And isn’t it a fact that this is all rather suspicious?

Here he is, just under a year after Melidaan told the Republic no, on a Republic cruiser. Shot down by the Separatists without reason, saved by the GAR and now sitting beside his former Master that all of a sudden wishes to reconnect.

The Force is quiet and calm, but still Obi-Wan doesn’t trust this.

“Perhaps,” he says, even if he really means no.

For if there truly is more to this, then he wants to know.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan needs to ask for directions thrice before he makes it to the mess hall.

When he enters, it’s well past nine in the evening and far less busy than when Wooley had shown it to him. Small groups of clones sit, making small-talk over mostly empty trays. He spots Commander Cody, sitting at the end of a long table near the back with two troopers Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize. As if he realizes he’s being watched, Cody lifts his head and catches Obi-Wan’s eyes.

Obi-Wan gives the man a small, polite nod and then turns to leave Cody to it and to get some food for himself. There isn’t too much of a variety of food left—if there even was one in the first place—but he isn’t picky. He takes his tray with thick, yellow soup and what looks like stale bread to an empty table.

He sits down and finishes his soup in under five minutes. It is unnecessarily fast, he knows. But old habits die hard. He considers spending some time with the buzz of conversation around him reading on his datapad, but Steady’s warning to limit both his work and screen-time echoes through his mind.

Probably for the best—and, of course, his own health—if he obliges.

So he gets up, puts away his tray with dirty dishes and mentally prepares himself to get lost at least twice on his way back. The route he took to get here was far from direct, after all, so he’s going to attempt to find a better one.

When he gets to the doors of the mess hall, he runs into Cody. Who looks a lot like he is waiting, still in his armor, his helmet tucked under his elbow and sharp eyes on Obi-Wan.

It’s hardly subtle, but Obi-Wan can appreciate that.

“Wooley informed me you found the Maverick large,” Cody says conversationally with a knowing look in his eyes, “I thought I could walk you back to your room to avoid you getting lost.”

It is certainly a way to say either I’m here to keep an eye on you or I have questions you need to answer. Perhaps it’s both, two birds with one stone and all that. The Commander seems like the kind of man that is efficient like that.

“Thank you, Commander,” Obi-Wan says and when Cody turns and walks away into the opposite direction of which Obi-Wan had come from on his arrival, he follows. When they’ve fallen into step—a rather slow one, and Obi-Wan is grateful for Cody’s consideration—Obi-Wan glances at Cody. “I appreciate the concern. Although I am surprised a man of your rank would spend his time chaperoning a guest.”

Cody glances at him with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the oblivious type, Triumvir,” is all he says.

And the thing is, Obi-Wan isn’t. He knows this is the first time he is alone with Cody since they met. He also knows that the man must have questions and that this is the first opportunity to ask them.

“Obi-Wan, please,” he says, because if they are going to do this—which is Cody asking questions that Obi-Wan will evade at any cost—he’d rather the other use his name.

“Cody. But you already knew that,” Cody says, voice steady and professional but he doesn’t need his tone to change to sound accusing. “I do wonder, Obi-Wan, where we have met,” he says and his eyes glint in the fluorescent lights overhead as he takes in Obi-Wan. “A man such as yourself, I’d imagine I would remember.”

Obi-Wan lets out a surprised laugh at the unexpected tease, which settles into a grin when he quips back at Cody: “You’re a famous man, Marshal Commander. I’m certain many people recognize you.”

If Cody is surprised by the words, he doesn’t show it. “My face is one in millions. Marshal Commander or not, no natborn would know me from any of my brothers,” he says as he leads Obi-Wan to the nearest turbolift. When they reach it, he calls for the lift and, as they wait, gives Obi-Wan a pointed look. “Not without reason.”

Obi-Wan could say that he would know all of them through their differences in the Force, even if they all carry the same face. He doubts that it would improve the situation, though, considering he’s not even sure if he clones realize he’s Force sensitive.

So instead he shrugs and gives Cody a pleasant smile. “It’s nothing important.”

From a certain point of view, it’s not even a lie. The vision is not important, not anymore, simply because it is redundant. A future that will never be.

The lift arrives and they silently enter it. There’s a trooper about to follow, but one pointed look from his commanding officer has him change his mind.

The doors close, leaving them alone and when the lift starts moving, Cody says: “You looked like it was important.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms in front of his chest with a huff. “I wasn’t exactly lucid.” He would never have said it if he had been.

 “Of course,” Cody agrees politely and then decides to drastically change tactics. “You know General Jinn.”

Obi-Wan makes a face. This is something he can’t deny. “I do.”

Cody hums. “Also from the news?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a joke. “Considering that’s where you learned about me.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t rise to the bait. “You can ask your General why we know each other.”

“I will,” Cody says.

An empty threat. They both know that he won’t.

“Obi-Wan! Hey, Obi-Wan!”

Obi-Wan is trying to find an empty seat in the rather crowded mess-hall when he hears someone call his name. He looks around and finds the familiar face of Wooley beaming at him from three tables away.

The moment their eyes catch, Wooley waves him over.

Obi-Wan makes his way over to the long table, which only has some free seats at the edges, and gives Wooley a smile. “Hello Wooley,” he greets and gives the others at the table a smile as well.

“You’ll join us, right?” Wooley asks, not waiting for an answer and already turning to the men sitting next to him and making a shooing motion with his hands. “Come on, make some space.”

There’s some muttering as the men shuffle down the bench, dragging their trays with them, to make space for Obi-Wan.

“No, no!” Obi-Wan objects, “you don’t have to.”

Wooley waves him off with a lopsided grin. “Our pleasure,” he says with an easy shrug and pats the spot next to him that’s now free. “Come, sit.”

“Besides,” the bald man sitting across Wooley says as Obi-Wan sits down, “we’d like the opportunity to meet you personally as well. I’m Waxer.”

Obi-Wan forces a gasp down. His mind flashes back to his vision, to a soldier clad in now familiar orange-painted armor that had the Twi-lek on his helmet. That was this man, that’s now sitting opposite of Obi-Wan with kind eyes and a welcoming smile.

Just as with the Commander, it is both exciting and haunting to put a face with the name that’s been burned on his mind since his teenage years.

“That’s Boil,” Waxer continues cheerfully, waving at the man next to him.

Boil, who has a rather remarkable mustache, gives Obi-Wan a nod.

“And we’ve met!” the man sitting on Wooley’s other side pipes up. He leans forward, looking at Obi-Wan around Wooley with a small smile—he looks to be the same age as Wooley, both of them seeming younger than Waxer and Boil, and has a long scar running down his left cheek. “I’m Longshot.”

Ah yes, he remembers Longshot from the fight. “Then I owe you my thanks, for protecting me.”

Longshot chuckles. “Didn’t look like you needed it. That was one great shot you took out there.” 

“Call it luck,” Obi-Wan says. Luck being the experience of the Melidaan war and the Force, but neither of those are things the men around him need to know.

Longshot hums. “Heard you’re from a pretty cool place.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

Waxer laughs. “Thumper’s quite taken with Melidaan, I think he wants to move there once the war’s over.”

“Might be a while before he gets that chance,” Boil says.

“Boil!” Waxer chides and jabs his elbow into Boil’s side.

Wooley and Longshot ignore them with fond smiles, as if this is a regular occurrence.

“Well he did make it sound good!” Wooley says and then asks: “Is it true that skating is an important mode of transportation?”

Obi-Wan laughs. It seems that gossip spreads quite efficiently through a battalion of clones, even if the end result isn’t exactly close to truth any longer. “Not quite,” he says.

That’s how they curiously and enthusiastically rope him into talking about Melidaan.

Until Cody walks up to the table from where he was previously seated at the back of the mess. “Harassing the Triumvir, are we?”

“Just chatting!” Wooley blurts, shaking his head. “No harassing of any kind, sir.”

Cody just raises an eyebrow at him. “Mind if I join?” he asks and it sounds like a genuine request.

“Not at all, Commander,” Boil answers with a grin and the men have shuffled over on the bench—this time without complaint—to make space for Cody to sit down next to Waxer.

It is incredible how quickly most other troopers suddenly finish their meal and flee the table, leaving only a third of their initial group behind. None of Obi-Wan’s conversation partners have moved. In fact, they all seem rather unbothered by the fact their Commander is sitting at the table with them.

“Don’t mind me,” Cody says, eyes gleaming in amusement as he tracks the men fleeing the table, “feel free to continue.”

Wooley certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. “What was it like, growing up on Melidaan?”

Obi-Wan sighs. It’s not an unexpected question, considering the men are all curious and not the least bit shy about voicing said curiosity. But here, he unfortunately doesn’t have any fun stories to share. “I spent most of my childhood days on Coruscant, actually. I was only thirteen when I went to Melidaan. It certainly made for a better childhood. Before I came, Melidaan was already at war for several centuries.”

“There was a war?” Boil asks.

“Centuries!?” Longshot cries.

The others all look at Obi-Wan in varying states of shock and surprise.

“It was a conflict between the Melida and the Daan. No-one knows why it started, not after so long,” Obi-Wan explains, a pinched expression on his face.

There is more to say, of course. Of generation after generation fueling a war fought out of nothing but sickly tradition and hatred. Of the Halls of Evidence, memorials that did nothing more than brainwash and spread propaganda. Of children growing up in ruins, no place to call home and starving with no schools nor proper healthcare. Of those very children deciding that enough was enough, and either they would end the war or die trying.

Cerasi would frown and Nield would slap his shoulder if they would ever hear him say this, but it’s not Obi-Wan’s place to share those things. He calls himself Melidaan with pride and carries his title as Triumvir with honor, but their past is not his past. Not when he carries warm memories of his youth at the Temple with him while all the others have are nightmares. He is one of them, and has been ever since he decided to stay and fight for what’s right, but that does not mean that their pain is his to share.

He shakes his head and forces a smile onto his lips. “But at least we ended the war.”

“You helped end a war?” Longshot asks, awe clear in his voice.

Wooley tips his head to the side. “Did you fight?”

He supposes this is something they can relate to, but he can’t share their awe or excitement. Not when the words “We all did” still leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

“When did the war end?” Waxer asks, soft and somewhat gentle as if he’s speaking to a wounded animal.

Obi-Wan gives him a small smile. “Almost two decades ago.”

“Two decades?” Cody echoes. All eyes turn to him but the Commander is looking at Obi-Wan with a frown. “You sure that’s right?” he asks bluntly.

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes, indignation clear on his face and his voice is sharp as he demands: “Excuse me?”

Cody’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You natborns don’t age like we do. It’s much slower. But two decades ago even you were too young to fight in a war.”

The anger starting to boil in Obi-Wan’s chest dissipates. Of course the man that commands the 7th Sky Corps has a quick, sharp mind. Of course he did the math and, of course, with all the questions Obi-Wan has left him with he is not going to leave it unaddressed.

Obi-Wan doesn’t look away from Cody, even if the grief and the scars of war try to claw their way out of the cavities of his heart. “We were too young, that’s true. But we did fight,” he says softly, a wry smile pulling his features into something anguished. “If it wasn’t for the Young, the Elders would still be fighting.”

There is a shocked beat of silence, Cody’s expression falling into one of understanding followed by regret.

But before he can say anything, the others have recovered.

Waxer looks absolutely shocked as he whispers: “The Young…”

“B-But—” Longshot stammers.

“Where were your parents?” Boil asks, “the government?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “When the adults have been fighting for generations, there’s not much left of a place.”

“What about the Republic?” Wooley’s voice is small, like he’s almost afraid of the answer.

“It was a civil war outside of Republic space, they didn’t have any jurisdiction nor did they hold any interest in Melidaan. They did intervene once. But only because the Melida and the Daan requested them to send a Jedi to help negotiate a peace treaty,” Obi-Wan says. It feels strange to talk about the situation like this. So far removed and leaving out as many details—any details, actually—as he can get away with.

“Ah, but they sent a Jedi,” Wooley says. “They must’ve helped to end the war, right?”

Obi-Wan presses his lips together.

He almost doesn’t want to say it, with how hopeful the men look. With their unwavering trust in the Republic and the Jedi. But it was a long time ago, the Galaxy at large hadn’t been at war.

The situations aren’t comparable at all, even if to this day Obi-Wan still believes that Jinn should have stayed. Should have let go of his attachment to Tahl and the mission directive as he was known to do whenever it suited him, and supported the Young. But while he has his opinions and feelings on what his former Master should have done, that is in the past and can’t be changed.

“Right?” Longshot echoes when they don’t get an answer, soft and hopeful.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Ending the war was never the objective of the mission. The Jedi were called to help negotiate but it was a trap and one of them got severely injured,” he says and hopes that the lack of details will go unquestioned this time. “In the end, the Jedi left and it was the Young that ended the war.”

“Which Jedi did they send?” Cody asks, gentler this time.

Obi-Wan looks at him. At those sharp eyes that don’t hide the thoughts running through the man’s mind. The conclusions he is most likely coming to.

Well, Obi-Wan supposes he owes the Commander at least one answer.

“It’s not important,” he says carefully, “it was a long time ago.”

Cody’s eyes widen at the words that are an echo of their earlier conversation.

You know General Jinn

“Right,” Cody says and offers Obi-Wan an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, giving Cody a reassuring smile in return. “No harm done, Commander.”

He comms Nield that evening. Or at least, it’s evening-cycle on the Maverick. On Melidaan it’s the middle of the day and he’s caught Nield doing flimsiwork.

Nield happily sets his work aside in favor of talking with Obi-Wan, but not before waving a hand at his desk with an exaggerated sigh. “The amount of work I need to do to pick up your slack is ridiculous. Is this really what you normally do?”

Obi-Wan laughs. “I probably do more,” he admits. 

“Obi!” Nield scolds. “You really shouldn’t. We’re supposed to be a Triumvirate, aren’t we?”

Obi-Wan waves him off. “Cerasi has Hugo and we both know that you hate administrative work. Really, I don’t mind.”

Nield rolls his eyes. “Can’t you ask those clones if they can make one of you too?”

“Not send one with?” Obi-Wan asks with a huff, because surely that would be more efficient than actually cloning him—even he has to admit the Galaxy at large doesn’t need two of him running around.

Nield scoffs. “No thanks, I’d rather have you.”

“They’re not that bad, Nield.”

“They’re still the same clones that will destroy Zehava,” Nield retorts sharply.

Obi-Wan sighs. At fifteen it had seemed like a good idea to tell his fellow Triumvir and the Council about his vision. Especially when he could still feel the sweat of experiencing it sticking against his back and a grief not his own echoing through his heart. Now, though, there are times when he wonders if it was the right thing to share with people a thing they would never fully understand.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty and the past can’t be changed.

So for what feels like the umpteenth time, he tells Nield: “That’s not how visions work. Even if they did, we did all we could to prevent this one from happening. Besides,” he adds with a frown, “the clones are just soldiers. They hardly have a say in things. They’re just following orders.”

“It just makes me nervous.”

“I know.”

Nield sighs and with a wave of his hand dismisses the conversation. “So what are they like, then? They all the same, since they’re clones?”

“They’re far from the same,” Obi-Wan says with a roll of his eyes. “They’re individuals, have different personalities. They’re not droids.”

“Still all have the same name and age.”

“I don’t think they’re all the same age,” Obi-Wan says. He thinks of Thumper and how he’s only recently joined the 212th. How he brims with bright-eyed excitement and the kind of energy thrumming through his veins that matches little Hugo’s. He makes a face. “I think some of them are young, though.”

“How young?” Nield asks with a frown, something hesitant creeping into his voice.

“I don’t know. Cody said they age much quicker than we do, but I’m not sure what that means in actual years. They look like adults.”

“Cody,” Nield echoes, voice flat and expression pinched, “as in Commander Cody?”

Of course that is what Nield picks up on. Obi-Wan resists the urge to sigh. “Yes.”

“Kark, this situation couldn’t be any worse.” Nield throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Now you gotta be stuck on a ship with that guy too. At least those stardestroyers are massive. Should be easy enough to avoid him.”

In theory, Nield is right. With the sheer size of the Maverick, it should be easy enough not to run into someone unless one really wants to. It’s what Obi-Wan has done with Jinn, after all, and aside from the two prior interactions he’s been quite successful. But part of him knows that avoidance goes both ways.

It is not only his fault that somehow the Commander seems to pop up wherever he goes.

“You are avoiding him, aren’t you?” Nield asks impatiently after a few seconds when Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything.

Obi-Wan presses his lips together.

“Obi…” Nield says, a warning ring to his voice. He doesn’t say more, nor does he need to.

They both know what he’s saying with just that.

Obi-Wan gives Nield a smile. He hopes it’s convincing. “I know what I’m doing,” he says, even if it’s not true. He’s never been in a situation like this before, which means he is improvising at best.

Nield sighs, his down-turned lips saying that he doesn’t believe Obi-Wan in the slightest. “Just be careful,” he warns softly, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Every morning after breakfast, Obi-Wan has a physical therapy session in a secluded corner of the gym. Liga, his physical therapist, is a soft-spoken man with a buzzed haircut and a shooting star tattoo beside his left eye.

But his demure and gentle way of coaxing Obi-Wan through exercises and stretches don’t mean he’s a push-over. He easily finds the edges of Obi-Wan’s comfort level and makes him push past them, telling his patient in that soft voice that the only complaint he will hear is that of pain.

Obi-Wan can be uncomfortable, but he shouldn’t be in pain. That doesn’t mean that he isn’t left feeling sore after every session.

Normally, he goes back to his deck to hit the freshers after his session. This time in the morning, the freshers are mostly empty and while Obi-Wan doesn’t mind the idea of communal showers he, at least, is in a position where he can avoid them when they’re at their busiest.

Today, though, he’s waved over by an enthusiastic Thumper sitting on one of the benches surrounded by quite a few of his brothers.

“You have to see this,” is all Thumper says and yet again a bunch of troopers is made to shuffle over to make space for Obi-Wan to sit down.

“See what?” Obi-Wan asks. He doubts arguing will do much for it seems that if a trooper wants him to sit with him, Obi-Wan can only oblige—not that he minds.

Thumper waves a hand over to the mats and Obi-Wan’s eyes follow easily.

On the mat stand Cody and another trooper that Obi-Wan doesn’t know. He looks rather beaten-up, though.

“Buck’s just got his ass kicked,” Thumper provides softly. “Joined the same time I did, but he isn’t so good at hand-to-hand. The Commander stepped in to give some pointers.”

Obi-Wan blinks in surprise. He looks at the mat again, at the embarrassed and hesitant Buck and a surprisingly gentle Cody showing the proper way to block an attack. Not that you’d see the gentleness from looking at the man. On the outside, Cody is all perfect posture and direct instructions. But in the Force he feels mellow, like he’s in his element teaching a shiny some valuable skills.

It is, for a lack of a better word, rather cute. Something that only Obi-Wan is privy to, considering all the men around him are as Force-sensitive as rocks. An almost guilty and intimate look into the man’s inner-workings that Obi-Wan isn’t sure he should have gotten—whether that be for the Commander’s privacy or the warm feeling now curling through his chest.

“The Commander is wasting his time,” a trooper a few seats left of Obi-Wan mumbles.

Cody’s eyes snap to the man that said the words and a hush falls over the gym almost immediately. All softness he radiated in the Force is gone. “What was that?” he asks, voice as sharp as a vibroknife. “Do I hear someone volunteering for a demonstration?”

The man jumps up, standing at attention and looking very much like he regrets having a voice to begin with. “C-Commander! I was just—”

“Volunteering,” Cody interrupts and within a few large strides comes to stand in front of the other man. Their chests are almost touching and Cody’s face is drawn into a mask of sternness as he asks: “Was that not what you were doing, trooper?”

A shudder runs down the man’s spine. “Y-yes sir.”

“Good. Get on the mat.”

It’s not a fair fight. The trooper—Chunk, Thumper says—is caught off-guard. Motivated to win perhaps, but nervous still at having to face his commanding officer in a round of hand-to-hand. His movements are slightly jolted, too slow and then too fast.

Cody also doesn’t take it easy on Chunk. His movements are an awe-inspiring combination of ruthless efficiency and effortless elegance. Experience and skill blending together in an impressive demonstration.

Not that Chunk would agree, laying beaten on the floor in just a few minutes.

But Obi-Wan certainly does, after his eyes have tracked Cody’s movements and form throughout the short spar. He feels exhilarated, too, but that might also be what he’s picking up from the troops around him.

No-one’s said a word, but excitement vibrates through the Force as if on the inside the clones are all collectively cheering.

Cody allows Chunk a second to scamper to his feet and stand at attention before he steps in close, breathing into Chunk’s face with a scowl. “Next time, you will respect and help your brothers instead of making me waste my time on you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir!”

Cody nods in acknowledgement. “Dismissed,” he barks.

Chunk all but runs out of the gym.

“The rest of you get back to your training or dismiss yourselves,” Cody warns before he turns around and marches back to Buck, standing on the other side of the mat and looking like he’d rather just disappear into it.

The men around Obi-Wan scatter, and Obi-Wan’s not one of Cody’s troops to be ordered around, but there is enough authority and warning in the man’s voice that even he decides it's best to walk away.

Besides, he has a shower to take.

Obi-Wan lets out a happy sigh when he steps under the scalding spray of the shower. He stands there, head bent and letting the water cascade over him and counting the seconds.

No-one’s told him he only gets two minutes of water, but he’s seen the men take quick showers only. Thirty seconds on, turn it off to lather yourself in soap and then turn the spray on again for a leisurely ninety-second rinse-off.

If they can do it every single day, he can manage for however long he’s on the Maverick.

He’s just turned off his spray and started massaging soap into his hair when a pair of naked feet pat against the floor.

He doesn’t look up. No-one’s taught him communal shower etiquette, and showering with twenty adult soldiers is vastly different than a bunch of teenagers whose first instinct when they see running water is to gag because it reminds them of a sewer. But he’s very certain that keep your eyes to yourself is pretty standard.

His resolve to just keep spreading soapsuds over himself completely ignoring the new occupant of the room disappears, though, when the man decides to use the shower next to Obi-Wan’s. His eyes snap up in surprise, because so far everyone’s kept their distance from him and he’s not a prude, but he’s been perfectly fine with that distance.

His eyes are met with none other than Commander Cody, who raises an eyebrow at Obi-Wan and gives him a rather cocky smile.  “Don’t mind me,” he says and turns on his own spray.

And Obi-Wan shouldn’t, but he sneaks a peek anyway. Because in the end, he is only human, and Cody is so very easy on the eyes—all the men are, but there is something about the combination of that handsome face with Cody’s posture, attitude and Force presence that draws Obi-Wan in.

And he’s seen a glimpse, of course, during the Commander’s spar. The blacks the men wear do little to hide their physique after all. But after seeing the man perform a rather perfect-looking roundhouse kick, well excuse Obi-Wan for wanting to catch another glimpse of those strong legs.

Which, really, is a terrible idea. Because Cody isn’t just strong legs. He’s muscle, abs and perfectly imperfect dark skin that seems to glimmer under the water.

It’s only a second’s glance, even if it feels much longer and Obi-Wan certainly berates himself for being so tactless. Standing in a communal shower ogling the man next to him, he’s sure everyone back home would make fun of him if they were to ever find out.

He finishes soaping himself up and turns his spray back on. It’s only when he steps under it and leans his head back to allow the water to cascade down his face that he feels as if he’s being watched. He swallows, a heat that’s very much not the hot water flushing over his skin. Because there’s only four of them left now, and surely it isn’t either of the two men on the other side of the room.

He should ignore it, rinse off and try to avoid Cody until he’s back on Melidaan. But the more time Obi-wan spends around Cody, the more he feels that the man is like one of these things you want but know you shouldn’t have. It’s a complicated thing he will do his very best to ignore, even if a traitorous voice at the back of his mind wonders if the feeling’s mutual.

He glances to his left just in time to catch Cody averting his eyes, leaking embarrassment into the Force.

Obi-Wan swallows, happy for the fact that his skin is already a nice pink from the water’s heat.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Nield had said.

As Obi-Wan turns off his spray, wishes Cody a good day without looking at the man and leaves the room with a pair of eyes burning into his back, he finds himself feeling the same.

If only he could bring himself to care more.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know where the Maverick is. It’s not information he’s been made privy to considering he isn’t actually part of the GAR and he hasn’t asked. Part of him wants to know, yet another part of him is grateful he can bask in relative ignorance on what will be happening when the men deploy down to the planet in three hours.

Two hours by now, as the announcement coming over the ship’s public comms that all personnel prepare for deployment in three hours came an hour ago. Right at the beginning of the morning cycle.

He’s kept to his room since, not wanting to be in the way. But one can only wait so long when a visit to the fresher is needed.

He leaves his room at the same time Cody leaves his. The Commander has a private set of rooms in the same corridor as Obi-Wan, but before now they haven’t run into each other here.

He watches Cody step into the corridor in his full kit, helmet tucked under his left arm. But he doesn’t walk away when the door closes behind him. Doesn’t even look into Obi-Wan’s direction. No, Cody turns and with a solemn expression on his face raises his right hand to gently lay his fingers against the pauldron hanging next to the door. He closes his eyes and mumbles something under his breath.

Obi-Wan feels like an intruder, watching something that he shouldn’t. He is about to turn around and walk away when Cody turns.

Surprise flickers over the other man’s face when he sees Obi-Wan, but when he simply nods in greeting there is no indication he is upset at Obi-Wan’s presence.

It encourages Obi-Wan to ask: “May I ask what they are?”

He’s been curious about the pauldrons ever since Wooley initially showed him the Maverick’s layout and the question has sat unsated in his mind ever since.

Cody raises an eyebrow. “You already have.”

Obi-Wan flinches. “I— yes, it seems that I have,” he says and offers Cody an apologetic smile. “Forgive my rudeness and please forget I asked.” He might be used to the Melidaan’s direct communication, but often forgets that many—mainly those from the Core—find it rude and intrusive rather than efficient and effective.

Cody hums in reply and for a moment watches Obi-Wan, like he is considering answering the question or not. Releasing a breath, he turns his eyes to the pauldron he just touched, a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes. “We hang them to commemorate those that aren’t with us any longer,” he says softly, the coldness of grief surrounds him in the Force. He turns back to Obi-Wan, a sad smile on his lips. “I’m sure you understand that in war we can’t afford to have proper burials. But we can do this.” 

Obi-Wan can read between the lines. Can understand that on a battlefield, it’s easier to carry a brother’s pauldron with you than his dead body. Even then, there should probably be so much more pauldrons lining the walls than there currently are.

The bitter, harsh reality of war.

“Before me, this room belonged to Alpha,” Cody continues. “He’s on Kamino now, but we give him the same respect as those that have fought valiantly and suffered for it.” He nods his head at the pauldron. “We touch it for luck before a battle. A promise to come back and see your brothers again.”

Obi-Wan looks at the pauldron—white and blue, rather than white and golden-orange—with a frown. “That could also be in death,” he murmurs.

It sounds loud in the otherwise quiet hallway.

“Such is war. But to have that promise… it brings us something,” Cody says with a stiff shrug and for a moment he looks very much like a man carrying the whole war on his shoulders.

It’s a feeling Obi-Wan can relate with, memories at the far edges of his mind he’s tried to tuck away. It makes him want to reach out, place a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder to ease some of that weight. Yet it isn’t something he can do, considering that in reality he hardly knows Cody.

So he offers the other comfort he can.

“During the war on Melidaan, before a battle we would hold out our palms toward each other, as close as we could without actually touching.” His fingers itch talking about it. Even if to this day Cerasi, Nield and him still greet each other like this, the current situation is different. He wonders if Cody felt the same vulnerability when speaking of the pauldrons. Sharing something that is perhaps so normal to you, but when put into words turns into something heartbreaking. “It helped in the hopeless moments of battle. You could hold out your palm, close your eyes and if you focused just hard enough you could imagine that they were with you. A reminder to not die, for those still living.”

When he catches Cody’s eyes, he finds nothing but understanding in them, and perhaps a touch of gratitude.

“We all find our ways,” Cody murmurs.

His wrist-comm beeps, shrill and insistent. It startles the both of them out of the almost intimate bubble they’d found themselves in.

“Commander?” Jinn’s voice crackles over the com.

Cody sighs. “Duty calls,” he tells Obi-Wan. He starts walking, replying to Jinn that he is “On my way to the bridge, sir.”

Obi-Wan watches him go, their conversation still in his mind and something feels wrong about letting the other man walk away just like that.

“Cody,” he calls, when the other is almost at the end of the corridor.

Cody turns right at the end of the corridor.

Obi-Wan doesn’t quite have a name for what compels him to do it, but the Force hums in agreement when he raises his hand with the palm facing Cody. “Good luck out there.”

Surprise flickers over Cody’s face. Slowly, he raises his own hand in return and Obi-Wan knows it’s only a play of his mind that he thinks he can feel the heat of the other’s palm against his. “Thank you,” Cody says with a small, warm smile and for a moment, Obi-Wan can understand why in another reality he would love this man.

On the empty ship, occupied by only a skeleton crew, Obi-Wan has found his way to the empty mess hall. 

Around him, the air is tense and stifling. Not just here, but everywhere on the Maverick the air is tight like a pulled bowstring. It’s as if everyone is collectively holding their breath, pressure building and nerves growing as they wait. Wait for first news, wait for the first casualties—because victory or not, in war there are always casualties.

He sits with his tray empty in front of him, his pad discarded on the table and stares at a wall. In an attempt to keep his mind occupied, he counts the bolts that hold the big durasteel slabs together—lest his mind decide it wants to think of something else.

He isn’t haunted by the war, not like he used to be when he was younger. It will forever be there, an integral part of him that’s shaped him into who he is today. But with professional help and support, he’s learnt how to deal with it and to give it a place. There are still nightmares, but they are few and far between.

But here, now, surrounded by nothing but anxious anticipation and silence, the war is very close. It’s not his war the men fight, but it’s his war that crawls up through the cracks of his memories now.

It’s the silence and the waiting, for it is always the silence and the waiting that feed the anxiety and worry. But it isn’t just the sound of explosions that fill Obi-Wan’s ears and the smell of sewage that fills his nose. No, there is worry curling in his gut too. For the men down below, for Wooley and the rest of Ghost, Thumper and Cody.

What if touching the pauldron and holding out their palms hadn’t brought enough luck, his mind wonders. What if they die—what if he dies?

He takes a deep breath.

Two hundred sixty seven, eight, nine, two hundred seventy, one, two—

“You okay?”

Obi-Wan’s mind stutters over the next number. He blinks to himself, dragged from his thoughts, and looks up.

Liga is standing at his table with a concerned frown.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Liga doesn’t sound like he believes Obi-Wan a single bit. “Come,” he says with a beckoning motion. He waves a hand toward the kitchen-hatch where three trays are waiting, each with a big stacks of sandwiches on it. “I’m gonna need some help carrying all of this.”

Obi-Wan stands up without protest, happy for the distraction and company. “Where to?” he asks as he deposits his own tray on the conveyor belt and then takes the new tray with sandwiches Liga hands him.

“Medbay,” Liga says as the both of them walk out of the mess. “We’ve got all medical staff remaining onboard on stand-by.”

“And they made you pick this up all by yourself?”

Liga chuckles. “Would’ve asked one of the guys in the kitchen. But you looked like you could use something to do.”

Obi-Wan supposes it’s one way to say he looked like he was panicking. Nonetheless, he’s grateful Liga was kind enough to drag him out of his melancholic corner. “Thank you. I don’t do well sitting around while I could be out helping,” he admits.

Liga chuckles. “Well, carrying sandwiches ain’t much but trust me, it’s an appreciated job.”

Those words are proven right the moment the two of them walk into the small break-room attached to the medbay and are greeted by someone cheering “Food!”

Before Obi-Wan knows it, he’s sitting around a table with the medics, munching on a sandwich and watching the others banter. For a few moments, the war seems very far away.

Then the first medevac gets called in, ETA fifteen minutes, and reality returns.

Chapter Text

Just because a battle is over, doesn’t mean that the fight has ended. The surroundings of the battlefield changes, but there’s still fighting. It’s just that the men don’t fight for the Republic anymore.

They fight for lives, whether that be their own or that of others.

The tension remains long after the battle has ended. When the medics wage war on their battlefield. Later, the men will come to terms with the ever present consequences of war. Grieve and mourn when they know who should be grieved and mourned.

Obi-Wan tries to help, if only a little.

He isn’t allowed to really do anything—both because he is still considered recovering and because he isn’t actually part of the GAR—and certainly he isn’t in a position to offer comfort.

He might understand what the men are going through out of his own experience, but he isn’t one of them. Doesn’t belong, doesn’t have a place or part in this and he knows that.

So he does what he can.

He brings ration bars and sandwiches to the medbay’s break-room so there’s food should anyone need it. He finds a linen closet and brings them up to the mess to drape over the shoulders of men that have fallen asleep at the table.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

He keeps it up until he runs into Steady in the break room.

“Triumvir,” the medic greets, surprise coloring his voice. His eyes easily find the new batch of sandwiches Obi-Wan is holding and then flicker over to the table. “That was you?”

Obi-Wan nods.

Steady looks at him with surprise in his eyes. It melts away for gratefulness quickly. “Thank you,” Steady says. He regards Obi-Wan for a few moments longer and then raises an eyebrow. “Although I suggest you take a break before you pass out and end up being a problem in my medbay.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. Yes, he’s tired with a dull ache in both his ribs and leg, but compared to everyone on the else on the Maverick that hardly counts. “I’m fine.”

“We appreciate your effort, Kenobi. But less than a week ago you almost died,” Steady says, to-the-point and without hesitation. “Get some rest.”

As if Obi-Wan’s remaining energy realizes that it’s actually run out at Steady’s words, a wave of exhaustion washes over Obi-Wan.

He yawns.

Obi-Wan doesn’t get a chance to tell Steady that yes, perhaps he should rest.

The CMO is called back to medbay for an emergency before he can.

He’s slept for a few hours when his door chimes.

He opens it, groggily and still feeling the remnants of sleep clinging to him, to find a trooper on the other side.

“Triumvir,” the trooper greets him with a quick salute. “General Jinn asked me to escort you to the bridge.”

Obi-Wan frowns. He hasn’t been to the bridge before and he’s quite surprised that he is being summoned there now.

He follows without question, though. He doubts the trooper has information, and even if he does Obi-Wan doesn’t want to put him in the kind of position where he’s asked to share something he might’ve been ordered not to.

They take the turbolift directly to the bridge.

It’s a bustle of activity, clones in blue-marked armor now joining those of the 212^th in the orange markings. The trooper leading Obi-Wan side-steps all his brothers, though, and beckons for Obi-Wan to follow him to the middle of the bridge where General Jinn, Cody and two other men are standing.

Even from a distance, Obi-Wan can guess who the young man in Jedi-garb is, even if the holo in Padmé’s bedroom features an Anakin Skywalker that is quite a few years younger. The clone standing next to him has striking blond hair and his blue-marked armor looks distinctly different from Cody’s.

All four men look up when they near and Obi-Wan feels a tad underdressed, considering he’s been in standard blacks ever since he’s been released from medbay. At least someone was kind enough to give him a size up so that they’re not as tight-fitting as they sets the men wear but it still hardly feels like he’s dressed.

Certainly not when standing in front of four men that have obviously just come from a battlefield.

But alas, such is life.

“Thank you Trapper,” Jinn tells the trooper with a nod before turning to Obi-Wan. “Triumvir, thank you for joining us. I wanted to introduce you to Captain Rex”—Jinn gestures to the blond clone—“and General Anakin Skywalker.” Jinn waves a hand to the other man standing next to him.

Obi-Wan gives both the Captain and Skywalker a nod as Jinn tells them: “Rex, Anakin, this is Triumvir Obi-Wan Kenobi of Melidaan.”

Skywalker flashes Obi-Wan a smile. “Padmé’s friend,” he says. “It is good to see you safe and well.”

