Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan slipped into his new clothes and bit his lip as he looked in the mirror. There was room for a little growth, but they were also quite form fitting. He could put on some muscle, but not too much. But they did look very good on him and they were really quite warm. The leather trousers were only lined in armorweave with a thin cotton layer over it, as it wasn’t ideal to wear armorweave against bare skin. But the vest was lined in armorweave and wool and it was just wonderful. He felt much warmer with it on, and it had secret pockets inside, as well as obvious pockets on the outside!

He looked at himself in the mirror and turned around.

Oh.

His ass didn’t look nearly as nice in his new trousers as in his old ones. He bent over a little.

Hello there! 

Well, there were muscles in his ass he could work, too.

He bent his knees high, squatted down low, then sat down on the floor of the changing room in his standard meditation posture. It was all far more comfortable with more room at his knees and his thighs.

He thanked the artisan and left his old trousers, per agreement for recycling or reuse, and slipped his coat on as he was chatting with her just before taking his leave. Jaster had already paid for the work, much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin.

She eyed his coat, then pulled on the sleeves. “Too narrow,” she said.

His Mando’a was coming along, but sometimes it took his brain a moment to parse new vocabulary.

“Narrow?”

“Wrong size. Not enough space.”

“No, I have plenty of space.” He took it back off again, and showed her the various sheathes he’d worked into the lining, and then reinforced at various seams so they wouldn’t just rip out from the weight. There were two in each sleeve for slim throwing knives.

“I make your next coat. More room in the sleeves.”

“For what?” he asked, thoroughly confused.

“Vambraces.”

Obi-Wan just blinked at her. “I don’t have those,” he pointed out.

She gave him a knowing look and held his coat so he could more easily put it on. “You will,” she said, patting him on his back. “Go away.”

Obi-Wan breathed through the confusion and the presumption and just the everything. It had been a month and a half and Jaster hadn’t decided to court him, but also hadn’t informed him to use his own room, or moved him out of his apartment all together to occupy guest quarters. But they had a lot less sex and it just left Obi-Wan confused.

It didn’t feel great that Obi-Wan had lost the argument about his clothes, either.

Yes, he had all but outgrown his leather trousers, but he still had all his Jedha pilgrim clothes, and there were trousers in there, and the trousers from his foundling kit. He could buy a few holsters for his hidden weapons, Boris and Master Plo had given him credits, though possibly Master Plo meant them to be some sort of last resort to return back to the Temple, but since he wasn’t going to do that, it didn’t matter if he spent them on weapon holsters.

It also didn’t feel great that Obi-Wan had lost the argument about the recent round of training.

Admittedly, yes, the Force cancelling cuffs made him violently ill when they came off and mildly ill for a few days afterwards, but it was worth it to be able to train entirely without the Force, which was dead useful and might save his life at some point. And he’d only gotten to train with them for three days before Jaster called a halt to it, with Silas’ agreement, the traitor.

And Jaster had lost his shit when Obi-Wan suggested he just keep them on for several weeks worth of training. It hadn’t helped when Obi-Wan clarified that it wouldn’t be longer than a month.

Obi-Wan was walking slowly back to the Mand’alor’s castle when he felt his comm buzz. When he looked at it and saw that it was Jango, he smiled a tiny bit and put the earfill in and answered the call as he walked, speaking softly.

“Ohnaka,” he said.

“Ben! Buir’s making latemeal. You going to be home in time?”

“I’m not really hungry, Jango.”

“Even if you’re not going to eat. Myles is coming over and wanted to talk to you about your insights into the Hutts.”

“Another time.”

“Ben, I’m worried about you and Buir’s not being forthcoming. You are coming home tonight, right? You’re not on the prowl, or something, right?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “No, I’m not looking for sex elsewhere. Yes I’ll be back. I’m just feeling down, is all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jango, the oblivious, asked.

Obi-Wan sighed. Would it help? Wouldn’t it help? Fuck it. “Sometimes I forget your father is a warlord. And then I am forcibly reminded that he will have his way, no matter what.”

That was, in immediate hindsight, maybe not the best thing he could have said.

“I could talk to him. He can be heavy handed, sometimes, but it’s usually for the best,” Jango offered.

“That won’t be necessary. He is who he is. I just need to decide if I can deal with it, or not.”

“You’re on your way home, now?” Jango pushed.

“Yes, Jan’ika. I’m on my way back.” Back, not home. At first he thought that maybe Keldabe Keep could be a home for him, but now he just wasn’t sure.

“Alright. I’ll save a plate for you, anyway.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and sighed before he signed off. Jango was very determined.

He nodded to the guards as he walked into the Keep’s main doors and tried neither to think nor to feel as he took the most direct route down to the Mand’alor’s secured apartment on the lower level.

He keyed himself in, shielding just as hard as he could.

He didn’t care to feel Jaster’s anger at him, nor, frankly, anything else.

He was welcomed, and he couldn’t quite tell if it was sincere or not, and he didn’t care to relax his shields to find out. He smiled and cried off latemeal. Couldn’t possibly. Tired. Would retire for the night.

He walked into Jaster’s room and only imagined the relief from the dining area.

He picked up his blankets from the side of the karyai, packed up his toiletry kit, grabbed his datapad and his pajamas and walked right back out of the room and into the one three doors down that had been assigned to him. It was the room he’d only so far used for private comm calls, but Jaster had said it was his if he ever needed to retreat, and so, behold: he was retreating.

