Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaster couldn’t help but bounce his leg slightly as he waited for the holocall to pick up. Beside him, Jango wasn’t much better. It’d been almost a year since they’d been really able to sit down and talk with Obi’ka.  

Feemor had warned them when they first left to continue Obi’s Jetii training, that communication would be hard, their schedules weren’t likely to line up very often. And for the first six months or so, it had been. And then for almost a year and a half, they’d managed to have nearly monthly, if not weekly holocalls.  

Then in the last year, they’d barely heard from Feemor and Obi. It seemed like every time they managed to get in contact, they’d barely had more than a minute or two to talk before one of both of them were pulled away. He’d still noticed that Obi seemed to be nervous about something, but he couldn’t for the life of him quite figure it out.  

When the holocall lit up with Obi and Feemor waiting for them, Jaster smiled wide.  

“Obi! Su cuy’gar! How is my daughter?” He saw the slightest frown flicker across Obi’s face and he filed it away for later. He didn’t think she took offense to being called his ad, but he’d check with Feemor.  

“Jaster, you never actually adopted me.” And he still regretted not doing so. She was growing up into such a fine young lady. She and Feemor were both in their armor, which made his heart sing a little, especially every time he caught a glimpse of his clan aliik on their shoulders, mirrored by the Jedi symbol on their other shoulder.  

“Only because you didn’t let me. I wanted to, so that makes you my ad.” She rolled her eyes at him but didn’t say anything. So maybe it was something else that was bothering her. From over her shoulder, Feemor made an offended noise.  

“And what am I? Chopped liver?” 

“Cyar’ika, you know that children always come first.”  

“Obi! When did you cut your hair?” Jango was leaning forward trying to get a better look at his vod’ika. And yes, Obi had cut her hair, she’d always kept it short, somewhere around her ears, except for the Padawan braid. Now it was cut even shorter, close to a buzz cut with a little bit longer on top. Obi ducked her head a little and a slight blush rose up on her cheeks. 

“Oh, I did that a while ago. It’s easier for under the buy’ce.” Jaster didn’t let his frown show, but now he was starting to get worried. Obi had never been very shy, let alone about her appearance before. 

“It looks good. It suits you.” A small but true smile flitted across her face and Jaster relaxed a little. He also noticed that behind her, Feemor relaxed a little too. Something was definitely up, not necessarily wrong, but there was something Obi was nervous about and wasn’t telling him. 

A gentle series of taps on his thigh let him know that Jango had picked up on it too and was just as worried about his vod’ika. Still Feemor hadn’t said anything, and hadn’t signaled they were in trouble, so he would let it rest for now. 

“So, what is new with you Obi'ka? Tell us all about your adventures as a Jetii!” Jango drew his vod’ika into a conversation, filled with comparing how his training as an Ori’ramikad compared to her Jedi training. Slowly he watched at Obi relaxed but he could see that she wasn’t completely relaxed. As their conversation drew to a close, Jaster tried to coax it out of her. 

“You seem a little bit nervous, is everything alright?” Obi hesitated for a second, and dropped her gaze. Feemor gently rested his hand on her shoulder. Jaster silently filed away that Feemor did know what was going on. Which was good, at least Obi was talking with someone about it. Even if it hurt a little bit that she wasn’t talking to him or Jango.  

“Just our next mission. We’re being sent to Manda’yaim. We were requested specifically...”  

Jaster didn’t like the sound of that much at all. He certainly hadn’t been the one to request them. And he highly doubted that Kyr’tsad, what little was left of it, had requested Jetii help. That left the New Mandalorians.  

“I know you can’t tell us much about it, but be safe.” Feemor gave Obi a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.  

“We will be. Alright Obi, go ahead and go get ready for bed.” Obi rolled her eyes at that, but still gracefully rose to her feet.  

“I’m not an initiate, you don’t have to tell me to go to bed.” She gave Feemor a quick hug and then looked back towards him and Jango. “Ret! Hopefully we’ll be able to talk again soon.” A few seconds after she left the pickup, there was the faint sound of a door sliding shut. Jaster immediately looked his cyare in the eyes.  

“Is Obi alright? Is she talking to you?” 

“Obi is fine. We’ve talked, and Obi-” Feemor stumbled over his words for a second, and it almost sounded like he’d added something else onto the end of her name, but Jaster wasn’t quite sure. “Obi’s nervous, no matter how many times I’ve stressed that we’re all here to listen anytime its needed. It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just be a little patient.”  