“Thank you. If it wasn’t for you and the 212^th I’d certainly be dead,” Obi-Wan replies. Then he adds: “And it is good to finally meet another friend of Padmé.”

In fact, he will admit he’s been rather curious about the man Padmé has fallen in love with. Mainly because she herself has told him so desperately little about the man.

He doesn’t quite expect Skywalker to frown. “Pad— Senator Amidala talks to you about… things?”

“Well, we have known one another for a long time.”

Skywalker’s expression slips from jovial to haughty as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve known her longer.”

Well then, he hadn’t expected Padmé to be into the childish type, but he supposes that it just goes to show how well one truly knows a friend. “I doubt it,” Obi-Wan says with a raised eyebrow. Then, before the other can bristle, he adds: “Although I am grateful we are both friends with someone as kindhearted as Padmé. Had it not been for our close friendships with her, I surely would have died.”

Placated, quite easily so, Skywalker hums. “It’s sad the 501^st couldn’t come to your rescue, but we were otherwise occupied,” he says and then a grin creeps onto his face. “Although the babysitting afterwards fits my Master better perhaps.”

Perhaps not as placated as Obi-Wan had thought.

Jinn sighs. “Anakin.”

Anakin holds up his hands. “I mean no offence of course, Triumvir,” he says. It sounds like a lie, which is proven right when he speaks is next words: “But a politician on a battleship isn’t exactly… useful.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan mutters, not able to come up with a more eloquent quip back as he’s left wondering what exactly Padmé sees in this guy.

Next to Jinn, Cody clears his throat. “If I may, General Skywalker,” he says and doesn’t actually wait for Skywalker to give him the go-ahead before saying: “The Triumvir has hardly been a useless passenger.”

Both Skywalker and Rex look surprised at the words.

Obi-Wan is too, but in a rather pleasant way and he can’t stop himself from shooting Cody a small smile.

Jinn merely sighs, rubbing his temple. “That’s enough, I’d say. Anakin, we have a debriefing with the Council soon.”

“Yes, all right,” Skywalker replies and turns his frown away from Obi-Wan to give his master a tight smile. “Let’s get that over with,” he says and strides away towards the doors.

Jinn shakes his head, looking more amused than anything else and after giving Obi-Wan, Cody and Rex a nod follows Skywalker out of the room.

“Well, he seems pleasant,” Obi-Wan mutters once the two Jedi have left. Granted, it’s more to himself than anything else.

That doesn’t stop Cody from chuckling. “Commander Skywalker is an acquired taste.”

“Hey!” Rex calls. “That’s my General you’re talking about.”

“A great fit,” Cody tells Rex with a smirk, “considering you are an acquired taste too.”

Rex scoffs and gives Cody a playful shove. “And it seems you have acquired a new taste,” he says with a smirk.

Cody grabs Rex’s arm before he can pull back. “What is that even supposed to mean?” he asks with feigned worry and places his free hand against the back of Rex’s head. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“I’m fine, you asshole,” Rex grumbles as he pushes Cody’s hands away.

“You must’ve gotten hurt during the battle,” Cody says, completely ignoring Rex’s words. He turns to Obi-Wan, who has been watching he exchange with open amusement. “Please excuse us, Obi-Wan,” he says as he starts bodily pushing Rex towards the bridge’s exit, “I have to bring my idiot little brother to the medbay.”

“All fine,” Obi-Wan says with a laugh, the two reminding him a lot of Nield and him.

“First name basis?” Rex cries in delight. “Wow, Codes, you really— ow! You hit me!”

It’s another two days before both the Maverick and the Resolute depart and Obi-Wan is informed he will get to Melidaan three days at most.

He has his last physical therapy session with Liga. Afterwards, the man takes him to the medbay so Steady can do a final check-up and give Obi-Wan his dossier. Ideally both Steady and Liga would talk to the doctors taking over Obi-Wan’s care at home but all three decide that chances of that happening are slim. So both have written detailed reports on Obi-Wan’s progress that he can share with Roenni and her team when he gets home.

There is also his last dinner aboard, which turns into a merry affair.

Obi-Wan had expected to be mostly by himself, but it only takes ten minutes before he’s joined by the men from Ghost, Thumper and some others he’s not sure he’s properly met before. It’s all laughter and jokes with so many questions thrown at Obi-Wan. 

When the trays are cleared, it’s a blond trooper named Crys that breaks out a bottle of booze, accompanied by many grins and some cheers.

“Attention!”

There is a beat of silence, a spike of panic in the Force and then the men all jump up, 

Obi-Wan—the only one still seated—glances over his shoulder to find Cody standing in the doorway.

“As you were,” Cody says with a curt nod.

The men relax and sit down right as Cody’s eyes fall onto the bottle on the table. His eyebrow twitches. “Although might I suggest a sense of subtlety and decorum before I sign all of you up for a refresher course in spatial awareness.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, sir,” Boil says jovially as Crys hides the bottle under the table, “just a misunderstanding, is all.”

Cody gives him an unimpressed look. “A misunderstanding about my schedule, I’m sure.”

Obi-Wan’s best guess is that homebrew—because really, the liquid can’t be anything else—isn’t actually allowed aboard according to GAR regulation. It doesn’t surprise him the men have it, though. A ship this size with this many men aboard, he’s certain there’s improvised distilleries around. But there’s a big difference between drinking it in the barracks with your squad and slamming a bottle down onto a table in the middle of the mess with both your commanding officer and a head of state right there with you.

Not that Obi-Wan minds.

Neither does Cody, judging by the amusement and exasperation curling around him. But that’s something only Obi-Wan knows. Cody’s face a perfectly neutral mask as he gives Crys a deadpan look. “This won’t be a regular occurrence,” he warns. “And whoever is on shift tomorrow better not be late nor hungover,” he lets his haze travel around the table, “understood?”

A chorus of “yes sir” goes up and when Cody says “then by all means, have at it,” the bottle is back onto the table in less than a second. As is a small stack of shot glasses, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he wants to know how the men got hold of that.

He sees Cody line up for some food but his attention is drawn when his name is called.

He looks around to find Crys grinning at him, waving the bottle at him. “Want one?”

“Brew it ourselves,” Boil adds with a proud smirk.

Longshot nods excitedly. “Yea! They have a makeshift distillery in—” he falls silent abruptly when he is shushed by his fellow troopers. He waves a hand in the air with an awkward chuckle. “Well, somewhere.”

Obi-Wan frowns at the bottle being held out to him. “What exactly is it?”

Crys raises an eyebrow. “Alcohol.”

“I mean, yes. I can smell that,” Obi-Wan laughs. “Any particular kind?” He’s not much of a drinker himself, although he does enjoy an occasional glass of jonge jenever—a liquor made from grain and juniper berries from Melidaan.

“Ehm,” Crys says helplessly.

Boil chuckles. “The alcoholic one.”

“Maybe just a bit,” Obi-Wan says, feeling very much like he’ll be regretting this.

As Crys pours him a small glass, he sees Cody sit down at a corner-table as far removed from them as possible.

“Cody won’t join?” He asks Waxer, who is sitting next to him.

“Ah, no the Commander doesn’t often join.” Waxer shakes his head. “Plausible deniability and all that, you know? He normally sits in the corner though, here or in the rec room. Does some paperwork but still gets a sense of the atmosphere.”

Obi-Wan frowns. Cody joining the group a few days back must have been an exception, he thinks. But it sounds rather lonely, even if he does understand. As their superior officer, it’s probably best Cody keeps more to himself, especially in a moment such as this.

When booze is on the table and a brim-full cup of it is served to Obi-Wan.

“Bottoms up!” Crys cheers and holds out his shot to Obi-Wan expectantly.

Obi-Wan picks up his own glass, raises it to the other troopers at the table and says to Crys: “Cheers.”

The drink burns all the way down, the lack of flavor a testament to the strength of the alcohol. Obi-Wan grimaces. “Kark. This stuff can strip the paint off of armor.”

“Sure can,” Boil smirks.

“Another one?” Crys asks with a grin.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “No thanks, I think I’m good.”

Wooley laughs. “I’ll have another one!”

Crys chortles, says “Of course you do,” and pours the other another drink.

“Speaking of armor…”

Obi-Wan looks to his right, where Thumper is looking at him with a hopeful expression and radiating nervousness.

“I wanted to ask what dried flax looks like. Do you have a holo?” Thumper asks.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. Somehow this feels important. “Why are you asking?”

Thumper fidgets for a moment. “Well, it’s just… you said it’s gold, right? And I just thought, I’ve earned my paint now, you know…” he says softly and awkwardly.

Someone laughs, it’s one of the clones Obi-Wan doesn’t know. “Gonna marry him too?”

“Shut up,” Thumper hisses back with a scowl. “Obi-Wan saved mine and the Commander’s lives. You think that’s stupid?”

“I’d be honored, Thumper,” Obi-Wan says with a warm smile before the two can start an argument. He certainly doesn’t want that to happen due to him of all things.

Thumper shakes his head with widened eyes. “Oh no, no the honor is all mine!”

Obi-Wan chuckles. Thumper’s enthusiasm is quite endearing, even if he’s not sure if he deserves it. “Either way, I’d be happy to show you some holos of flax,” he promises.

“You wanna drink to that?” Crys asks, waving the bottle at Obi-Wan with a grin.

Obi-Wan declines with a laugh.

By the time the bottle is empty and the troopers start leaving to bunk down—or continue their drinking somewhere else—Cody is still sitting at his corner table with his datapad.

As if he feels that he’s being watched, he raises his eyes away from his work. He looks amused when he finds Obi-Wan watching him, raising an eyebrow as if to silently ask if something’s wrong.

Obi-Wan shakes his head and turns back to the conversation Boil and Waxer are having. Or rather, a slightly tipsy Waxer is talking longingly about the nest of Tooka’s they’d found during a campaign and the other comforting him that they’re probably having the time of their life running around the planet.

That’s when Cody steps up to the table, datapad tucked under his arm. He’s looking at Obi-Wan and not even pretending he’s addressing the table. “I’m heading back. You want to join me so you don’t get lost on your last evening aboard?” he offers Obi-Wan with a small grin.

There’s an amused silence around them.

“Ah, no need to go through the effort,” Obi-Wan objects politely, even if he wouldn’t mind. He shouldn’t feel like he needs a few last private moments with Cody before he leaves the Maverick.

He shouldn’t.

That doesn’t mean that his feelings listen.

“Our rooms are in the same corridor, so it’s no effort,” Cody casually says.

“Well all right then. To ensure I don’t get lost,” Obi-Wan says and turns to the men at the table. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s been all ours!” Wooley says and Obi-Wan leaves the mess with Cody chased by a chorus of good-bye’s.

Leaving the mess, Obi-Wan wonders if there’s something the other wants to talk to him about. “Hope you had some more time to catch up with Rex after your visit to medbay,” he says conversationally.

“I did,” Cody says, face softening with a fond smile on his lips. “I don’t see him as often as I’d like, so these moments are always appreciated.”

Little brother, that’s what Cody had called Rex, and while it had been while teasing he doubts the sentiment was fake. “Good. Family is important,” Obi-Wan says, thinking of his own family of choice back on Melidaan.

“It is,” Cody agrees easily. They’re far away enough from the mess now that the hallway has quieted down. It seems it’s all the Commander needs to bring up his desired topic. “Speaking of which… I heard what you did for the men after the battle.” Cody speaks softly, glancing sideways so he can look at Obi-Wan. “You didn’t have to. We rescued you without expecting anything in return.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I wanted to.”

They reach the turbolift, and as they wait for it to arrive Cody says with a small confused frown: “I thought you don’t support this war.”

“I don’t.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t offer you and the men some kindness and comfort,” he says.

The turbolift arrives and they get into int in silence. Only after he has selected the floor and the lift starts moving does Cody say: “You’re a man with many different sides, it seems.” He doesn’t sound surprised, really, merely curious.

It’s a feeling Obi-Wan shares. “So are you.”

Cody hums. “And apparently I have a side which you knew prior to our meeting.”

Obi-Wan lets out a startled chuckle. “Trying again?” he asks, thinking back to their first conversation together—in actually the same setting as this.

“That’s yet another side of me. I don’t give up,” Cody says. He looks at Obi-Wan, considering the man with a face that gives absolutely nothing away.

Obi-Wan stays silent, lets the Commander sort through his thoughts and patiently waits for the other to continue, because Force is he curious what the words will be.

He doesn’t expect Cody to grin sharply and teasingly say: “I should give you my commcode, in case you ever change your mind and want to tell me.”

Despite the grin and teasing tone, there is a question in those words that has absolutely nothing to do with Obi-Wan telling Cody how he knows the man—they both know he won’t. No, this isn’t about the past at all.

It’s about the future.

A roundabout way of asking to stay in touch.

Obi-Wan should say no. It’s bad enough he’s gotten to like the men of the 212^th, gotten to like Cody, while on the Maverick. When he’s back on Melidaan, he really should cut contact and continue his life staying out of this war and away from any clones.

But both the Force and something far away in his heart disagree. Tell him it would be a tragedy to never talk to Cody again, to lose the easy conversation and the banter. To lose that whisper of promise that seems to surround the man.

And so, despite the better judgement of two decades of hiding himself away from Marshal Commander Cody, Obi-Wan says: “You should.”

Cerasi and Nield are waiting at the edge of one of the landing pads of Zehava’s space-port when the LAAT arrives. A contrast, as always. Cerasi’s always been on the shorter side, with ivory freckled skin and copper hair that she’s pulled up into a messy bun. Nield on the other hand is tall, with rich brown skin and dark hair that’s buzzed down to the millimeter and a .stubble

When the LAAT touches down and Obi-Wan steps out onto the landing pad, neither waste a moment to draw Obi-Wan into a hug, one on each side.

“It’s good to have you back,” Cerasi whispers into his hair.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Nield threatens while squeezing Obi-Wan tight.

When they draw back, they hold out their palms to one another just as he’d told Cody. Obi-Wan closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of their familiar presence washing over him.

Force how he’s missed them.

“It’s good to be back,” he whispers and none of them care that his voice is thick with emotion. 

“Just unfortunate it’s the GAR that had to save you,” Nield mutters, his eyes turning to the LAAT where Jinn, Cody and a few other troopers have come to escort Obi-Wan back to the planet’s surface.

“Nield,” Obi-Wan says, both to scold his friend and to calm him down.

Because while Nield appears pleasant enough on the outside, around him the Force is a whirlwind. But it’s not the wariness when he looks at the clones that takes Obi-Wan by surprise. It’s the anger and disdain that is hot around him as he looks at Jinn.

The same can be said for Cerasi. Usually the more subdued and level-headed of the two, her polite smile feels mocking when one can so clearly feel her hostility towards Jinn.

They know how to shield, Obi-Wan’s taught them. Which means they’re simply refusing to.

“General Jinn,” Nield says in greeting, stepping up to the LAAT and the General in question. “It seems war has found you despite your best efforts.”

“Unfortunately,” Jinn allows, looking perfectly unbothered by the words. Instead he gives Nield a pleasant smile. “Although this time it put us in a position where we could rescue Triumvir Kenobi.”

“Something I am extremely grateful for,” Obi-Wan says, stepping up besides Nield before the other can reply. He shoots Cody, who is standing just a step behind Jinn’s left shoulder, a smile.

Cody is wearing his helmet, so Obi-Wan can’t see the other’s expression. But when he gets a curt nod in return, it’s not hard to imagine a small smile on the other’s face.

“As are we,” Cerasi says, laying a hand against his shoulder. Her green eyes are on the LAAT, though. On the troopers inside, on the armor they’re wearing and it’s easy to feel her unease. She seems to shake it off quickly, though, turning to Jinn with a raised eyebrow. “Quite a few men you’ve brought along, General. Were you hoping for a tour of the place or…?”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to sigh. “Or they just came to drop me off. I’m sure the General and Commander—and the whole star destroyer full of people—have better things to do.”

“Shame,” Nield says with a shrug and raises an eyebrow at Jinn. “It’s really cleaned up since your last visit.”

There is an inkling of shock coming from the troops. It’s not difficult to figure out something isn’t quite right hearing what Nield has said, and vigilant and perceptive as they are Obi-Wan is certain they are piecing information together.

He glances from the men in the LAAT to Jinn. He hopes that whatever conclusion they come to won’t change their relationship with their General.

“Perhaps next time,” Jinn says and that’s that. With a last few words of goodbye, Jinn orders his men to depart.

Obi-Wan watches the LAAT lift off, pretending he doesn’t feel a heavy weight in his chest.

“Now that the shitshow is over,” Nield says as he slings an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He gives him a once-over with a raised eyebrow. “Let's get you some actual clothes.”

For a lingering second, Obi-Wan keeps his eyes on the rapidly disappearing dot the LAAT has become. It’s all for the best, he tells himself. It doesn’t matter that the Force is a whisper of a future promise around him.

Things are as they are meant to be, with Obi-Wan on Melidaan and the GAR as far away as possible.

“You don’t think I look good in this?” he asks Nield, ducking out from under the other’s arm. He waves at the pair of oversized blacks he’s wearing. “I’m starting to think black’s really my color.”

Cerasi chuckles. “It might be your color, but it leaves very little to the imagination.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Mine is a size up from what I normally wear. You should have seen the clones. Theirs were almost skintight.”

“How do you know that?” Nield asks with a frown. “Did you look?”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and decides that that certainly does not deserve a reply. He starts making his way over to the speeder waiting for them at the edge of the landing pad.

“How did you become such a prude?” Cerasi asks with a teasing laugh. “He has eyes. He’s allowed to look.”

“Shut up,” Nield hisses at Cerasi and then shouts: “Obi-Wan, get back here!”

Obi-Wan keeps walking, laughing. It’s good to be back.

The speeder’s first stop is the hospital, weaving its way through Zehava’s streets.

After the war, not much had been left of the city. They had to rebuild, and do it quickly to house all the people. They’d chosen duracrete; easy to make and not taking away more of the already scarce natural resources on Melidaan.

Zehava had looked bleak and drab those first few years with only gray duracrete buildings. No matter how sleek their designs were with big picture windows and smaller openings to let light flood into the duracrete boxes that were the homes to many, it still felt like a grey cloud.

But they were homes with roofs and heating, so no-one complained.

And then the trees had taken root. Then the vines had started crawling up the walls. Then the grey was starting to lighten under the sun.

Now, Melidaan is as green as it is grey. The main streets are wide to allow both speeders and pedestrians their space and lined with trees.

Now, some buildings aren’t grey anymore but pop in color as much as the flax does in summer with its flowers.

To this day, even if resources are better now, most new buildings are made from duracrete. They are sleek buildings, but at the same time they are functional. A reminder where they’ve come from and a proud statement of where they’re going.

And then there is the hospital.

In Obi-Wan’s vision it had been the most vulnerable building in the city. Now, though, it is the most fortified one. Its outer walls are ferrocrete, its windows blaster-proof transparisteel but its biggest protection is its two-story underground bunker.

Roenni is already waiting at the entrance when they arrive. She’s in a pair of white pants and a short white coat on top of her magenta scrub top. It makes her skin, Pantoran light-blue with patches of light beige, stand out. Her white hair is pulled into a braid.

She stands on her tiptoes and pulls Obi-Wan into a careful, quick hug. “How are you?”

Obi-Wan pulls back from the hug with a smile. “All right,” he promises. Steady had declared him healing well, after all, and the pain of his healing ribs is well under control with the help of regular pain-killers.

Roenni hums and waves for him to follow her into the hospital. “We’ll see about that,” she says. “I’ve read CMO Steady’s report but I’d like to do my own evaluation. I’ve also forwarded the dossier the physical therapist wrote to Pepijn. He’ll want to do his own assessment too, before continuing your PT sessions,” she explains as they make their way over to the elevators. When they reach them she turns and looks surprised when she sees Nield and Cerasi. “What are you two doing?”

Nield and Cerasi look at each other before Nield answers: “We thought we could join.”

“On a medical appointment?” Roenni asks with a raised eyebrow, the fact she only reaches up to Nield’s nose not doing anything to make her look less intimidating. She glances at Obi-Wan. “Only if you want to.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Obi-Wan shakes his head and looks at the other two. “I’ll see you two afterwards, all right?”

Both Nield and Cerasi look reluctantly accepting. “I guess,” Nield mumbles.

Nield’s worry is a testament to how scared they must’ve been, as he normally leaves the worrying to Cerasi and Obi-Wan. “You can call for a council meeting in the meantime,” he says.

Cerasi frowns. “You want to work?”

Obi-Wan shrugs—feels his ribs complain at the jerky motion but doesn’t wince lest he worry his friends even more. “I think the whole council needs to know what happened considering the fact this looks like an assassination attempt.”

There’s a beat of silence at the reminder.

Cerasi is the first to recover. “Yes, of course. We’ll call for a meeting.”

“We’re just worried,” Nield adds.

Obi-Wan smiles. “I know. But it’s over now. I’m home.”

Roenni finishes her examination with the conclusion Steady has “done a good job” and a warning to Obi-Wan to please take it easy. “I know you need to speak with the Council and have other pressing responsibilities, but as your doctor I advise you don’t return to your full days right away.”

“I—”

“I know,” Roenni interrupts Obi-Wan, pinning him down with a pointed look. “I know you’re a workaholic. I know you have the Force. I know you haven’t had a headache for the last two days. But that doesn’t mean you’ve fully recovered and a gradual return to work and physical activity is recommended. Your thinking, focus and mental processing may all still be affected by the injury and I won’t give you a clean bill of health yet.”

Roenni’s admonishing reminds Obi-Wan of Thumper sitting in the bed across, wondering if all medics are the same.

His amusement must show on his face, because Roenni sighs and asks: “What?”

“I met a trooper, Thumper. He wondered if all medics are as terrifying as Steady.”

“I assume you told him they are,” Roenni says, flashing him a grin.

Ovi-Wan chuckles. “I did.”

“Good,” she replies, pleased. “But flattery won’t change my advice.”

After Roenni’s examination and a twenty-minute wait, Obi-Wan has his appointment with Pepijn—the lead physical-therapist at Zehava’s hospital.

It’s a smooth appointment, Pepijn nothing but friendly professionalism and they hash out a schedule with daily PT sessions for Obi-Wan.

He checks his com when he leaves the hospital and hails a taxi. He’s got a message from Cerasi.

Council meeting at five. Go home, take a shower and rest a bit. I’ll come pick you up at four.

It’s eleven now, which means he’s got a solid five hours. A relief, if he’s honest.

He sends a quick affirmative back to Cerasi and takes a taxi home.

Home is a modest-sized top-floor apartment near the Governmental Building. The duracrete is a mellow terracotta tone and a set of black durasteel stairs lead up to the front door on the fourth floor. The exterior of the building had charmed Obi-Wan, from the color to the sweeping curved balconies that frame a large tree. And then he had seen the inside, with large floor-to-ceiling windows set in black durasteel frames and dark honeyed hardwood floors. He’d signed the contract right away and moved in with his impressive book collection and gathering of Force-sensitive plants.

He’s not too big on plants, but the Force-sensitive ones hold a special place in his heart.

Now that he takes the stairs up to his home, he finds himself worrying for his plants. He’s of course asked Nield and Cerasi to water them, but it’s not the same.

When he opens his door he’s greeted by the soothing presence of his plants. They reach out to him in the Force, relieved and welcoming and Obi-Wan sends a soothing apology back in reply.

It’s like a balm, stroking his fingers down the leaves of his plants. The murakami orchid, the singing fern and the glowing anemone. Last there is the purple foxglove that is poisonous to touch for all but Obi-Wan.

Once he’s greeted all his plants, he goes to the fresher and allows himself a leisure soak under the hot spray. He’s missed the freedom of being able to linger under the hot water. He doesn’t do it too often, but when he does it’s always blissful. He does hope the clones get that chance every now and then, but somehow he doubts it.

Unbidden, his mind flashes back to one particular shower he’d taken on the Maverick. Of water dripping down glistening brown skin littered with scars. Of the weight of a pair of eyes on him.

Here, in the safety of his own home, he closes his eyes with a shuddering breath as the electric fire of arousal wakes within him. Imagining, fantasizing, what if. 

What if they’d been alone in the shower room? What if their eyes had caught and Obi-Wan had gotten to kiss those lips that look nothing but inviting every time they curl into a smirk. What if they’d shared a spray and Obi-Wan had gotten the chance to caress those scars—and what kind of sounds would that draw from Cody?

Kark.

He shakes his head and opens his eyes.

It’s easy to imagine it here, at home alone with Cody nothing but a promise in the Force he ought to forget.

He takes a deep breath and as he breathes out, long and slow and trying to release all his arousal and emotions for Cody into the Force, turns the water cold.

It’s a chaotic Council meeting.

Normally they are well organized, nowadays at least; it had taken at least a decade to set up a government that felt competent and confident rather than a bunch of elected victims to run a clown-show.

Now there is the Triumvirate, made up of Obi-Wan, Cerasi and Nield, functioning as equal heads of state, and the People’s Elected Council. The Council consists of eight ministers representing Agriculture and Nature, Culture and Education, Defense, Finance, Health, Infrastructure, Intergalactic Affairs, and Planetary Affairs. Unlike the Triumvirate, the ministers are elected every four years.

They assist and advise in Melidaans day-to-day affairs and vote when legislation is to be passed or important decisions need to be made that impact several ministries. They also have the right to call for a vote of no confidence directed at either another minister or the Triumvirate—a democratic safeguard that to this day has not been needed. Their normal meetings are held with a strict agenda and set time per topic. But with Obi-Wan’s return and the topic of the meeting being the investigation of his attempted assassination, it’s a challenge to get the room to settle.

Once it does, Obi-Wan shares what happened. Cerasi and Nield have already briefed them, but it’s different hearing it from Obi-Wan himself. He gives all details he can remember that feel significant, from when he crashed to being rescued by the GAR and their—Jinn’s—following accusations.

The news is received with varying reactions, some understanding the position of the GAR while others pose the same questions Nield had.

Next, Deila shares the start of her pending investigation. As minister of Defense, she’s been named responsible for the task-force investigating the matter.

“We’ve analyzed the black-box data you’ve sent us and started to look into the moon you crashed on to see if it might provide us with any clues. So far, we unfortunately have very little,” she says and looks at Obi-Wan. “We’ll set up some private meetings with you during the next few days, Triumvir Kenobi. I know you’ve given us a full report but I think it’s important we speak with you separately and have a chance to ask our questions.”

“As long as it’s not too many. I haven’t been cleared for full duty yet,” Obi-Wan says.

Deila raises an eyebrow. “Then wouldn’t it have been better to postpone this meeting?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head and looks around the table. “I wanted all of you to be informed. I don’t think something will happen on Melidaan, but it is still a matter of our governmental security. This isn’t something any of us have ever dealt with and I want the communication to be as open as possible. So if there are any questions, now would be your chance to ask them.”

After the meeting, Deila quickly finds her way to Obi-Wan. She’s a tall woman, but standing next to his chair in a pair of high-waisted black pants she looks even taller. She curves a gentle hand around his shoulder, her warm brown skin a stark contrast against Obi-Wan’s tawny beige. Her dark eyes shine in relief as she looks down at him. “You’re lucky you survived,” she states. Direct and to-the-point, as always.

Obi-Wan shoots her a teasing smile. “Good to see you too, my dear.”

Deila brushes a frizzy strand of her thick, black hair out of her face with a frown. “I saw the data from the black-box, Obi-Wan. I know how karking lucky you are.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I’m even luckier the GAR found me. If they hadn’t, I’d have frozen to death.”

Deila squats down next to the chair, leaning her elbows onto its arm and looking up at Obi-Wan with a serious expression. “As your friend, I will admit I’m not sure if we can get to the bottom of this. But we’ll try.”

“I know. Even if we find out, we might not be able to do much about it.”

Deila smiles sadly. They both know that finding out who was behind this is more for form than anything else. They’re small, independent Melidaan, what can they do?

“Why you?” she wonders.

Obi-Wan frowns. “Perhaps they were hoping for any of the three of us, considering we shared the ship and used of for official business.”

Deila sighs, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “With the ease with which trouble finds you, I doubt that.”

Obi-Wan can’t quite say that she’s wrong. So he shrugs and says: “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Chapter Text

Nield comes over with take-out.

“Brought nerfburgers,” he says proudly as he drops the bag onto the coffee table.

“You’re the best,” Obi-Wan says with a wide smile. “For how big a stardestroyer is, the food’s very… drab.”

Nield laughs. “You mean it sucked.”

“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I had to eat that every day.” Obi-Wan shakes his head and drops down onto the couch next to Nield. He grabs one of the take-out boxes and lets out a delighted sigh at the sight of his nerfburger—with extra cheese, bless Nield—and curly fries.

“Oh don’t be dramatic,” Nield rolls his eyes fondly, “you’d be fine.” He picks up his own burger.

“I think I deserve to be a little dramatic,” Obi-Wan says before taking a bite with a satisfied hum.

“I suppose,” Nield says around a mouthful of food. He waves a hand at Obi-Wan, including burger and Obi-Wan supposes he’s lucky the other doesn’t drip sauce all over his couch. “You did have a shit week or two.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “You think? This is worse than when the Republic came to us last year.”

Nield scoffs around a bite of burger, which promptly goes down the wrong pipe and he ends up a coughing mess. “Technically this is still the Republic’s fault,” he says, a small wheeze to his voice.

Obi-Wan takes another bite, buying himself some time to think the statement over. “I’m not sure,” he says carefully. Considering he was attacked by Separatist vessels, he really doubts that the Republic is involved. “But I’ll hear more from Deila tomorrow.”

“They’re gonna interrogate you tomorrow?”

“It’s not an interrogation if I want to share the information.” Obi-Wan shrugs. “But yes. I’m meeting her at eight.”

Nield winces. “Early start.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. He himself has never had much of a problem with early mornings. In fact, he quite enjoys it when Zehava is only just waking up. The city feeling drowsy and slow as the sun rises over the flax fields. Nield however would very much prefer it if the day would start at lunch rather than breakfast. “I should be fine, the Maverick’s night-cycle wasn’t very different from ours.”

“Plus I’ll be here to wake you up if you oversleep,” Nield tells him with a grin.

Obi-Wan frowns. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Nield shoots back, feigning innocence which really doesn’t work when he’s stuffing a rather obnoxiously large bite of his burger into his mouth.

Obi-Wan puts down his burger. “You’re not staying over.”

“Of course I am!” Nield protests. “You’re still healing…”

“Healing, yes. Not dying,” Obi-Wan retorts, shaking his head. He appreciates the concern, but it’s rather unnecessary. “I’m fine, honestly.”

Nield shrugs. “I’m still going to sleep on your couch.”

“Nield,” Obi-Wan sighs and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose at his friend’s stubbornness. “No.”

Nield grins, wide and sharp and a teasing glint in his eyes. “Nield yes,” he counters and then in a rather sweet tone adds: “I even promised Cerasi.”

He promised Cerasi, because of course he knows Obi-Wan’s soft-spot.

“I can call her quick, if you want,” Nield offers casually before shoving his last piece of burger into his mouth.

Obi-Wan sighs. He knows how calling Cerasi will go, even if Nield hasn’t promised her to sleep over,  she will play along when they call. Turn her big, blue eyes to Obi-Wan and say it’s only for the best. It’s only because they care. And because they all know Obi-Wan’s almost incapable of denying Cerasi anything when she pleads with him, Nield will stay.

“Fine,” he grunts. No need to interrupt Cerasi’s evening for something he’ll be corrupted into doing anyway. “We can share the bed,” he says. Nield is too tall for the couch, and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to spend the next few days listening to the other complain about sensitive joints and an aching back because of cramped sleeping conditions—again.

Nield smirks. “Sucker.”

Obi-Wan makes a face—which is dissatisfaction and betrayal, not a pout. “I take it back.”

Nield just laughs.

Obi-Wan flicks a fry at him.

Later, when they’ve gone to bed, Nield murmurs into the darkness of Obi-Wan’s bedroom: “We almost lost you.”

Obi-Wan swallows. Had expected the words, or something at the very least, spoken in the safety of the dark. What he hadn’t expected was for Nield to lower his shields just so Obi-Wan can feel the distress and anguish Nield had felt during Obi-Wan’s disappearance. “I know.”

Nield sighs. Deep and long and full of old grief. “It’s not our war.”

Soldiers in clone armor in the streets of Zehava. Hyena bombers dropping bomb after bomb destroying all that they have worked so hard to rebuild. Smoke, ash, death.

“I know,” Obi-Wan whispers.

“I don’t—” Nield starts and then breaks off. The sheets rustle and Obi-Wan can feel the mattress dip as the other turns around, most likely onto his side so he can look at Obi-Wan—even if he won’t see much in the dark. “Those clones, I don’t know what they told you or what you did with them. But—”

“They’re individuals, you realize that right?” Obi-Wan interrupts. His tone is sharp and disapproving.

There is a hint of hesitation in the Force, but no actual answer.

“Nield,” Obi-Wan mumbles his friend's name. He knows Nield is more likely to take a grudge to the grave than let it go. Knows that he is against the Republic, the Jedi and the war. But this isn’t necessarily about that. This isn’t even about the GAR.

It’s about the clones and their individuality.

Obi-Wan isn’t too big to admit it’s not something he’d thought about before being on the Maverick. But for all that he’d tried to not think about the clones and the implications of their existence, he’d never considered them anything but an army of breathing, thinking and feeling sentients.

Surely, Nield must feel the same.

Nield huffs. “I do, Obi-Wan. Fuck, I’m not some… some hater that thinks they’re just droids. They’re just…” he hesitates. He must be worrying his lower-lip between his teeth, as he always does when he’s considering his words—like if he doesn’t, he will blurt them out without a preamble. After a few agonizing silent moments, he whispers: “They are the war. They are everything we should stay away from.”

Obi-Wan swallows. They are, aren’t they?

This time, it’s him that doesn’t answer.

“Obi-Wan?” Nield questions, sounding disappointed. He doesn’t need Obi-Wan’s words to know. “I know you loved that man in your vision. But that’s— that’s not our reality anymore.”

Obi-Wan thinks of Cody. Of a resilient and familiar Force presence, of kind amber eyes and of the warmth of a palm he’s never really touched.

He thinks of the commlink number he saved.

He stares up at the ceiling. “I know,” he whispers, grateful that Nield is as Force-sensitive as a rock.

He’d have easily felt the lie if he was.

It only takes a few days before Obi-Wan’s life settles into a new routine.

Wake up, have morning coffee with Deila to catch up on the investigation—which is moving at the speed of a broken speeder; which is to say, not at all—and then do some work—whether that be flimsiwork, attending meetings or holocalls with other planetary leaders or organizations to strengthen relations. After lunch, he has his daily PT session after which he’s been instructed to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Considering he still feels tired and unfocused that time of the day, he obliges.

This afternoon, he’s taken Cerasi’s son Hugo out to het Veluwemeer for some skating. It’s the depth of Winter, and they’ve finally had enough frost to allow the lake to freeze over solidly enough that the all-clear for skating has been given.

Obi-Wan isn’t allowed to skate. Pepijn had raised a very judgmental eyebrow at him when he’d mentioned going out to the lake this afternoon during their session. Had merely said that if Obi-Wan would even dare to think of going on the ice, then surely Roenni would hear those thoughts and come to break his other ribs for free.

So Obi-Wan dresses himself in his thick wool coat, drapes a scarf around his neck and puts on his warmest gloves as he stands at the edge of the lake to watch the six year-old slither over the ice.

Hugo, however, doesn’t fall once.

Something he proudly tells his mother when Obi-Wan brings him home a few hours later.

Cerasi strokes Hugo’s hair back and kisses his forehead, tells him that “You must be really good then,” while giving Obi-Wan a pointed look over the boy’s head.

Obi-Wan looks away with a pleased grin. “Tea?” he asks.