He set the do not disturb and went to take a long, hot shower. He would meditate, then check his messages. Boris might have sent something, he tended to every week or so, and likewise his old friends might have sent something. He didn’t get comm messages every day, of course, but it was sometimes as often as every few days, and he liked to keep on top of things. And then of course there was actual module work.

He’d been prioritizing everything Jaster had given him, but perhaps it was time to return to the history and cultures of the crime syndicates and empires, and the dreaded AstroNav.

It was looking like he was going to end up a pirate, anyway. While he was of the firm opinion (AstroNav bedamned) that no learning was ever a wasted effort, it would behoove him to figure out if he wanted to be primarily a smuggler, a pirate, or perhaps even a freelance freedom fighter with a little smuggling and piracy on the side.

And when they went to Jedha (soon, Jaster had said), they could have one of the healers there sort out their bond, sever it in the healthiest, easiest way possible.

And Obi-Wan would just focus on learning all the combat skills Silas could drub into his head.

Master Plo had said he would send Jon Antilles his way as soon as he could be found, and who knew? Maybe that would be just in time for him to leave Mandalore. It was taking a while, anyway. He could go from one internship to another, and whether or not he became a knight, he’d still be learning quite a lot, and learning presumably how to support himself without piracy, which would be very helpful if he decided to be a freelance freedom fighter, which was a very attractive thought, actually. Presuming that zealots were a more trustworthy lot than a pirate crew.

Which… maybe not, actually.

But Obi-Wan had already decided. Flirting was fun. It was super fun. But Jaster really had ruined him for sex with someone else, and it would have to be the Will of the Force for him to take another lover.

But that was fine. It was completely fine. He had enough beautiful memories to keep him company during the lonely times, and sex wasn’t the most important thing, anyway, not when there were entire empires built on slave labor.

He didn’t have to return to the Temple in order to construct a life that had meaning and honor. He could do it on his own, with a little help from Hondo and Boris, and a little help from Jaster and Silas, and possibly a little help from Master Plo and Master Antilles.

Jaster had been kind enough to get him new clothes, and Obi-Wan knew perfectly well they hadn’t been cheap. But he was considering it as something of a goodbye present. It was really the only way he could make it right in his head, otherwise he was going to need to leave them here when he left.

Somewhere in the middle of his musings, in the middle of his hot shower, Obi-Wan had steeled himself to send a message to Jaster requesting a change of quarters to the guest rooms of the Keep, (all on a higher level, any one would do) and expressing his gratitude (without thanking him) for being such a kind and considerate lover. And if he cried, all his tears were washed away in the hot water and no one was the wiser.

This was fine.

This was completely fine.

Life was hard, sometimes, and that’s just the way it was.

His meditation after his shower was tentative. He didn’t want to lower his shields too much, and he had no desire at all to feel what anyone else was feeling, or be open to either of his two bonds. Quin would freak out if he could feel him, and Jaster was probably still angry. It had been days. There was no good reason why tonight would be special and Jaster’s anger would suddenly abate.

So he was careful. He didn’t go deep. He just tried to sort through his own emotions and acknowledge them all before carefully and gently giving them up to the Force.

Obi-Wan was much calmer when he had finished. He could acknowledge that the life debt was incredibly important to Jaster and in buying him clothes and barring him from training exercises that caused him suffering, he was only doing his best to honor his debt, and that was reasonable of him, just as reasonable as housing him, feeding him, and doing the actual training, or delegating it to his most respected and talented trainer.

It was all very reasonable, and despite the fact that his reasonable actions also came with a side helping of anger so fierce it was frightening, it made sense now, and Obi-Wan could just calmly acknowledge it.

It still would probably be best if he called their affair ended, however.

That he didn’t have good rationale for. It was just a feeling.

With that firmly in mind, Obi-Wan checked his comms and was delighted to see that he had one from Bant, and one from Boris. And strangely, one from Jaster. He was less delighted about that, but it seemed prudent to check and answer it first. And it would give him an opportunity to ask about the guest quarters. Or maybe it already included instructions for that in the morning. That would be welcome, in a way.

Heartbreaking in a different way, but he was not going to focus on that.

Obi-Wan took several deep breaths and opened the comm message from Jaster.

Can we talk?

His heart ached and his stomach twisted. Right. He should just send the message he’d been composing on and off in his head. And in Basic. He could say things in Basic he just couldn’t manage the nuance of in Mando’a.

Mand’alor Mereel,

I am grateful for the kindness you have shown me as your lover, and I believe, as your friend. As that is clearly drawing to a close, I hope it will not be inconvenient if I ask to be assigned guest quarters somewhere in the Keep. I will continue to train with Silas as you wish, and I’m certain the healers at Jedha could quickly and easily sever our bond so that it would cause no residual pain to either party. I will, of course, keep the connection firmly shut until then.

Whenever you decide my training is complete I will catch a transport out of the sector and be gone. It will be no hardship to wait for Hondo to pick me up at a space station or port elsewhere. It needn’t be a year. I’ve learned so much already, I’m sure the debt is already repaid and you could just leave me at Jedha, once our bond is severed.

Ohnaka

He sent the message and then tried to focus on the letter from Boris, and his own response, but it was hard not to say too much, and particularly as he wasn’t certain if they might just be up and going to Jedha in the next week, and so ending his Mandalorian training.