“Of course. Let Obi know we love her?” It was hard not to go asking more questions, but Jaster respected Obi’s privacy, and trusted that she would come to him eventually. Feemor smiled at him, while Jango stood up with a small groan.  

“Ret’ Fee’buir.” As Jango left, Feemor’s smile grew a little bit, and he got that slightly sappy look on his face.  

“When are you going to actually adopt him?” Feemor’s smile fell a little bit at that.  

“The same time I swear the Resol’nare, and say the riduurok with you.” Jaster couldn’t help but let out a sigh.  

“So, not until after Obi is Knighted?” 

“You knew going into this relationship that Obi and I’s vows to the Jedi Order came first. We can’t swear the Resol’nare because we can’t vow our loyalty to another leader. We can follow every part except for following the Mand’alor.” 

“And why can’t we say the riduurok?” 

“Because you’re the Mand’alor! If you weren’t, the Jedi Council wouldn’t be happy about it, but we could have married. But you’re the ruler of Mandalore, and your son is assumed to be the next ruler. Having any sort of relationship with you is walking a very thin line with the Council.  

“I had to fight tooth and nail for Obi and I to be able to wear our armor, and even harder to wear your aliik. I love you. And I want to be with you, so damn much. But Obi wants to be a Knight, so I will stay until Obi is Knighted and longer if that’s what’s necessary. Because I will always put Obi first.”  

Jaster’s heart twisted a little at Feemor’s words. They were nothing but the truth, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. How in the universe had he lucked into finding the two most Mandakarla Jetiise?  

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. I could never ask for you to put me ahead of Obi or Jango. I would never want you to put me ahead.” Feemor let out another small sigh.  

“I love you Jaster, I really do.” 

“I know, kar'taylir darasuum Feemor. Ni ceta, I didn’t want to end the call on a fight... Sleep well.” 

“It’s forgiven. I know it’s frustrating cyare. Ret’urcye mhi.”  

“Ret’urcye mhi.” With that, the holocall ended and Jaster let out a long sigh. They’d had that conversation several times, but it was still frustrating and it still hurt. He could be patient though. He would be patient for his ven’riduur and ad. 

Chapter Text

They were nervous. They’d spent the last year on the run, protecting Dutchess Kryze from Death Watch as they crawled out of the woodwork in numbers they shouldn’t have had. And they were still more nervous about seeing their aliit again.  

“Obi’ka!” Obi-Wan barely had time to brace before Jango slammed into them, nearly knocking them off their feet as he swept them up into his arms and spun them around. They couldn’t help but laugh as they clung to their ori’vod. “Thank the Ka’ra. I can’t even count the number of times I’d heard you and Fee’buir were dead.” 

Finally, Jango set them down, and they wasted no time in grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down into a slightly rough kov’nynir. Their helmets clanged together, but they relished the sound, as they held him there for a moment.  

“Buir and I are alright. It’s been a long year though...” Jango pulled away gently, his helmet tilted slightly. It was his curious tilt, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help it as their stomach twisted at the sight. “What?” 

“You changed your vocoder.” They’d forgotten about that. They’d lowered it some, all the way back at the start of the mission. After a year, they could barely remember what it sounded like before, but they didn’t want to change it, it sounded right now. They didn’t even really like speaking without their helmet anymore, their natural voice sounding weird without it to their own ears. Still, they reached up and slid off their helmet. 

“Changed it to be a little bit more anonymous. I’d honestly forgotten I’d changed it.”  

“Jango! Let me see Obi!” Jango pulled away and they found themself pulled into another bone crushing hug and lifted off their feet. After a second, they were set back down and their face was gently grabbed by Jaster. “Look at you! You’ve grown so much!” They tensed for a second, assuming their buir was going to continue commenting on their appearance. 

They’d been gone for a year, and while they’d never really forgotten they’d never told Jaster and Jango, it was now painfully obvious. Feemor and Satine, and everyone else they’d met hadn’t cared, had effortlessly switched pronouns when they asked, and they knew, they knew, that Jaster and Jango would happily make the switch as well, but it still terrified them.  

“Obi, what’s wrong?” Suddenly they were pulled back into Jaster’s chest, cradled against him as they felt Feemor come hover over their shoulder. A gentle mental prodding from Feemor, let them know he was there for them, however they wanted to approach this. “It’s alright, it’s over. The mission’s done. And we’re still here.”  

And Jaster had done this for them before, the few times they’d seen him right after a mission. It was a reassurance that no matter how bad it was, it was over. And it was so familiar, but at the same time it wasn’t because Jaster didn’t know. And in that moment, they couldn’t stand it. They didn’t want to go back to before. They couldn’t. Their stomach twisted in knots are they tried to get the words out.  