“Hot chocolate!” Hugo cheers.

“Hot chocolate what?” Cerasi asks.

“Please,” Hugo tacks on.

Cerasi hums. “Good. After you get changed, though,” she says and, when Hugo races off to his room, gives Obi-Wan a pointed look. “Thanks for that. He’s gonna think he’s invincible next time.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Confidence helps to improve balance.”

Cerasi scoffs. “Then you can deal with the tantrum next time his confidence isn’t standing at the edge of the lake manipulating his skating skills.”

“I wasn’t helping much,” Obi-Wan protests. “Just a nudge here and there.”

Cerasi starts making her way over to the kitchen. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, I’m not allowed on the ice to physically help him. I have to make do,” Obi-Wan defends himself with a helpless shrug. When they enter the kitchen, the rich and almost heavy smell of spices and meat hits him like a warm blanket and he brightens immediately. “You’re making hachee?”

Hachee is a Melidaan stew made of beef, onions, flour, bouillon and wine. Its thick gravy is rich in flavor with pepper, cloves and laurel leaves and Cerasi always serves it with some red cabbage, applesauce and boiled potatoes.

It’s one of Obi-Wan’s favorite home-made Winter foods.

Cerasi hums in confirmation. “I assume you’re staying over for dinner?” she asks teasingly, grabbing a spatula and stirring the hachee that’s slowly cooking in the cast iron pan on the stove.

“Only if I’m welcome.”

“You dummy,” she says and waves her spatula at him. “You’re always welcome.”

Hugo’s sitting in the next room doing his homework and Cerasi and Obi-Wan are drinking tea at the round dining table in the kitchen, placed opposite the stove besides a big window overlooking the park across the street.

“I’ll start the potatoes in half an hour, so they’re done when Milou gets home,” Cerasi says and smiles against the rim of her mug. “She’ll be happy to see you too.”

Cerasi and Milou have been married for seven years now. They met when Milou had just moved to Melidaan from the terrestrial moon Gall and had been offloading some moving boxes from her small ship. Milou couldn’t see properly with the boxes obscuring her vision and Cerasi had been too engrossed in her conversation with Deila to avoid a collision. 

Nowadays, a reconstructed plate hangs in the hallway of their home and the women have matching tattoos on their wrists of the blue flower-pattern.

“We’ve all been really worried.” Cerasi’s eyes dart to the other room, where her son is softly muttering to himself as he works on his homework. “That’s why Hugo was desperate to go skating with you.”

“You told him what happened?”

Cerasi looks down at her mug. “Yes. It’s— having to sit him down and explain it to him made me realize how privileged we are. I know we suffered, but to see that our children don’t know war… it’s all we ever wanted.” She looks up and gives Obi-Wan a wry smile. “But now you got dragged into one again anyway.”

“It’s—” all right, Obi-Wan almost says. He doesn’t. “Let’s hope this was all,” he says instead.

Somehow, the words feel just as much as a lie as saying he was fine would have been. He has a bad feeling about this still, an inkling of a feeling telling him this is far from over.

Cerasi’s frown shows she must be feeling the same, although there is nothing but certainty in her tone as she says: “We will make sure it is.”

A promise she won’t be able to keep, if war decides to come knocking on their door.

“I just hope it ends soon,” Obi-Wan admits. “For the whole Galaxy. Padmé is close to losing her hope, the amount of refugees the IRCA helps is absolutely heartbreaking and… so many of the clones die.” Obi-Wan thinks of all the pauldrons he’d seen hanging on the corridor walls of the Maverick. Knows that he’s only seen a fraction of the amount and then, that’s only the Maverick. One ship in a whole fleet with millions of men dying every day.

It’s terribly unfair.

But here on Melidaan, even if they wanted to, there is nothing they can do but wait and see—and hope that it is not them that is next.

The taskforce investigating Obi-Wan’s attempted assassination has taken over the top floor of the Melidaan Governmental Building.

They call it the Grand Hall, and it was designed with state visits in mind. The duracrete ceiling and walls are a light gray, with the long sides of the rectangular room made up of mostly floor-to-ceiling windows set in oak window frames—a rarity on Melidaan. The big table in the middle of the room is made of the same oak, standing on black Melidaan marble tiles that cover the whole floor. 

Now, though, the oak table has been turned into desk space, the soft murmur of planetary dignitaries has morphed into almost frantic discussions and instead of soft, yellow lightning from the built-in light-strips on the ceiling the room is cast in a blue glow with all the holo projectors.

“It looks like a lot but it’s only for show, I’m afraid,” Deila says in greeting as she walks up to Obi-Wan. She beckons for him to follow her and they make their way over to the far end of the room, where she’s got her own desk set up. “Realistically, we don’t have anything.”

Obi-Wan frowns when he sits down on the other side of the desk from Deila. “Captain Panaka wasn’t any help?”

It’s a disappointment, he will admit. They’d held out hope that the conference call with the head of security of the Royal Naboo Security Forces would at least lead to something.

“Oh he helped raise a question,” Deila says with a woeful sigh and a wave of her hand. “Not that he could answer it, of course.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan echoes, resisting the urge to sigh. As if they needed more questions. “Which question did the Captain raise?”

Deila pulls up a holo and projects the route between Naboo and Melidaan. “He pointed out that the Triellus Trade Route is controlled by the Hutts.” Her finger follows the route from Naboo to Farstine and then to the edge of the Ryndellian sector. “This is nearing the edge of Republic space. The Captain was wondering if it could be possible if you were attacked by the Hutts. They wouldn’t do it in the middle of Republic space, but you were right at the edge. They could even have used the vulture droids as a cover, to make it seem as if it were the Separatists. Place the blame somewhere else.”

Obi-Wan just raises an eyebrow. “I’d say it’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you agree?”

Deila just shrugs, looking tired. “At this point, who knows.”

“We’ve never been in contact with the Hutts,” Obi-Wan counters. “Plus, I wasn’t even in hyperspace, so wasn’t using the actual trade route.”

Deila leans her elbows on the desk with a thoughtful hum. “Which might make it even more suspicious, don’t you think? Maybe they thought you were smuggling Spice right under their noses.”

It’s a creative idea, Obi-Wan will give the Captain that. Certainly easier to explain than a Separatist attack. However: “I doubt they’d use Separatist ships to settle their scores.”

“What reason would the Separatists have?”

“Retribution because we spoke to the Republic?

Deila huffs, the right corner of her lips curling up. “And that isn’t far-fetched?”

Obi-Wan strokes his beard, eyes turning to the holomap with a thoughtful frown. There must be something that could explain the attack.

That’s when a dinner conversation from a few months ago comes back to his mind, when Nield, Cerasi, Milou, Deila, Roenni and him had their last get-together.

“Didn’t Milou mention that last time she was home she heard whispers of Gall thinking about withdrawing from the Republic?” he asks, waving at the Cadavine sector on the holomap—their sector. “Zhar is sure to follow if they do, and the Trade Federation used to have a droid foundry on Eos,” he continues, trying to form those rumors into a plausible cause. Especially since the Force seems to encourage him to do so.

Maybe he’s onto something here.

Deila frowns. “I mean, the factory was destroyed twenty years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Doesn’t mean the Trade Federation has completely left, and they’re certainly sided with the Separatists. If Gall and Zhar withdraw from the Republic…” he trails off with a frown.

Is this rumor turning into a truth they’d been surrounded with but had refused to see?

Was war already looming on their doorstep before him meeting the GAR?

“Can Gall even leave?” Deila asks worriedly. “Don’t they have some naval supply depot there that’s important to the Republic?”

Obi-Wan laughs, although there’s very little humor in it. “Last I heard the Republic was democratic, which means planets can leave.”

Theoretically, of course.

Deila hums. “Would be a hard hit for the Republic.”

“And a major win for the Separatists.”

“So why get us involved?” Deila wonders, turning to the map and zooming in on their sector.

“If half the Cadavine sector is affiliated with the Separatists and the other half independent, wouldn’t you want to keep it that way if you were the Separatists?” Obi-Wan asks, even if he already knows the answer. The Separatists don’t seem as the type of people to leave something to luck or chance.

Deila raises an eyebrow. “So you’re saying that they got the wrong idea after the Republic’s visit last year and then your trip to Naboo, and now they want to scare us out of considering joining the Republic?”

Obi-Wan leans back against his chair, stroking his beard-covered chin. “Perhaps.”

“It’s not even an option we’re looking at,” Deila cries, sounding affronted. “They could just have asked.”

“In war no-one just asks anything.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Besides, it’s just a thought. But it sounds more plausible than the Hutts having somehow obtained Separatist ships and using those to shoot me down in protection of their smuggling routes. If we’re a threat to anyone, it’s certainly not the Hutts.”

Deila’s eyes flicker to the windows that look out over Zehava. Their relatively small capital that’s mostly known for its linen and black marble. “We aren’t a threat to anyone.”

“We don’t want to be. But the Republic has already tried to get us involved, who is to say the Separatists aren’t waiting for that same opportunity?” Obi-Wan asks, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

They should have, perhaps, considered the option. He should set up a meeting with Cerasi and Nield to discuss it.

Silence falls between them, neither having an answer to the unwanted question.

Deila, however, never stays silent for long. “What worries me is that they attacked the GAR as well.”

Obi-Wan raises an amused eyebrow at his friend. “I was shot down, and that’s what worries you?”

“Shut up,” Deila says with a grin and a dismissive wave of her hand and then asks: “Do you know if the GAR is officially investigating?”

Obi-Wan chuckles, because this is what he likes about Deila. She doesn’t care much for pretense or politeness and always prefers to speak her mind, even if sometimes people take it the wrong way. Especially Nield, whose temper can be quick to flare.

“Not the crash,” he answers, “but I can imagine they will look into the Separatist attack.”

Deila hums. “Any chance you can get your hands on that investigation?”

Obi-Wan thinks back to Jinn’s words to rekindle, how just before reaching Melidaan Jinn had given Obi-Wan his commcode and a small, hopeful smile along with it.

He sighs. “I can try.”

He’d never thought he would be the one reaching out to Jinn. In fact, he had only accepted the comm because it would give him the chance to find out Jinn’s endgame. Rekindling might sound nice on paper, but Obi-Wan still believes it to be a bit too big of a coincidence.

Which, he realizes, is exactly what he is using it for now. Sure he is reaching out for information, but Jinn’s response—will it be understanding or suspicion?—will give away at least part of his intentions.

Yet somehow, it feels off.

It’s not a tangible feeling, nothing concrete. Just a weight in the pit of his stomach and a somewhat disappointed twirl in the Force as he picks up his comm.

He ignores it for now, before he actually manages to talk himself out of contacting Jinn.

He will meditate afterwards.

It takes a while before the call is answered, and Obi-Wan is about to end it and try again later when a tired voice answers. “Jinn.”

“General,” Obi-Wan greets, opting for the man’s GAR title rather than Master—a word that still feels heavy in his chest.

“Ah, Obi-Wan!” Jinn sounds more awake almost instantly. “A pleasure, even if your timing is slightly unfortunate. We’re in the middle of our night-cycle.”

“Oh, my apologies. I can contact you later,” Obi-Wan offers.

Jinn chuckles. “Nonsense, I am awake now. Your return to Melidaan went smoothly?”

“Yes. It is good to be home,” Obi-Wan says with a smile. It’s quick to disappear, though, as he adds: “Our investigation into the attack, however, is far from smooth.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“I thought that perhaps you can help.”

“Ah, did you?” Jinn asks, a disappointed ring to his voice.

Obi-Wan doesn’t feel guilty at the man’s realization that this isn’t a social call. Truly. “Yes. Is the GAR investigating the attack?”

Jinn sighs. “We are, although not with any priority.”

With a war to fight, it’s understandable there is no time to spend on investigating why your troops were attacked. However, it wasn’t an outright no and so Obi-Wan soldiers on. “May I enquire if you have any leads?”

“Enquiring is free.”

“An answer isn’t, I suppose?” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

“It’s more that this is potential classified information you are asking for, Obi-Wan,” Jinn says, managing to sound both serene and admonishing at the same time.

Obi-Wan resists the urge to sigh. He’s not a young Padawan being reprimanded, even if the man on the other side of the call can apparently make him feel like that still. “I understand.”

To Obi-Wan’s surprise, however, Jinn continues. His voice is a tad softer now, as if he’s sharing a secret that must not be overheard. “Not that there is much to share, other than the fact that the abandoned Separatist outpost wasn’t as abandoned as initially thought.”

“And I tripped the alarm?”

“Your crash certainly might have,” Jinn says, which really isn’t any help at all. Obi-Wan isn’t really interested in knowing why the GAR was attacked. He wants to know why he was. “But that is only speculation, of course. In reality, Cadavine isn’t a sector that’s caused us issues.” Jinn pauses for a moment before asking: “Would you know more of any changes in the sector by any chance?”

He does. Of course he does, it’s part of the reason why he reached out in the first place. To see where the Republic’s investigation is leading, if there are any other rumors to uncover.

He’s just not sure whether he should share that with Jinn. One never gives away their hand in a game of sabac, after all, and contacting the man is a gamble in and on itself.

When Obi-Wan reaches out into it in the hopes of finding an answer, he’s met with a sense of caution. A call of attention. A warning, even if very small.

A worry, for sure.

“No,” he says, deciding that a lie is a greater benefit in this case than garner more suspicion onto both himself and Melidaan. “We’re not really involved in our sector’s politics.”

“A relief for you and a pity for us,” Jinn says with a sigh. “Perhaps you could let me know if a rumor reaches you.”

“And perhaps you can let me know if anything new arises in your investigation,” Obi-Wan shoots back.

“Of course,” Jinn says. His tone is nothing but pleasant politeness, but it still sounds like a lie. “But as I said this investigation carries little priority. Now, Triumvir”—ah, back to titles then—“if that was all, I’d like to catch some more sleep.”

“Of course, General. Thank you for your time.”

Jinn hangs up without further goodbyes, leaving Obi-Wan sitting on his living-room couch surrounded by frustrated silence and his comm in his hand.

He goes to turn it off and accidentally swipes the screen onto the next contact in his list.

Commander Cody.

He lingers a moment. Cody has given Obi-Wan his commcode, but Obi-Wan hasn’t given the Commander his. Meaning that any contact will have to be initiated by Obi-Wan.

Yes, the Force urges with satisfaction.

He hesitates. “I shouldn’t.”

The Force tugs at him with insistence and annoyance, not much unlike a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.

“No,” he says firmly and turns off his comm.

It’s not his reality anymore, like Nield had said. And he shouldn’t try to change that, no matter how right the Force makes it feel.

Obi-Wan calls a meeting with Cerasi, Nield and Deila the next day.

“Something is going on in the sector,” he says without preamble the moment they’ve all sat down at the round meeting table in his office.

He pulls up their sector’s holomap and lets Deila share what they’d discussed the day before. From the rumors to the unrest on Gall and Zhar to them theorizing about the Separatists potentially trying to get a foothold in their sector.

Nield seems skeptical at first, but that turns to slight worry the more Deila says.

Cerasi, though, is quiet throughout the explanation. Obi-Wan tries to get a read on her, but her shields are up and her expression neutral save for a small frown tugging at her brow. When Deila finishes, Cerasi shakes her head. “They’re just rumors.”

“There’s usually a truth to them. Even partly,” Deila says.

Obi-Wan nods. “And when I spoke to General Jinn yesterday–”

“You what?” Nield interrupts with a cry.

“We run into a dead-end no matter which turn we take in our investigation,” Deila says sharply, coming to Obi-Wan’s rescue without a moment of hesitation. “Even Captain Panaka was unable to help, so I asked Obi-Wan if there was the possibility of finding out more about the GAR investigation.”

“I didn’t, unfortunately,” Obi-Wan adds on, before either a frowning Cerasi or fuming Nield can speak up. “But he did mention they never had problems with our sector. Asked if I could let him know if I hear of any rumors.”

Nield shoots first Deila then Obi-Wan an unhappy look before he raises an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. “You told him no, I assume.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan nods and, to his relief, Nield’s brightly burning anger dims at that. “The fact that he is asking, though, worries me. The Force seemed urged for caution too. I get the feeling that this could be important.”

Cerasi crosses her arms in front of her chest. “The Force could be wrong.”

Obi-Wan bites back a hardly. Cerasi is being deliberately obtuse, which is very unlike her and he doesn’t want to make her current attitude worse. Not when he knows his next question is more than likely to do that already. “Could you ask Milou? She has family on Gall, they might know more.”

“What does it matter to us if Gall leaves the Republic?” she sharply asks him in return—as expected—and then waves a hand in the air. “More power to them, to be honest.”

Next to Cerasi, Nield nods. “I agree with Cerasi. I don’t know what they told you on that cruiser, Obi,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Obi-Wan, “but the more planets become neutral like us, the better.”

Obi-Wan sighs, rubbing his right temple with his index- and middle finger. “I’m not saying they shouldn’t leave. But–”

“Sure sounds like it,” Nield mutters.

“I am not. Don’t put words in my mouth,” Obi-Wan says sternly. “All I want is for us to realistically and critically look at the situation in our sector. They are rumors, but we have to think of the consequences if those rumors are true. If Gall and Zhar leave the Republic because of Separatist pressure, war will come to our doorstep whether we want it to or not.”

Cerasi lets out an over-exaggerated sight. “Who is saying the Separatists are involved?”

“They’re the ones that shot him down!” Deila answers heatedly, sitting in the chair next to Obi-Wan with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a scowl on her face.

“But we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about Gall and Zhar leaving the Republic,” Nield argues and gives Obi-Wan a pointed look, “aren’t we?”

“We are,” Obi-Wan says, “but who’s to say they aren’t, let’s say, encouraged to do so?”

Cerasi huffs. “By the Separatists?”

Obi-Wan nods. “For example.”

“You get all of that from a second-hand rumor you haven’t actually confirmed?” Cerasi demands rather coldly, shaking her head as she gets up. “Maybe you need to go see Roenni, Obi-Wan. Your head seems a little out of sorts still. Now, I have another meeting and I believe we’re done here, aren’t we?” She heads for the door without waiting for a reply.

A wave of helplessness crashes over Obi-Wan as he watches Cearsi leave. Her dissatisfaction, not hidden behind her shields but loud in the Force, are like a smack in the face. “Nield,” he says, his friend’s name a plea as he turns to him, “you have to at least see the point I’m trying to make.”

“I do,” Nield admits, even though it sounds rather wry. He sighs and brushes his fingers over his shortly trimmed black hair. “But you’re knocking on doors none of us want to be opened.”

Obi-Wan frowns. Melidaan’s neutrality is a sacred thing, he knows that. He believes it, too. But there is a voice at the back of his mind wondering if neutrality isn’t akin to ignorance in this case. He looks at the holomap with a frown and asks: “So we should look the other way?”

The Force disagrees.

Nield, however, agrees. Says “We should if we know that war is what’s answering,” before he too leaves the room, his point made and deeming the conversation over.

Obi-Wan sighs, slumping in his chair.

“Come one,” Deila says, offering him a small yet comforting smile, “let’s go grab a coffee.”

They go to the coffee shop a few streets away from the Governmental Building. A small place that has a few tables outside that always catch the morning sun just right.

Deila leans back against her chair with a pleased sound and tilts her face towards the sun, her eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. “They’ll be fine, you know how they are.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “Nield, sure. But Cerasi is usually more level-headed than this.”

Deila gives a small shrug. “We all go a bit blind when someone we love is involved. She’s probably just worried for Milou. She’ll come around soon enough.”

They’ve dealt with harsher disagreements and tougher topics. Rebuilding a planet isn’t easy, after all, but they’ve succeeded and become closer because of it. But this feels different. “I hope so,” Obi-Wan says.

Silence falls between them for a moment, but Deila wouldn’t be Deila if she doesn’t let it stretch it for too long. “Now that I have you alone, I’ve been wanting to ask…” she says and glances around to ensure that the tables next to them are empty, as if she’s about to ask Obi-Wan to reveal his darkest secrets. She looks at him with an excited gleam in her eyes. “What were the clones like?”

Obi-Wan blinks, taken aback by the sudden change of topic. “We just had a major disagreement on the war and you want to know about the clones?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Deila blows a raspberry. “No need to get defensive, I’m just curious.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Who’s defensive?”

“Shut up,” Deila says, leaning forward and giving him a friendly shove before taking her coffee. “Is there any sugar?” she asks, glancing around. “Ah, two tables over. Can you grab it for me?”

Obi-Wan does, waving it over with the Force until it softly drops down onto their table.

“So lazy,” she teases as she proceeds to drop an astounding three cubes into her cup. “So, you were going to tell me about the clones.”

Others have asked, but the question has always come with hesitance and trepidation. But Deila’s curiosity is genuine and bubbly around her.

So for the first time since he returned, Obi-Wan allows himself to talk freely about the clones with a soft smile on his lips. Their wishing-game where they’d go for leave, their curiosity, the alcohol and the unbelievable amount of comradery and kindness he’d received while on board.

“They sound nice,” Deila says, sounding thoughtful. “Nothing like what the holonet makes them out to be.”

Obi-Wan hasn’t read much about the clones on the holonet, but with their face at the front of the war, it’s easy to imagine they’re not kind words. “It’s easy to talk bad about those you don’t really know.”

Deila hums in agreement, sipping her coffee. When she puts the cup down, she flashes Obi-Wan a grin. “And what about that Commander?”

Obi-Wan nearly chokes on his tea. He should’ve expected the question, with Deila’s sense for dramatics and nose for gossip.

Yet it still catches him off-guard.

It still makes Cody’s face flash in his mind, those warm amber eyes and a steady, comforting Force presence. As if Obi-Wan needed to be reminded of that. Of their bantering and heartfelt conversations alike. Of how every time he sees his commlink his fingers itch to reach out.

“It’s… difficult,” he settles on.

Deila laughs. “Cause you've caught feelings for the man?” 

“I don’t have feelings for Cody,” he objects. He doesn’t tell Deila he’s working very hard on not having feelings for the other man. That’s between him, himself and his slowly wavering resolve.

Deila keeps her eyes on him as she takes another sip of her coffee, most likely considering if she wants to call him out on what she must believe is a lie. She doesn’t, although her statement of “But you know that in another future you do,” isn’t much better.

Obi-Wan lowers his eyes to his tea. “A future that we changed.”

If this were Nield or Cerasi, the conversation would be over after that statement. They’d happily agree, comment on how blessed they are that Melidaan is safe and move on to other topics. If they’d have the conversation at all.

But this is Deila, who is always brave enough to question the status-quo without much hesitation. It’s an admiring trait, even if it is one that gets her in trouble on occasion. And now, she turns it on Obi-Wan, challenging his firm convictions with soft words and understanding eyes. “And yet you still met the man in this one. In a Galaxy with quadrillions of beings, you still meet him. Isn’t that saying something? Isn’t that this will of the Force you keep going on about?” 

It’s like she has found the feeling in his gut, the whisper at the back of his mind and gives it a voice. “The fact I met him once does not mean I’ll meet him again. In fact, it’s better I don’t.”

“For who?” 

“It’s not guaranteed that we will even love each other. Just because I saw something in a vision doesn’t mean it will happen,” he points out. He means the love his future-self held for Cody, of course. But the words feel like ash in his mouth, a realization swirling in his gut that makes him want to either meditate or flee. Weakly, he finishes: “It’s only a potential, not a given.”

Deila scoffs, pointing an accusing finger at him. “And yet you let it rule your life.”

Obi-Wan freezes like a starship caught in a tractor-beam.

As if she’s performing open-heart surgery rather than holding a casual conversation, Deila has cut open Obi-Wan’s chest to reveal all his feelings, his insecurities, his ignorance. 

You let it rule your life.

The words echo through his mind, turning more and more accusing as they do so accompanied by a hot flash of failure. Be mindful of your visions, he’d been taught as Initiate at the Temple. The future is always in motion, so they must be treated with great caution.

Of course he hadn’t done that as a fourteen year-old coming out of a warzone with combat fatigue. Of course he hadn’t thought of that when he’d had to carry the weight of the responsibility of keeping the peace and rebuilding a planet on his shoulders. And of course after that, he’d forgotten that the future he tried to avoid might never have been a future at all.

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan’s inner turmoil, Deila continues, as if she hasn’t made her point already with the efficiency of a vibroknife between the ribs. “If war comes, it will come to us regardless of your feelings for the Commander. Didn’t we just argue over that? I just… don’t want you to throw away something you deserve because of an out-of-context vision you had over two decades ago.”

She’s right, he thinks to himself feeling hot and cold at the same time.

Kark, she’s right.

Chapter Text

After his conversation with Deila, Obi-Wan spends a long time meditating.

It’s nothing new in itself, he regularly meditates. Granted, after decades away from the Temple and no further training or support he doubts it’s a level of meditation worthy of a Jedi. He isn’t one though, so a more superficial style of meditation has always suited him well.

Yet this time, he actively seeks out a deeper connection to the Force. For the first time, he takes his vision and looks at it with a clearer and more honest point of view. Analyzing both the vision and his feelings attached to it. The decisions he’s made because of it and its ever looming presence.

He can’t fault himself for the actions he’s taken. Nor should he. They’ve built a safer Melidaan because of it.

But that was then. Before he met the clones; before he met Cody.

Because the crux of the matter is that he’s a hypocrite. That he allows himself to see the clones as a representation of the war while he knows they’re not—are more than that. For he knows so painfully well that a soldier is more than the blaster he holds. That a war has multiple sides and that in the long run, almost everyone involved is a victim.

That to fight his own thoughts about a man that almost feels like home is perhaps a warped form of self-preservation as well as fear.

For what if Cody he dies?

Yet therein lies the problem. In the one word that’s almost as dangerous as attachment.

Fear.

He resurfaces from his meditation with a clearer mind and a mission to regain control over himself and let go of the fear that’s like a glowing ember hidden in ashes for too long.

He starts following the war on the HoloNet.

After reading his first few articles and watching some news reels from the HoloNet News, Obi-Wan spends the rest of the evening meditating to release his flaring anger and bubbling memories into the Force.

The second time, he is more mindful of himself.

That doesn’t make the situation a lot better, it just ensures he’s more composed while scouring the HNN for news on the 212^th—he isn’t going to lie to himself and say he’s actually interested in the war when all he wants is to know how the battalion that saved him is doing. How Cody is doing.

But the more he reads and watches, the more he realizes that the HNN’s focus is more on our boys in white and their heroics than anything else. Not that there is anything wrong with slivers of hope, but it starts feeling a lot like propaganda rather than an honest depiction of the ongoing war destroying half the Galaxy.

So the search for another source is on.

It takes a while. Most sources are a big miss and if he thought the HNN was propaganda, well there’s apparently enough other channels out there to remind him that it can always be worse. The tabloids are also much worse. If they even report on the war at all, it is with screaming headlines and horrible holo’s more focused on whether an unnamed clone is having a liaison with a civilian on the planet they just liberated rather than, well, actual facts.

He's about to give up when he comes across a channel that feels more like a personal blog rather than a news channel. Simple headlines—sometimes only a location, even—and almost no formatting to the holo-less texts published on the channel. Each article reads almost like a diary entry, with locations all over the Galaxy covered.

With battles all over the Galaxy covered, he thinks and realizes that these could only have been written by someone that was right there on the front.

It feels very much like some underground clone channel that Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he should’ve actually found, let alone read. For while none of the articles carry any sort of sensitive information that can’t already be read on the HNN, there is a painful vulnerability and intimacy to reading the recollections of war through a soldier’s eyes. Nothing is sugar-coated, and while no bad words are written about the Republic there is a recurring sense of desperation for the fighting to stop, for the war to end.

Obi-Wan is painfully familiar with the feeling.

Not all articles make Obi-Wan want to get up and gather the clones in his arms and never let them go again. There are relief missions, sometimes even shore-leave, that are covered too but they are few and far between.

But he still doesn’t contact Cody, even if the urge is there and grows with each article he reads.

Finally, Roenni gives him a clean bill of health.

Once she’s signed the last form, she slides the padd to the corner of her desk and grins impishly. “So now you can finally take me out for that celebratory drink.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m taking you out?”

She waves a hand in the air. “After all the extra work you’ve caused me? Certainly.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Maybe we can arrange something with the others too. It’s been a while since we’ve all been out.”

Their outings used to be a lot wilder, with one very memorable trip to Zhar when they actually went clubbing. Nowadays, with all of them holding jobs and Cerasi having a family, their monthly nights out aren’t quite as extreme.

“Just make sure you do it on an evening when I have the next day off,” Roenni laughs.

Obi-Wan grins.

They’re still a lot of fun, though.

That afternoon, Cerasi drops by his office.

It’s been three days since she all but walked out on their discussion and they haven’t spoken since. Now, she stands in the doorway of his office, a cloud of nervousness surrounding her. She holds up a with a small, hesitant smile. “I’ve come with a peace offering.”

Obi-Wan waves her in. “We’re not fighting,” he says, because he certainly hasn’t been and he wants her to know that.

Cerasi puts the mug down on the desk and sits down in the chair on the visitor chair, rolling her eyes. “Because I’ve avoided you for the past few days.” She says, her eyes flickering out the window for a moment before she turns back to Obi-Wan with a sigh. “I overreacted.”

“Perhaps a little.”

“It’s just that Milou is worried,” she says in explanation. “I should have told Nield and you but it’s so personal for her. And I didn’t think it would impact Melidaan. Just us as a family.” She gives Obi-Wan a wry smile. “Our conversation was a bit confrontational.”

“I get that,” Obi-Wan says, because he does—has his own confrontation to deal with after all, and unlike Cerasi’s case, his ignorance is decades old by now. “But you’d be open to talk about it now?”

Cerasi raises an eyebrow and gives Obi-Wan a sharp look. “I’d be a horrible leader if I wasn’t.”

“I’m asking as your friend,” Obi-Wan says softly, offering a kind and patient smile.

Cerasi deflates with a long sigh. “We have to, but that doesn’t mean I want to.” She shakes her head and avoids looking at Obi-Wan, instead opting to look out of the window again. “Milou asked what we’d do if war broke out on Gall. Would we help? I don’t have the answer to that.”

“Would we help?” Obi-Wan echoes incredulously. “We’re in the middle of building our first refugee center and shelter!”

Cerasi worries her lip. “What about our neutrality?”

Obi-Wan scoffs. “We’re not going to karking war. But I’ll be damned if we don’t take in refugees, Cerasi.”

Cerasi flinches. “You’re right,” she concedes with a sigh. “It’s just getting close, you know?” she asks, soft and frail.

Obi-Wan stands up and rounds his desk, squatting down next to Cerasi’s chair and smiling up at her in an attempt to offer her some comfort. “I know. But just because we’re afraid doesn’t mean we should lose our compassion.”

She looks at him in silence for a moment. Then, she raises a hand and gently strokes a finger down his cheek, a sad smile on her lips. “You never did,” she muses. “Not when you were a boy and not now. How do you do it? Aren’t you scared?”

“Of course I am,” he says and then, remembering the advice he is trying to follow himself, adds: “But it’s important to let that go. We can achieve more when we don’t withdraw into ourselves out of fear.”

Cerasi huffs with a laugh. “I know it doesn’t matter much,” she says and there is pride shining in her eyes, “but I think you would’ve made a good Jedi.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “With how they’ve been made to fight in the war, I’m happy I’m not.”

“Yea, you’re right,” Cerasi says with a deep sighs. She rubs her temple. “If we are expecting war on Gall, we should let the Council know we’ll be taking in refugees.”

A good idea. They can discuss and prepare, if only mentally, for what potentially is to come. If war breaks out on either Gall or Zhar, they will need help. And while Melidaan will never offer to fight, they can offer a different kind of help. 

“I’ll put it on the agenda for our next meeting,” Obi-Wan says.

A month after he started following the clone HoloNet channel a new article is posted titled Darkness on Umbara.

There aren’t many details on the actual battle, but what is there is nothing but grueling. He sits frozen as he reads phrases such as unfair treatment of troops, suicide tactics and friendly fire. It reads like a downright nightmare, with a mentioned casualty count that makes Obi-Wan feel sick to his stomach.

He lays down his padd with a heavy feeling in his chest and decides to go for a walk to clear his mind, to soak up the comforts of Melidaan and the sunshine they’ve been blessed with despite the crisp cold.

He ends up at the flax fields, which in Winter are nothing but empty stretches of land waiting for Spring, when the new flax will be sown. Then, the fields will be desolate no longer as new life starts to grow with the passing of Winter.

A season is just a season after all, and while it repeats itself it also means it’s only temporary.

He’s always found a silly sense of comfort in the flax fields. But now, with the article on Umbara still fresh on his mind, it just makes him wonder.

For he remembers Cody sitting at the back of the mess while the troops drank and Waxer’s comment that he doesn’t often join. As a superior officer, who can Cody turn to for comfort after battles like this?

The Force gives him an encouraging nudge and Obi-Wan frowns. Should he send something? He certainly remembers the need for kindness and comfort after a hard battle. How Cerasi, Nield and him had clung to one another on nights like that with the Force a protective blanket around them.

But Cody doesn’t have the Force, and he’d mentioned not seeing Rex very often.

Obi-Wan hesitates. Would his words of comfort even be welcome? Would that even matter, though? He would be sending a message because he thinks Cody might need someone. If both he and the Force are wrong in that assumption, it’s only his pride that’ll have gotten hurt.

But he should at least try, offering comfort and kindness doesn’t cost a thing after all. 

He takes his small, hand-held commlink and snaps a holo of the flax field in front of him.

It’s Winter now, so the flax fields are empty and desolate. But Winter will pass, as it always does and the darkness and cold will make way for Spring. And in Summer the newly sown fields are transformed into a sea of sky blue flowers again.

His own silly comfort that he is sharing with Cody, even though the text is rather vague. But Cody has already proven himself to be a smart man. Even if he doesn’t quite get it, sending this is better than the alternative—that being Heard about Umbara, hope you are fine.

He signs the message with his name and sends it to Cody’s commcode together with the holo, the Force singing as he does so.

Two days later, Obi-Wan wakes up to a reply from Cody. He’s wide awake in an instant and will admit being slightly nervous as he opens it up on his commlink.

He’s been worried about overstepping since the moment he sent the message, and the wait for a reply hasn’t helped.

Thank you. Are those the fields you told us about?

Obi-Wan is relieved to find that his worries were unfounded. That his message has not deterred Cody—might even have helped.

When he’s sitting in his kitchen that morning, sipping his morning tea and watching the sun slowly rise with a warm, pleased feeling in his chest he wonders what to reply.

He can simply say yes, answering the question and potentially—possibly—ending the conversation before it even started. Before his conversation with Deila, he’d certainly have told himself that he shouldn’t. But now, with Deila’s words still on his mind and that pleased, warm feeling still in his chest he admits to himself that he doesn’t want to.

And so he sends back: They are. If you want, I can show you more of Melidaan

Obi-Wan is knee-deep into preparing a holo slide-deck for the upcoming Council meeting when his comm pings, alerting him to a new message.

His concentration is broken in an instant and he picks up his comm to check the message.

To his delight, it’s from Cody.

Anything better than this, Cody has sent together with a picture of a stack of padds.

Obi-Wan chuckles at the familiar sight, and sends back a holo of his own stack that seems to be never ending. I have a pile of those too.

He gets a message back almost straight away. But a better view. Interesting architecture…

They spend the next twenty minutes talking about Melidaan’s architecture.

Cody admits he doesn’t know much about architecture from an artistic point of view and Obi-Wan assures him that that didn’t play a big role in their initial design. He explains the history of the buildings, the necessity for quick builds that felt safe at the same time and how only in the decade afterwards the city had evolved and grown into something more than mere duracrete blocks.

Cody says he certainly understands utility and efficiency over anything else. Recalls the sterile white halls on Kamino and the almost cold hull of the Star Destroyer he now calls home.