Which was fine. That was completely fine.

Honestly, the Guardians were so kind, perhaps he’d spend the rest of the year in Jedha. There really was so much to learn, and if Hondo really wasn’t expecting him back for a while, he could just comm Master Plo from Jedha and give him a location update, and then maybe Master Antilles would find him there, instead.

Better and better, really. Good plans, all.

But then his datapad flashed an alert with a new message from Jaster, and he really needed to reset his priority so that wouldn’t happen again, but then it was hanging over him.

Obi-Wan saved his in progress draft to Boris and toggled over to the new message from the Mand’alor. It was in Basic.

Obi-Wan, please don’t do this. Please talk to me.

His stomach twisted again and he was glad he hadn’t eaten anything.

Mand’alor,

I’m not sure what talking about the death of our relationship will gain us. When do you suppose your schedule will permit a short trip to Jedha? I can pack very quickly, and then you won’t have to deal with me anymore.

Ohnaka

He was not crying. No. No, dammit. He was not going to cry again over this.

Obi-Wan furiously wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands and was unsurprised to see another comm from Jaster.

He also needed to change his name back to the less familiar title in his comm database. That was only right. He didn’t get to be Jaster anymore. He was the Mand’alor, again. Or ‘alor. Or just sir. 

Obi-Wan had just decided to not look at it tonight, but to go back to his draft message to Boris when the Force pinged a warning.

Tears leaked out as he asked the Force for guidance.

It told him to open his door, which made no sense.

But if he was going to maybe be a freelance freedom fighter, listening to the Will of the Force, he had to do it all the time, everywhere, or he’d miss a trick.

All the time. Everywhere.

Obi-Wan got up and opened his door.

Jaster was kneeling before it, his head bowed.

No, no. The Mand’alor was kneeling before it, his head bowed.

Silently, Obi-Wan looked at him. He knew what this meant, culturally.

Jaster- no, the Mand’alor was offering him debt.

He opened his mouth to accept the debt and require him to plan a trip to Jedha within the next two weeks for them, but the Force pinged him in warning, again.

WHAT? he demanded.

Hear him out, the Force urged softly, gently.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan sighed. “What do you have to say, sir, that you refrained from saying for the last three days of hell we’ve been living through?”

“I’m sorry, beloved,” he said quietly, and in Basic, and that was the first time he’d used that particular endearment. Then again, Obi-Wan was probably looking less and less beautiful to him. He could live with it. He’d need to.

“I lost my temper. I was heavy handed with you.”

Ah. So Jango had spoken to his father anyway. Well, he should have seen that coming. Jango would always take Jaster’s side, and Obi-Wan should have realized that.

Life lesson: know who your allies are, know who the allies of your allies are, and know the difference between the two.

“I let my fear for your safety overcome my good sense. I failed to communicate how much I care for you, how much it broke my heart to see you suffer. I became angry because it pains me to see how much you do not value your own happiness and health. I marinated in my anger and self-righteousness, waiting for you to change, not seeing how I needed to change.

“I wait, kneeling at your feet, for your decision.”

The culture modules said nothing about this part. “What decision is that, exactly?” Obi-Wan asked tightly.

“You will accept my debt and set me on the course of forgiveness and I will so regain my honor, or you will kill me for my sins against you, and I will have my honor restored in the Manda for my act of kneeling.”

Obi-Wan was a little overwhelmed.

“I’m not going to kill you, Jaster,” he accidentally said.

And it was clear there was no middle ground. To neither kill him, nor accept the debt would leave him honorless with no way forward to regain his honor.

Can I ask for a trip to Jedha? Obi-Wan asked the Force.

The Force said no.

Are you trying to say I shouldn’t be breaking up with him? Obi-Wan asked the Force.

The Force said yes.

That really upset all of his neat little plans, dammit. Much easier to just go away and leave for good than try and fix whatever the hell was broken between them.

“Will you accept my debt?”

Obi-Wan tried not to notice his bereft tone. He took a deep breath and a long slow exhale. “Yes, I accept your debt. I will talk with you at the dining table.”

Jaster’s head shot up. He looked like hell. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”

“No, thank you. A cup of hot water would be nice, however,” he said and turned around to fetch his blankets so he could at least be warm during this… whatever it was.

The Mand’alor was gone from his doorway when he turned around, and Obi-Wan looked longingly at his datapad.

Bant had sent him a message and he didn’t even know what it was.

He sat at the dining table, wishing it wouldn’t be impolite to be reading his messages while he waited, but it probably would be. It certainly wouldn’t honor how the Mand’alor was feeling right now.

Then again, Obi-Wan had spent the last several days, the last few weeks, really, honoring what the Mand’alor was feeling, and he was just a little bit done. At least, he’d like to be.

The Mand’alor returned with two cups of hot water and set one in front of him. Obi-wan wrapped his hands around the mug and let the warmth sear into his body.

“I want to fix this,” the older man said quietly. He glanced up and caught his eye, which was unfortunate. It was hard to look away. “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

“That happens when I’m sad, which you already know,” Obi-Wan pointed out dryly, and finally broke his gaze. He stared at the rising steam, instead.

“Why were you sad, beautiful one?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Of course, Obi-Wan,” he said quickly.

“Don’t call me that, either. Ohnaka will work just fine,” he said. Almost a month ago he’d decided that Obi-Wan Kenobi was something of a secret name, used intimately for those who loved him. Everyone else could call him Ben Ohnaka.