“I...” Ka’ra, why was this so hard? They’d rehearsed it a million times in their head, they’d already done this with Feemor, why was this so much different. And Ka’ra, Jaster was radiating nothing but warmth and comfort. And logically, they knew  it wouldn’t change or disappear when they told him, but that fear was still there. “I’m your ad.” Force, there were tears falling down their face, and Jaster just held them a little bit tighter.  

“Of course, you’re my ad.” And he sounded so sure, and yet he still didn’t understand. Obi-Wan shook their head as they buried their face into Jaster’s neck.  

“No... I’m your ad.” They tried to stress it, hoping Jaster would understand, but he just tilted his head slightly, not understanding. They felt Feemor offer to explain, and they shook their head. They had to do this themself. “I can’t be your daughter.” Jaster tensed underneath them, and their panic started to rise again, so they barreled onwards. “I can’t be your daughter, but I can be your ad... or... or sometimes your son.”  

Jaster relaxed again, and then pulled Obi-Wan even tighter into his chest. 

“Oh Obi. You will always be my ad, no matter what.” They jumped slightly when Jango suddenly joined in the hug from behind. “Thank you for telling us.” 

“What pronouns would you like?” And Obi-Wan couldn’t help but let out a small sob of relief. They’d known, that they’d be accepted, but it was another thing completely to actually hear the acceptance from them.  

“Mostly they/them... I also like he/him sometimes... And sometimes no pronouns?” 

“Whatever makes you the most comfortable. I just want my vod’ika to be happy.”  

“Is there anything else you’re changing?” 

“I’m going by Obi-Wan now…” 

“Well, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You are my Vod’ika no matter what.” Obi-Wan smiled at Jango and then glanced up at Jaster, a little bit nervous. Jaster was looking down at them, and didn’t say anything for a second.  

“I think the name Obi-Wan suits you. I like it.” Feemor gave their shoulder a gentle squeeze and they beamed up at both of their buire. Things were going to be alright.  

Chapter Text

Feemor wouldn’t exactly say he was worried about Obi-Wan, but he also wouldn’t say he wasn’t  worried about his padawan. It was to be expected that they weren’t quite alright. Almost getting blown up would do that to most people.   

But Feemor suspected it was more than just that. He suspected it had more to do with the nature of the injury, and that the entire left side of his Padawan’s chest had been torn up by the explosion. Healer Che hadn’t been able to salvage much at all.   

According to the Halls of healing, Obi-Wan was recovering just fine from the surgery, enough so, Healer Che had released them two weeks ago under strict orders of bedrest. They’d grumbled, but Obi-Wan had obeyed.   

Today, Obi-Wan had managed to convince both Healer Che and Jaieh Dooku that they were well enough to accompany Jaieh Dooku on his trip to the Senate. Feemor had known his Padawan was bored, but he hadn’t expected them to be so bored as to seek out politics  to deal with.   

When Yan had called during the meal break, he seemed tense, but hadn’t said anything was wrong. Now they had both returned. Yan looked as composed as he always did, but concern showed in his eyes and slight frown as Obi-Wan immediately slipped away into their room without a word.   

“I have an idea what might be going on, but I believe it would probably be best for them to talk to you in their own time.” Dooku gave Feemor a nod and started to leave the apartment, pausing by the door. “Please remind them that politicians’ opinions should be the least of their concerns.” With that, Jaieh Dooku disappeared out the door, leaving Feemor a little bit more worried about his Padawan.   

Wandering closer to his Padawan’s door, he could feel their quiet distress in the Force. Sighing, he reached out and knocked quietly on the door, listening for an acknowledgement. After several seconds of no response, he knocked again slightly louder.   

“Obi-Wan, can I come in to talk?” For a second there wasn’t a response, and then a brush of the Force, and the door slid open. In a different circumstance, he might have mentioned something about frivolous uses of the Force, but seeing Obi-Wan curled in bed clutching at their helmet, he decided now was not the time.   

Reaching out in the Force, he sent gentle waves of comfort to his Padawan as he sat down on the edge of the bed behind them. Obi-Wan thankfully uncurled a little at that, hopefully reliving some stress on their still recovering chest. Gently, Feemor started to rub his Padawan’s back, mindful of the bandages. Very slowly, tension started to drain from them.   

“Wanna dragon pile...” Obi-Wan's voice was so soft, Feemor almost didn’t hear it.  