Eventually they stray from the topic, Obi-Wan getting perhaps a tad philosophical as he says home is not a place, it is the people you hold in your heart.

Cody, however, is quick to agree. As long as I have my brothers any place can be home. Even if I wish I could kill them sometimes.

Obi-Wan laughs at the familiar sentiment. Before he can reply, however, Cody’s sent another message.

Have to go, duty calls

Obi-Wan blinks. For a moment he’d forgotten that they’re both important people with an actual job to do. Cody’s, of course, much more dangerous than his. And so, after a moment of hesitation and his heart beating just a tad faster in his chest, Obi-Wan writes back: Stay safe.

I tried

He wakes up to the answer six worry-filled days later—everyone has noticed, and Deila has even gone so far to take him out for coffee to softly and carefully ask him if his Commander is fine.

Now, Obi-Wan is relieved to find out that he is.

Or well, fine is perhaps to be determined but at least Cody is alive.

What happened? He writes back and puts his comm down before he can send anything else. He will get a reply when he gets one and there is no need to send anything else.

He’s leaning with his hip against the kitchen island, cup of hot tea in his hands and watching little snowflakes whirl through the air when the reply comes.

Broke my ankle. It’s not too bad, but I ran out of power packs during battle and had to make do.

Obi-Wan thinks back to watching Cody spar on the Maverick. No matter how short it had been, he’d been graceful and the movements seemed effortless. Still, though, that’s sparring with another unarmed man, not a durasteel battle droid trying to blast a hole through your armor. How does that even work?

Spin-kick. Cody sends back and Obi-Wan can feel the laughter in that one word—and he doesn’t even mind when it’s very easy to imagine Cody’s handsome face scrunching up in amusement.

He is feeling something, all right, but amusement isn’t it. Certainly not when he tries to imagine the strength of Cody’s legs to be able to kriffing spin-kick a battle droid and kill it—is it kill when it is a droid? Deactivate? Destroy? Will his mind not stray on brown skin glistening with water and—

He gulps a sip of too hot tea down and pretends it’s ice instead. The impressive he sends back isn’t a lie at least. He is impressed, after all.

And how is your health?

Good. Got a clean bill of health and I’ve picked up sparring again. It’s been hard work getting back into it after almost a month of not having worked out a single bit. His muscles were tight and it’s been a slow build to avoid overexerting his body.

But he’s finally getting back into his previous shape.

You spar? Any expertise?

Staff. I’ve practiced since I was young, he writes back. Not a lie, but not the full truth either. He is very good with his staff, but only because he’s had lightsaber training as a child. He’d picked up a staff a year after they brokered peace for Melidaan, unwilling to lose such a valuable art and skill—and unable to completely let go of his past. But I can do some hand-to-hand too, he adds before Cody can question him.

Pity we didn’t have the chance to spar on the Maverick. 

Obi-Wan chuckles. He’s not terrible himself, and apropos of sounding like Jinn, the Force does provide. But compared to Cody? You’ll have to go easy on me, I’m sure you’re much better than I will ever be.

Something tells me you’ll kick my ass with the staff. But I’ll be happy to correct your form in hand-to-hand… Cody writes and even without a tone or expression it’s an obvious flirt.

Obi-Wan’s cheeks are red from more than just the heat of his tea when he replies: Looking forward to it…

Messages turn irregular after that, but they don’t stop. A slow but steady and endless conversation that Obi-Wan comes to cherish quickly.

He tells Cody about going ice-skating with Hugo, and includes the full story of how he learned how to skate and that one year when Nield thought the ice was thick enough but it wasn’t and had plunged right into the ice cold water. His coffee-dates with Deila, his lunches with Cerasi and his after-work beers with Nield. Their evening out with the whole group, the shenanigans and the resulting hangover the next day. His plants, naming them and sending holos of them to Cody even if he leaves out the fact they are Force sensitive—although something tells him that if he were to mention it, Cody wouldn’t be surprised seeing how perceptive the man is.

In turn, Cody shares what the 212th has been up to, although he does apologize saying he’s far less eloquent and skilled at spinning tales with pretty words the way Obi-Wan is. Obi-Wan disagrees, for there is obvious fondness and aggravation in Cody’s tales. The adventures of Boil and Waxer—who had come so close to dying on Umbara but had thankfully pulled through and lived to tell the tale—that seem intent to adopt every tooka and child they find. Crys and Longshot that had a bathroom accident—in the sense that the bathroom in question did double-duty as a distillery and almost got blown up. Thumper, whose pauldron now carries an image of golden flax. And Cody himself, who turns out to be a bit of an avid reader although he hardly has the time for it.

But the conversation isn’t serious all the time, banter coming quite easily for the both of them. A small jab here—better watch yourself when you go partying with your friends, I remember the face you’d made drinking Crys’ moonshine—and tease there—leg-day today? Suppose you do need the extra training after Steady banned you for weeks after that fiasco with your ankle. They increase as they get to know one another better.

And sometimes, one of them feels brave—or hopeful, Obi-wan supposes it depends on one's point-of-view—enough to cross that small line separating banter from flirting. When Cody says he does enjoy a good romance novel without any embarrassment and Obi-Wan replies that he does appreciate a man who is so comfortable in his own sense of romanticism and not afraid to show it. Or when Obi-Wan proclaims he’s in desperate need of a shower after a long and intense training session and Cody remarks that he too enjoys a good shower, one of just a few ways he gets his body to fully relax and certainly the less active method.

More often than not, their conversations leave Obi-Wan with a flutter in his chest and the feeling that he is quite certainly falling deeply for Cody.

Obi-Wan is in the kitchen with Nield, rolling meatballs between the palms of his hands, when his comm pings on the other side of the room where it lays discarded on the couch.

“Can you check?” he asks Nield, holding up his meat and breadcrumbs covered hands. “I’m slightly indisposed.”

Nield watches with amusement as a little lump of ground meat falls down to the counter with a wettish sound. “You could just clean your hands.”

“Or you could just check my comm,” Obi-Wan says, but Nield is already on his way to the couch. The comm pings again, and Obi-Wan muses out loud: “Maybe Cerasi’s going to be late.”

Nield hums in reply.

There’s a flicker of shock in the Force, gone as quick as it comes and Obi-Wan glances over his shoulder at Nield. “Is everything okay?”

Nield looks up from the comm to Obi-Wan with a flash of resignation in his eyes. “All fine,” he says and it’s perhaps the most obvious lie he’s ever told. He tosses the comm onto the couch and saunters back to the kitchen with a smile on his lips that should probably look pleasant, but is painfully forced. “She’ll be here in ten.”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Nield—”

“Let’s crack open some beers, shall we?” Nield opens the conservator and pulls out two bottles, opening them with practiced ease. He doesn’t look at Obi-Wan when he puts one of the bottles down next to the bowl of ground meat. “Just because Cerasi is late doesn’t mean we have to wait.”

Stubborn as a falumpaset, Obi-Wan knows there is no getting an answer out of Nield and for once the man’s got his shields pulled up high.

He turns back to rolling more meatballs with a sigh.

Ten minutes later Cerasi arrives, just as Obi-Wan is washing his hands and the meatballs are sizzling in a pan on the stove. She breezes in with a grin and a foil-wrapped package in her hand, pressing a kiss to Nield’s cheek first and Obi-Wan’s second. “Sorry for being late. I did bring rijstevlaai to go with coffee later.”

“Put it in the conservator for now,” Obi-Wan says, drying his hands before giving the pan a little shake, rolling the meatballs around.

“Home-made?” Nield peers over Cerasi’s shoulder as she puts the rijstevlaai—a pie with a cooked rice and custard porridge filling—in the conservator.

Cerasi laughs. “By someone, sure.”

Nield pouts. “And I thought you loved us.”

“Enough to buy you one.” Cerasi plucks a beer from the conservator before closing it and turns to Nield and Obi-Wan with a grin. “Cheers guys! Are we toasting anything?”

Obi-Wan gives the pan another shake before picking up his own beer. “Good food?” 

“Nield? Something you want to toast to?” Cerasi smirks. “Vlaai, perhaps?”

On the couch, Obi-Wan’s comm pings again.

Cerasi looks at him in delight, no doubt a tease on her tongue because by now everyone has noticed Obi-Wan’s found himself a conversation partner.

Nield, however, looks resigned again. Lips set in a thin line as he raises his bottle at Obi-Wan. “I’d propose toast to Obi-Wan’s newfound relationship with Commander Cody.”

It’s a good thing Cerasi wasn’t drinking yet. She’d surely have spat out her drink judging by the shock on her face and her wide eyes. “What?”

Ah shit, Obi-Wan thinks as it’s now startlingly clear what had bothered Nield before. “You know, there could be another man named Cody that I’m exchanging messages with. Who knows—”

“Don’t try me,” Nield interrupts sharply.

“Who knows…” Obi-Wan repeats and sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Although you are right and that isn’t the case.”

Nield vehemently shakes his head and points his bottle at Obi-Wan. “I knew it.”

“How?” Cerasi exclaims, giving Nield an incredulous look.

Nield scoffs. “Because Obi-Wan’s such a karking romantic! Of course he took one look at the man and decided he couldn’t leave him well enough alone.”

Obi-Wan gives his friend a flat look. “Surprised you’d know, considering you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

“Would be better if you didn’t either.”

“Guys,” Cerasi sighs, “calm down.” She is taking this a lot better than Obi-Wan was expecting—unlike Nield, who is behaving exactly as Obi-Wan had expected him to upon finding out.

Even if the finding out part wasn’t actually supposed to be taking place tonight, when Obi-Wan doesn’t have a definition yet for this thing between Cody and him.

“When Obi-Wan is dating that clone Commander that’ll bring us nothing but grief?” Nield demands, not calming down at all. His eyes snap to Obi-Wan, glaring at his friend and pointing his bottle at him accusingly. “And don’t tell me that that’s not what you’re doing. Kark!” he curses and deflates with a sigh, rubbing his left hand over his buzzed black hair. “We were going to tease you so badly about it tonight.”

Obi-Wan blinks, taken aback at the sudden turn in conversation. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s go sit on the couch,” Cerasi says, a pleading ring to her voice as she starts herding the two to the living-room. “No need to keep this going right next to the kitchen knives.”

Obi-Wan gives her an amused look over his shoulder. “Afraid we’ll kill each other?”

Cerasi laughs as she sits down on the over-sized chair, leaving the couch for Nield and Obi-Wan. “Afraid I will kill the both of you. I have a child at home, that’s more than enough.”

Obi-Wan sits down and calls his comm to him with the Force from the other side of the couch before Nield can get his hands on it. He doesn’t need to look at the screen to know there’s messages from Cody waiting.

“You were going to tease me about the person I’ve been chatting with?” he asks.

Nield drops himself down onto the couch, dramatically and ungracefully and his beer sloshing in its bottle. “Well we didn’t know it was him!”

“A literal child.” Cerasi rolls her eyes.

Nield makes a rude gesture, which gets completely ignored.

“You’ve been practically glowing for the past few weeks. Of course we were going to tease you. And find out who the lucky person is,” Cerasi says softly, her smile kind but a tad hesitant.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “We’re not in a relationship.”

“Yet,” Nield says.

Cerasi sighs. “Nield.”

Nield deflates a bit, the storm that’s been gathering around him dissipating just a bit. “You don’t have to be in a relationship with him. It’s obvious you’re happier now than you were a few months ago, Obi.” He frowns. “But why him?”

Despite himself, Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up and he innocently asks: “You really want to know?”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about Cody, but as riled up as Nield currently is it doesn’t matter what he will say so it’s better to leave that for another time.

Nield looks ready to murder him. “That was a serious question.”

“Maybe instead of why him you can tell us what’s changed?” Cerasi asks, an attempt at changing the topic and satisfying her curiosity. “I know you’ve met him now, but your vision…”

“I talked with Deila.”

Nield scoffs. “Of course it was Deila.”

“What did she say?” Cerasi asks.

Obi-Wan looks to his right, out of the window where over the balcony edge the lights of Zehava shimmer against the night sky. “At the Temple, they taught us to be vigilant when it comes to visions. Not to ignore them, but to treat them with caution because they show only potential, not reality. To act upon them as if they are a universal truth is… ill advised.”

Cerasi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Deila said that?”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “No. But she reminded me of it.”

“Are you saying you should’ve ignored the vision?” Nield asks with a frown.

“No,” Obi-Wan says with a shake of his head. “I mean, technically the Jedi would disapprove of making decisions based on just a vision. But we built a safer Melidaan because of it. I can’t regret that.”

“But?” Cerasi prods curiously yet gently.

Obi-Wan strokes a finger down the side of his commlink. For years he has clung tightly to the vision, but the truth is that whatever happens now isn’t the same as what he’s seen. Reality is already different. “But perhaps it is time for me to let it go.”

“Such convenient timing,” Nield snips, but there is no real bite to it. Resignation, perhaps. Especially when he sighs, taking a long drink of his beer before muttering: “But I suppose you getting in a relationship isn’t going to change the galaxy.”

“Not a relationship,” Obi-Wan grumbles, although he can’t be too annoyed at their misinterpretation. Not when it comes with acceptance—no matter how reluctant it is.

Cerasi snorts. “Well, why don’t you tell us a bit about your not-boyfriend then?”

“Serious answers only Obi-Wan!” Nield warns with a half-hearted glare. Then, he scrunches up his nose. “Do you guys smell that?”

Obi-Wan sniffs and now that Nield’s mentioned it, there is a strong odor that’s suddenly wafting through the apartment. It smells like—

Fuck!

“The meatballs!”

Gall has started withdrawal negotiations with the Republic.

Deila doesn’t need to be told twice to get a team of intelligence officers started on collecting every bit of information on the proceedings of those negotiations.

At the Council meeting three days later, she presents their findings.

The request for withdrawal actually came days before the news broke and according to their sources, negotiations have been near constant since then. No details are known, but the Republic must not have achieved their goal of convincing Gall to stay because they sent a delegation planet-side to continue the talks. Unlike the delegation sent to Melidaan, however, this one is accompanied by the 501^st battalion—Obi-Wan is not surprised at all that Padmé is part of the Senatorial delegation.

The news of a GAR battalion on Gall starts a round of outraged chatter around the room. Questions whether this classifies as invasion. If the Republic is now not a democracy anymore. If they should be afraid of the Republic to come back because they decided that no wasn’t an accepted answer after all.

“In reality,” Deila continues, raising her voice and effectively silencing the room, “we don’t know if this is standard procedure for the Republic or not. Nor do we know whether this will escalate. In the best case, they have sent a battalion for the delegation’s protection considering they’re in the middle of a war. In the worst case, it might mean they expect a fight.”

“How big are the odds of the Republic using force to ensure Gall doesn’t leave?” someone asks.

“Historically speaking, quite low. But a drowning man will clutch at a straw. We just don’t know whether the Republic is cautious or desperate,” Deila says.

“Which means it is vital we prepare should the worst case scenario happen,” Obi-Wan adds, taking the opportunity to change the topic before they can derail too much. “As agreed during our last meeting, Melidaan is willing to take in any refugees hailing from Gall. To elaborate more on this topic and open the discussion, I give the floor to minister Vida.”

Jawo Vida, a green-skinned Twi-lek and minister of Planetary Affairs, gives a polite nod at Obi-Wan before addressing the room. “Thank you, triumvir Kenobi. As discussed in our last Council meeting, I’ve had a team working on a draft proposal of our refugee policy. I would like to take the time today to share with you the ideas behind the draft, as well as the progress on the emergency housing we have been building. As agreed with the IRCA, we are not expected to start fulfilling our refugee quota until the beginning of next year. This gives us room to offer the space to any refugees from Gall and the time to discuss the current situation with the IRCA. Now, I would ask you all to turn to page two of the document I sent to your padds.”

After the long council meeting, Obi-Wan is happy to retreat back to his apartment at the end of the day for a quiet evening.

He showers, and after puts on the soft pajamas that Cerasi got him for his last birthday. Soon, it’ll be too warm to comfortably wear, but they’re only at the beginning of Spring now when the evenings and nights are still cold with frost nipping at the ground.

He’s heated a bowl of split-pea soup, which is slowly cooling on the caf table while he sits on the couch with his feet folded under him.

Later, he will tend to his plants and perhaps read. Deila has gotten him a trashy romance novel about the secret relationship between a clone and the man he rescued during a campaign. It’s very flashy and very spicy and he’s quite certain she’d meant it as a joke but somehow it’s rapidly turning into a guilty pleasure.

But for now, he relaxes on the couch with his eyes closed in something that’s not quite meditation but helps him clear his mind.

On the caf table, his comm beeps.

He opens his eyes and raises his hand to call his comm to him. When he looks at the small screen, Cody’s name flashes back at him.

He smiles to himself, warmth and relief spreading through his chest as it always does when he receives a message from Cody. It’s been a week since Cody’s last message, the man caught in a campaign and Obi-Wan’s been hesitant to send a message and disturb.

As always, he feels he can breathe just a bit easier knowing Cody’s made it through yet another day, another fight, another campaign in a war that never seems to end.

It’s with relief that he now reads: Finally got the spa treatment I’ve been dreaming off courtesy of two weeks in the mud

If Obi-Wan’s found out anything about Cody these past few months, it’s that the man has an incredible dry sense of humor. One that never fails to amuse Obi-Wan. I would offer a massage to complete the experience, but technology hasn’t come that far yet unfortunately, he writes back.

Something to dream off for a later time then. Cody’s reply comes almost straight away.

It reads like a promise that settles warm and excited in Obi-Wan’s gut.

It’s something that’s come up in conversation multiple times as a throw-away comment or hopeful joke. The chance—the hope, the silent and unspoken wish—to meet again. But, Obi-Wan realizes as he looks at the screen, there are other options. And so he asks: Are you free to talk? We could have a holo call instead of just chatting.

Yes. I’d like that.

Obi-Wan lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

A minute later he’s collected his hand-held holo projector from his office. He places it on the caf table and connects it to his comm before calling Cody. The moment the call connects and Cody appears as a blue holo before him, Obi-Wan’s heart stutters in his chest.

The chest-up image of Cody in his blacks that looks back at him is even more handsome than he remembers, even in bright holo-blue.

Kark, he is so completely and utterly gone on this man.

“Seems we both decided to get into something more comfortable,” Cody says with a grin and a gesture to his blacks.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “They finally decided you’re only human and need some downtime as well?”

“Never. There’s enough flimsiwork to last me a lifetime, but our last campaign was…” for a moment Cody hesitates, “strenuous. Took the opportunity to do some work from the comfort of my bunk.”

Obi-Wan hums. “And then I came and offered a distraction.”

“Indeed,” Cody says with a fond smile. “How’s training been going? Any accidents this week?”

A few weeks ago, Obi-Wan’s picked up teaching the art of staff-fighting again and he now teaches two classes every Benduday morning. A beginning class with mainly children. They use props to practice, though, and while someone does get hit in the head at least once every training no harm is done. It is the advanced class that’s causing him grief, with the young adults always trying to either impress or up-stage their peers. “I think after the visit to the emergency room last time they’ve all learned to hold back a bit more.”

Cody nods in understanding. “It’s the same with the shinies,” he says. “They’re always accident-prone the first few weeks. They try to prove themselves. It doesn’t always go well.”

Obi-Wan hums. “Leaves you wondering if they can be any more stupid,” he says, hoping he really doesn’t have to find out when it comes to his own students.

“They always can be.”

“Oh I’m they can.” Obi-Wan laughs and then gives Cody an amused look. “You were once a shiny too. What did you get up to?”

“Not for long.” Cody shakes his head with a wry smile. “Alpha didn’t give us the chance.”

Obi-Wan frowns for a moment, trying to remember where he recognizes that name from. “The Commander that was in your room before you.”

Cody nods. “He trained us command batches back on Kamino. A downright asshole.”

“I’ll keep that to myself,” Obi-Wan promises easily.

“Oh you can tell him that to his face, he’ll be proud,” Cody says with a bark of laughter. “Still, he’s not the worst trainer out there, and he taught me the skills I have.”

Obi-Wan is left wondering what kind of training the clones have had. How they were treated. It doesn’t sound like it was good which just adds another thing to the list of heartaches attached to the troops that fight in the GAR. But Cody doesn’t offer any further information, and it certainly isn’t his place to ask. So instead, he opts for a tease to lighten the mood and potentially switch the topic: “So he’s the one that taught you to spinkick droids.”

Cody smirks. “Says the man that shot down a hyena bomber without being able to even stand.”

“Like attracts like, Commander.”

“Is that your way of calling me reckless?” Cody teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Dedicated, perhaps,” Obi-Wan says with a chuckle before his expression turns serious. “I might not know you as well as your brothers do, but you don’t seem like the reckless type. Not when your men rely on you.”

On the holo, Cody looks surprised. His eyes slightly wide for a moment before a small, grateful smile creeps onto his lips. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan clears his throat, feeling a blush burn on his cheeks. “Speaking of the men, how are they? How is Trapper?”

He’d heard that Trapper had gotten badly injured and hopes that by now the man has fully recovered.

Cody nods, confirm that indeed he has. “Back to normal.” The relief in his eyes is a testament to how much he cares about his men. “They’ve been asking after you, the men. Seems like you’ve managed to leave quite the impression in the short time you were aboard.”

“I’m sure I was a novelty,” Obi-Wan chuckles.

Cody shakes his head with a smile, like there is a whole other reason why the men have decided to like him. He doesn’t disclose this to Obi-Wan. “I think Crys and Longshot have brewed a new concoction especially for you, should we find ourselves in your presence again.” Cody smiles teasingly. “It has a lower alcohol percentage.”

“Don’t let the men hear you say you know about their illegal homebrew, Commander.”

“Homebrew they drink right in front of me. They really aren’t subtle.” Cody shakes his head. “But as long as it doesn’t impact their duties, we’ll allow them the comfort.”

Silence falls between them for a moment. It isn’t uncomfortable. It is the kind of silence where, if they’d been sitting next to one another, Obi-Wan would’ve put a hand on Cody’s knee or shoulder in silent comfort.

“Speaking of comforts,” Cody says, picking up the conversation again, “I unfortunately haven’t had time to start on the book you recommended.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t quite remember when he’d recommended Cody read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, but it’s understandable the man hasn’t had the time yet to read it considering he’s been running a campaign from muddy trenches. Obi-Wan glances over to his bookcase, where his own copy of the book stands and has an idea. “If you want… I have a copy right here.”

“A flimsi copy?” Cody asks, looking excited at the prospect.

Obi-Wan gets up to retrieve the book. “Yes. There’s nothing like reading from a real flimsi book. The feel and smell of the pages, a padd just can’t compare.” He shows Cody the book when he sits down on the couch again.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cody says. “Feel free to read to me if you want. Listening to your voice isn’t really a hardship.”

“Flatterer,” Obi-Wan says with a blush. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“No promises.”

Obi-Wan chuckles as he opens the book and starts reading from the first page. “Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.”

Chapter Text

In an unexpected turn of events, the Separatists have blockaded the outer rim planet of Gall. Just days ago, a Republic delegation was sent to the planet as Gall has initiated its wish to withdraw from the Republic and withdrawal negations have been ongoing for the past week. Now, the Separatists have cut off all supplies, trade and communication with the planet. Sources say the goal is to force Gall to join the Confederacy now that they are willing to leave the Republic. Chancellor Palpatine himself has deemed the action cowardly and disrespectful of democracy. The GAR has refrained from commenting on their current course of action, however with both a Republic Senatorial delegation and a GAR battalion planet-side, it is expected they will do everything in their power to ensure their safety. We have blockade-expert Tyreluk Shiwor with us today to share some insights in prior blockades during the war, and what they might indicate for the future of Gall. Mister Shiwor, welcome and—

Obi-Wan turns off the news with cold, numb horror spreading through him.

The Separatists have blockaded Gall. Will most likely invade Gall.

Fuck.

Worst case scenario, it seems, is now. And somehow, it’s worse than they’d expected.

Obi-Wan is woken by his comm.

He blinks, trying to clear the sleep from his mind and to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his bedroom.

Kark, what time is it?

The caller, unfortunately, doesn’t give up and he drowsily throws out his hand and calls the device to him with the Force.

It hits him square in the face.

He sighs—loud and drawn-out to fully express his annoyance—and rubs the spot on his forehead he hopes won’t bruise.

 “Yes?” he answers, voice still hoarse from sleep and he hopes that the person on the other end of the call better have a good reason. Part of him wonders if he should be more panicked, considering the general state of the Galaxy around them, that this could be a planetary emergency.

Well, he thinks, if it is he will certainly be fully awake and functioning before he can blink.

“Obi-Wan?” It’s Cody’s voice, more hesitant than Obi-Wan’s ever heard it.

He blinks, once then twice, and sits up dragging a hand through his hair. “Cody?” he asks, confused and worried because while yes they exchange messages on a more-than daily basis and actually had their second holo-call the other day, the other has never called him out of the blue. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Cody says, sounding stiff and formal and not at all fine. “Have you heard about the situation on Gall?”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Yes, of course. They’re in our sector,” he answers almost hesitantly. Is this about the GAR’s investigation on his crash and the subsequent attack? Is it because Gall is now under Separatist blockade, with a Republic delegation in potential mortal danger? “We’re not involved, Cody, I promise—”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Cody interrupts quickly, an apologetic ring to his tone. There is a moment of silence that Obi-Wan doesn’t fill and then Cody sighs tiredly. An indication of his worry. The only one, for when he speaks his voice is professional and steady and every bit the Marshal Commander that he is. “You might also be aware that there is a GAR battalion on Gall, sent as protection detail for the Senatorial delegation on direct request of the Chancellor. They managed to get an encrypted message off-planet a few hours ago. The situation is dire. The blockade has been in place for close to three weeks now and the Seppies are advancing. Gall’s capital Blaas has almost been destroyed and the troops are doing what they can, but they are in urgent need of disaster relief supplies.”

Obi-Wan rubs a hand down his face. With the blockade, they haven’t had any useful information but what Cody is saying unfortunately does match expectations. “We’ve been preparing refugee housing and support ever since we heard the news,” he says. “But we unfortunately don’t have any notable amount of relief supplies readily available to donate.”

“We have the supplies, and the blockade runners to deliver them. But they don’t have the range to reach Gall from Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan knows what Cody is asking. Part of him is upset, feels used the other would come to him for this. But when he breathes out, slow and controlled, he needs to admit that he also understands.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not even a terrible request. To deliver disaster relief supplies to the people of Gall and the soldiers fighting to try and protect it.

Obi-Wan wishes he could agree. But it isn’t Cody asking. It’s the Republic.

“Melidaan is a neutral planet, Cody.”

“I know. And I wouldn’t have asked if we had other options,” Cody says, soft and apologetic. Then, his professional attitude drops and his voice is a desperate whisper as he says: “It’s Rex’s battalion.”

Obi-Wan gasps.

“Please, Obi-Wan. For my brothers.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. “I can’t make that decision,” he says. And then, because this is Cody and his brothers and all the people suffering so unnecessarily on Gall, he offers: “But I’ll organize an audience with the full Council for you.”

Nield is going to hate him.

It takes over two hours, all of Obi-Wan’s persuasion skills and help from Deila and minister Vida to have the council agree to even hear Cody out.

A promising sign, even if Nield, the minister of Finance Annemiek and Intergalatic affairs minister Senn are far from actually convinced.

When Obi-Wan sends a text message to Cody sharing the good news and asking when the man would have time, the reply that right now would work just fine is instant.

A few minutes later, the holo of Cody in armor—sans helmet and weapons—is projected from the holo-projector at the head of the conference table. If Cody is fazed by the Council, he does not show it and instead bows his head in greeting with a polite smile. “Thank you very much for your time and allowing me this chance to come to you in our time of need. I am Marshal Commander Cody of the 7th Sky Corps of the Grand Army of the Republic. Currently, the planet of Gall is in the middle of a humanitarian crisis.”

“Is that what the Republic calls an invasion nowadays?” Annemiek asks with a scoff.

“Minister Annemiek, common courtesy is to allow our visitors to finish speaking,” Deila says before either Obi-Wan can comment or Cody can reply.

To Obi-Wan’s surprise, Cerasi also steps in. “Deila is right. Just because we don’t agree with each other doesn’t mean we should forego common courtesy. We are our planet’s Council, not a bunch of kindergartners,” she says, letting her gaze round the table. “Commander Cody,” she continues, nodding at Cody and making a go-ahead movement with her hand, “please continue.”

“Thank you, Triumvir.” Cody gives Cerasi a polite nod before turning to Annemiek. “Although I can address the question asked. Gall is indeed being invaded. Currently, the Separatists have blockaded the planet and have sent their droid-army down to the planet surface to try and forcefully get Gall to join them. The Gall armed forces, along with a GAR battalion that’s planet-side have been trying to fight back or at least hold position, but the situation is dire.”

“This situation would not even have happened if you’d just let Gall leave the Republic.”

“That is why the delegation was sent,” Cody says before Cerasi can call order, his voice calm and steady yet somehow still being firm, “to negotiate what a withdrawal would look like. The battalion was a safety precaution, requested by Chancellor Palpatine himself based on rumors of a potential attack by the Separatists. I would say that precaution was grounded. Don’t you?” He raises an eyebrow at Annemiek.

Annemiek presses her lips together, but in the light of what they’ve just been told is forced to nod in agreement.

It is not the moment for it, but watching Cody speak it’s so very clear that if Obi-Wan hadn’t been gone on the man before, he'd certainly be now.

Cody continues his plea. “But one battalion can only do so much. Especially with a blockade in place. We finally received word from the 501st on Gall, but it wasn’t good news. The capital city of Blaas is under heavy siege and much is destroyed. There is a desperate need for disaster relief supplies. Medical supplies and food resources are low. The water cleaning facility of Gall has been bombed and they will run out in the next five-day. People will suffer and die if we don’t manage to send these supplies.”

Cody pauses. One, then two, then five seconds.

Just too long to be comfortable but too short for anyone to protest. And just long enough for the true weight of his words to sink in with the Council, their shock ringing like an alarm in the Force.

“Unfortunately, our blockade runners don’t have the reach needed to deliver the supplies to Gall. Which is why I am here, talking to all of you. To desperately request that you allow us to use Melidaan as a staging ground to supply Gall with relief and aid.”

“We did not ask to be involved in this war,” Nield says coldly. “In fact, I believe we made it clear not to be.”

Murmuring from around the table follows his statement.

“And the people of Gall did not ask to be invaded,” Cody shoots back sharply, silencing the room. Softer, he adds: “All we ask for is permission to use your planet to send supplies that could save thousands of lives.”

In contrast to the silence that fills the room, the Force is loud. It’s not all good, nor is it all bad. It’s a lot like an orchestra whose instruments all play at the same time, creating a terrible noise with no real distinction or order. A terrible mix of worry, anxiety, hope and indignation.

Even if this ends in a success and the Council will agree to help Gall and the 501^st Obi-Wan knows he’ll be fighting off a migraine for the rest of the day.

“You have given us much to think about,” Cerasi says when it becomes clear Cody has said all he wanted to. Her eyes dart around the table. “I believe a debate is needed to come to a conclusion.” She returns her gaze to Cody. “Are you available for us to contact you either during our discussion in case of questions and afterwards, to share the outcome?”

“Yes,” Cody nods, “I will be at your disposal until the Council has reached a decision.”

Cerasi smiles, a small thing “Thank you, Commander.”

Before the holo disconnects, Cody dares to sweep his eyes to Obi-wan. They’ve avoided looking at each other throughout the call, but now their eyes catch, if only for a fleeting second. Faster even is the worry in Cody’s eyes. There and gone before anyone but Obi-Wan can notice.

There isn’t much Obi-Wan can offer. No words, no reassurances, not when the choice isn’t his.

He gives a small smile instead, and hopes Cody finds it reassuring.

The discussion has been going on for over three hours and they are going in circles.

The Council and Triumvirate are divided. Four clearly for and four clearly against with three ministers still clouded in hesitation. It doesn’t help that for every argument for helping there is one against it thrown onto the table and vice versa.

All of it, however, is so very logical and when Nield crosses his arms in front of his chest and makes yet another claim that they will risk their neutrality if they help the Republic, Obi-Wan has had enough.

Logic be damned, he thinks. Where is their compassion?

“And what about our morality?” he asks.

The room descends into a rather stunned silence.

Obi-Wan continues. “We are at peace, but the rest of the Galaxy is not. They suffer, every day and we know what that’s like. How are we better than the Separatists invading Gall if we look the other way?”

“We’ll be helping soldiers!” Senn, the youngest Council member that at the time peace was established hadn’t been old enough to hold a blaster, argues.

Obi-Wan gives him a pointed look. “Half of us were soldiers once too.”

A painful reminder, judging by the wave of anguish going through the room. Good, Obi-Wan thinks. “I’ve met the clones. They’re good men that deserve our help just as much as the citizens of Gall do.”

“And who is to say the Separatists don’t come regardless?” Deila adds on. “That they haven’t seen us on a map, right next to Gall? Maybe we are another stop on their road of suppression and violence. They’ve already shown that they don’t care about neutrality.”

The mood in the room shifts just a bit as realization dawns that even if they don’t do anything now, their neutrality might be stripped from them. That, and their freedom.

“The Republic isn’t asking us to join them. Nor to fight,” Obi-Wan says, hoping to give the last little push needed to tip the scales. “Only that they can send their ships from Melidaan. The question we need to ask ourselves is if we want to let thousands, even millions of people suffer a fate we know so painfully well or not. We can make a difference here. Provide the help we wish we had when Melidaan was still at war.”

“I think,” Cerasi says, slow and careful and right before the room can explode into yet another discussion that will probably take them into another circle, “that it’s time to vote.”

“Commander Cody,” Cerasi says, standing in front of her chair with a straight back and a kind smile, “the Council has voted. You may use Melidaan to transfer the supplies.”

Cody’s relieved smile is radiant.

It’s almost enough to make Obi-Wan forget that on Carasi’s other side, Nield’s chair is empty.

He finds Nield in the gym trying to destroy a punching bag.

Nield pauses when Obi-Wan enters, footsteps deliberately loud. He glances over his shoulders, angry fire burning in his eyes and he turns back to the punching bag with a snap. “Leave me alone,” he spits.

“No.” Obi-Wan makes his way over to one of the mats. “We’re going to spar.”

The punching stops again. “What?”

Obi-Wan turns his head, giving Nield a pointed look. “You’re angry, you want to punch me. So let’s spar. Get it out of your system.”

With how hot-headed Nield can be, it’s always the best way.

Nield hesitates, because of course he doesn’t just want to do the logical thing and give in to what Obi-Wan is offering. The urge to punch his friend, though, weighs out in the end. He stalks to the mat with a “fine” and tackles Obi-Wan before the other can blink.

They roll and grapple and then get up and get started on a proper sparring match. Nield’s on the angry offense and Obi-Wan’s on the defense, ducking and turning and twisting and drawing this out as long as possible.

It only takes half an hour for Nield to find anger towards that too. “Stop holding back!”

Obi-Wan ducks around another fist thrown his way. “I’d wipe the floor with you in less than two minutes.”

Nield snarls. “Who fucking cares, you already did! Betrayed us all nice and good with that Commander of yours.”

Obi-Wan freezes like a starship caught in a tractor-beam. The words sting like a vibroknife.

Nield takes his shock as an opportunity to tackle Obi-Wan to the ground, settling his full weight onto Obi-Wan’s hips to pin him down.

Obi-Wan doesn’t fight back. Falls harshly onto the mat and looks up at his friend with a pained expression. “I didn’t betray anyone. The Council voted.”

“As if you can’t influence that. Use the Force and suddenly seven out of eleven vote yes to help the Republic.”

“I would never. Nield, do you hear yourself?” Obi-Wan demands, lifting his left side to unbalance Nield and using that to flip them over. When he has pinned his friend down, he plants his hands just above Nield’s shoulders and leans in close. “First you say my connection to Cody won’t change the course of the galaxy and now you’re accusing me of what? Treason?” His arms are shaking, hurt and betrayal clear on his face. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and shakily says: “All I asked is for us to consider kindness and compassion.”