And truly, he was no one, from nowhere, and sometimes he just pretended to be a pirate to keep up appearances. So that was fine.

He decided not to hear the little intake of breath, and just answer the poor man’s question.

“I’ve been sad for a lot of reasons over the past few weeks. I’ve been sad because I couldn’t have my own way. I’ve been sad because I feel indebted to you. I’ve been sad because…” Obi-Wan had just a tiny bit of trouble putting the next things into general terms. “Because I’ve felt more and more distant from you, even before you got angry. And I’ve been sad because I thought the best thing to do was to end our relationship, and I love you, so that’s sad.”

“Thought? Past tense? You no longer think this?”

“Well, no. I still do. But the Force has informed me that I shouldn’t end things with you, or at least… not now. So I’m trying.”

Never is a long promise that breaks the soul. Better to say ‘not now’, the Mand’alor had once told him.

“You love me?” he asked quietly, not drinking his hot water, but clutching at it in much the same way Obi-Wan was.

“Of course I love you, you ridiculous man. That doesn’t mean we should be together, or, as you’ve said, we can stand each other for long periods of time. See? You were right not to start courting me right away.”

“Was I? I’m not so sure.”

“Oh?”

“If I had, would you have doubted me?” The Mand’alor pinned him with a stare that caught Obi-Wan for a long moment before he dragged his eyes away. “Would you have let me shove my head up my ass for so long? Would you have thought the only recourse you had was to leave, rather than to tell me what an ass I was being?”

The thoughts had never actually occurred to Obi-Wan. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “You’re terrifying when you’re that angry, you know. I’d rather face an enemy, weaponless, without the Force, with my hands tied behind my back than tell you anything you don’t want to hear when you get like that.”

The Mand’alor looked down into his hot water again, and Obi-Wan did the same.

“I get that I was acting like a little shit,” Obi-Wan said. “I do still disagree about the training, but that’s fine. I’m not in charge of it right now, you are. If its important enough, I’ll manage to do it later, somewhere else, and if its not, I won’t. I’m sorry I made that your problem. Silas is teaching me plenty of other things.”

“He took your training away from me. Early on,” The Mand’alor admitted quietly. “He said I couldn’t be trusted to push you when it meant you getting hurt. He was right.”

“I don’t… really know what to say to that,” Obi-Wan said quietly, eventually. He took a sip of his hot water.

“My mind healer says there are things we can only learn about ourselves from an intimate partner. I think I understand what they were getting at, now,” the Mand’alor said.

Obi-Wan didn’t really know what to say about that, either, but it was something to think about. He turned the situation around in his mind and approached it from another angle.

“It’s not really about sex, but I think the fact that we hadn’t had sex in weeks didn’t help. It made you extra unapproachable in your anger.”

“You were ill! I wasn’t going to force myself on you while you were recovering from wearing those damn cuffs!”

“I wasn’t that ill! And an orgasm or two would have made me feel much better! You would have hardly been forcing yourself on me if I welcomed you with open arms!”

“Oh,” was the Mand’alor’s considered response. “Next time I’ll ask.”

“If we’re going to survive another month and a half of any kind of relationship, which presumably the Force wants, we need some kind of neutral or neutralish ground where we can talk when things get bad. Your private bedroom is your space that I am temporarily welcomed into, and when you’re angry, I feel like an interloper. As you are who you are, truly neutral space would require us to leave the sector and not be on one of your ships, so I’ll make due with the dining table.”

“That’s reasonable. Talk at the dining table. We can do that.”

Obi-Wan nodded and tried to think of what else. “Your temper. I can’t believe you’re as Force Sensitive as you are and you have this kind of temper. How have you not Fallen?” he asked, perhaps a little tactlessly.

“Normally I hide it better,” he admitted.

“Hiding it isn’t actually dealing with it, and I hope that’s not new information for you.”

The Mand’alor sighed loudly. “It’s not. I’ll bring it to my mind healer. And perhaps they can help me with that at Jedha.”

“I can help you with that, but not if it’s me you’re angry at.”

“I wasn’t angry at you,” the Mand’alor said, and Obi-Wan could tell he was looking at him, but he didn’t meet his eyes.

“Really? You’re absolutely sure about that?”

“I was mostly angry at the way you view yourself.”

“That counts,” Obi-Wan assured him.

“No, it doesn’t,” the Mand’alor argued.

Obi-Wan shrugged in his blankets. “Alright. It doesn’t for you, and it does for me. Maybe I’ll leave your meditation practice to your mind healer and the Guardians of the Whills. I rescind my offer. As Hondo has often reminded me, I can’t fix the galaxy.” He took a sip of his water and noticed that the Mand’alor was just staring into his.

“What would you have me do to repay my debt to you? Surely you want more than to talk at the dining table, and for me to mind my temper?”

Obi-Wan sighed in sadness, tiredness, because he was at a complete loss. He asked the Force. Possibly he should be asking the Force more often before he opened his mouth, but there was rarely time.

One more thing, the Force said.

“One more thing,” Obi-Wan echoed. And? he prompted, but there was nothing. What’s the one more thing? 

Not yet. Soon, the Force said.

Obi-Wan sighed. Again. “But I don’t know what it is, yet. I’ll tell you when I know.”

“I understand,” the man at the head of the table said, sadly.