“I know ibli shin, but Vokara would have both of our hides if you shifted. You’re still healing.” Feemor sighed as Obi-Wan curled in tighter against their helmet.   

“Things are simpler as a dragon.”   

“I know...” Ignoring his thoughts of frivolous uses of the Force, he gently called a spare pillow in from the hall closet. He held it out to his Padawan. “Try this.”  

“Helmet’s more comforting.” Obi-Wan didn’t even look to see what he was offering.   

“That may be, but a pillow will be more comfortable. And you know Vokara said no armor.” Reluctantly, they uncurled enough to hold out the helmet. Feemor passed the pillow to his Padawan while he stood up and put the helmet back where it was supposed to go on the armor stand by the door.   

Squatting down in front of Obi-Wan, Feemor firmly ignored how his knees cracked and focused instead on the slight tear tracks on his Padawan’s face.   

“Oh ibli shin...” Feemor reached out, brushing their hair out of their face. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”   

“Nobody even asked... They all just assumed...”   

“Assumed what?”  

"My gender...” Obi-Wan sniffled slightly, and Feemor pressed comfort down their bond. He’d always been worried about this, ever since Obi-Wan had come to had come crying to him about two years ago, confused and trying to figure things out.   

“Politicians thoughts don’t mean anything. You know how often they’re wrong.”   

“It wasn’t just the politicians... It was everyone. They’d... They’d stare or make comments...” Obi-Wan sniffled again, wiping at their nose slightly with their sleeve.   

Feemor let out a sigh. He should have pressed harder for Obi-Wan to stay home today. They might have been recovering just fine, but they should have spent more time around the Temple before going someplace as judging as the Senate.   

People were nosy, politicians and their company particularly so. He should have known they wouldn’t have left Obi-Wan alone. And a clearly injured Jedi would have been ripe for the gossip.   

“What sort of comments?” Feemor asked, frowning when Obi-Wan glanced away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Obi-Wan, please?”  

“Mostly things along the lines of how it was ‘such a shame’ a young woman like me had been injured so grievously.” Obi-Wan huffed, rolling their eyes slightly before hesitating slightly. “There were a couple of questions about how it happened. And one guy asked if I was going to get it fixed... I just ignored him.”  

“I’m proud of you.” Feemor gently rested his forehead against Obi-Wan's sending more love and comfort down their bond. “I hate that you had to deal with that, but I’m proud of how you handled it.”   

“Worse was the time or two people approached from the left and called me sir, and then changed it. They still didn’t ask and misgendered me but it wasn’t as bad.”   

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Feemor was patient as Obi-Wan stayed quite for a moment, clearly formulating their words.   

“The most frustrating part is they’d ask others for their pronouns but not me.”   

“Why do you think that was?”  

“Because I’m human, and so they assume I’m either a guy or a girl...” Obi-Wan bit their lip, clearly debating something. “Which is why I think I want to use he/him pronouns...”   

Feemor immediately wrangled his emotions, making sure to only send his love and support to his Padawan.   

“If that’s what you really want, then of course. But I want you to change for yourself, not for society, especially not for stuffy politicians.” That managed to get a small smile out of his Padawan, even if it didn’t make it to their eyes.   

“I’m not gonna say no to you using they/them pronouns, but this isn’t the first I’d thought about it.”  

“Okay...” He leaned forward and gave his Padawan a very gentle hug. “I’m here to support you no matter what.”   

“I know Jaieh.”  

“Do you want to start using he/him now?”  

“Uh... yeah, I mean please?”  

“Anything for you. And I know that you didn’t really want to talk to Healer Che about it earlier, but I did talk to her about some of the options you have going forward.”  

“I think I want to even it out? You know... remove the other side?” Obi-Wan ducked his head slightly, and his cheeks reddened slightly. Feemor did his best to contain his delight. His Padawan had always shied away from anything to do with anatomy, his own or others. But then, Obi-Wan looked up again, a hopeful look in his eyes. “And maybe... Maybe start testosterone?”   

“Of course.” Feemor chuckled, not overly surprised by the request. He knew Obi-Wan preferred his helmet’s vocoder set lower. “Would you like to call Jaster and Jango and tell them?” His Padawan immediately perked up at that. “Come on, let’s go call them.”   

Three months later, deemed ready by Healer Che, Obi-Wan happily came into the Halls of Healing for his scheduled surgery. Afterwards, Feemor sat by his Padawan’s bedside as Healer Che brought in a second Healer to explain how getting on testosterone would affect Obi-Wan. He was happy to see his Padawan smiling the entire time, looking more comfortable as himself than he had in a long time.