Nield’s angry, grey eyes soften at Obi-Wan’s words, glint with a combination of guilt and fear. He turns his head, looking away from Obi-Wan with a pained frown. “It’s not about him,” he admits in a whisper. His voice is hoarse and small as he continues. “I’m– you’re not… What if they come? With their droids and their ships and destroy all we’ve rebuilt?”

“Then we’ll fight them.”

Both Obi-Wan and Nield turn their heads to the doorway. Cerasi is standing in the doorway and when she has their attention makes her way over to the two men on the ground. “But we shouldn’t fight each other just because we’re afraid.” She  unceremoniously drops herself down onto the mat. “Are we really surprised that with the whole Galaxy at war, we are dragged into it too?”

A question none on Melidaan had dared to even think about before out of fear for the answer.

They should have.

Obi-Wan rolls off of Nield, hitting the mat with a soft thud. For a moment, the three of them all lay there on their backs, staring up at the ceiling with the weight of their worry a tangible thing in the air.

“What if we end up like Gall?” Nield asks.

Obi-Wan grimaces. “Then we hope that there are others out there that will help us the same way we are helping them.”

The silence that fills the gym isn’t comforting, but at the moment nothing is.

At one hundred fifty-five meters in length, the Foray-class blockade runner is much larger than any of them expected and just barely fits the largest docking-bay. On top of that, Melidaan’s only spaceport just outside Zehava is now filled to the rafters with crates, GAR troops and Melidaan’s own security forces.

Half of their security forces are keeping an eye on proceedings and the other half is in the proceedings of checking every single crate to be loaded into the blockade runner under the watchful eye of the Council and the amused eyes of the troopers.

Cody had not been amused when he’d arrived and Nield had smiled politely and said that they’d be checking every single crate. His right eyebrow had twitched and he’d excused himself right after to comm Command about the new requirement, but he hadn’t protested.

Obi-Wan is sure Cody thinks it an inconvenience. It certainly is, and that knowledge certain amuses Nield, but it’s also much more than that. It’s protection, a safeguard to ensure that the stipulation is being followed and no weapons of any kind are sent to Gall. Something that of course the GAR had promised, but which Melidaan won’t believe until they’ve verified it with their own eyes.

And so every crate is opened and checked.

Obi-Wan has paired up with Nield to join the small squad of five security officers performing their checks. He has also, selfishly, assigned a certain LAAT to his squad’s responsibility.

He’s met with four familiar faces when they near, and he smiles at the men. “Hello there.”

Thumper’s face lights up and he gives Obi-Wan an enthusiastic wave. “Triumvir Kenobi!”

Wooley is less formal, with his cheeky lopsided grin and casual “Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan waves back at the both of them, and then returns Waxer’s nod as the trooper says “Good to see you again, sir.”

“Sir,” Crys says with a mock-salute and then grins. “I have something for you.” He darts off before Obi-Wan can reply.

“I’d hurry!” Wooley calls after him, eyes turning to the other side of the hangar where Cody is still in his call. “The Commander looks to be done soon.” He does not specify whether that is with the call or the situation in general.

It’s probably both.

“Let me introduce you to my fellow Triumvir, Nield. A brother in all but blood,” Obi-Wan says, smiling at his friend and knowing that the clones will understand.

Nield gives the men a tight smile. “Thank you for saving him.”

It’s far away from a proper polite greeting, especially since the rescue was months ago. But Obi-Wan isn’t surprised a pleasure to meet you isn’t coming from Nield’s mouth. Especially considering their fight in the gym a few days ago.

They’ve talked afterwards, Nield apologizing for his rash behavior. For the hateful words he’d thrown at Obi-Wan that he hadn’t meant and had only spoken out of fear.

So for Nield not to walk around like a thunderstorm waiting to happen is a surprise. In fact, Nield has been guarded and almost demure ever since the arrival of the troops, taking it all in silently with sharp eyes.

And then, in a completely unexpected move, he tells the men: “He’s told us bits about you.”

Obi-Wan looks at Nield in surprise at the almost friendly addition.

His friend glances at him and there is something thoughtful there. It reminds Obi-Wan of when he met the clones. How it had changed his perspective. Made them more human, their situation more realistic—more familiar.

If the men notice the silent communication, they don’t comment. Certainly not as Crys steps out of the LAAT again with a bottle in his hands.

He proudly presents it to Obi-Wan. “Ship brewed especially for you!”

Nield watches the exchange happen with an amused raised eyebrow. “Is that booze?” he asks, because of course the bottle of alcohol catches his attention and amusement.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Their last batch was in stiff competition with paint-stripper. An impressive feat, considering the constraints of brewing alcohol in one’s bathroom.”

Nield plucks the bottle from his hands and opens it. He sniffs the bottle and makes a face. “Is there— what’s the flavor?”

“Alcohol,” Crys and Wooley say almost simultaneously. Crys continues: “Although we aimed for a lower percentage.”

“Cody did mention you’ve been experimenting,” Obi-Wan laughs, wondering if the changed recipe was the cause of the bathroom fire. “Thank you, Crys. Give my regards to Longshot as well.”

Wooley’s eyes shine with glee. “The Commander told you?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says with a nod and something tells him Cody will be either teased or talked about later, “we stay in touch.”

“That’s one way of saying it,” Nield snarks.

The men don’t react, but their amusement is obvious in the Force.

“Nield,” Obi-Wan sighs, trying to hide his smile behind his hand.

“Yes?” Nield asks innocently, in his element now that he can embarrass Obi-Wan in front of an amused audience.

Obi-Wan sighs and changes the subject. “Your pauldron looks nice, Thumper.”

Next to Wooley, Thumper brightens and turns his shoulder so the orange, almost delicately painted flax. “Ah, thank you Triumvir!”

Nield squints at the pauldron. “Is that… flax?”

“Yes!” Thumper says.

“Did you see the fields on your way in?” Obi-Wan asks.

Thumper nods. “We did! They look as impressive as you said. Saw the lake too, I think. The one that freezes in Winter?”

Obi-Wan turns to Nield. “I told the men about Melidaan while on the Maverick. Thumper was quite taken with our home.”

“First peaceful planet I heard about,” Thumper says with a wistful sigh.

Nield flinches at the words, and Obi-Wan wonders if it’s because it makes him realize the clone has never known anything but war, or because Melidaan might actually be standing right at the borders of it.

Despite the fact they’re helping, that this is a relief mission only, it certainly feels that way.

Thumper hasn’t noticed, and continues his wistful and excited words. “It’s too bad we can’t stay a bit longer. I’d love to try the food and see the places you talked about. Seeing Melidaan, I wish—” Thumper snaps his mouth shut and the men feel panicked and uneasy in the Force.

“You wish what?” Nield asks, slow and careful even though it’s not all that hard to imagine what Thumper was about to say.

Not for them.

Not when they spent so long wishing for their war to be over.

Thumper shakes his head. “Nothing.”

A complicated expression flickers across Nield’s face. He glances around the hangar, at the soldiers and then at Obi-Wan, understanding dawning in his eyes as all their past conversations about the clones suddenly hit differently. “Soldiers are always born out of necessity, not out of choice,” he mumbles, more to himself as his eyes look far away. When he blinks, Nield focusses on Thumper again. “Did they ask you?”

There’s a flash of panic in Thumper’s eyes.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “Nield, how about we let the men get back to their job.”

Nield huffs. “I only asked if the Republic gave them a choice to be soldiers. It’s a yes or no question.”

Obi-Wan feels Cody approach before he sees him. Worry and protectiveness precede him before his quick strides bring him to stand next to Obi-Wan.

The troopers straighten, standing tall and just a tad stiff as they bring their hands up in a sharp salute.

“At ease,” Cody says and the relaxation of the men in front of him is immediate. He nods his eyes to the crates. “I want the crates that have been cleared for transport brought to the ship immediately.”

His words are met with a chorus of “Yes sir!” and the men scatter—even if Wooley takes a second to wave a hand at Obi-Wan.

Cody turns to Nield. “I heard your question,” he says, almost sounding accusing. The my men shouldn’t have to answer unspoken but loud and clear all the same.

Nield, though, has smelled blood. He holds Cody’s gaze. “So?”

“It’s really not just a yes or no question I’m afraid, Triumvir,” Cody says, polite but stiff and unrelenting in his actual lack of answer.

Nield frowns. “You lay down your lives for the Republic. Either they asked you to or they forced you to.”

It’s like the whole hangar has gone silent at Nield’s words. The accusation hanging in the air that feels electric, like a thunderstorm is brewing.

Cody stands steadfast and unwavering. He doesn’t answer.

It’s answer enough.

Obi-Wan is left standing between two men he cares deeply about, his hands itching to hug both of them. They are, however, alike in the regard that neither would be happy with that right now.

“They didn’t even ask,” Nield says, disbelieving and slightly hysterical. Anger boils around him as he looks around the hangar, at the men in white and orange armor. He swallows. “I hate the Republic.” He says it like a curse.

Cody straightens. “We would not have been created without it.”

It sounds like a defense. But it just makes Nield’s face fall and the cold wetness of grief swirls around him in the Force.

Created for a war no-one asked them to fight.

“Nield,” Obi-Wan says, his voice soft and hoarse. He clears his throat and lays a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go check with Cerasi how they’re proceeding with their checks. It looks like our section has almost been fully cleared.”

Nield blinks before he turns to Obi-Wan. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. Like he’s going to ask more questions that Obi-Wan instinctively knows none of them will like the answers too.

He doesn’t.

“Fine,” Nield relents. He turns to Cody and says: “My apologies, Commander.” He doesn’t specify what he is apologizing for.

Nor does Cody ask for any clarification when he nods. 

When the crates have been checked and the men get a half-hour break before breaking up into two groups—one leaving with the blockade runner and the other returning to the Maverick, Obi-Wan finds a moment alone with Cody.

None of the men are subtle in their curiosity when Obi-Wan requests to speak with the Commander privately, but neither is the request itself. Not that there is much privacy to be found in a hangar full of people, but at least behind the blockade runner they’re hidden from curious eyes and listening ears.

For all that their chats and calls were easy, the first few moments that they are faced with one another feel stiff and awkward.

Obi-Wan, eloquent as he normally is, doesn’t know what to say. Or rather, he wants to say too much and knows he shouldn’t. Not here, not now, not yet. For theirs is a growing relationship still. I missed you is too familiar. A hug too forward. I’m so glad you didn’t die because there were many times I feared you might way too desperate.

“It’s good to see you,” he settles on eventually with a smile he hopes speaks all the words he’s elected not to voice.

“It’s— hah,” Cody chuckles, the tenseness in his shoulders relaxing just a bit. He smiles at Obi-Wan, small and fond. “Yea, seeing you is the only good thing about this whole karking campaign.”

Obi-Wan takes a step towards Cody, reaching out a hand so he can curl his fingers around the other’s pauldron for a moment before pulling back. “How are you?” he asks softly, almost carefully.

A complicated expression flashes over Cody’s face at the question. Something surprised and vulnerable that makes Obi-Wan wonder how long it’s been since someone’s truly asked. Cody sighs, eyes darting to the ship next to him and he gives a wan, tired smile. “Better now that we can send supplies.”

“I’m happy we could help.”

“I owe you. Even getting the Council to agree to hear me out can’t have been easy.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head and lifts his hand from Cody’s pauldron to give a dismissive wave. “It was about time we faced reality.”

“Still. Thank you, Obi-Wan.” Cody reaches out a hand, circling his fingers around one of Obi-Wan’s hands. “I only hope that this”—he waves his free hand at the blockade runner—“won’t change things between us. That you might think an opportunity like this is why I stayed in touch.”

“I didn’t,” Obi-Wan says, shaking his head. He turns his hand in Cody’s grip so he can intertwine their fingers. “If anything, it showed me how devoted you are. How much you care.”

Cody smiles. “Not just me.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Anyone would’ve helped.”

Cody scoffs. “They wouldn’t, and you know it. But you did,” he says, expression softening. “You care.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan murmurs, although he isn’t sure if they’re still speaking about the relief mission.

Either way, the words hold true.

Cody sucks in a breath. “Me too, Obi-Wan.”

Their eyes catch, and hold. Blue meeting amber while they gravitate towards each other. Obi-Wan’s heart speeds up in his chest, anticipation swirling in the Force. He reaches up a hand to brush his fingers over Cody’s cheek and one of Cody’s gloved hands strokes up the back of his neck.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his breath ghosting over Cody’s lips.

Cody shivers, whispers a breathless “yea,” and—

“Commander.”

Both men freeze.

Cody is the first to recover, letting out a harsh sigh and all soft edges are gone within the blink of an eye. “Yes, Waxer?”

Out of sight, Waxer clears his throat and, sounding apologetic, says: “I’ve got Generals Jinn and Windu on call. They’re asking for a sitrep to align the next part of the campaign.”

“Coming.” Cody steps back and gives Obi-Wan an apologetic smile, his regret and annoyance radiating off of him. “I’m sorry.”

“Better luck next time,” Obi-Wan says, offering an understanding smile of his own. “Duty before pleasure.”

When he watches Cody walk away, he wonders how long it will be that they get the chance to meet again.

Chapter Text

It takes two weeks for the Republic to break the blockade around Gall and liberate the planet.

It’s a victory and a relief, although Nield still scoffs at the term liberation—something which earns him an eye roll from Cerasi and a loud sigh from Obi-Wan.

No-one comments with actual words, though. Not when it seems that after Nield’s confrontation with Cody in the hangar his opinion on the Republic has gotten even worse.

Not that anyone can blame him. In fact, Obi-Wan has caught several whispers of agreement. Mainly from those old enough to remember the war that are silently seething as they realize that they had more choice fighting in their own war, than the men serving in the GAR do fighting in the name of a Republic that didn’t even so much as ask.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure how to feel, but it certainly makes him want to envelop all the clones in a hug and never let go.

As Triumvirate, they contact the Council of Elders on Gall. Offer them that any of their people in need of temporary housing are welcome to use Melidaan’s refugee centers. The offer is met with gratitude and the confirmation that within a two-day, Melidaan can expect the first transport of those in need of a roof over their head.

“We will come pick them up ourselves,” Cerasi offers, kindly and proudly and completely catching both Obi-Wan and Nield by surprise.

“Two in one,” she says after the holo-call finishes. “Or well, three in one even. It’s the least we can do to help, with no real effort from our side.”

“That’s one,” Nield says, lacing his fingers behind his head and lazily leaning back against his chair. “Milou is the second bird, I assume?”

Cerasi nods. “She wants to go back and help out. There’s a decent-sized community of Gallese here and they’ve been busy. Collecting funds and supplies for those hit by the war and now that the fighting is over they can finally deliver them.”

Listening to Cerasi, Obi-Wan is proud of their people. That they are so willing to help others on their own accord. Not only for friends and family, but also for strangers.

“How is Milou’s family?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Scared and shaken but safe, thankfully.”

“Good. They’ll certainly be happy to see Milou,” Obi-Wan says with a smile. “So, what’s reason three?”

Cerasi looks right at him, her lips curving up into an almost teasing smile. “You.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “Me?”

Nield smirks at Cerasi. “How romantic of you.”

That’s when the credit drops. The 212th is on Gall, and going there will allow Obi-Wan a chance to see Cody. He blushes, a small, grateful smile on his lips as he looks at his friends. “This is surprisingly supportive.”

Cerasi shrugs. “He makes you happy. Plus, he seems like a good man.”

Nield agrees with a hum, giving Obi-Wan a small, careful smile. “Maybe they’re not so bad, those clones.”

It’s a flurry of commotion and activity from the moment their delegation of five—the Triumvirate and ministers of Defense and Intergalactic Affairs—arrive on Gall.

They are met with the Gallese Council of Elders and Jedi Generals Jinn and Skywalker. The two additions to the welcoming party are a surprise they thankfully swallow down and hide under pleasantries.

It makes Obi-Wan all the more grateful that they had decided it best that Senn would do most of the talking, as Minister of Intergalactic relations. It is quickly agreed that they will join the Council on their rounds through the city, visiting victims and assessing the damage.

“It will help our people to see your faces,” one of the councilors says. “To know you helped us when we did so little to help you…” she sighs and offers them a thin smile. “Melidaan’s kindness will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you,” Senn says with a small nod of his head. “We help because we know what it is like to be on our own. No planet deserves that.”

The Councilor nods. “Still, our people are grateful. And I know the 501st is as well. Your help did not just save us.”

“Oh!” Cerasi says, perking up and not doing anything to hide her glee. “Perhaps we could meet with them as well.”

And, as if they practiced, Nield adds: “We could split up. Obi-Wan can take Deila to meet the troops, since he’s already familiar with them.”

Obi-Wan isn’t quite sure if he is grateful or upset that he is being set up.

The Councilor nods along to Nield’s words. “An efficient idea, Triumvir Nield.”

“We can escort the Triumvir and Minister to our camp, if they wish.” Surprisingly, it is General Jinn that makes the offer with a pleasant smile–and even if Cerasi and Nield weren’t trying to give Obi-Wan a chance to see Cody, it would probably be for the best neither of them are to join the Jedi lest they declare war to the Republic out of sheer spite. “General Skywalker and myself are due back for a call with the Council, but one of the men can take over from us.”

The offer is met with various levels of enthusiasm, and Obi-Wan quickly accepts it before Nield can make a snippy comment.

They agree to stay in touch over comms to agree on a rendezvous point later before parting.

They walk in tense silence for a few moments before Skywalker sighs. Begrudgingly, he says: “Thank you for your help with this campaign.”

Deila glances at Obi-Wan, raising an eyebrow at him as if silently asking about the reluctant thanks they’re receiving. Obi-Wan shakes his head. He doesn’t even really know what’s going on, but it’s obvious that Skywalker hasn’t taken a liking to him and isn’t even pretending.

“Indeed,” Jinn agrees, much more pleasant and heartfelt. The smile he directs at Obi-Wan and Deila is filled with gratitude. “If my Commander hadn’t reached out to you, help might have come too late.”

“I do wonder why he reached out to you,” Skywalker mumbles.

Obi-Wan turns to Skywalker with a pleasant smile. “Commander Cody and I are acquainted. Similar to Senator Amidala and yourself, General Skywalker, so I’m sure you’ll understand.”

For a moment, Skywalker looks baffled. “You— Ah,” he trails off, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face. Afterwards, his expression softens a tad and when he looks at Obi-Wan there is a sudden understanding in his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I do understand.”

“Good,” Jinn says with the relief of a man that’s been suffering for a while. “Now that we got that sorted out”—he gives Skywalker a rather pointed look—“let’s go find Torrent.”

“Yes, Master.”

Deila and Obi-Wan fall behind a few steps. “Young love, huh?” Deila whispers.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “If I ever behave like that please kill me.”

Deila chuckles. “Gladly.”

Skywalker’s boyishness disappears when he calls one of his men over. “Fives, do you have some time for us please.”

The trooper that rushes over—Fives—has a five tattooed on his right temple matching his name, a goatee and a rather flirty smile he throws at Deila as he rushes over before he straightens himself and looks at his General. “Of course, Sir.”

Skywalker turns to Obi-Wan and Deila. “Let me introduce you to ARC trooper Fives, one of the 501st finest.”

Fives nods, pride in his eyes. “Sirs.”

“Fives,” Skywalker turns to the other man, “meet Triumvir Kenobi and Minister Deila from Melidaan.”

“Anakin and I need to speak with the Council, but the Triumvir and Minister are here to meet some of the men,” Jinn says. “We were thinking you could take them around and introduce them to Torrent.”

“Of course. It would be my pleasure, General.”

Jinn and Skywalker leave and Fives turns a grin to his two charges. “Heard we’ve got you to thank for receiving those emergency supplies. Helped save a lot of us.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Yea,” Fives nods. “So I suppose it’s good you’re here. We’ve been wanting to meet the people that helped us. And I might’ve heard a thing or two about you, Triumvir.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Good things only, I hope.”

“Of course. Come, I’ll introduce you to my twin first and then we can go find the rest of Torrent.”

“So what came first, the name or the tattoo?” Deila asks curiously as they walk off.

“Getting personal right away?” Fives chuckles and shoots Deila a grin. “My designation is CT-5555. So actually, that’s what came first. Does that answer your question?”

Deila has the decency to look at least slightly embarrassed. “It does, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Minister.”

“You can call me Deila. No need for such formalities.” Deila waves a hand in the air. “Minister is more of a job title anyway.”

Fives glances at her, an unmistakable appreciative glance in his eyes. “And what are you Minister of, if I may ask.”

Deila raises her chin a tad, lips curling up because if there’s anyone that holds pride in their position—elected for the fifth consecutive time—it’s her. “Defense.”

Fives whistles. “Looks and brains.”

Deila raises an eyebrow. “Can’t say the same about you,” she quips back. “You don’t seem to be thinking much with your brain.”

Obi-Wan bites back a snort. Of course she has noticed Fives’ far from subtle glances, but what surprises him is that she still seems amused. Her quip is more teasing than biting, which would be a more likely reaction in these kinds of situations.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker over to Fives, who is walking on Deila’s right—the other side from Obi-Wan.

Interesting.

“Ah,” Fives wags his eyebrows just as they reach another trooper, “but you think I’m good looking.”

Deila stops walking with a huff. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and leans her weight onto her left leg. “I think you’re pretty annoying.” She says it rather dismissively.

A lie, considering how amusement and the small wisps of interest twirl around her in the Force.

“Aw, don’t say that. Not until you’ve gotten to know me properly.”

The other clone snorts before Fives can introduce him, obviously listening in on the conversation. He’s got a regular haircut, a handprint on his armor and he shakes his head when he looks at Fives. Then, he tells them: “Please excuse him. Something went wrong when he was decanted”—

“Hey!” Fives objects.

—“and it’s messed up his brain-to-mouth filter.” The man grins at Deila, although there is a hint of worry in his eyes at his next words. “Please don’t hold it against him.”

Deila shakes her head. “All fine…”

“Echo.”

“Echo. No need to worry, it’s all in good fun. I won’t tell your General if you don’t,” Deila says with a wink. “Maybe while we make our way through camp, your brother will find the brain he’s supposedly lost.”

Fives nearly chokes on his own spit at her words.

Torrent is as exuberant a bunch as Ghost company, if just a little bit more unhinged if you ask Obi-Wan.

But maybe that is because they’re all sitting on the side-lines, watching as Fives has gone from trying to charm Deila to having a rather intense conversation with her. About what, Obi-Wan doesn’t know but both Deila and Fives seem to be enjoying themselves.

“You know, I’m not sure Cody will be too happy if he finds Torrent trying to steal the Triumvir.”

Everyone turns to find Captain Rex standing a few meters away.

He waves his hand before any of the men can jump up. “At ease,” he tells them before his amused eyes flicker to Obi-Wan and then back to his men. “But I wasn’t joking.”

Hardcase laughs. “We’re not interested in stealing the Commander’s Triumvir. It’s Fives that’s trying to charm the pants off of that Minister.”

Jesse snorts. “Badly.”

“Oh I’m not sure about that.” Obi-Wan chuckles, glancing at the pair. He might not know Fives, but he knows Deila. She’s always been a woman that generally doesn’t take bullshit nor talks to someone for the sake of politeness.

No, she definitely wants to talk to Fives and both her and Fives’ interest is blatantly obvious in the Force.

“What?” Echo asks with a laugh and turns to Fives, surprise clear on his face. “Really?”

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then,” Hardcase says with a smirk and stands up in a flash.

“Hardcase! No!” Jesse screams and within a second, all men previously seated around Obi-Wan jump up and follow their brother with various curses.

Within less than ten seconds, Deila and Fives’ conversation is disrupted, even if Hardcase technically never makes it over. But a man being tackled to the ground by three of his brothers is indeed quite the disruption. Poor Fives looks ready to murder his brothers right where they lay on the ground.

Rex sits down in the spot next to Obi-Wan that the men have just vacated. Obi-Wan expects him to comment on his men, but instead Rex looks at Obi-Wan and says almost conversationally: “You know, Cody has been given a private tent and an order to take a night off.”

Obi-Wan blinks, taken aback by the sudden information. “Oh?”

Rex hums. “Seems like General Jinn finally decided he needs a night off.”

“How nice of him,” Obi-Wan mumbles. He can guess that Rex is telling him for Cody’s sake, considering the emphasis on the fact Cody has a private tent. But for Jinn to give his Commander a random night off in the middle of a clean-up after a campaign.

Kark, that is even more embarrassing than Cerasi and Nield’s antics.

“You’re a nice man too, Kenobi.” Rex’s tone is casual and non-threatening. But there is a warning in his eyes as they rest on Obi-Wan and a seriousness in his Force presence. “So I don’t think you would ever intentionally hurt my brother. But I swear, if you do I’ll make you wish you froze to death on that moon you met him on.”

Normally, Obi-Wan would raise an eyebrow at receiving a shovel-talk. Such an unnecessary thing when there are two consenting adults involved. But when he looks Rex in the eyes, he is reminded that the clones only have each other. That Rex and Cody are close.

He dips his head in acknowledgement. “Noted, Captain.”

“Good,” Rex says with a nod and then grins impishly in a way only a younger brother can. “Then I guess I should let you know where Cody’s private tent is.”

Deila assures him with a smirk that she’s fine being left on her own. “I’ll also let the others know you’ll be indisposed tonight,” she teases.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “And where will you be tonight, hm?”

Deila laughs in reply and gives Obi-Wan’s shoulder a push. “Get going! You’re keeping the Captain waiting.”

Obi-Wan is still chuckling when he joins Rex, who offered to bring Obi-Wan to Cody.

A ploy, it seems, for the Captain to bring up another topic of conversation. “I’m not sure how often you’ve heard this by now, but I wanted to thank you for your help to get those supplies to us.”

Obi-Wan smiles at the other. “Our pleasure, Captain. Melidaan has been happy to help.”

Rex shakes his head. “I didn’t mean what your Council decided. I meant thank you for what you did, Triumvir. For listening to Cody when he asked for your help. I know you did it for Cody, but it doesn’t change the difference you have made.”

This time, it is Obi-Wan’s turn to shake his head. “I did it because it is the right thing to do,” he says. It is true that if Cody and him didn’t stay in touch there was no way for him to have been able to speak to the Council. But his contact with Cody isn’t the reason why he listened. “We were already preparing to help Gall in our own way. It’s not the right thing to let people suffer when we can do something about it.”

Rex nods with a solemn expression. “The people of Gall—”

“But it weren’t just the Gallese we helped,” Obi-Wan interrupts. He smiles at the Captain. “Even if it had only been the 501^st, I still would have plead Cody’s case to the Council. I did it for you and your men too, Captain.”

A look of surprise flashes over the Captain’s face before the man smiles in return, gratefulness in his eyes. “Rex,” he says, the offer of his name sounding very much like a thank-you.

“Obi-Wan.”

Rex chuckles. “Oh yes, I am aware. I’ve heard much about you, Obi-Wan.” He grins, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he asks: “So, any chance you want to hear some embarrassing stories about Cody?”

Obi-Wan laughs. “Absolutely.”

“Codes, someone’s here to see you!” Rex hollers once they reach one of the smaller tents in a quieter area with fewer troops. Before anyone can emerge from the tent Obi-Wan now finds himself in front of, Rex slaps his shoulder, tells him to “have fun” and darts off.

As if he is expecting shenanigans, Cody—in his blacks and leg-armor only—appears in the opening of the tent with a frown. The moment he sees Obi-Wan, his expression softens. “Obi-Wan,” he says and his small smile is somewhat confused. “I’d heard there was a delegation from Melidaan here, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get the chance to see you.”

Obi-Wan takes a step towards Cody with a small frown. “You think I would not come see you if I’m on the same planet?”

It’s true they haven’t really talked about what this thing is between them, but surely by now it should be rather obvious. Shouldn’t it?

Cody’s answering smile is almost hesitant. “I didn’t want to assume.”

He looks absolutely breathtaking like that, the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks, a hopeful sparkle in his eyes and shy smile on his lips. Obi-Wan wants to kiss him, desperately. “Then maybe we should continue where we left off last time, so there’s no doubt needed next time.”

A tease and a flirt as much as much as a first open acknowledgement of what’s between them.

Cody’s hesitance bleeds away in an instant. He lifts the tent flap a bit more with a pleased grin. “Then I suggest you come in.”

Excitement dances around the both of them in the Force as Obi-Wan steps inside. But the moment the flap closes and it’s just the two of them, alone and almost intimate hidden from the world until morning if that’s what they wish, he hesitates. He looks at Cody. “We don’t have to if you don’t want. I was just—”

“Obi-Wan?” Cody interrupts him softly, stepping up to him with a smile pulling at his lips.

Obi-Wan swallows as the other draws closer. As the other steps into his personal space and leans up to loop his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. “Yes?”

Cody raises his chin, his breath warm as it ghosts over Obi-Wan’s lips. “I want,” he breathes before he presses his lips against Obi-Wan’s.

The Force sings around them as they kiss, soft and gentle with Cody’s fingers sliding in Obi-Wan’s hair and Obi-Wands hands settling on Cody’s waist.

It feels a lot like coming home.

The kiss breaks and they lean their foreheads against each other, softly breathing in the shared air between them.

“Fuck,” Cody curses with a breathless laugh, “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you talked back to me and shot that bomber right out of the sky.”

Obi-Wan lets out a surprised laugh, drawing a circle against Cody’s waist with his fingers. “Well that’s a little machoistic, isn’t it?”

“You snarked at me and then saved my life at the risk of your own. How could I resist?” Cody raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “And now we don’t have to anymore.”

He kisses Cody before the other can reply.

Cody’s cot really isn’t made to sleep two adult men.

But if both lay on their side and spoon together, it will fit. Intimately so, but that is exactly what both Cody and Obi-Wan are aiming for.

The problem is that they both want to be the big spoon, although Obi-Wan feels that it is for vastly different reasons.

Cody wants to protect, to ensure that Obi-Wan is furthest away from the entrance as can be. Wants to put himself between the entrance and Obi-Wan, safe from anyone that might dare enter.

Obi-Wan wants to offer comfort, hold Cody in his arms to make the other feel cherished and warm. To be the one cared for rather than the one always caring about others.

In the end, the compromise is that while Obi-Wan gets to be the big spoon, Cody lies facing the entrance.

But while Cody falls asleep easily, Obi-Wan lies awake.

Thinking.

Every time he closes his eyes, Rex’s words come back to him. I don’t think you would ever intentionally hurt my brother.

He won’t, of course he won’t. Obi-Wan already knows that he will go to great lengths to avoid hurting Cody. But he also knows that there is one thing to be addressed.

I do wonder, Obi-Wan, where we have met.

Kark, he thinks with a sigh, how is he going to explain this? Especially now that his own view on the vision has changed so drastically compared to when he met Cody.

Of course that’s when Cody wakes up.

Cody hums, soft and sleepily as if subconsciously he recognizes that there is no emergency to deal with. He turns his head to the side, and his mussed hair tickles Obi-Wan’s nose. “All right?” he murmurs softly.

“I—” Obi-Wan hesitates.

It’s enough to drag Cody out of the fuzzy leftovers of sleep. He twists around, peering at Obi-Wan in the tent lit only by a small flash-lamp standing on the other side of the space. His eyes are alert and his voice tinged with worry as he asks: “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Or we talk about what’s bothering you now. We’re both awake.”

Obi-Wan hesitates. He’s not even sure why he is so nervous. It’s not like it matters anymore.

He takes a deep breath. “I think maybe I should tell you where I know you from.”

Cody’s eyes widen. He sits up, the soft and intimate space between them falling away. “I’m listening,” he says, curious yet guarded.

Obi-Wan sits up as well, crossing his legs under him. One of his knees brushes against Cody’s and he lets it rest there. “Perhaps first I should share my past with you,” he starts and gives Cody a small, hesitant smile. “I’m Force-sensitive. I grew up at the Jedi Temple, and for a short while I was Master Jinn’s Padawan.” There is no surprise in the Force nor on Cody’s face, which is both expected and a relief. Obi-Wan smiles ruefully. “Although I’m sure you had your suspicions.”

Cody nods. “Nothing certain, but yes I did. You hid your Force-sensitivity well,” he offers and then grins, “your relationship with the General not so much.”

Obi-Wan makes a face. “I’d like to see you try,” he says and shakes his head. “Melida/Daan changed everything. We were sent to help Master Thal. She was there to help negotiate a treaty, but it was a trap. Master Jinn and myself were sent to rescue her. But the situation was… Thal was badly hurt and needed urgent medical attention. But then we found the Young and I—” Obi-Wan breaks off with a harsh sigh. He whispers: “I couldn’t leave.”

“The General did, though, didn’t he?” Cody asks, his shoulders tense.

Obi-Wan nods. “I left the Order so I could stay.”

“That’s neglect. How could he…” Cody leans forward, reaches out a hand to place it on top of their touching knees. “Obi-Wan, you were a child.”

“We all were,” Obi-Wan sighs. “I agree that he shouldn’t have allowed me to make that choice, but neither Jinn nor myself are the same as when we were younger. Try not to hold this against your General, Cody,” Obi-Wan asks. “Please.”

Cody smiles wryly. “I’m a professional.”

Obi-Wan nods and after a moment he continues. “We ended the war, and that’s where you come in.”

Cody frowns. “I hadn’t even been created.”

“I had a vision.” Obi-Wan looks down with a wry expression. “It was… we had just stopped a war in Melidaan and then I had a vision about another one.”

“This one.”

Obi-Wan nods. “The 212^th was on Melidaan. In Zehava, while it was getting destroyed.”

“No,” Cody breathes, a soft and devastating sound. Panic rises around him like fire.

Obi-Wan’s eyes fly up to Cody’s. “You weren’t attacking us,” he re-assures the other. “You were trying to protect us. But you—” he reaches out a hand and lays it on top of Cody’s. Looks down at their joint hands with a frown, his heart already aching as his vision replays itself in his mind again. “You died. In my vision, you died. And I felt my future self’s pain and I— it was unbearable.”

“I’m not afraid to die,” Cody whispers. If it’s meant as a comfort, it greatly misses the point. “But to leave you behind. To know Melidaan will be involved in the war…”

“It was only a possible future,” Obi-Wan reassures him. “But we changed it. We built Zehava differently, we’re not part of the Republic.”

Cody shakes his head, his eyes filled with resolve when they catch Obi-Wan’s. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” He pulls his hand away. “Obi-Wan, you shouldn’t be here. What about Melidaan? What if… I lo— I care a lot about you, but your peace isn’t worth this.”

With a panic of his own now rising in his chest, Obi-Wan leans forward. Grabs Cody’s hand and intertwines their fingers because he won’t let this happen. Won’t let Cody make the mistake he almost made.

Not now that he finally has him.

“I thought so too for a long time. I associated you with Zehava’s destruction,” he admits, soft and vulnerable and apologetic. He holds Cody’s gaze. “But lately I’ve been reminded that it was only a vision. A possibility, not a truth. I shouldn’t let it rule my life.” He moves to sit on his knees on the cot, so he can lean forward. To rest his forehead against Cody’s and gently slip a hand to the back of the other’s neck while his other hand is still holding onto Cody’s. “Don’t let my vision rule your life either, Cody. Some things are inevitable.”

“Like the war possibly coming to Melidaan,” Cody whispers. He sounds sad, despite the understanding written all over him.

Cody is a soldier above all. He understands.

“That,” Obi-Wan says. He slides his fingers into the short hairs at the back of Cody’s neck and smiles fondly before he whispers: “Or, apparently, me loving you.”