“Do you? Great. Because I’m barely keeping up,” Obi-Wan said, unable or perhaps just unwilling to keep his mouth shut.

“You follow the wisdom of the stars, like the ancient stories. It takes untold bravery and courage to step out into the unknown the way you do. I just want to be there to catch you, if you misstep.”

Fuck. No. No. He was not crying again, dammit. No!

“Ohnaka,” he said quietly, “I am no one from nowhere without you. You are glorious and your dar’buire were wrong to take your original name from you, to try to murder you for being glorious and blessed by the stars. You saved my life at Korda VI, and again at Galidraan, and again tonight. Will you let me court you, Ben Ohnaka?”

“No.”

At his pained gasp, Obi-Wan qualified it. 

“Not yet. Not now. Not as a means to gain my favor, not as a repayment of a debt. Abide by the original statement you made to me; when you decide you both want a life together with me and also think we could stand each other for an extended period of time. This,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing between them, “is not proof of that. This is proof that we can’t stand each other for extended periods of time, that we can’t be trusted to keep talking to each other, that we can’t sort ourselves out without going to extremes where we do serious damage to ourselves and each other.”

That’s the other thing, the Force said.

Fuck, Obi-Wan said. And then took a deep breath.

“And that, apparently, is the third thing. Do not use courting me as a panaceae for our inability to sort ourselves out like rational adults. It’s not a bacta patch.”

The Mand’alor nodded and took a sip of his warm water.

He looked up and Obi-Wan accidentally met his gaze again. “My heart fills with love for your wisdom. You knew the wisdom of the stars before they spoke directly. I will fulfill the debt I owe to you and regain my honor. I will become someone you will be proud to be associated with, again. 

“Do you still wish to be assigned guest quarters? I will do it now, if you want to go.”

Something released and uncoiled inside of Obi-Wan.

“No, I don’t really want that anymore,” he admitted. “And I’m not ashamed to be associated with you, ‘alor.”

“Will you use my name again?” his companion at the table asked.

Obi-Wan nodded and looked away, unable to quite find his voice. 

Jaster.

Jaster.

He blinked away the odd tear.

“Will you let me use the beautiful name you grew up with?”

Obi-Wan almost scoffed. He could hear Quinlan call him, ‘Obes Kenobes!’ He nodded instead.

“Will you open our bond back up?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes darted to him. “Are you sure you want that?”

“I do.”

He relented on his shields slowly, slowly, easing into it, unblocking both bonds, even if Quinlan was so far away he could only just tell he was alive and fairly well.

He could tell a great deal more about Jaster.

He was a mix of rampaging emotion; sadness and happiness, anger and peace, self-loathing and lust for life. But the darker emotions were on the wane, apparently.

“May I touch you?” he asked. The bond wasn’t open enough to speak through, which was probably for the best right now.

Obi-Wan nodded and moved his left hand so it was extended toward Jaster, who took it up with both of his.

His touch was warm and comforting, and along with it came just a little of the hot spring that Obi-Wan had been avoiding for days. The hot spring started spreading up his arm slowly, but Obi-Wan blocked it with shields he didn’t know he could use like that before it got to his elbow.

Jaster rubbed his hand, then his fingers, then along the edge of his nailbeds and the edge of his nails.

“Your nails are different. What happened?” Jaster asked softly.

“I ran out of my favorite ration bars. My hair’s gotten dull, too.”

“I thought… I thought that was part of your illness. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Obi-Wan looked down. “I didn’t want to ask for one more thing. You give me too much already.”

“I do not give you too much. And I’m obviously not giving you enough. I’ll find out if there’s any in the sector, or if we need to order more. Which ones are they?”

Obi-Wan told him, feeling stupid. It was just a ration bar. “It’s probably fine if I just eat fish and seaweed, but I’m not sure how much I really need to eat.”

“I made you fish tonight. I’d already figured out I’d been a fucking moron before you came home,” Jaster said, his fingers still rubbing and caressing Obi-Wan’s hand.

His stomach growled, and finally felt empty in a non-nauseous way. “Could I have a little?”

Jaster was immediately standing and heading toward the kitchen. “Of course,” he said, half way there already. “How much do you actually want?”

“Um, a small portion? But, um, a large small portion?” Obi-Wan said, feeling stupid for just waiting at the table to be served, so he got up instead, bringing their room temperature water back into the kitchen. He poured both out and set the hot water kettle on to boil again, once it was filled.

As they both waited, Obi-Wan slowly approached and Jaster folded him into a hug (with blankets) that felt filled with meaning. It also just felt good. Their Force Presences pressed up against each other, but no more. But the hot spring did feel very welcoming to the nebula, so there was that.

“I love you, beautiful one,” Jaster whispered against the side of his face. “I’m going to tell you more often, and I’m going to act like it more often.”

Obi-Wan hugged him just a little harder. “Did you make me apology fish?”

A little huff of ironic laughter rustled his dull hair, already fading through the shades of red. “Well, it was going to be apology fish. Then it became rejection fish.”

“Is it still rejection fish?” Obi-Wan asked from the safety and security of Jaster’s shoulder.

“No, I think it’s love fish, now. I love you. I want to make you fish. I need to research how to cook with seaweed.”

“No hoi broth,” Obi-Wan added quickly. “Terribly allergic to one of the fermented things in it. Found out the hard way.”

“No hoi broth for my pirate prince,” Jaster whispered, kissing the side of his head.