He can feel Cody’s gasp against his skin. “Obi-Wan,” he murmurs and Obi-Wan has never heard his name said with such reverence before. Cody cups his cheek in the palm of his hand, the meat of his thumb stroking the skin just below Obi-Wan’s eye. “I’m happy,” he says, pressing his lips against Obi-Wan’s in a feather-light kiss. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

A few months later, the situation on Gall is improving. Melidaan’s emergency housing is now filled and the expectation is that within two months the first families can return, to everyone’s great relief.

Another relief is that nothing has happened on Melidaan. No Separatist threats, no further assassination attempts, just business as usual.

That all changes one morning.

Obi-Wan is in his office with Cerasi and Nield for their daily catch-up meeting when the Force rings in alarm, a panic not his own washing over him.

He stops mid-sentence to look at the door.

“Obi-Wan?” Cerasi asks.

Deila bursts into the room, wide-eyed and frantic. The panic that surrounds her like a storm cloud is so intense, Obi-Wan nearly chokes on it. “It’s Fives!” she cries.

“What?” Cerasi asks, out of her chair in an instant and rushing over to Deila.

Nield has dropped his padd on the table and is watching with a worried frown, while Obi-Wan takes a deep breath trying to not get overwhelmed by the whirlwind of panic and worry currently taking over the room.

“He’s in danger!” Deila exclaims and when Cerasi gently urges her to sit down in a chair goes easily. “We have to go help him before they find him and— they want to kill him.”

There’s a flash of horror in the Force from Deila along with confusion from Nield and Cerasi—which, Obi-Wan has to admit, he is feeling as well. “Deila,” he says and gets up out of his chair so he can round the table to where Deila is sitting. He puts a hand on her shoulder and gives her a gentle smile. “Breathe. Calm down.”

Cerasi squats down next to the chair and after Deila has taken a few deep breaths, softly asks: “Now, what happened?”

To no-one’s surprise, Fives and Deila have stayed in touch since meeting on Gall. Theirs is a quick romance, burning like a forest fire and Obi-Wan is happy Deila has found someone that she’s fallen in love with.

Now, however, he worries.

Deila takes a shuddering breath. “He— Fives sent a comm. He’s on Coruscant, but something’s wrong. He said they’re hunting him.”

“Who?” Obi-Wan gently coaxes.

Deila looks up at him. “The GAR.”

Obi-Wan frowns. The GAR hunting one of their own? “Why?”

Deila shakes her head. “I don’t know. He said something about chips but I don’t know what that means. But he’s… something isn’t right. He didn’t sound like Fives at all. So scared and confused…” she pauses for a moment, reaching into her pocket and placing a small holo-projector on the table. She looks at it with heartbreak in her eyes before she whispers: “There’s also this.”

An image flickers up, and a white flash of shock with it.

Staring back at them is Fives, his tattoo and goatee unmistakable.

Wanted by the Galactic Republic: ARC-5555

Offense: high treason

Bounty: 50.000; paid upon capture

The aurebesh flashes red on the holo, almost like an invitation.

In a way, it is.

“Fuck,” Nield curses.

“Deila,” Cerasi mumbles, soft and careful and above all, unsure.

Deila looks around the room, her eyes pleading. “We have to go and help him.”

The Force gives an agreeing nudge. Obi-Wan resists the urge to sigh, because of course he’s meant to get involved in this.

“Perhaps,” he mumbles in reply to both Deila and the Force.

Nield’s eyes snap to Obi-Wan. “He’s a fugitive!”

“It’s Fives,” Deila argues.

Nield turns to her instead. “Are you fucking serious? Deila, don’t tell me I have to list all the reasons why we can’t.”

Standing up from being squatted down next to Deila’s chair, Cerasi frowns. “Do you know what he did?”

“He didn’t say. Maybe he couldn’t?” Deila asks, desperately looking up at Cerasi. “But Fives, he’s got a big mouth but a heart of gold. He’d never… please, guys. What if it was Milou? Or Cody?”

Obi-Wan winces at the question. Because he knows very well what he’d do if their roles were reversed.

And he’s quite certain it’s the same for Cerasi.

“What do you suggest we do?” he asks.

Deila gives him a small, grateful smile. “Fives is hiding on Coruscant. If we can get him out of there and to Melidaan—”

“We can’t just hide a Republic fugitive on Melidaan just ‘cause you’re fucking him.”

“Nield!” Cerasi admonishes.

“What!” Nield demands.

Obi-Wan glares at his friend. “Have some compassion.”

“Okay.” Nield takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his temple. “Okay, the situation sucks.”

“And we can help,” Deila presses.

Nield looks conflicted.

Obi-Wan understands. It’s an incredibly reckless idea to smuggle a wanted man out of the Republic and hide him on their own planet without knowing what exactly he’s done.

But the Force is adamant that this is the right thing to do.

So, sensing an opening, Obi-Wan looks at Nield and says: “There are still so many refugees from Gall. One extra person won’t stand out.”

Nield turns to Cerasi. “And what do you think?”

“If it was Milou I’d do it,” she admits softly.

“Okay. Yes, fine. Fine. We’ll bring the fugitive to Melidaan.” Nield looks ready to murder all three of them. “Fuck, this is a terrible idea.”

It will take them four days to get to Coruscant, and that is with the new ship Padmé graciously gifted them as replacement for the one that got shot down. It is, thankfully, also bigger than their old ship which means it’s comfortable enough for two people and will also fit three, even if that means not everyone gets their own bunk considering there are only two.

Deila has offered to share with Fives, but Obi-Wan would like to know how the man is doing before taking her up on that offer.

For all they know, he’s in need of medical care and will need the bed.

Thankfully, after her initial bout of panic, Deila has stayed relatively calm and collected. Not that Obi-Wan is surprised. There is a good reason why she is their minister of Defense, after all, and in these kinds of situations it shows.

Clear-headed and analytical, Deila’s pulled up a holo of the Coruscant lower levels where Fives has hidden himself away. The two have had very little contact due to the insecurity about any potential calls being tracked. Which also means that while Fives knows they’re coming and Deila has a general idea where the other is hiding, they haven’t arranged a meeting place and time yet.

The current plan is for Deila and Obi-Wan to get to Coruscant and when they’ve found a suitable location to send Fives their coordinates and hope for the best.

But for now, they can only hope Fives remains hidden until they reach their destination.

When they reach Coruscant, they’re quickly cleared by Coruscant Spaceport Authority and assigned a docking bay.

“Phew.” Deila slumps against the co-pilot seat and gives Obi-Wan a nervous grin. “Somehow, I thought they wouldn’t let us through.”

Obi-Wan chuckles as he slowly steers the ship into the docking bay. “Considering we’ve done nothing wrong—”

“Yet.”

“—there is nothing to worry…” he trails off as he gets a good first look at the people in the docking bay.

The ship lands with a soft thud, but neither Obi-Wan nor Deila truly notice.

Normally, there’s only spaceport personnel and mechanics around. But here, in the docking bay they have just landed in, stand men in painfully familiar armor.

The white and red are a flash of color against the drab grey and muted browns of the spaceport.

The Coruscant Guard.

“Fuck,” Deila curses.

Obi-Wan swallows. “It’s fine. Probably.”

Deila gets out of her seat with a scoff. “Right.”

“The Force is calm so I have no reason to think we should be worried,” he explains.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t worried at all, because what are they doing here? Is this a coincidence? Are they on to them?

He forces himself to go through the post-landing checks. He calls an affirmative for landing to the Spaceport Authority and then starts shutting down the ship. He dares a quick glance at the guards at the docking bay entrance. Four in total.

“Nothing we can do about it anyway,” he says. “Just try not to look too suspicious.”

Deila sends him a wry smile. “Which means you can do the smooth-talking.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “I’m sure you could too.”

“Let’s not try that now,” Deila replies with a bark of laughter as she walks out of the cockpit. “This isn’t the moment for risks.”

Obi-Wan spares a last look at the men approaching their ship now that it’s powered down. He can’t help but think that for some reason, this doesn’t feel like a risk at all.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t put up a bit of a facade when Deila and him walk down the lowered ramp. “Gentlemen,” he greets the guards with a friendly smile, “what a welcome for our unannounced visit.”

One of the men steps forward, his armor more red than white, and he stands with his back straight and arms behind his back. “I’m Commander Fox with the Coruscant Guard,” he says as introduction. “Could you please show me the flimsiwork for your vessel while my men conduct a quick search?”

“Search our ship?” Obi-Wan asks in slight alarm. “Of course we will allow it, but may I ask why that is necessary? Our ship has never been searched before.”

A little white lie, of course. Obi-Wan hasn’t been on Coruscant since he left the Order. But he can’t imagine that an army stretched as thin as the GAR would conduct a search of every vessel arriving on Coruscant.

Commander Fox gives his men a hand-sign and all three pass Obi-Wan and Deila by as they board the ship to start their search. “Standard procedure. We have a fugitive on Coruscant. We’re checking all in- and outgoing ships.”

Obi-Wan feigns surprise. “A fugitive? Should we be worried?”

“On Coruscant?” The Commander asks and Obi-Wan is quite certain he hears a huff of amusement despite the other’s helmet still being on. “No more than usual. Your flimsiwork, please.”

“Of course, of course.” Obi-Wan turns to Deila. “Did you bring it?”

Deila gives him a nervous smile. “Of course,” she says and slips her backpack off of her shoulders. After a quick rummage through, she pulls out the datacard that contains the ship’s essential information. She hands it to the Commander.

“Thank you,” the Commander nods and takes his padd out of the case strapped to his utility belt, inserting the card to read the information. “This won’t take long.”

While they wait, Obi-Wan decides to try his luck and see if he can get any information out of the Commander, and conversationally says: “This must all be very inconvenient for you, all the additional work of searching ships.”

Commander Fox’s helmet tips up and for a moment his visor rests heavily on Obi-Wan. The Force trembles in anticipation for a moment, and then he says: “We manage a eighteen-hour surveillance from six ‘til twelve am.”

Deila’s surprise and excitement bubble in the Force.

Those feelings are an echo of Obi-Wan’s own, because are they really being told—quite casually so—when they can slip away unnoticed?

“Why the gap?” And why tell them about it? Does news—gossip—travel so quickly in the GAR that a Commander on Coruscant would know of either Deila or him? Could that mean that the man in front of them is trying to help in perhaps the only way he can?

It almost sounds too good to be true.

But certainly Commander Fox is smarter than to share this by accident and the words ring sincere and true in the Force. If slightly apprehensive.

Obi-Wan almost can’t believe it, but it truly seems like they have found themselves an ally.

Commander Fox gives a small shrug. “No business departures and any sane civilian is asleep. The few ships that do leave in the dead of night, I’ll happily allow so my men can rest.”

“Understandable.” Obi-Wan nods. “The GAR never properly rests, from what I hear.”

The Commander sighs. “That is unfortunately true.” He turns back to his padd and taps the screen.

Obi-Wan can’t quite see what he is doing, but he’s most likely checking and verifying the ship’s information against the Galactic Vessel Licensing Registry. Deila and him wait patiently and silently for the other to finish.

After a minute or two, the Commander’s back straightens and he gives a small nod almost like he’s talking to someone. That’s when the three other troopers leave the ship. Commander Fox ejects the card from his padd, holding it out to Deila. “All clear on the ship.”

“Thanks,” Deila says as she takes the card. She flashes the Commander a cheeky grin. “Hope you catch your fugitive soon.”

The Commander looks at her for a moment—they can’t see his eyes, but it’s obvious he is dead-on staring at her.

Obi-Wan wonders if the Commander thinks her as insane as he does.

Commander Fox shakes his head with a long, loud sigh. “Have a good stay on Coruscant,” he says, turning to Obi-Wan and completely ignoring Deila. “Do let an officer know when you plan to depart for the departure surveillance check.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan lies through his teeth with a pleasant smile, “have a good day.”

Fives is hesitant and tense when he enters the motel room.

His eyes haunted, his skin dimmed of its normal glow and his civilian clothes covered in the dirt of Coruscant’s lower levels.

But the blaster in his hands doesn’t shake, ready to either shoot or flee in less than a second if this turns out to be a trap.

It’s not necessary.

When he lowers his blaster, it does shake before it falls to the ground with a thud. A shuddering exhale of breath escapes him before he takes a stumbling step forward.

Deila rushes forward, drawing him into her arms just as the door slides close behind Fives’ back. “You look like shit,” she says, but her shaky voice and too-tight hug make it sound more like an overly-honest astute observation rather than the joking jab she probably meant it as.

Fives’ answering chuckle is unsteady, his “thanks babe” almost wet as he clings to Deila and hides his face against the curve of her neck.

Their relief is almost tangible in the Force, and Obi-Wan turns away to give them a sense of privacy. Not that he can give them much in the single room they’ve rented, but at least he can turn on the kettle, his back to them and the sound of the water boiling drowning out their soft whispers.

When the kettle flicks off, he lines up three cups and hangs a little tea-bag in each of them. Motel provided ones, so the quality will be abysmal but it will be tea and thus offer a semblance of comfort.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to get you out of here.” Deila’s voice picks up, just a bit louder to indicate that this part of the conversation is also meant for Obi-Wan.

He turns and watches the couple for a moment. Deila stands close to Fives, his hand resting against the small of her back. He feels stressed. Confused, perhaps. But there is no panic. He’s probably had time to think now. Process the situation.

“Perhaps first we can sit down with a cup of tea,” Obi-Wan says and then offers Fives an apologetic smile. Now is as good a time as any. “And you can tell us what happened.”

Deila frowns. “Obi-Wan? We agreed, didn’t we?”

“Of course. But our departure slot is another six hours away, so we have the time.” Plus, while he’d agreed with Deila to help pick up Fives he has also agreed with Cerasi and Nield to find out what happened with Fives and exactly why he is wanted before their ship lands in the Zehava space port.

“I’ll tell you,” Fives says before Deila can object. He glances around the room. “But you’re sure this is the place?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “It’s either here or on the ship.”

“Then we do it on the ship,” Deila says firmly.

Fives chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s fine, babe. We’ll talk here.”

“But—”

“If it turns out I’m some murdering psychopath, the ship might be a bit too late to find out.”

Deila turns a panicked frown to Fives. “You’re not.”

“I know. But Obi-Wan should know too. And you”—he gently pokes a finger against the tip of her nose—“should know better than to drag me into hyperspace without answers. Because I know you’ve got questions.”

Deila sighs. “Okay,” she says, “you’re right.”

“Why don’t you sit down.” Obi-Wan motions to the couch before he turns back to the kitchenette and the cups of tea. He takes out the bags and picks up two cups, moving to hand them to Deila and Fives.

“You might not believe me anyway,” Fives says with a humorless laugh. Disappointment flashes in his eyes as he mutters: “The Captain and General didn’t.” He looks down at the cup of tea Obi-Wan hands him. “Thanks. Not to be ungrateful, but you got something stronger?”

“Maybe in the mini-conservator,” Deila says.

But Obi-Wan is still trying to catch up to the fact that neither Rex nor Skywalker believed Fives.

And now Fives is a fugitive.

Fives pulls a bottle out of the mini-conservator and twists the cap off. He smells at the bottle and makes a face. “Better than nothing,” he mutters and pours an overly-generous helping into his cup of tea. He closes the conservator with his foot, placing the bottle on top for future use and then turns to Obi-Wan and Deila. He looks furious, contempt dripping from his voice as he says: “I found out there’s chips in our heads. Ours. All the clones.”

He proceeds to tell them about Tup, about Kamino, about the tumors that turned out to be biochips implanted in every clone. And not just biochips, but mind-control chips.

Silence hangs in the room when Fives stops speaking, the only sounds are the Coruscant life outside the door, the leaking of the tap in the fresher and the ticking of the antique chrono above the bed.

“Holy fucking shit,” Deila breathes.

Fives looks haunted, tortured and devastated all at once. He takes a sip of his tea and, when he finds it too hot, puts it down on top of the conservator and grabs the bottle of whatever alcohol he poured into his tea instead. He takes it with him to the couch, sinking down onto it and immediately Deila puts a comforting hand on his knee.

Obi-Wan can’t blame the man. He kind of wishes for a drink himself.

Because it’s absolutely devastating.

Mind-control chips.

Millions of men with chips in their heads that can take over their free will. Kark, did the Jedi request this? The thought alone doesn’t sit well in Obi-Wan’s stomach and the Force is adamantly insisting that something about that is wrong.

It doesn’t change the fact that it is an atrocity as much as a tragedy. The Force insists that he listen, that he help, and even without that Obi-Wan knows he would have wanted to at least investigate this.

Carefully, he asks: “You have proof?”

Fives looks at him with an unhappy frown. “I have a chip in my head.”

Obi-Wan bows his head in acknowledgement and apology. He feels almost unfair asking, but he needs to know. Needs to be mindful of the fact that he isn’t just Deila’s friend, he is also responsible for Melidaan.

So, he asks the one question that hasn’t actually been answered yet. “Why is there a bounty on your head?”

“I— I tried to kill Chancellor Palpatine.”

There is nothing but anguish and truth in the Force.

“What?” Deila whispers. “Why?”

Obi-Wan blinks, wondering how they went from mind-control chips to Fives attempting to murder the Chancellor of the Republic. “Can you please explain?” he asks carefully, not sure if he even wants the answer.

“The Kaminoans, they wanted to destroy me. Like some sort of defective droid. But General Ti, she argued that I should be sent to the Chancellor to present my findings. I’m not sure if she believed me, or if she thought it really was a virus and I was sick but… at least she didn’t want to have me killed.”

“And what did the Chancellor say?” Obi-Wan says, but something tells him it’s nothing good considering the current situation.

“I’m not sure,” Fives says with a pinched expression. “The memories, it’s all a jumble in my head, like molten lava. I think it’s those drugs they gave me.”

Deila gasps. “They drugged you? Who?”

“The Kaminoans. They— They injected me with something before they brought me to the Chancellor. And, I don’t know what happened. But suddenly my brain felt like it was liquid and…” Fives hesitates, looking down at the bottle in his hands as if he is contemplating taking another sip. He grimaces instead. “And I saw red.”

“Why would they…” Obi-Wan mutters to himself. He looks at Fives with a frown. “Could it be that the Kaminoans implanted the chips without the Republic’s knowledge?”

Fives nods. “Master Ti didn’t seem to know.”

Obi-Wan lets out a heavy breath. “So it’s a cover-up.”

Fives grimaces, his anger burning hot in the Force. “Yea. Fuck,” he gives a hollow laugh, “I tried to kill the Chancellor.”

“Fives,” Deila breathes, her hand drawing a comforting circle on his knee. “If they gave you drugs, it’s not… you weren’t yourself.”

Obi-Wan nods. “And, depending on which drug, we might still be able to figure out what it was. Some drugs leave traces in your body for days or weeks after they’ve been administered.”

“Thanks,” Fives says and gives Obi-Wan a small smile, “I’d like to try that.”

“Then we will,” Obi-Wan promises. “We can also remove the chip.”

Fives swallows. “Yea, I’d like that too.” He takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. “And then?”

“Then you can apply for asylum on Melidaan,” Obi-Wan replies.

Deila nods encouragingly. “Don’t worry, it’s just a formal process. You can move in with me for sure,” she says and then, a bit more shy and hesitant, adds: “If you want.”

Fives shakes his head. “No. I meant the chips.”

There is agreement in the Force that makes Obi-Wan hesitate to say anything, whether that be yes or no. Instead, he looks at Deila almost helplessly.

“There’s…” Deila hesitates and searches for words. “Honey, we can’t do anything about them.”

“But…” Fives’ face falls. “They’re my brothers. We— I have to.”

There is no subtlety in the Force as it almost pushes at Obi-Wan with an urge to help!

For fuck’s sake.

Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand over his beard. “Regardless of what either Deila or I feel personally, Melidaan comes first. Once we’ve had an expert analyze that chip we, this includes you, can speak to the Council.”

Deila gives Obi-Wan a surprised smile at his words, at his support. Then she turns to Fives. “We’ll probably be met with a lot of resistance when we do.”

“Then I best start preparing my speech already,” Fives says, jutting his chin up in confidence, “I know what’s in my head.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan can’t help but wonder what will happen if that’s really true. What are they going to find? What are they going to unravel?

What are they getting themselves into?

It’s three AM Coruscant time when they leave.

When they get into their small, unremarkable ship and get themselves cleared for departure after the excuse that an emergency has come up so they can’t wait until morning unfortunately, very sorry. Did flight control know that Obi-Wan is Triumvir of Melidaan and— yes, thank you ever so much for your understanding.

Only when they’re out of atmo and Obi-Wan starts retrieving the coordinates for the fastest route back to Melidaan from the navicomputer do any of them dare to breathe again.

“Well,” Fives breathes as he leans against the door frame of the cockpit—they only have two chairs in the cockpit, and Obi-Wan needs Deila in the co-pilot seat for take-off so Fives offered to stand— “that was remarkably anticlimactic.” He laughs to himself, still slightly nervous. “I was convinced the Corries would show up.”

Deila turns in the co-pilot chair to give Fives a grin. “When we arrived Commander Fox told us they take a six-hour nightly break from the surveillance checks to give the men some rest.”

“Taking a break? Commander Fox?” Fives asks incredulously before he barks a laugh. But there is understanding in his eyes and a gratefulness in his tone when he adds: “Who would’ve thought.”

Obi-Wan smiles to himself. They certainly owe the Commander for letting them slip through.

Then, the navicomputer beeps, indicating it’s finished its calculations. “All right, ready to make the jump to hyperspace and get out of here,” he says.

Once they’ve made the jump to hyperspace and Deila and Fives have gone for a nap—probably a lie but Obi-Wan will happily believe it—Obi-Wan sends a message to Cerasi and Nield.

There’s not much information he’s willing to send, so they will just have to accept his everything went well. Now on the way back to Melidaan. It is all the confirmation they need for now anyway.

He leans back in the pilot chair afterwards, thinking now would be a good moment to meditate when his commlink chimes.

He checks the screen and his heart flutters when he sees who it is.

But after a second, he frowns. Last he heard, the 212th was on a campaign expected to last several weeks reclaiming a planet—which one Cody hadn’t shared nor had Obi-Wan asked. For Cody to contact him now, while he should by all rights still be on said campaign, is worrying.

“Hello my dear,” Obi-Wan answers, feeling both curious and cautious.

“Hello Obi-Wan,” Cody greets, but his voice doesn’t carry the normal amount of softness. Even more, distant sound of chatter, laughter and the sounds reminiscent of camping fill the background.

Still on that campaign then.

“How is the campaign?” he asks carefully and hopes the answer to that is good rather than a potential I got shot and Steady only gave me another few hours and I had to hear your voice before I die.

Granted, Cody doesn’t sound like he is hurt but in the end, who is to say?

“It is,” Cody says with a sigh. “Had some distraction. Fox called, said you were on Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker to the door, through which a hallway leads to the bedrooms. To where Fives and Deila are sleeping.

Ah, he thinks, shit.

This is something he should have perhaps thought of before. But he hasn’t, and now all he can do is hope that Cody is totally on-board with whatever he is guessing is going on rather than feel hurt or betrayed or inclined to hand Obi-Wan, Deila and Fives over to Republic Authorities.

He doesn’t think it will come to that, though. Cody is a man of duty, but he is perhaps more importantly a brother. 

The only question is if he has heard the truth.

“Only briefly. We had some urgent business to attend to,” Obi-Wan says neutrally, casually. “We’re already on the way back to Melidaan.”

“A pity,” Cody sighs. “Fox said the 501st is still on Coruscant and that Rex would like to talk to you.”

“Rex?” Obi-Wan frowns, reminded of Fives’ comment that the Captain hadn’t believed him.

“Yes. He’s been worried since what happened five days ago. He wants to apologize and ask how he can make it up to you.”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to let out a sigh of relief. Because he hears the very clear message in Cody’s words—which aren’t actually meant for him.

But does Cody know the truth? The full story? Does Rex? Even if he doesn’t, it’s not Obi-Wan’s to share. Nor is it his place to confirm that any kind of contact will be made in the future—even though he knows Fives will want to reach out, if only to plead his case and help his brothers but that is, in the end, a plan still to be made.

He sighs. “I’m not sure yet. His actions…” he trails off for a moment. “I need some more time to think it over.”

Cody hums in understanding. “Of course. I understand. I’ll let him know he’ll just have to wait a bit longer.”

“Thanks.”

A clatter in the background, a cry and some laughter and then a tired sigh from Cody. “I’ve got to go.”

“I know. Thanks for reaching out, Cody,” he says, for even if this is mostly a business-call, it’s still great to hear the other’s voice.

“Thanks for listening,” Cody replies and then, his voice carrying the familiar softness again, asks: “And Obi-Wan?”

“I know,” Obi-Wan replies with a fond smile. “Me too.”

It feels like a sigh of relief when they land on Melidaan.

Cerasi and Nield are there to meet them at the docking bay.

“Welcome,” Cerasi greets Fives with a smile. There’s a bit of hesitation there, but that’s expected.

Fives confidently steps up to the pair and gives a bow of his head in gratitude. “Thank you for taking me in.”

“It was no choice, really,” Nield says. To Fives, it might sound like a kindness but next to Obi-Wan, Deila does wince. “I hope you don’t mind that we’ve taken the liberty of filing your asylum request on your behalf.” Nield holds out a piece of flimsi to Fives. “All it needs is your signature.”

“Oh, thanks!” Fives says, taking the flimsi and looking over it. “Feig?” he asks with a frown. “That’s not my name.”

“Vijf,” Nield says with a grin. “Melidani for five. Could hardly put your actual name out there considering, well.” He waves a hand in the air.

“We wanted to avoid anyone finding you so easily,” Cerasi adds. “Although your request will still have to be approved. But we can talk about procedures and perform the intake interview tomorrow.”

The Immigration and Naturalization Services, or INS, processes asylum requests and all processes and procedures around it without government involvement. They—neither the Triumvirate nor the Council—don’t speak to any refugees. Not as part of their immigration process, at least.

But this case will be a bit different. Nield has already sent him an adjusted procedure, approved by the INS, to include additional interviews with government officials before full sign-off of the request can take place. Considering the possible consequences of this particular request, they’re right to be concerned and take precautions.

But Obi-Wan, knowing what he does, doesn’t want to wait until the request has made its way through the INS to discuss both Fives’ fugitive status and the chips.

Not with Fives so desperate to help his brothers in a situation that could very well be time-sensitive.

“I think,” he starts slowly and with a smile Cerasi and Nield probably see right through, “that it might be a good idea to also schedule a meeting with the Council tomorrow.”

Cerasi has already informed them of the situation and Obi-Wan is happy he wasn’t there to see the fall-out of it. But if his friend is to be believed, it wasn’t nearly as bad as they expected. Benthe, Minister of Culture and Education, had even sent back a message saying she was happy they could take someone out of the war.

Fives’ relief at the topic being brought up is almost tangible.

“To meet with Fives?” Cerasi asks.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says with a nod. “And Roenni should be there too.”

Cerasi raises an eyebrow in surprise, eyes sweeping over Fives as if she expects to see something physically wrong with him. She turns her eyes back to Obi-Wan with a frown. “Because?”

Nield is looking at him, resignation already in his eyes. “Because Obi-Wan’s bleeding heart is too big to let something rest for once in his fucking life.” He rubs a hand over his forehead with a sigh. “How upset are we going to be this time?”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I think I’ll yet again surprise you.”

Nield sighs and raises his eyes skyward. “Great.”

Two days later, Fives stands in front of the Council and shares the news of the chips and his recollection of events to a shocked audience.

Silence follows, the Force filled with shock, confusion and a surprising amount of anger.

Nield is the first to speak up. “So let me recap,” he says slowly and there is a fury burning in him like a hearth lit aflame, “you found out that your cloners put mind-control chips in your heads that you didn’t know about. Not only that, they’re claiming it’s a disease which makes you sound a lot like a conspiracy-theorist with a loose screw?”

Fives raises his chin. “Yea, I’d say that covers it.”

“And how do we know you have a chip in your head?” Senn asks, skeptical as always.

“That is why I asked Doctor Roenni to be here,” Obi-Wan says, gesturing to Roenni. “She can easily answer some of your questions from a medical perspective.”

He’d briefed Roenni the same day they’d gotten back to Melidaan, giving her a summary of the situation and sharing the information about the chips so she could prepare.

Roenni looks at Senn. “We can easily do a brain scan to prove there is a chip. The results are, however, protected by patient-confidentiality.”

“I can share the information though, can I?” Fives asks.

“You certainly can,” Roenni answers.

“Good.” Fives nods. “I want the whole galaxy to know about this.”

“Do you know what happens when the chips are activated?” Florent asks, leaning his elbows on the table and watching Fives with a frown. He’s been Minister of Health for three-and-a-half years. Still rather new, compared to many of the Council members who have been re-elected at least once. But with a new Minister come new ideas and Obi-Wan knows Roenni likes Florent for the fact that he listens to the medical community when needed. 

Fives’ confidence falls away, quickly replaced by heartbreak and anger. “I’ve seen it happen with a brother. He wasn’t himself anymore. His whole personality was gone like he– like he was nothing but a droid following orders.”

“Fuck,” Nield whispers softly to himself, the noise barely carrying and the only reason Obi-Wan hears it is because he’s sitting next to him. Then, louder and for the whole room to hear, he wonders: “Is that even possible?”

It’s not meant as a question of disbelief. But having one's mind taken over by a chip sounds a lot like the plot of a horror holo.

All eyes turn to Roenni.

She looks livid. Before she speaks, she takes a deep breath and her tone is level and professional when she says: “I’m not an expert in this field,” she warns. “But with my knowledge I would say that yes, it is possible depending on the kind of biochip. It is also a total breach of any bodily autonomy law in existence.”

Fives grimaces and with a hint of bitterness says: “We’re not actually considered sentient.”

“You’re not even—” Nield asks, shock as clear in his voice as in the Force around him. He breaks himself off with a harsh breath. “Why do you fight for the Republic when they care so little for you?”

“That’s not what we’re discussing here.”

Nield’s eyes flash to Obi-Wan, shock replaced by anger. “Maybe we should,” he hisses.

For a moment, Obi-Wan wonders how much of himself Nield sees in Fives. He wouldn’t consider them similar. Fives is easy to joke and quick to make decisions whereas Nield is more reserved and cautious, despite his temper. Yet perhaps it isn’t Fives per say that tugs at Nield in recognition. Perhaps it are the clones as a whole, stuck fighting a war and seemingly with far less choice than even the clones themselves realize. Men, hundreds and thousands, dying for a Republic that doesn’t seem to care about them.

Yes, that hits close to home. For all of them.

Taking the silence as an opportunity to change the subject, Roenni softly says: “Fives may I ask, is your chip still in?” She holds up a hand with a small but warm smile. “Obviously you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Fives doesn’t hesitate. “It is.”

Roenni nods. “If you want, I can set up an appointment. Then we can do a scan and discuss potentially removing the chip.”

“Oh I want it out. And out of my brothers as well.”

“Well I can’t do brain surgery by holo yet,” Roenni says, sounding thoughtful. Like she is aware it isn’t an option but is considering what would be.

“But if they were here?” Fives asks.

The question elicits surprise from the room and Obi-Wan holds his breath as he waits for the other shoe to drop.

When Roenni catches on, she grins sharply. “Then we can, yes.”

Annemiek huffs. “Well that’s just too bad that there’s only you here,” she says impatiently and turns to Obi-Wan with a frown. “Why are we in this meeting anyway? This sounds more like a medical topic that I highly doubt we need the whole Council for.”

Nield rubs a hand over his temple with a sigh, obviously having caught on to what Obi-Wan’s plan behind this meeting has been all along. “Well, Obi-Wan?” he asks and there is a mix of emotions there. Frustration and resignation, as expected. But lingering just underneath that is a hint of approval. A hint of agreement.

It sparks hope in Obi-Wan’s chest that they might succeed in convincing the Council that this is the right thing to do.

After breathing out in an attempt to get rid of some of his nerves, Obi-Wan tells the room: “The Council is here because we can help in bringing more of the men here.”

“You want to bring the clones here?” Senn demands, eyes wide in shock.

“No!” Annemiek interrupts loudly, anger flaring in her eyes. “You want to bring soldiers here? To Melidaan?”

“Men,” Obi-Wan says. “With control chips in their heads.”

“That remains to be seen,” Annemiek sneers. “I won’t even think about discussing anything related to this ridiculous idea without proper proof of a, what did you call it?” she asks and turns a raised eyebrow to Fives. “A behavioral control chip.”

“Well,” Roenni says with a pointed look and a promise in her voice, “like I said, we can prove that easily enough.”

Chapter Text

A week later, the brain scan image is projected in the middle of the round table in the Council’s meeting room.

Even without Roenni’s explanation about both the scan and the removal procedure they have scheduled for next week—all with Fives’ approval—it is unmistakable.

When she’s finished, Obi-Wan takes the floor before a discussion can break out. He follows up on the now confirmed existence of the chip, outlining a plan that starts with understanding what exactly the chip does and will hopefully end with de-chipping all the clones.

The first question already arises when he’s on the first slide and subsequently the first step of the plan. Finding out what exactly this behavioral chip does.

“And who will do that?” Senn asks with a raised eyebrow. “Doctor Roenni already said this is not her expertise, and we don’t have this kind of knowledge available to us.” He looks at Florent. “Unless I’m wrong.”

Florent shakes his head. “We have neither the knowledge nor the resources on Melidaan. Unless an individual has taken up microelectronics as a hobby.” Offering Obi-Wan an apologetic smile, he adds: “This isn’t something we want to outsource to a third party either, considering the risks.”

“There are several specialized troopers in the GAR that do have the expertise needed to look into this. My suggestion would be that we get in touch with Commander Cody, whom you all know, and liaise with him,” Obi-Wan says. “Of course, secrecy is required in this case but as this concerns all the clones I’m confident that won’t be an issue. Especially considering the fact that the next step would be to start brainstorming on the possibilities to remove the chip from as many clones as possible.”

Senn raises an eyebrow. “If you’re going to involve the GAR, why can’t they do that themselves? Why aren’t the Jedi doing anything? The Republic? Why must we be the ones to help?”

“The clones aren’t going to activate their own chips in retaliation and destroy the free will of all of the men. The Republic might, especially since no-one knows what the chips do and the origin of them is uncertain,” Obi-Wan shoots back. “It’s a massive risk that we’re trying to avoid, considering the disastrous consequences.”

“Why would they do it here?” Annemiek demands with a scowl. “Who’s to say this isn’t the Republic’s plan? A way to manipulate us so we get involved like they’ve wanted since the beginning.”

Deila shoots her an incredulous look. “Chips in the heads of all of the clones just so Melidaan will hone their request for an outpost?” She laughs humorlessly. “We are not that important.”

“Well… maybe not.” Annemiek’s defiance falters for a moment. But it hasn’t completely gone. “But, and I want to make it clear I am in no way agreeing to this! But let’s say we do destroy our neutrality and risk the safety of our whole population to de-chip the Republic’s clone soldiers. Will we be halfway through and find out about anything else?” She turns her glare to Fives. “Any other modifications fabricated in a lab we should know about?”

Fives watches her with a raised eyebrow and with a spark of mischief in the Force, leans against the back of his chair. A gin spreads on his lips and his eyes are intense as they turn to Deila. “Well…” he drawls.

Deila flashes bright red and lowers her head into her hands with a groan while chuckles, huffs and deep sighs go around the table.

All is silenced when Annemiek slams both her hands down onto the table and glares at Fives. “Are you taking this seriously?”

“Are you?” Fives shoots back, fire in his eyes and duracrete in his voice. “Sounds to me like you’re just an asshole. As if I know all modifications. Finding out about the chips was such a big accident I’m now a wanted man. Yes, there are more. No, you probably can’t do anything about it unless you’re in genetics. Doubt it’ll be easy to reverse any of the accelerated aging, for example.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen, an unpleasant feeling curling in his gut as shock ripples through him. “Accelerated aging?”

“Yes, to get us ready in time for the war.”