Obi-Wan turned his head and met his lips instead.

The kiss stayed soft and gentle, no tongues appeared to deepen it, and quickly shifted to a modified forehead kiss, except they were too close together and refused to get a little space for all the proper angles so instead, their noses were off center, their mouths pressed to the corner of the other’s mouth, just desperately clinging to each other in the kitchen. And breathing.

Until the quick hotbox and hot water kettle went off, both at nearly the same time.

“Love fish,” Obi-Wan said, not moving.

“And hot water,” Jaster added, also not moving.

“I want to eat. I’m hungry, now,” Obi-Wan protested, but did not move.

“I don’t want to let you go, either.”

They lingered a moment longer, and a moment after that.

“May I sleep with you tonight?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Always, beloved,” Jaster responded. “Will you eat in the karyai so I can hold you?”

Mandalorians and their karyaisse. “Yes.”

They separated briefly and Obi-Wan tossed off his slippers in the general direction of the boot mat as he passed, holding the two cups of newly hot water. Just hot enough to be enjoyable without needing to wait ten minutes until it cooled enough to drink.

At first Obi-Wan imagined that he’d be next to Jaster while Jaster had an arm around him, which was a way they had generally cuddled in a karyai in the past.

No.

And he was all sat down and relatively comfortable, having successfully managed the blankets wrapped around himself and two cups of hot water, when Jaster plucked both cups out of his hands, put them behind him on the floor (the floor!) then bodily dragged Obi-Wan onto his lap, half picking him up by the hips, and once Obi-Wan (yipped, and) realized what he was doing, he did help with the Force.

Jaster leaned and grabbed the bowl of food and handed it to Obi-Wan, and then took one of the cups of water for himself.

Obi-Wan sat across Jaster’s lap feeling a tiny bit flummoxed.

“I hadn’t expected that.”

Jaster nodded. When his mouth was clear, he spoke. “I noticed.”

“You could have used words,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“It was more fun this way.”

It was a compelling argument. It sounded like something that both Quinlan and Hondo would agree on, and that just was not a subset of people he knew that he would imagine Jaster agreeing with.

“A bit heavy handed,” Obi-Wan pointed out tentatively.

“Really?” Jaster asked, now himself slightly flummoxed, at least according to the emotions Obi-Wan could feel through the bond, so, that was definitely a yes for ‘Jaster is also slightly flummoxed’.

“A bit. But I understand about the fun. Maybe, we could agree that sometimes you can do that, and then you have fun? Rather than do it and see if I resent you for days afterwards?”

“When you put it like that, it does sound imminently reasonable.” He sighed. “I’m probably going to wander into these mind fields and only realize afterwards. But we can start here. Obi-Wan, may I sometimes pull you into my lap the fun way?”

Obi-Wan’s heart warmed, because look; Jaster was learning.

“When we are alone, yes.”

He nodded, and Obi-Wan ate some of his delicious love fish. And something occurred to him. He opened the bond just a bit wider, and kept eating.

But he also spoke. ‘Even though it wasn’t part of the official three, this feels very much like you are regaining your honor.’

Jaster’s arm around him grew momentarily tighter, and his face snuggled up around his shoulder. “If you say it, it is so,” he whispered fervently.

A thought occurred to him.

“Do it because you should, because… because it’s healthy and good, don’t do it to manipulate me into staying with you. That could be another way of saying Number Three. So, this qualifies. Well done, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan said, taking another bite.

Jaster nodded again, clearly deep in thought. “I agree to this interpretation, and I agree that in general it is a good and honorable way to be. And yet I am also struggling with something.”

‘Go on,’ Obi-Wan said, as his mouth was full of delicious love fish. ‘I fucking love this fish dish, by the way. Make it for me again in a bit?’

Jaster smiled and nodded, then leaned in and kissed his fuzzy blanket covered shoulder.

After a moment more of thinking, Jaster continued. “The essence of courting someone is discovering that you cannot be without them and also have the best life you can have, and then doing all you can to convince them of that, and that it might work in reverse for them, too. That you might also be what their life is missing. And truly, Mandalorians are known for being utterly impressed in a single moment by another, and then attempting to court them beginning from that moment.”

Obi-Wan nodded and thought about that for a moment. “So, why was it different from this depiction of normal for you, right from the start? We’ve been together for ten weeks, or thereabouts. Have you only truly realized you can’t do without me now?”

“No. I knew that halfway through the Galidraan contract. I knew that you would make an excellent Rid’alor and one hell of an adventurous riduur. I already knew we had enough in common that we wouldn’t get bored with each other, intellectually, and I knew that even if my sexual stamina waned before yours did, either you could come down off the highest doses of suppressant, or I could just satisfy you with my mouth half the time-”

‘Always a welcome option, just so you know,’ Obi-Wan couldn’t help but interrupt to say.

“And you make me laugh. I haven’t laughed so much in years as I’ve laughed at your antics.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him, and as he was in between bites, he spoke with his mouth. “I do like making you laugh. There’s a glorious vibrancy around you when you laugh. It’s absolutely wonderful. I adore it.”

Jaster looked like he was fighting against a smile, and the smile was winning. He took a sip of water then put it down behind him and held Obi-Wan with both arms, resting his forehead on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“So, other than the fact that you said you wouldn’t, why didn’t you start courting me when we returned? I mean, I get that you’d need to start off with a pretty weapon. Still looking forward to that, by the way.”