“How fast is accelerated?” Roenni asks, while at the same time Deila whispers: “How old are you?”

Fives shrugs, as if that information isn’t important. Trivial, compared to the chips.

To him, it probably is. Everyone else, though, seems to be holding their breath.

“We age twice as fast,” Fives says, answering Roenni’s question. Then, he adds: “I was decanted twelve years ago.”

There is a beat of silence before all hell breaks loose.

After three days of discussion and deliberation, the Council votes for the proposal to help the clones. Not unanimously so and there are caveats—Melidaan won’t join the Republic, no clones will be housed near any cities, the Council must be informed if Melidaan is at danger if a chip is activated before any other clone than Fives is de-chipped on Melidaan—but it is a yes all the same.

The first step is to get the GAR involved, so they can investigate the chip after Fives’ surgery that is planned to take place in two days. Considering it’s best that the Galaxy believes Fives to be dead, and no-one is quite sure if communication to and from a stardestroyer is monitored, that task is up to Obi-Wan.

Hello my dear, he sends one evening, hoping the other will be available to chat. For as far as he knows, the previous campaign is finished by now but then again, what does he really know?

He receives an answer when he’s having lunch with Deila the next day.

Hello lovely, all good?

“He calls you lovely?” Deila asks with a delighted grin. “That is so cute!”

Obi-Wan pretends he isn’t blushing. “Shut up. This is a serious conversation.”

He turns back to his comm and writes Cody. He’s decided to go for the slightly awkward, slightly clingy boyfriend approach and hopes that Cody easily sees right through the farce. I actually got you something! I think you’re gonna love it. Just hope we get a chance to meet anytime soon, ‘cause I’d hate to have to wait for another five months before I give it to you.

A gift, huh? Cody sends after a minute and despite not being able to grasp tone through text, it feels like he understands. Especially since in a normal situation, Obi-Wan would never ask to meet just so he can give a gift to a man that’s commanding a whole corps during a currently ongoing war. That feeling is confirmed when Cody sends: Lucky for me that I don’t have to wait five months to find out… Meeting isn’t actually impossible this time. Rex and I have a routine base inspection planned for next week. Melidaan could technically be on our way back, depending on which route we take.

“They’re coming,” he breathes in excitement when he reads the message. He looks up at Deila with a wide smile. “Cody and Rex. They’re coming to Melidaan.”

“Fuck,” Deila breathes, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Fives is gonna be so happy.”

Despite being elated upon hearing the news of both Cody and Rex coming to Melidaan, when the day arrives and he’s standing in-between Obi-Wan and Deila—their small welcoming party of three—in the hangar, Fives’ nerves are a flutter in the Force when the ship touches down.

Obi-Wan doesn’t blame him. He would be nervous too if he’d been in Fives’ situation. Even he doesn’t feel completely at ease despite this being Cody. Despite the Force being nothing but calm. But this is a big moment where they’ll show their full hand. Because after successful brain surgery, the chip has been removed from Fives’ brain and they’ll hand it over to Cody and Rex.

If they can convince them to go along with their plan.

When Cody and Rex get out of their ship and step onto the landing pad, it’s obvious right away that Fives isn’t the only nervous one. Their uncertainty flickers in the Force like a candle in the wind as their eyes find Fives straight away.

But despite that, Cody looks relieved when he sees Fives. As he walks closer, his shoulders relax just the tiniest bit and tight lines around his eyes loosen.

Rex isn’t nearly so subtle. His shoulders are tense and while there is certainly relief in his eyes at seeing Fives, there is a clear glimmer of guilt as well. His steps falter and he looks at Fives as if he thought he’d never see the other again. Not exactly like he’s seeing a ghost, but rather as if part of him had thought this all to be a cruel joke.

“Fives,” he breathes and takes a deep breath before he rushes over and without any hesitation pulls Fives into a hug.

“Captain,” Fives gasps and for a moment he stands frozen in surprise before hugging Rex back.

Rex leans back and places his hands on Fives’ shoulders. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Nah, it’s alright Captain,” Fives says, trying to brush the other’s words off with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t have listened to me either. Probably.”

Rex’s hands fall away and he frowns, shaking his head. “I’ve known you since you were a shiny. I should’ve known better than to discard your words straight away just because they sounded…”

“Insane?” Fives asks.

“Not the first time you’ve done something crazy and it still worked out,” Rex says with a grin that Fives easily returns. He sobers quickly, offering the other an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, brother.”

“You’re here now,” Fives says with a forgiving smile. He turns his eyes to Cody, who has approached the group. “You too, Commander.”

Cody dips his head at Fives. “I think it’s safe to say we all wish things had gone differently. But we can start making it up to you now.”

Fives’ eyes widen. “You believe me?”

Cody nods. “Rex has told me what he knows and we have started an investigation of our own,” he says and anger, although barely there, glows in the Force like a far-away flame.

There is no question about what they’ve found.

Cody turns his eyes to Obi-Wan. “I don’t know what exactly it is you wish to discuss, but if there is a plan,” he says and his lips curl into a grim smile, “we want in.”

The speeder-ride from the hangar to the Melidaan Governmental Building takes twenty minutes. 

Obi-Wan is very happy to let Deila drive while Fives and Rex take the two other seats at the front. Judging from their not-so-secretive smiles and Fives’ eye-brow waggle, the three of them are also very happy to let Obi-Wan and Cody have the backseat to themselves.

Cody rolls his eyes, but his expression softens when Obi-Wan slides onto the backseat with him.

“Hello,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his knee touching Cody’s, a hand resting on top of the other’s leg and his lips pressing a soft kiss against the corner of Cody’s mouth.

“Hi,” Cody replies, cheeks a few shades darker than normal.

Fives sucks in a breath, as if to say anything and Cody hisses: “Watch yourself, Arc Trooper Fives.”

“Man,” Fives whines before he clears his throat and straightens a bit, an air of mischief surrounding him. “I mean, yes Sir. I’ll let you enjoy the backseat with your boyfriend in peace, Sir.”

Deila snickers, Rex’s shoulders are definitely shaking with repressed laughter and Obi-Wan tries his best to hide his own laugh behind the palm of his right hand—the one that isn’t holding Cody’s hand.

Cody heaves a deep sigh, but Obi-Wan can see amusement playing in his eyes. “You’re lucky I can’t write you up for latrine duty.”

Fives chuckles. “Incredibly so, Sir,” he says and then they’re off.

On the backseat, Cody and Obi-Wan sit with their sides pressed together, their intertwined fingers resting on Cody’s leg as Obi-Wan softly talks about several points of interest they pass by. When they are close to their destination, Obi-Wan points towards a familiar building. “You see that curved building over there? With the trees?”

Cody turns to look.  “The red one?”

“Terracotta,” Obi-Wan replies. It’s an automatic response by now considering everyone always gets the color wrong.

“Come on,” Deila snorts from the drivers’ seat, “give your boyfriend a break. It’s red.”

A pleased smile flashes over Cody’s lips as Deila says boyfriend. But it turns teasing almost straight away when he raises an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. “The terracotta one?”

“Yes, that one,” Obi-Wan says with a roll of his eyes. But when he catches Cody’s eyes drifting over to the building again, he can’t help but smile fondly. “It’s where I live.”

Cody takes a deep breath in through his nose and his expression softens. “It looks even better than you described.”

“Maybe you can check it out later!” Rex says enthusiastically, not caring a single bit at outing himself as an eavesdropper.

Cody sighs. “We really can’t stay long. It’s better we aren’t missed.” He squeezes his hand around Obi-Wan’s apologetically.

Rex turns around in his seat to look at Cody. “I’m sure we can spare a few hours.”

Cody grimaces. “That depends on how long we need for our discussion.”

“Well,” Deila drawls, sounding absolutely delighted, “since you guys already said you want in on whatever we’re planning I’m hoping it won’t take too long.” She pulls the speeder up in front of the Governmental Building and turns in her seat, winking at Cody. “So I’m quite sure you’ll have some time for Obi-Wan to take you home.”

It’s a tight fit, six people in Obi-Wan’s office and they’ve had to grab two extra chairs from Nield’s office next door so everyone can sit.

First, everyone needs to put their cards on the table.

Their findings are much the same.

After Fives’ disappearance, a worried and devastated Rex approached Cody. Initially, it had seemed too wild a story to be true but after consideration both men had decided something didn’t add up. When asking Steady to perform a brain scan on the both of them—and then himself—the results were the same as what Roenni had found.

By chance, they’ve managed to remove one chip from a trooper that sustained a head injury during a campaign. They currently have Crys working on slicing the chip to find out exactly what they’re dealing with.

“But,” Cody says with a heavy sigh, “I don’t care what’s on these things. I don’t want any kind of chip in any of my brother’s heads.”

Rex nods with a grave expression. “We’re not slaves,” he says.

“I’ve spoken to some of the other CC’s and we all agree this thing needs to go out sooner rather than later.” Cody’s expression shifts from determined into a weary frown. “But it’s not something we can do off-record. Not with the medical equipment and resources that are needed. It will raise too many discrepancies and then too many questions we can’t answer.”

“We can help with that,” Cerasi offers.

Next to her, Nield nods. “That’s why we asked for you to come here. This isn’t something we felt comfortable sharing over holo. But we can help,” he says and then adds: “If your slicer tells us what’s on the chips. A prerequisite, from the Council.”

Cody frowns. “A prerequisite for what, exactly?”

“De-chipping your men here on Melidaan,” Nield says, looking pleased.

Cody blinks, the tenseness in his face making place for a flicker of confusion as he repeats “de-chipping the men on Melidaan?” as if he hasn’t heard Nield right.

Rex’s eyes are wide, looking baffled. “You would do that for us?”

“We would,” Cerasi allows with a kind smile.

Cody looks at Nield with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

Nield doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing. He breaks eye contact with Cody, instead looking down at the table with a grimace. “I was eleven when I killed someone for the first time. War, you know? Self-defense isn’t much of a choice if you want to survive,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He shrugs, letting out a wet huff that contradicts any casualness he’s trying to project. He continues, voice a tad louder but it still wavers at the edges. “But what happened after, the Young, that was a choice.” He looks up from the table, at Cody and Rex and there is anger simmering in his eyes. “You don’t even have that. The fucking Republic didn’t give you one. Creates you just to fight, takes away your childhoods and puts karking chips in your heads before sending you to your death. It’s—” he breaks off with a scowl, shaking his head.

Obi-Wan can guess what choice words he swallows down.

There is an answering anger simmering in the Force, combined with something close to grief as Cody and Rex watch Nield.

Neither says anything.

Nield sighs and offers the two clones a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think eleven year old me would ever forgive me if I didn’t want to help.”

“Most of the Council feels the same way, and I can assure you that most of Melidaan will feel the same way too,” Cerasi says before either Cody or Rex can say something. “Yes we want our peace, yes we want our neutrality. But if by being neutral we lose our morality…”

“Apropos of sounding like Obi-Wan,” Nield says, a little more relaxed and a small smile spreads on his lips, “it’s the right thing to do.”

“That’s—” Rex starts, surprise in his voice and his features soften as he smiles gratefully. “We appreciate that.”

Cody nods, a small smile on his own lips. “The other Commanders need to approve.”

“And the Jedi? The Senate?” Obi-Wan asks carefully.

Cody shakes his head. “Not until we know more about the chips.”

Obi-Wan nods. “If the other Commanders agree and you’ve let us know what Crys finds, the Council will give their final approval. But that doesn’t mean we can’t already start discussing a plan.”

Deila shoots Cody and Rex a sympathetic look. “Although the most difficult part is up to you.”

Rex raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“We can provide all the resources you need, but it’s up to you to ensure all your men rotate through here,” Deila says.

Rex rubs a hand over his forehead. “We can’t just station men here, you’re not even part of the Republic.”

“We have a solution for that,” Obi-Wan replies. “A year ago the Republic approached us because they wanted an outpost on Melidaan. We refused, obviously.”

Nield grins sharply. “And now we’re changing our minds.”

“Convenient,” Cody says. “So all we have to do is assign a short rotational guard duty to Melidaan.”

“You’re sure they will approve that and not insist on using it as a placement for some shinies?” Rex asks.

Cody grimaces. “Not after Rishi.”

Both Rex and Fives’ grief is almost tangible in the Force.

“Right,” Rex says, voice tight, “short rotation it is.”

The moment the front-door of Obi-Wan’s apartment closes behind him, Cody pulls him into a kiss.

Obi-Wan kisses back without hesitation, his hands on Cody’s hips.

But there is a hint of desperation in the way Cody’s fingers curl against the back of his neck and something almost angry in the press of his lips against Obi-Wan’s.

When their kiss breaks, Cody leans his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “You absolute idiot,” he mutters against Obi-Wan’s lips.

“Cody—”

“No, don’t…” Cody pleads, leaning back. A somber smile pulls at his lips and he slides his hand from Obi-Wan’s neck to his cheek, brushing his thumb over the skin right beneath his left eye. “You’re putting Melidaan at such a risk.”

Understanding dawns and Obi-Wan reaches up one of his hands to place it over the one Cody has rested against his cheek. “We have to.”

“You don’t,” Cody says with a huff with just a hint of fondness, “but you’re doing it anyway. And I need to be selfish, for my brothers. I’ll take all the help we can get.”

“But?”

“You were never supposed to get tangled up in this war. You never wanted to and that was—” Cody breaks off, expression pinched. “Fuck, Obi-Wan. One of the few comforts I had was knowing you’re safe here.”

Fear and heartbreak wrap around Cody in the Force like a thin blanket and Obi-Wan feels his heart ache for the other.

Especially because he is the cause of it.

“Cody,” he murmurs and curves a hand around the back of Cody’s head, bringing their foreheads together. “I will be fine,” he promises. “I’ll be here, not on the frontlines like you.”

“I guess,” Cody says, still hesitant but relaxing slightly.

Obi-Wan gives the other a small, encouraging smile. “If anything, with your men here I’ll be even safer,” he says. He doesn’t add that perhaps he, too, is a bit selfish. That all he wants is for Cody to be safe in the same way Cody wants him to be. But it’s not something the other needs to hear, nor is it something he can promise.

Cody’s answering smile is a tad fragile, but at least it’s void of doubt.

“So,” Obi-Wan drawls and takes a step away from Cody so he can wave a hand towards his kitchen, “how about I give you a tour of the place now?”

Eventually, they find their way to the couch.

Once they sit down and Obi-Wan sits tucked against Cody’s side, Cody’s eyes fall onto the book on the caf table. “Is that the Hitchhiker’s Guide?” he asks in both awe and excitement.

“It is!” Obi-Wan grins and calls the book over to him with a wave of his hand. “Here,” he says as he holds it out to Cody, “give it a try.”

Cody carefully takes the book from Obi-Wan. He strokes a finger over the cover, chuckling softly to himself as he traces the edges of the green smiley. He opens the book and leafs through it slowly and gently.

Obi-Wan watches with a fond smile, happy that Cody seems as taken with flimsi books as he is. Perhaps even more so, he thinks, considering how little Cody has.

After a moment, Cody closes the book and bumps his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s with a grin. “You were right, it does feel nicer.”

When Cody holds out the book for Obi-Wan to take, he shakes his head. “No need to give it back,” he says and gently pushes the book closer to Cody again. “It’s yours now.”

Cody’s eyes widen. “I can’t. It’s—”

“A gift,” Obi-Wan says. He wants Cody to have nice things, little comforts during this seemingly never ending war.

Cody puts the book in his lap and turns towards Obi-Wan so he can reach up his right hand and curl it around the other’s neck to bring him in closer. “Thank you,” he murmurs and kisses Obi-Wan, soft and sweet and full of appreciation.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure how long they end up making out on his couch. At one point, he’s used the Force to move the book over to the table again and Cody has found his way onto his lap.

Cody presses a trail of kisses from Obi-Wan’s mouth to just below his left ear. One of his hands has found its way into Obi-Wan’s hair and the other is just teasing at the edges of his shirt. 

Obi-Wan leans his head to the side to give Cody better access, one of his hands stroking up strong thighs to the curve of Cody’s ass.

On the table, the built-in communicator on Cody’s vambrace beeps, startling both men.

“Fuck.” Cody drops his head onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder with a heavy sigh.

Obi-Wan rubs a comforting circle against Cody’s back. “Time to go?” he asks, even if he already knows the answer.

Cody sits up with a grimace. “Unfortunately,” he says, but makes no move to get out of Obi-Wan’s lap yet. Instead, he presses a quick but gentle kiss against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Thank you for the book. And for showing me your home.”

With warmth in his chest, Obi-Wan doesn’t quite think when he says: “It could be yours too.”

Cody’s eyes widen. “What?”

Obi-Wan's eyes widen too the moment he realizes what exactly he’s said. Kark, why did he even say that? It’s too much too soon.

But he still means the words and, surprisingly, there is a cautious hope in Cody’s eyes.

He swallows, working up courage and, once he’s found it, offers Cody a hesitant smile and an even more hesitant explanation. “After the war, of course. And only if you want! I just want you to know that no matter what, you’ll always have a home here.”

A look of awe spreads over Cody’s face and he reaches up one of his hands so he can trail the curve of Obi-Wan’s cheek with the meat of his thumb. “With you,” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

Cody’s vambrace beeps again. A second reminder that their time together should be over for now.

Cody smiles longingly, presses that smile against Obi-Wan’s lips and when they part, he whispers: “I’d like that.”

Obi-Wan tightens his hold on Cody before the moment is broken and Cody gets up. Has to leave.

For now.

Oirschot is a small town a two-day's flight away from Zehava. It lays deep in what three decades ago was considered Daan territory and nowadays is mostly abandoned. Most have moved away to Eindhoven, a nearby city three hours away with the promise of more work and less haunting memories of a past they’d all rather forget.

Because while Oirschot has picturesque brick buildings and cobblestone streets, the only reason those are still there is because it also used to be home to the Daan’s biggest and most fortified military base.

And now it will be used as such again.

At least, that is the guise.

For news about the true intent of the chips has come back. A list of orders that, according to Cody range from protection of certain members of the Senate to full assassination of the Jedi. They’re not provided the full list, as the clones are investigating and they don’t want anyone to have access to the orders that could mean nothing but disaster. It’s still enough to cement most of the Council’s decision to go ahead as planned.

Nield, Florent and Deila are in charge of readying the facility with the help of Roenni, while Cerasi and Jawo are working on a planetary-wide communication plan informing their citizens about the GAR presence on Melidaan, including several safeguard options in case of calamities or civil unrest.

They’ll spin it for the Melidani the same way Obi-Wan and Senn will to the Republic Senate.

That both the attempted assassination on Obi-Wan and the blockade on Gall have shown them how quickly a situation can change. How vulnerable they are simply on their own. So for their own safety in these turbulent and uncertain times, they seek a mutually beneficial agreement with the Republic.

The desired GAR outpost for the Republic and protection for Melidaan.

Their own citizens are relieved more than anything else, fear slowly soaking into them after the Separatist’s attempted invasion of Gall. Yes, there are some protests, but overall the announcement is met with approval.

The Republic delegation they meet with—consisting of the Chancellor himself and a selected group of ten other Senators—smells blood, though, and Obi-Wan and Senn are immediately asked if this means Melidaan will join them.

Obi-Wan is quick to dismiss this with a pleasant smile and a firm shake of his head. “Joining the Republic isn’t part of this offer. If you accept, we will remain our own independent system.”

“So you only wish to cooperate with us for your own benefit?” one of the Senators asks.

An absolutely stupid and hypocritical question, because isn’t that exactly what the Republic is aiming for?

Senn replies, sounding polite and thankfully only slightly condescending. “It’s merely an offer we thought you might be interested in, considering prior conversations. Of course, if the Republic doesn’t need an outpost on Melidaan anymore in these turbulent times, we understand. We also hope that the Senate in that case understands that should we feel the need, we might explore other options to ensure Melidaan’s safety.”

Murmuring breaks out on the other side of the call, at least a dozen senators talking right through each other and the recurring demand is: “Are you saying you will join the Separatists?”

Which is exactly the question Obi-Wan and Senn had hoped for, assuming the Republic would sooner accept their proposition than make a potential enemy out of them.

Obi-Wan smiles pleasantly. “We haven’t yet explored what other options look like. We are hoping it won’t come to that, considering that establishing an amicable working-relationship with the Republic will benefit us both.”

“Indeed,” Chancellor Palpatine drawls. He has a glimmer in his eyes and a pleased smile on his lips. “I believe you have sufficiently pleaded your case, Triumvir. Minister. Will shall bring your request up with the full Senate to discuss the matter and vote. One of my aides will get back to you in due course.” 

When the holocall ends, Senn slumps. “You think they’ll take the bait?”

Obi-Wan thinks back to how pleased the Chancellor had looked when the call ended. Like he had somehow gotten exactly what he wanted.

Well, let him think that.

He nods. “Yes.”

By the time Republic approval comes, the Oirschot base is ready.

How they’ve managed to sell this to GAR higher command, Obi-Wan isn’t sure but somehow, someone has signed off on a two week rotation. Apparently, they’ve taken it as a chance to give each platoon some shore-leave without actually giving them shore-leave. He idly wonders how many Employment Protection Laws are being broken by that, considering a worker’s right to proper leave.

In this case, though, corporate greed and indifference actually works in their favor.

It is agreed that the first legion to rotate through the newly established Melidaan base is the 501^st. The excuse is that this was the legion that played a hand in changing Melidaan’s mind, but in reality it was a request from Cody.

Fives’ disappearance has hit them hard, especially Torrent and if anyone should find out their brother is alive and why he did what he did, it’s them.

But they don’t know about Fives nor the real reason for the presence when the platoon arrives, so when the LAAT/i lands the men are in high spirits.

Rex goes over to greet Obi-Wan and Roenni as the others exit the ship.

Hardcase is leading the way. “We’ve arrived, baby!” he elbows Dogma in the side with a laugh. “You think we’ll get some pina-colada’s on this milk run of an assignment?”

“Hardcase,” Dogma starts, eyes flickering from Hardcase to Obi-Wan and Rex.

Hardcase’s eyes follow, but he doesn’t seem overly worried. Just grins at the both of them and easily says: “No offense, Captain. Triumvir.”

Rex raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t reply, as if he’s waiting for something.

Or someone.

Fives’ steps out of a doorway and into view with a grin. “You won’t be laughing when you find out what you’re actually here for.”

“Fives?” Echo asks breathlessly. His shock lasts only a moment before he’s rushing over and pulls Fives into a tight hug. “You’re— this is the worst joke you’ve ever pulled.”

Fives lets out a loud laugh, hugging the other back just as tightly. “Good to see you too, Echo.”

Within ten seconds, Fives is toppled over on the ground under the weight of at least four others. A tangle of limbs and laughter that warms Obi-Wan’s heart.

Another trooper steps out of the LAAT and makes his way over to Obi-Wan and Rex.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “Curie? Since when are you 501^st?”

Curie chuckles. “I’m not. But considering the situation the Commander argued that it would be good to have a medic permanently stationed on Melidaan.”

So at least one person knows the actually knows what’s going on here. Obi-Wan grimaces in sympathy. “And that duty fell to you.”

Curie shakes his head with a grin. “Oh, I volunteered. Steady would have too, but you know, he’s CMO.”

“Well, you’ll certainly be making a difference here.” Roenni  takes a step forward and holds out her hand for Curie to shake. “I’m Doctor Roenni. We’ll be working together quite a lot.”

Curie shakes her hand, although it’s obvious he’s not quite used to it. “Corporal Curie. Or Doctor, I suppose.”

By now, the pile that was six troopers has de-tangled themselves. Rex clears his throat, and the whole platoon line up straight away. “All right everyone,” he calls, “introductions first, and then I give you the mission brief.”

“Mission brief, Captain?” Jesse asks with a frown.

“There goes my pina colada,” Hardcase mutters just loud enough for them to hear.

“You thought we needed a medic on this, what did you call it, milk run of an assignment?” Rex tips his head to the side with a smirk. “Come on.”

The next three months move by quickly and hectically.

Six platoons have rotated through the Oirschot base and while the first month wasn’t exactly what one would call smooth, they’ve ironed out the process now. Curie is a fixed presence at the base with Roenni and Obi-Wan alternating weeks but both being there on the day when the new rotation of troops arrive. Of course, Obi-Wan can hardly perform surgeries but he can take care of the administrative side of things at least. Which means that in the weeks he isn’t there, Nield and Cerasi split his work-load back in Zehava.

There have been some minor demonstrations against the GAR presence, but overall public opinion is still cautiously optimistic.

When he has the chance to catch up with Cody a few weeks later, however, Cody is far from cautiously optimistic. He doesn’t outright say it, but over the months that they’ve known each other Cody’s relaxed more and more around him and Obi-Wan’s gotten a chance to get familiar with his little tells.

Like the way he rubs a head over his sideburns just a few times too often, or how his shoulders aren’t as straight as they normally are.

So when Cody’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he says he’s doing fine, Obi-Wan gently says: “It’s fine if you’re not.”

Cody blinks. “I—” he starts and then breaks himself off with a tired sigh. “I’m just worried. The outer-rim sieges are lasting forever and we should be so close to the end of the war.”

“But?”

“Our investigation into the exact meaning and origin of the chips is reaching a dead end and de-chipping is slower than I’d like,” Cody says with a frown. “Even if the medics are diagnosing brain injuries and excusing additional brain surgeries after campaigns, it feels like we’re somehow running out of time.”

Obi-Wan grimaces.

It makes sense. While technically everything is running smoothly, de-chipping thirty-six clones every two weeks considering there are millions isn’t exactly speedy. And while they could potentially de-chip more clones, there is no way to get them to Melidaan.

They’ve certainly been overzealous in thinking they could de-chip all the clones on their own.

Obi-Wan sighs. “Could you get help?”

Cody shakes his head. “At this point in time we’d need the help of the Jedi to get further in either the investigation or the de-chipping. The opinions on that are mixed. General Skywalker already knows about the chips, but none of us in Command have heard anything.” A disappointed look flickers over his face. “If they’re investigating the chips in our heads, you’d think they’d involve us.”

“You’re sure Skywalker told anyone else?” Obi-Wan asks with a frown. He doesn’t know Skywalker well enough to know for sure, but it sounds more likely than the Jedi not involving any of the clones in their investigation.

Cody scoffs. “The guy can’t even hold his relationship with senator Amidala a secret.” He shakes his head. “The Jedi must know. General Jinn at the very least.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. “You think they’re purposefully not involving you in their investigation.”

“With what’s on these chips… possibly.” Cody laughs, too loud and without humor. “Can’t blame them either.”

Obi-Wan sighs. It’s all so unfair and he just wants to wrap Cody in his arms.

“We’ll think of something,” Cody says thoughtfully, like he’s planning out loud. “Perhaps we can get away with submitting requisition forms for the additional medical equipment. Force knows that with how many hits we’re taking currently, it might be a while before anyone thinks to question it.”

“If there’s anything we can do…” Obi-Wan offers. The only comfort he can offer.

“You’re already doing enough,” Cody says with a shake of his head. Then, he smiles. “Now, I’ve got about five minutes left. Enough moaning from me. How are you?”

“Good,” Obi-Wan answers with a smile. If this were any other time, he might’ve complained about a dozen little things, but they’re all trivial and not what Cody needs to hear. “Spent the day babysitting Hugo yesterday. I love that boy, but I really wonder how Cerasi and Milou do it. It’s a full-time job.”

“Did he get up to any mischief?” Cody asks with a chuckle. “The cadets do all the time from what I hear.”

“Mischief?” Obi-Wan asks with a chuckle. “He almost broke a statue at the museum.”

Cody raises an eyebrow. “Of course he did, he’s five. Not sure the museum is a good excursion.”

“The natural history museum is,” Obi-Wan argues with a laugh. “It’s got specific sections aimed at kids, even a sandpit where they can excavate their own set of fossils. Which, ah. I found out he’d taken home once we left.”

“Did you make him take it back?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. Hugo had been so proud of his treasure that he’d excavated himself and then sneaked home. “I put it up on his treasure shelf.”

Cody’s eyes widen and there’s an obvious delighted glimmer in them. “A treasure shelf?”

Obi-Wan grins. “You could start one.”

“Don’t get much chance to search for treasures, no matter how many places we go to. But it’s a cute idea.”

Obi-Wan gives Cody an encouraging smile. “Maybe after the war.”

“Well,” Cody says with a grin and a wink, “then it’ll be our treasure shelf, won’t it?”

Obi-Wan grins back in reply.

Theirs, after the war.

Obi-Wan’s just gotten himself a cup of his favorite tea to-go when he feels it.

A Force-presence carefully brushing against his shields. It’s hesitant and curious, but most of all, it is familiar.

Familiar in the same way Jinn’s was, in that I knew you in another lifetime way that comes with so many memories and emotions Obi-Wan feels like he can’t breathe for a moment.

Heart in his throat, Obi-Wan turns to scan the street. It’s rush-hour, which means there’s many people around and his eyes fly over the crowd. He doesn’t recognize any faces, not until—

“Force,” he mutters and his cup slips from his hand, falling to the ground and splattering tea everywhere. Because they might not have seen each other for a little over twenty years and they both look older, that doesn’t mean they’re unrecognizable.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t recognize the face of his childhood friend.

“Quin.”

Chapter Text

He brings Quinlan to his apartment, because somehow asking him to sit down for a drink at the cafe he just left feels wrong.

“Anywhere is fine,” Quinlan says with a hesitant smile when Obi-Wan offers, “just wanted to see you.”

The words feel true in the Force, and Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt them. But there is only one reason why a Jedi would be coming to Melidaan unannounced.

As he lets the other into his home, he wonders if he should be escorting him to either the Governmental building or the spaceport instead.

Logically, yes.

But he can’t. Not when it’s Quinlan and a part of him is so very happy to see his childhood friend.

If only he knew how to properly act in this situation though. Because he feels terribly out of his depth.

“Have a seat,” he says with a wave that feels awkward. “I’ll get us a drink.”

He glances at Quinlan. Thirteen year-old him is itching to pull the other into a hug. But he’s not thirteen with lanky limbs and a pitch in his voice, laughing with his best friend because they’ve just gotten up to no good. He hasn’t seen the other in over two decades and he’s almost sad to admit they might as well be strangers.

Quinlan isn’t so hesitant.

“C’mere Obes,” he says with a chuckle as he drags Obi-Wan into a hug.

Both Quinlan’s arms and his Force presence wrap around him in a hug that strangely feels like coming home.

He leans into it, hoping he won’t end up regretting this. For if given the chance, he’d like to take this as an opportunity to rekindle his friendship with Quinlan.

However, there is an bantha in the room he needs to address before he can even consider catching up on all they missed of each other’s lives.

So once he’s made them both a cup of tea and they’re sitting at the kitchen island, he asks “Not that I don’t appreciate seeing you, but what brings you to Melidaan?”

Quinlan leans back against his stool with a grin, not at all surprised at the question. “An old friend can’t drop by for a surprise visit?”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

“Well,” Quinlan laughs and waves a hand between them, “this is a surprise visit.”

Obi-Wan is reminded of how they used to play word games, twisting words so that they would answer a question from a certain point of view. He’d always thought it amused Master Tholme and made Master Jinn proud, if only for the exasperation it caused Master Windu.

Seems like Quinlan’s visit to Melidaan is most certainly meditated and that at least, some things don’t change. He curls his lips up in amusement. “How annoyed is Master Windu going to be with you?”

Quinlan waves a hand in the air. “It’ll be worth it,” he says with a smile. “I know it’s been decades, but it’s really fucking good to see you Obes.”

Obi-Wan smiles back. “It’s good to see you too. How— how have you been?” he asks. It feels like a stupid question, but what else is there to ask after so long?

Quinlan seems to take it in stride. “I’m a Master now,” he says with a proud grin.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow in surprise. “They let you train a Padawan?”

Quinlan laughs. “That’s unfair. I might’ve grown into a responsible adult.”

Obi-Wan is about to quip back when he realizes Quinlan is right. What does he know? Just because he used to joke around with the other when they were kids doesn’t mean he still has that right now.

“Hey, don’t get all sad on me now. I was just joking,” Quinlan says with a worried frown. “I’m not here to make you feel guilty. Just thought I’d drop by since I’m around.”

Well, Quinlan’s last sentence certainly gets Obi-Wan out of his gloom mood and back on track. He strokes his beard. “I still don’t know why you’re on Melidaan.”

Quinlan leans back against his chair, giving Obi-Wan a pointed look. “We both know that you do.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “And why are you here? With me?”

Quinlan looks sheepish. “I mean, I did really want to see you now that I have the chance. Have a chat, catch up, see if we can maybe stay in touch.” A slow grin spreads on his lips. “Give you a heads up.”

“About?”

Quinlan gives Obi-Wan a tight smile. “Come on, Obes. You know where this is going, don’t you?”

He meets Cerasi and Nield in Nield’s office. “Fuck,” Nield curses when Obi-Wan has let them know what happened.

“Do you have any idea what the Jedi will do?” Cerasi asks.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “It looks like they’re still investigating. I haven’t heard anything from Cody, so I think it’s safe to assume they haven’t reached out to the clones yet.”

Cerasi taps her fingers against the arm of her chair with a thoughtful look. “They’ve known about the chips as long as we have, haven’t they?”

Obi-Wan nods. “According to Fives, Skywalker was there when he told Rex about the chips. They must know.”

Cerasi frowns. “I wonder what they found that their investigation is taking this long. We’ve almost de-chipped a full legion already.”

It’s a good question. Obi-Wan has been wondering the same thing. He knows from the hints that Cody has dropped that whatever the chips will do, it involves the Jedi. But then again, it’s not like they’ll be made aware of the investigation. And it’s only an assumption on Obi-Wan’s part that Cody will tell him if the Jedi have reached out to him.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be true.

Nield frowns. “What if the Jedi don’t want the chips removed?” he asks, soft and worried.

“No.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I’d sooner believe that they’re running into a wall with their investigation than that they’d willingly allow the clones to stay chipped.”

“Maybe you don’t know the Jedi as well as you thought,” Nield says.

Obi-Wan glares at his friend and, voice tight, says: “I grew up in the temple, Nield. They were my family.”

“They’re generals in a galaxy-wide war.” The only kind thing is that Nield doesn’t angrily add that they’re doing this while they’d refused to fight their war.

He doesn’t need to say it, though.

Obi-Wan grimaces. “I don’t believe they joined the war willingly.”

Nield frowns, but it’s Cerasi that steps in and asks: “They were ordered to?”

“That’s the only logical conclusion. Jedi aren’t warriors, or fighters. They’re peace keepers. They’d never willingly lead a war. Certainly not after the Ruusan Reformation.” Obi-Wan frowns. “I don’t know what happened, but I know the Jedi. They’d only agree to lead this war if the Senate twisted their arm.”

Cerasi’s eyes widen. “Can the Senate even do that?”

“Apparently,” Obi-Wan says wryly. “The relationship between the Order and the Republic has always been imbalanced, but apparently it’s worse than I thought.”

Nield sighs, loud and exaggerated. He glares at Obi-Wan. “Don’t make me feel bad for the Jedi Order now.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. Only Nield can be stuck on an opinion one moment and reluctantly change it the next.

“After holding a grudge against them for so long?” Cerasi asks with a scoff.

“Shut up.” Nield rolls his eyes, but the fight has gone out of him. “So now what?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “There isn’t much we can do, aside from reaching out to the Jedi ourselves.”

“And put all our cards on the table?” Nield scoffs. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Exactly,” Obi-Wan agrees. “So we wait. Something tells me the Jedi will come to us.”

“Well, considering you’ve had tea with their karking spy they already have,” Nield snips.

“You really think it’s that easy?” Cerasi asks, ignoring Nield to try and avoid an argument starting. “They’ll comm us and just want to talk?”