Jaster sighed loudly. “I didn’t want to turn into Kal.”

Obi-Wan chewed and thought about that for a moment. When he was finished chewing, he spoke aloud. “I’m going to need you to say a lot more about that to give me context.”

“I thought that if I first decided if we could be compatible long term, and only then offered to court you, I could avoid making the mistakes that Kal has made. Only I see now that his mistakes could be made either way, really.”

“And what mistakes are those? We are talking about Myles’ primary parent, yes?”

“Yes. And it’s the reason Myles is so often over here for latemeal, rather than Jango more often being over at Myles’ with his parents. Kal fell in love with his spouse, Illipi, who is an extremely beautiful near human, and also extremely difficult to live with. She occasionally makes his life a living hell. He both adores her and can’t stand her. She could do with quite a lot of mind healing, like most people, but hasn’t agreed to any, so far as I know, and Kal has avoided sharing a lot with his own mind healer, in trying to avoid doing anything useful about improving the state of his marriage. It doesn’t help that Illipi has zero desire to learn Mando’a, become Mandalorian, or do much more than be vaguely aware of Kal’s culture. She’s from Alderaan and while she respects that Kal is a warrior, and possibly she respects that because he saved her life being a warrior, she despises the warrior culture. Or at least, that was how it was the last time I listened to one of his rants several years ago. My information may be out of date.”

Obi-Wan nodded and thought about it while he ate his fish. Jaster let him think in silence.

“It sounds to me like there are three main issues that you’ve mentioned here that culminate in ‘Kal’s homelife sucks’. First, his wife has rejected Kal’s culture wholesale. Second, his wife has refused mind healing. Third, Kal has refused to stand up to his wife and inform her that her behavior is intolerable. He has instead decided to tolerate the intolerable. Is that about right?”

“Hmm. I’d add that Kal is also not using his mind healing sessions to the fullest, because he doesn’t want to hear what he already knows is wrong. But generally. Yes. Three or four things.”

“So, let me ask you. Are you using your mind healing sessions to the fullest?”

Jaster snorted a little bit of air. “Well, I thought I was. I’ve just gotten a whole new cargo bay full of things to bring to them from this evening. So, tentatively yes in the past, and certainly yes going forward.”

“Do you plan to overlook my most annoying and grating traits, or bring them up, hopefully as gently as you can, so you can help me work through them?”

“I’d like to do the latter, though I absolutely did not manage that this time. I’d like to revisit at some point later - and gently - what I perceive to be your low self-worth.”

Obi-Wan groaned and made a face. “I hate it, but I will honor your request.” He continued after a deep breath. “Have you witnessed a tendency in me to dismiss your culture in whole or in part?”

“No,” Jaster said, his hands rubbing along the outsides of Obi-Wan’s heavily blanketed shoulder and thigh.

“Do you imagine that if you sincerely tell me that I need to try mind healing that I’m just going to look you in the eye and say no?”

Jaster sighed again. “Well, not that, exactly. And I do think you would benefit from it - everyone would - but I see so much pain in your past, and sometimes I see how it haunts you in your present. I don’t want you haunted by your pain, beautiful one. And mind healing can help with that.”

“A compelling argument, and I’m not above trying it. I do have concerns because quite frankly, pirates have blue-orange morality to begin with, and I’m now convinced that Jedi have another, entirely different basis for choosing what is moral and what is a- and immoral, and I’m just worried how that would play out in a mind healer’s office.”

“We can find the one that’s right for you, I promise. You don’t have to settle.”

Obi-Wan ate a bit more of his delicious love fish. He was coming to the end of what was in the bowl and tempted to ask for more. But that would be too much. He shouldn’t.

“I can get you some more, beautiful. There’s plenty.”

Obi-Wan dithered silently, his mouth full of exquisite cuisine the likes of which one did not get on Hondo’s flagship. Or on Florrum.

“Ob’ika, I can feel how much you want more. Let me give you more.”

Right. The bond.

Hondo would want him to take his pleasure with both hands. Boris would want him to eat all the fish and seaweed he needed and wanted to eat, especially if it tasted good.

He finished what he had and scooted off Jaster’s lap, following him back into the kitchen area after having put his slippers on so his feet weren’t cold, and sipping his warm water as he went.

“Returning to our previous conversation,” Obi-Wan said, “I understand your concerns about Kal and his spouse, now, and I also think that while our relationship might be like unto a ship with no sublight port thrusters and rather spotty life support, we are not the exact flavor of dysfunction of Kal and what was her name?”

“Illipi,” Jaster said, spooning more of the three components of the dish into Obi-Wan’s bowl, and filling it up a bit more than before.

“Right. Illipi. Nice name. Out of curiosity, how much does Kal know about Alderaani culture?”

“Huh. Not sure. I’m guessing not a lot.”

“Intersting. And quite a shame. Their culture is as beautiful as that of Mandalore, and also prizes education and family as key components to a good life and a stable community. So, I see it goes both ways with them, then.”

A flare of surprise and discontent came from Jaster before the words did. “I realize I have a lot to learn about the Jedi Order.”

Obi-Wan smiled a little, and came up to hug him from behind. “I’m not a part of them, any more. And even if Master Antilles does agree to train me, we’re going to have to negotiate that pretty clearly because I’m not doing that again. I’m not giving them authority over me to say… well, you know. I’m not doing that again.”