“Knowing the Jedi, most likely.” It would most certainly be the most peaceful and diplomatic way to resolve the situation. Speaking of diplomatic, Obi-Wan looks at Nield and asks: “Will you inform the Council? Then I’ll warn Cody.”

“Sure,” Nield says with a grin, “tell your boyfriend I said hi.”

Obi-Wan’s first stop when he gets to the Oirschot base is Curie’s office.

He finds the man at his desk, looking over some reports on a padd.

“Hello there,” he greets as he knocks on the open door.

Curie looks up and smiles when he sees who his visitor is. “Obi-Wan! Come in.” He waves a hand at the chair on the other side of his desk. “Sit down. Lucky you caught me doing flimsiwork rather than surgery.”

Obi-Wan sits down. “I won’t take up much of your time. A new platoon arrived yesterday, right?”

“Yes, last one of the 501st.” Curie puts down his padd with a smile. “We’ll finally have the whole legion de-chipped.”

“A great achievement.”

“If a bit slow,” Curie allows with a rueful smile. “Heard from the Commander they’ll send the 104th after this.”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Not the 212th?”

“Steady’s been de-chipping the men, diagnosing head injuries left, right and center. If he keeps this up they might decommission the whole legion thinking we must’ve gone collectively insane.”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “Speaking of the Commander…”

Curie does his best to hide his smile, but his eyes still twinkle and his amusement is bubbly in the Force. “Yes?”

“Can you get me a secure connection with him?” he asks. He doesn’t want to risk contacting Cody with his own unsecured comm. Not for this.

Curie sobers almost immediately. “Yes sure,” he says and opens a drawer on his desk to retrieve a holo-transmitter. “Something wrong?”

Obi-Wan grimaces. “Probably.”

Cody isn’t surprised by the Jedi investigating Oirschot.

Unhappy about the timing, perhaps, but not surprised.

He orders Curie to keep going as normal, and goes on to explain that he and the other CC’s are already prepared to speak with the Jedi Council. Have been since the de-chipping started but that they preferred to wait until they’d reached a certain level of troops de-chipped.

They’re not there yet, but needs must.

Cody’s smile is rather pleased as he announces: “I already have a twenty-slide presentation prepared to convince the Council that it’s beneficial to continue current de-chipping operations on Melidaan. Plus a request to perform more surgeries on the troops in our own medbays.”

Obi-Wan can only hope things are going to be that simple.

Three days later, the Triumvirate receives an urgent invitation for a meeting with the Jedi Council.

They agree they’ll let Obi-Wan do most of the talking, considering he’s the one with some experience with the Council.

That doesn’t mean the mood in the room is relaxed.

Cerasi takes a nervous breath. “It can’t be too bad, right? I mean, all they want is a holo-call.”

“Unless they send in someone to arrest us,” Nield mutters.

“On our own planet?” Cerasi asks with a startled laugh. “They can’t.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “We’ll be fine,” he says. “Ready?”

When both Cerasi and Nield nod, he takes a deep breath and connects the call.

It’s a good thing they’ve decided to take the call in the main meeting room. Even in holo-form, the full Jedi Council, Jedi Masters Jinn and Vos and Commander Cody would not have fit in Obi-Wan’s office.

For a moment, he feels like a young Initiate again. Standing in front of the Council, scrutinized and judged albeit with kind eyes and good intentions.

Now, though, even if the eyes are kind he wonders about the intentions.

At least Cody doesn’t appear to be worried.

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greets with a respectful bow, “I must say it is a surprise we have been summoned.”

As he straightens, it is Master Yoda that speaks with a surprising amount of amusement. “A surprise, this is not.”

“We have been investigating Melidaan’s sudden request for an outpost you initially rejected. Vehemently. No matter how convenient your request was, it certainly roused some suspicion. As it turns out, we were right to investigate,” Master Windu says without preamble. He presses his fingers together and raises an eyebrow as he concludes: “We know about the de-chipping operation on Melidaan.”

“Our sudden change of heart was suspicious enough to investigate, but chips in the heads of your men weren't?” Nield asks, despite their agreement to leave most of the talking up to Obi-Wan.

Not that it’s an unfair question, but it’s hardly a gentle way to start this conversation.

Yoda’s ears droop slightly at the question. “Aware of the chips, we were not. Report on it, Master Vos did.”

“Oh? Curious, that.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker over to Skywalker, whose seat on the Council is a surprise to say the least. As is the fact that he apparently hasn’t told the Council about the chips. “I’ve heard from a reliable source that someone on your Council was very much aware of the chips.”

“An internal matter,” Windu says, dismissing the topic with a neutral expression and a wave of his hand. “What is not, is Melidaan’s involvement in this highly illegal, highly dangerous operation.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “If you know about the chips, which I am going to assume in good faith the Jedi did not actually request…”

“Of course we didn’t request such a thing,” Master Ti says, and her heartbreak and anger are clear in her voice.

Fleetingly, Obi-Wan wonders what the consequences will be for the Kaminoans for implanting chips illegally and then trying to cover it up. Wonders how the Senate will react—or, if the Senate knew all along and just failed to inform the Jedi.

Either way, he feels for the clones and the Jedi. This is a mess he’s happy Melidaan won’t be involved in, other than whatever help they choose to offer.

“Then I’m sure the Council would agree that it’s also highly necessary,” he says in reply to Ti. “We are only doing what’s right.”

“Undeniable that is,” Yoda agrees with a nod.

“Even the Force is quite adamant on that,” Jinn says, giving what is most likely Obi-Wan’s holo an encouraging smile.

Obi-Wan gives a tight smile back, before turning to face Council again. “Then may I ask why the Council invited us here? Are you going to help? Are we to stand trial? I assure you, we only had the clones’ best interest in mind. Your troops,” he adds with a feigned polite smile, “whom I’m sure you care about.”

“Peace, Triumvir,” Master Fisto says , holding up his hand in a gesture of goodwill. “We didn’t ask you here to prosecute our judge you.”

Windu rubs a hand over his temple with a sigh. “Perhaps Master Vos could have broken cover even further during his tea-party and assured you of the fact that this whole operation will stay firmly between the Order, the clones and Melidaan,” he says, giving a chastised Quinlan a pointed look.

Quinlan gives Windu a wry smile in reply.

“You won’t involve the Senate?” Nield asks in surprise and relief.

Windu shakes his head. “We’ll all agree secrecy and efficiency is most important in this matter. Involving the Senate is none of those things. In fact, the best thing would be to continue current operations on Melidaan, considering you have already established a routine.”

Cerasi frowns. “You want us to continue, just like that?”

“Stopping operations now would not only slow down de-chipping,” Fisto explains. “It would also put you under suspicion if we suddenly change the rotation so soon after starting it.”

“It also must be said that Master Jinn has spoken in favor of keeping operations on Melidaan since the start of our investigation,” Ti says.

“Hmm, right Master Ti is. A good impression you made. Master Jinn’s support, you had even when in doubt the Council was,” Yoda says, eyes on Obi-Wan.

“It wasn’t about the impression Kenobi made on me. It was the right thing to do,” Jinn says, shaking his head. He looks at Obi-Wan with a rueful smile. “Even if it was almost three decades late.”

There’s a lump in Obi-Wan’s throat as he looks at the blue holo-image of Jinn.

He thinks back to their previous interactions, the man’s request to rekindle feeling suspicious more than anything else. He thought the man was trying to get information on him, but now he’s left wondering if that truly was the case.

Or if Jinn had truly only wished to make amends and reconnect.

Seeing the man standing between Cody and Quinlan and knowing he vouched for Obi-Wan—for Melidaan—without knowing the full story, it certainly seems more likely than before.

Maybe he’ll have to reach out to Jinn when all of this is over.

For now, he swallows the lump in his throat away, and manages a soft: “That’s very kind.”

His eyes flicker to Cody, remembering his worries and Curie’s mention about the speed of the de-chipping. He grimaces, as he tells the Council: “But there are some concerns with the de-chipping on Melidaan.”

Windu nods. “Yes. Commander Cody has briefed us of the situation with a presentation. Rather impressive, I must say,” he says, looking amused.

“The Commander has always been an efficient man,” Jinn adds with a proud smile.

Cody stands just a tad bit straighter at the compliment.

“We have already discussed signing off on the medical supplies to de-chip on the stardestroyers. If we combine that with the effort being made on Melidaan, we should be able to finish the process within the next six months,” Windu says. He offers Cody an apologetic smile. “We realize this might perhaps be slower than desirable, but it is the fastest we can achieve without rousing suspicion.”

“It’s still faster than we would’ve been without your help, General.”

Windu gives Cody a nod in reply and then turns to address the Triumvirate. “We do ask that you allow us to send a Jedi healer to Melidaan to supervise the operations.”

Cerasi and Nield’s shock and displeasure are clear in the Force. But the request can’t be a surprise.

Not when they would certainly have made the same request had their positions been reversed.

“Who do you have in mind?” Obi-Wan asks.

There is a ghost of a smile on Windu’s lips as he says: “Bant Eerin. I believe you are acquainted.”

Obi-Wan smiles at the familiar name. He’s happy to hear that Bant became a healer. It’s certainly something that fits the sweet Mon Cala. Part of him is also happy it’ll be her that gets sent to Melidaan. Just like with Quinlan, he finds himself looking forward to reconnect with someone who he was as close with as a sibling once upon a time.

Next to him, Nield and Cerasi both look at him.

“It’s your call,” Nield says and Cerasi nods her agreement.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan whispers and then to the Council, says: “If she agrees, Bant would be very welcome on Melidaan.”

“Agrees?” Quinlan asks with a laugh. “She volunteered.”

“So it’s agreed,” Windu says.

Jinn clears his throat. “Actually, Masters, I would also like to make a suggestion.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t need to be in the room to feel the Council’s exasperation.

Jinn, however, is undeterred. "Considering the operations on Melidaan have been going for a while, it would be good to have an inspection take place. In fact, it would be most efficient if Commander Cody could take care of this. As healer Eerin is going to Melidaan anyway, it would save us sending additional men as escorts. The Coruscant Guard is stretched thin as it is, and I'm sure Commander Fox would welcome the reprieve. What do you think, Commander?"

If Cody is surprised at the proposal, he doesn’t show it. “We normally do insist on regular inspections for important outposts, so technically I would say we are overdue on the new outpost on Melidaan.”

“Qui-Gon,” Windu says with a sigh, looking very much like a man that’s aware he is potentially being fooled but doesn’t quite have the full picture yet.

Next to him, one of Yoda’s ears twitches. “A good idea, I think this is,” he says, looking first at Obi-Wan and then at Cody with a twinkle in his eyes. “Bant Eerin we shall send. Escorted by Commander Cody.”

Bant, it turns out, is still as sweet now as when they were children.

“Obi-Wan,” she greets, standing next to Cody on the landing platform and giving Obi-Wan a teasing smile. “You’ve grown.”

A startled laugh escapes Obi-Wan. “More than you,” he says.

He finds himself grateful for the joke, the lightness of the moment and Bant’s calming, mischievous presence not allowing him to wallow in pity as he had with Quinlan.

He wonders if this was an approach they’d come up with together.

Bant chuckles, as if she’s reading his mind. Then, she spreads her arms. “Well, come and give this short Mon Cala a hug.”

Obi-Wan can only oblige, stepping closer and drawing his childhood friend into a hug. It only feels slightly awkward. But most of all, it feels familiar.

“It’s good to see you again,” Bant says, smiling at Obi-Wan when she takes a step back.

“It is good to see you too,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Quinlan said you volunteered.”

Bant shrugs with a grin. “Well, I didn’t want him to be the only one that’s seen you again. He’d be insufferable! Well, more than he already is.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “He really hasn’t changed.”

“Not in the ways that count,” Bant says fondly and then turns that fond smile on him. “And it seems you haven’t either.”

“I hope not,” he replies, feeling surprisingly proud at Bant’s words. She’s always been sweet, but even when they were younger she never said things to placate people. When Bant says something, she means it.

“I’m sure you haven’t,” Bant says and then turns to look at Cerasi and Nield. “Will you officially introduce me to your new family?” she asks and then flashes Obi-Wan a grin. “I promise I’ll let you kiss the Commander after that.”

Obi-Wan blushes bright red. “Bant!”

At the edge of the landing pad, Nield cackles. “Oh, I like her already!”

Obi-Wan and Cody have dinner in Obi-Wan’s room that evening. It doesn’t have a dining table, but they’re both happy enough to sit with their sides pressed together on the small sofa as they eat their mediocre food.

In fact, Obi-Wan prefers this. The closeness, the feeling of Cody’s thigh against his and the other’s warmth. The chance to let their fingers brush whenever they want and steal kisses in between bites, talk and laughter.

There is only one thing he wished he could have done, but it will have to wait. “Next time I’d like to cook for you at home.”

“I’ve never really cooked a proper meal,” Cody admits.

Obi-Wan gives him a reassuring smile. “I’m not surprised,” he says and traces a finger over Cody’s thigh. “I’m not a fantastic cook myself, but I make some things well enough. We could make meatballs together,” he offers with a shy smile.

Cody grins. “I might be a terrible cook.”

“Oh well, wouldn’t be the first time I burn meatballs,” Obi-Wan says with a laugh. “You’ll want the refectory food if I do.”

Cody smiles. “As long as we get to eat together, I really don’t care.” He looks at the empty trays in front of them and shrugs. “Plus this food is much better than the crap we get served on the Maverick.”

At the mention of the Maverick, something comes to Obi-Wan’s mind. He turns so he can face Cody, pulling his right leg up on the couch and folding it under him. He grins. “Another thing that’s better is the fresher. No two-minute allotment of water here.”

Cody shakes his head, a fond look in his eyes. “You know, everyone would’ve been fine if you’d taken your time.”

“It wouldn’t have felt right,” Obi-Wan admits. “But,” he drawls and reaches out to curve a hand around Cody’s knee, “here it doesn’t matter.”

Here, now, they can finally take a shower together. Like he’s been fantasizing about since Cody came to check him out in the Maverick ‘fresher.

Cody catches on almost straight away with a grin and a flash of arousal in the Force. He turns slightly, body angled towards Obi-Wan and their knees brush. “How big is that fresher?”

“Should be able to fit the both of us.”

“Then how about we go and enjoy the luxury of unlimited water?”

Obi-Wan grins as he leans in to kiss Cody. He intends to make it chaste, but Cody is quick to slide a hand in his hair and deepen the kiss with a hungry sound.

When the kiss breaks, they’re both breathless and the air around them is full of anticipation as they both grin.

“This time I can even touch,” Obi-Wan says.

Cody smirks. “Oh, you better.”

Cody leaves for the front, and life continues.

As the war-effort in the Outer Rim intensifies, calls become less regular. Even messages are few and far between and the longer the wait for replies becomes, the more anxious the time becomes.

There is, however, enough to keep Obi-Wan occupied on Melidaan. With Jedi support, the clones’ rotation has been shortened to a single week to increase turnaround. There’s the refugee situation with Gall and discussions with the IRCA.

Furthermore, just because the galaxy around them is slowly going to hell and giving them lots of extra work, doesn’t mean they don’t have to govern their own planet any longer. There are budget discussions to be had, projects to be run and a population to manage and comfort. The longer the war drags on, the more worried everyone becomes that soon it will come knocking on their door. It has, miraculously, also increased public opinion of the Oirschot base and GAR presence which is a relief, at least. But it leads to further discussions and planning to prepare Melidaan for a war that will, hopefully, never come.

One good thing is his chance to reconnect with Bant. It’s been a true pleasure getting to know his childhood friend again. Hearing her stories about life at the temple, about everyone he knew growing up. To learn things about Quinlan, especially the things he can throw back into the other’s face during one of their chat conversations.

Then, one day Cody comms bearing good news. They have Dooku in custody and are heading to Utapau to catch Grievous. There is cautious optimism in his eyes and careful wonder in his voice as he breathes that finally, the war is almost over.

It’s become tradition to have dinner with the new platoon the day they arrive in Oirschot.

It allows the permanently stationed crew at the base to get to know the men. Plus, it puts the new arrivals at ease and creates a slightly more relaxed atmosphere.

Dinner is planned to start in half an hour, so the mess is still relatively empty. Most men are exploring the base or taking the chance to enjoy some down-time. Melidaan’s conclave of Obi-Wan, Roenni, Bant and Curie is there plus a handful of troopers.

The current platoon is from the 327^th. It’s the corps’ first rotation, and the men are understandably a little nervous.

“How is Aayla doing?” Bant asks in an attempt to break the ice. “It’s really been so long since I’ve seen her.”

Chess, the platoon’s Lieutenant, looks at Bant with open curiosity. “You know the General, Sir?”

“I’ve known her since she was a youngling. Her Master is a good friend of mine.” Bant turns to Obi-Wan with a grin. “Quinlan,” she says. “He’s surprisingly good with kids. Although I will admit we were initially a little afraid for Aayla when he took her on as his Padawan.”

There’s a moment of confused silence, and then Chess carefully asks: “Worried how, Sir?”

Bant grins. “Well, Quinlan is rather… eccentric isn’t quite the word. But the amount of trouble he got up to when he was younger certainly earned him a reputation.”

Obi-Wan chuckles.

“Oh, don’t you laugh,” Bant says, giving him an amused look. “You might’ve left when you were thirteen but that was enough time to be right there with him.”

Roenni chuckles. “Why am I not surprised.”

Obi-Wan rubs his temple with a slightly embarrassed smile and clears his throat. “We only caused minor havoc. Besides, they were usually Quin’s plans.”

“Right,” Bant drawls, looking at Obi-Wan. Then, she turns to the clones. “I’m sure you guys never do such things.”

It’s an obvious joke, but the men hesitantly glance among themselves for a moment.

“You won’t have to worry,” Chess says eventually, even if some of the men are struggling to keep a straight face. He looks around the table and then back at Bant. “The men will behave.”

Bant waves a hand in the air with a chuckle. “No worries, Lieutenant. I’m just pulling your leg.”

“They’ll be on strict doctor’s orders after their OP anyway,” Curie says.

Clem, a young looking man, worriedly asks: “Will it hurt? The surgery?”

“Come on,” the trooper next to him says with a laugh, “you scared?”

“No-one said it would,” another adds reassuringly.

“And it won’t,” Curie says, giving Clem a small smile. “Tomorrow each of you will have an individual appointment with either myself, Roenni or Bant. We’ll explain the procedure and you will have the time to ask any questions you may have.”

Clem relaxes visibly at the news. “Okay.”

There’s a nudge in the Force, a warning.

Obi-Wan frowns and glances at Bant.

When their eyes catch, she nods. “I feel it too,” she says.

Chess’ vambrace comm goes off with a beep and Obi-Wan holds his breath as Chess lifts his right arm to answer. “Lieutenant Chess.”

“Execute—”

“Stand down, Captain Lee!” Someone else shouts on the other side, cutting Lee off. They sound hurried, panicked almost.

“Orders are orders, Commander,” Lee replies, his voice strangely empty.

“Captain Lee? Commander Bly?” Chess asks.

Worry is almost tangible in the Force and Obi-Wan has got a very bad feeling about this.

“No, not my comm!” Captain Lee shouts suddenly. “Execute— agh!” Sounds of a struggle come over the comm for a moment, and then: “Execute order 66!”

The comm clicks out and at the same time the men’s presence in the Force blinks out too like a snuffed candle.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen. What the fuck. He’s never felt anything like this before, unless the person died. “What is going on here?”

“What’s order 66?” Bant demands.

Chess doesn’t answer. He stands up, chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back. Without a word he pulls his blaster out and points it right at Bant.

Obi-Wan jumps up and Roenni curses to herself.

Bant gasps, eyes wide. She stands up, holding up her hands in a gesture of calm and peacefulness. “Lieutenant Chess, what’s going on?” she asks and then, with Force intent behind her words, adds: “Put the blaster down.”

“No!” Curie shouts at the same time and almost launches himself out of his chair. He pushes Chess back and wedges himself between the Lieutenant and the table. “You can’t!”

The other soldiers sitting around the table stand up as well, hands on their blasters and eyes on Chess seeming to wait for orders.

A flash of panic shoots through Obi-Wan and it takes all his strength not to drop down into a crouch position and get himself into safety.

Roenni is just as shocked, jumping with a gasp, her chair clattering back against the ground. “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice a terrified whisper.

He moves a step closer to her and taps her thigh three times. She’ll remember the code.

Get ready to hide.

He doesn’t know what is going on, but it’s nothing good. Not with the men’s Force presence gone. Not with Chess pulling a fucking blaster on Bant.

But this isn’t war, they aren’t the Young. They don’t have blasters in their hands and vibroknives strapped to their thighs. He stretches his fingers and then clenches his hands.

If nothing else, he has the Force.

“Orders are orders, Corporal,” Chess says, not a single sign of emotions flickering over his face as he regards Curie. “Get out of the way.”

Curie shakes his head. “Bant!” he shouts over his shoulder, “Get out of here!”

Before Bant can move, Chess gives a hand signal and two troopers come and drag Curie away.

“No!” Curie cries as he struggles against his brothers. “Let me go!”

“If you’re not with us, you’re committing treason,” one of the men holding Curie says.

“Lieutenant, what is going on here?” Bant demands and Obi-Wan can see her place her hand on her lightsaber. “Let the Corporal go right now and explain yourself.”

Chess looks at her and sneers. “We don’t have to explain ourselves to traitors.”

The Force screams in warning.

Chess pulls the trigger.

Bant has her lightsaber out just in time, ricocheting the blasterfire against the wall. “What the—”

Roenni ducks down so she’s behind the table and gets her comm out. “We need security in the mess, right now!” she says, calling for the squad of Melidani security troops that are stationed permanently at the base. “The clones have turned on us.”

“Terminate the traitor,” Chess orders as he fires on Bant again.

That’s when things go crazy.

Bant ricochets blaster fire from multiple directions while Obi-Wan Force-pushes as many men back as he can.

“Shit! What’s going on?” Bant demands, deflecting blaster shot after blaster shot and shit, they’re being driven towards a corner.

Obi-Wan Force-throws a chair at one of the men coming in from the side, knocking him unconscious.

“It’s the damned chips!” Curie shouts, as he struggles against his captors in an attempt to break free. “They can’t help it!”

Roenni activates her comm again. “Try not to kill them,” she urgently tells whichever member of the security team is listening, “I repeat, try not to kill anyone.”

“Is there nothing we can— Ah!” Bant stumbles back with a cry as she misses a blaster shot with her saber and it hits her in the arm.

Distracted, she’s not able to deflect the next shot and it hits her in the chest. She falls down to the ground with a whimper.

“No! Bant!” Obi-Wan shouts, panic rising in his chest and he Force-pushes Chess and the three other troopers still conscious away before they can shoot again.

He uses the Force to flip the table in front of them on its side, creating a barrier between the clones and them.

He doubts it’ll hold long.

Roenni is at Bant’s side in an instant. “I’ll take care of you,” she says.

“I’m fine,” Bant rasps.

Roenni ignores the lie. “Obi-Wan, you protect us.”

Just like the old days, Obi-Wan thinks, bile rising in his throat. “I have no weapon.”

“My s-saber,” Bant says and uses the Force to nudge it over.

He picks it up with his heart in his throat.

It feels strange to hold a lightsaber again, the crystal unknown and the weapon an unfamiliar weight in his hand.

As he stands up, there are four blasters trained on him.

“Triumvir Kenobi,” Chess says, “we’re not interested in hurting you. But if you don’t step aside, we will eliminate you.”

A shudder runs down Obi-Wan’s spine at how empty Chess’ eyes are.

It’s terrifying what a single chip implanted in someone’s brain can do. And he doesn’t want to hurt the clones, but: “I won’t let you kill Bant,” he says and ignites Bant’s saber.

“Fine,” Chess grunts and shoots. The other troopers follow.

He deflects two blaster bolts, but a third grazes his temple.

He flinches back.

Fuck, he isn’t smooth and practiced like Bant.

He can’t do this.

The next blaster shot he just barely deflects hits the bulkhead.

The bulkhead the base’s engineer had said was a hazard with how badly it was attached to the ceiling. Just two attachment points, the man had said with a shake of his head. Damned thing can come down any day.

Two, he thinks. That’s… manageable.

He hopes.

He deflects the next shot to one of the bulkhead’s attachment points. It misses spectacularly.

Another shot follows, and another and—

Burning pain shoots through his left shoulder and a cry is forced out of him.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Curie break free from his captors, punching one of them right in the face and knocking him down.

In his distraction, he misses Chess shooting again.

By the time he realizes, it’s too late. The shot hits him in the chest, and then another.

Pain shoots through him, burning, searing, agonizing pain that forces him down to his knees with a garbled gasp.

The door opening is a faraway sound as he whimpers.

“Drop your weapons!” Someone’s shouting. Multiple people are.

There is a struggle, but Obi-Wan doesn’t have the energy to raise his head.

He presses a shaking hand against his chest. It’s warm and wet.

“Get a medic in here!”

“Let me through! I’m a doctor!”

Obi-Wan blinks slowly. Is that Curie?

“Get on the ground.”

“The Triumvir is dying!”

Is he? Curie has never sounded so panicked but is that really necessary? There’s no real pain anymore.

He’s shaking though. And suddenly so very tired.

“Let him through, Rik.”

Footsteps clack-clack-clack against the tile floor as someone is running.

The same tile floor that he collapses onto with a wet, pained grunt. The tiles are cool against his face.

Maybe, if he closes his eyes he can take a nap.

He’s tired.

So tired.

Does that mean he’s dying?

Hands on his shoulders, turning him around slowly and gently before they push his hair out of his face. “Obi-Wan, hang in there!”

“Curie?”

“Yes.” A hand on his chest, skirting around the wound.

Ah, the blaster shots. Like lightning the pain is back, shooting through him, burning him like tears burn in his eyes and a gasp burns in his throat.

“We’ve got medics on the way.”

“It’s f-fine,” he whispers hoarsely.

If he dies, he dies. No-one’s ever truly gone.

It’s fine. No more pain.

He’s tired.

“Stay with me,” Curie insists. “Come on, the Commander is always saying you can be so stubborn.”

“Cody…” Obi-Wan whispers.

Hyena bombers passing over at too low an altitude. An explosion. People screaming, Zehava destroyed. Smoke in his lungs, ash in his mouth, tears in his eyes. Cody, Cody, Cody—

It’s fine.

“Just breathe, Obi-Wan,” Curie says. Did he get up? He sounds so far away. “The medics will be here in just a few seconds.”

Seconds.

He’s not sure if he has seconds.

He forces his eyes open. Curie looks down at him.

He looks like Cody. Minus the fond warmth in those amber eyes. Minus the scar.

Obi-Wan raises a shaking hand, trails a finger down the curve of Curie’s left eye where Cody’s scar would be.

His beloved Cody.

“Tell Cody… I—I’m glad it’s not him.”

“Tell him yourself,” Curie says. He sounds like he’s begging.

The world goes black.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan wakes to the sound of waves gently crashing on the beach, a warm body pressed against his side and soft breath ghosting over his skin.

It’s the same tranquility he’s woken up to for the past two weeks.

Even if they hadn’t been on a well-deserved vacation, waking up next to Cody every morning is a gift he had only hoped he’d ever receive.

He turns himself slightly so he can look at Cody, who looks blissfully peaceful.

The corner of Cody’s lips quirks up just a little.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “I know you’re awake,” he murmurs and leans in to peck Cody’s lips.

Cody’s lips curl up into a smile before he presses back into the kiss. When Obi-Wan pulls back, Cody gives him a lazy, teasing smile. “Good morning to me.” He turns around, laying on his back and stretching his body with a pleased groan. “Still can’t quite believe the war is over,” he says, turning his head to look at Obi-Wan. “I keep waiting for someone to change their mind,” he admits.

An impossible thing, for there aren’t any Sith pulling strings left to change their mind.

Dooku is imprisoned, Grievous dead just like Chancellor Palpatine—Darth Sidious.

No-one could have guessed that Palpatine was the mastermind behind the war. The man playing a game of chess with control of all pieces on the board. It’s sickening, and Obi-Wan thinks it’s a good thing the man is dead—thanks to a team of Jedi and the Coruscant Guard led by General Windu, from what he’s heard.

One man that orchestrated so much death and destruction.

But he’s gone now and while the general state of the Republic and its Senate are a mess, the Separatists have officially waved the figurative white flag leaving the Republic the task to sort itself out. And figure out what to do with the millions of soldiers not technically recognized as sentients nor Republic citizens.

Melidaan has offered the clones every free spot in their refugee centers and the Oirschot base. Even more, discussions are being held to see if it will be possible to provide the clones some land to settle on. Flevoland is an empty region that they’ve long been wanting to breathe new life into and this would be the ideal scenario. Surprisingly enough, it’s Nield leading the initiative with Cody representing the clones.

Flevoland would be a place where they can settle if they wish, come and go as they please. Not by any means a permanent solution for all the clones. But Melidaan knows like no other that any help is needed after a war. And so they offer what they can.

“Hey, you with me?” Cody asks softly, drawing Obi-Wan out of his thoughts. He turns to his side so he can cuddle up against Obi-Wan’s side again.

Obi-Wan turns his head and gives Cody a re-assuring smile. “Just thinking.”

“It looked serious,” Cody says with a thoughtful hum.

Obi-Wan looks at Cody, those fond amber eyes shining with love and warmth, inviting lips he’s now free to kiss whenever he wants and the scar curling around his eyes.

The same curve he vaguely remembers stroking around Curie’s eye.

He smiles tightly. “We’ve been very lucky.”

For a moment Cody doesn’t move, then he glances down at Obi-Wan’s chest. Raises a finger to trace along the edges of the scars forming around the blaster wounds that nearly took Obi-Wan’s life.

There is a wave of sadness in the Force.

It’s muted, now that all is fine. So very difference from the panic and worry that had hit Obi-Wan when Cody had first entered his hospital room two days after the clones’ chips being activated.

On Melidaan, it had cost the life of one of the men and left three of them plus Obi-Wan and Bant in the hospital. In the GAR in general the consequences had been similar, with thankfully minor casualties due to de-chipping having been close to completion.

A relief for everyone, although Cody would later admit he had only felt relief when he was sitting next to Obi-Wan’s hospital bed. When he’d been able to press a tender kiss against Obi-Wan’s temple and hold his hand, stroking his thumb over Obi-Wan’s skin. When he’d heard the full story and had threatened Obi-Wan to never try to be the hero again. When Obi-Wan had said that that wouldn’t be needed now that the war was over and Cody was on Melidaan.

“Yea,” Cody whispers. He turns so he can press a soft, tender kiss against Obi-Wan’s lips, the palm of his hand gently covering the skin above Obi-Wan’s heart. “We have been.”

They’re in the kitchen, the front door open and allowing the soft Summer breeze to sweep into the cabin preparing the ground meat for the meatballs. There’s soft rock music playing in the background—Cody’s choice—while Obi-Wan explains what they’ll be doing next.

That’s when an insistent meow from the front door interrupts them.

“Hah,” Cody turns around and grins at the tooka sitting in the door opening. “Our little friend is back.”

Obi-Wan turns as well, looking at the white-brown furred animal with an amused raised eyebrow. “Well, that’s what happens when you keep feeding a stray.”

Cody waves a dismissive hand in the air and scoops a little bit of meat from the bowl before making his way over to the door.

Obi-Wan chuckles, shaking his head. “If only your men could see you now.”

“Not my men anymore,” Cody shoots back and then smirks. “Plus, they’d never believe you.”

“Rex might,” Obi-Wan muses, wondering if he should snap a holo as proof for when he will tell Rex.

They’ll be seeing him in a week, when they’re going to Naboo to visit Padmé and her newborn twins.

He would have gone sooner, considering the situation, but stubborn as she is, Padmé had demanded Cody and him take a vacation first. Now that that’s over, they will go to Naboo.

Both he and Cody can work from Naboo, and they’re both more than happy to come and help. Padmé might have half an army of people at her side to help her out, that doesn't mean raising twins on her own is easy.

Because Padmé is now left to raise her children on her own.

She is still rather tight-lipped about it, but from what Obi-Wan has gathered something changed in Skywalker when the Council confronted him about his silence regarding the chips. A little shadow told him about Skywalker's meltdown. The shouting, the accusations and, when confronted by the fact it was potentially Palpatine himself responsible, the desperation and darkness so easily given in to. Because according to Skywalker, it was only Palpatine that could save Padmé from a fate any gynecologist could help prevent. But Skywalker hadn't asked, not when he'd married Padmé—and Obi-Wan wanted to shake his friend, demanding if she'd lost her mind altogether when falling in love with Skywalker. The man wanted it all, and now he has nothing. Shunned by the Jedi Order, put on trial for murdering a Tusken tribe and an annulled marriage with strict visitation rights for his children.

Padmé herself is still recovering, seeing a mind-healer at the urgency of her family and friends and she has been so stupid, so blind. But that doesn't mean she isn't Obi-Wan's friend and now, at least, he can support her. And her twins, radiant in the Force like twin suns that have already stolen Obi-Wan's heart.

They've also stolen Rex's heart, from what Cody has told him with a smirk and a tease about a soft heart, which is why the other is on Naboo so often nowadays.

As Obi-Wan watches Cody with the stray that's trying—and succeeding—to have the man imprint on her, he thinks Rex isn't the only one with a soft heart.

Rex will certainly have a good laugh at Cody’s expense.

Cody barks a laugh. “Rex knows better than to tattle.”

Obi-Wan watches Cody squat down, hold up his hand with the meat in it while scratching the rather impatient tooka’s head. “Hey now,” he chides, “head-scratches first.”

Obi-Wan leans against the counter and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You know we can’t just bring a tooka home, right?”

Cody lowers his hand, putting the bit of meat down onto the ground and the tooka devours it within the blink of an eye. “It’s a she, I think,” he muses.

“When I said let’s start a treasure shelf, this isn’t quite what I meant,” Obi-Wan mumbles to himself.

The tooka bumps her head against Cody’s knee, meowing very loudly and insistently. Cody chuckles. “Oh! You’re a hungry thing, aren’t you?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head with a fond smile. “We’re gonna have to get a bigger shelf.”

“Can’t believe it’s already been three weeks,” Cody says with a sigh as he carries the last of their luggage out of the cabin and to the speeder they’ll take to get back to the nearest transportation hub.

“I know, time’s really flown by,” Obi-Wan says, standing next to the speeder. “We can make it an annual thing. Travel for a few weeks, see new places.”

Cody shrugs. “Well, we’re already going to Naboo. And Coruscant afterwards.”

The visit to Coruscant is a mix of work and pleasure, so it doesn’t really count. But Obi-Wan won’t complain, not when it provides the perfect opportunity for Cody to see some of his brothers and Obi-Wan to catch up with Quinlan and Bant—and have tea with Jinn, a cautious start to a potential friendship.

“They’re not exactly the exploration of new places,” Obi-Wan says, thinking of Fives and Deila.

With Council elections coming up, Deila has decided not to run for another term. At least not for now. Instead, she’ll take some time off and explore the Galaxy with Fives—and whatever members of Torrent decide to tag along.

Off to grand adventures and exploration.

“Obi-Wan, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not Fives,” Cody says, putting the luggage down and stepping up so he can stand in front of Obi-Wan. He reaches out a hand to intertwine their fingers. “I’d love to travel with you as an annual thing, but now that the war is over I’d like to give this mundane life thing a try. With you.”

Before Obi-Wan can reply, the tooka they apparently adopted, meows loudly and pitifully from her transport carrier.

Cody laughs. “And Trillian.”

“As in, Trillian from the Hitchhiker’s Guide?”

Cody nods. “Trilly for short.” He looks at Obi-Wan with a proud grin. “That’s how natborns name their pets, right?”

Obi-Wan can’t help but smile, looking at this adorable and nerdy man. “Force, I love you.”

Cody laughs. “Love you too,” he says and leans in to kiss Obi-Wan. “Now, let’s go home.”