Bowl in the quick hotbox, Jaster’s large, warm hands rested over Obi-Wan’s as he continued to hold him from behind.

“I still want to learn. I want to understand how it was for you, the good and the bad. It’s part of who you are. And I’m curious about pirate culture, too, if we can call that a thing.”

Obi-Wan laughed a little. “Hondo would definitely call it a thing. Boris would not.”

Jaster sighed. “I wish we had a stronger, more formal educational setting for the star-touched children in our sector. Using Jedha is like a bacta patch for us, but it doesn’t get any of our star-touched warriors anywhere close to where you are. Jedha keeps them from being a harm to themselves or others, and sometimes trains them to use their abilities in very minor ways.”

“How much of that, I wonder, is down to the parents and guardians who just want their children to stop being an unholy magical terror? I mean, I was learning lightsaber katas when I was four. Open handed, mind. I didn’t use a training saber until I was five.”

Jaster stilled. “They let five year olds use lightsabers?” He sounded completely aghast. He felt horrified.

“They’re training sabers, Jaster. They’re just warm enough to provide resistance against something. You can’t even burn yourself with one. It’s not like we could use practice swords made of anything else. You can’t slide a plasma blade against anything, not even another plasma blade. They really don’t work like metal or wooden swords. Also, the weight distribution is all wrong. Plasma weighs nothing. Only the handle has weight. Even full powered sabers have a training mode that does, admittedly, burn, but only slightly. How else would they train their students? Don’t want masters cutting off padawan’s hands in a spar gone wrong. Or visa versa, which is more likely, given the amount of control most masters have.”

Relief flooded the bond. “I see your point. We do start combat training around four or five standard, depending on the child, but of course a lot of the standard games get children ready for combat, too, scouting, hunting, hiding, throwing, that sort of thing.”

“It’s the same in the creche. All of the games are educational and most have a component to help younglings learn control of their Force abilities, so they’re just doing it all the time. And from a young age, all the running around games are all about using the Force. Tag and keep away, that sort of thing. That first training session on your ship enroute to Galidraan. After I did my katas at quarter speed. I just played Force Keep Away using techniques both from the Jedi Temple, as well as the one at Jedha. Good for tight quarters melee combat, as you’ve seen, but also good for escaping, if that’s the best option, and always one children should learn.”

Jaster nodded and put the food away when the quick hotbox was finished. “So, it’s also immersive. A few months, or even a year at Jedha, really isn’t enough, not compared to all-day usage and daily training outside of games. We’d really need a school. But not a boarding school,” he mused as they returned to the karyai. This time Obi-Wan was ready for the intense lap cuddles and just snuggled into it while he ate his heavenly food.

They were silent for a time and Obi-Wan just savored the company, the cuddles, and the food. He still wasn’t quite comfortable letting Jaster’s Force Presence do anything terribly intimate, but it was nice to be just pressed against him in the Force, as in their physical bodies. It was comforting, and just a little warming.

“Revisiting an earlier topic,” Jaster said eventually, his voice somehow underpinning the quiet of the large common area in the dark of night, rather than breaking the silence. “My point about the act of courtship, is that it is meant to be convincing and manipulative. Not in a bad way, but certainly in a decisive way. It’s meant to change people’s minds, to prove intent, to prove worthiness.”

“And that is more or less what we are actually doing now,” Obi-Wan said, happening to just be between mouthfuls of utterly glorious food.

“Exactly. I do want to sway you, at this point, and very particularly. I want to prove my worthiness to you, and my intent.”

“So, you’re clear that you do want me to marry you?” Obi-Wan said, after swallowing.

“I am,” Jaster replied quietly.

“Maybe for others it’s simple, but maybe for us it’s a little more complex. You are courting me now. That’s clear to me. But it’s also… it’s private. This is the private section of our courtship, where you regain your honor and rebuild trust with me, and I do the same with you.”

“You did not lose your honor, beautiful,” Jaster said darkly, his emotions as fierce as his tone.

“You’re biased,” Obi-Wan accused mildly. “I was a little shit, and I was a little shit to you in public, in front of your SuperCommandos. I undermined your authority, or I tried. It’s not in my culture to kneel and offer my death in recompense for that, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be better, and never do such a stupid thing again. And hopefully Hondo never finds out I pulled that kind of shit, because he’d be incensed. I know better, and I was so angry I did it anyway. I am sorry, Jaster. I am truly sorry.”

Jaster leaned in and kissed him gently on the mouth. “I accept your debt, beautiful one. Learn to be better, as I am, and go to mind healing, and the debt will be cleared.”

“I agree,” Obi-Wan said, and returned to the silent consumption of his delicious love fish. There were more vegetables and more rice this time around in the bowl, but it was all so delicious he didn’t care at all. And he really did need to find out how much fish and seaweed he needed on a daily or weekly basis.

“So. We both rebuild trust and honor. And then we can enter into the public courtship phase,” Jaster said. “And I get to give my pretty pirate prince his pretty weapons of choice.”

“I want a beautiful dagger, and that holdout weapon we discussed.”

Jaster smiled, and in that moment, Obi-Wan knew everything would be okay.

Chapter Text

They hadn’t had sex that night, the night they resolved their terrible, slow-moving, relationship-ending fight that really, had been the culmination of a variety of bad choices made, honestly, since they first got together.

Mostly bad communication. But also a few other things.

So that night they did communicate. And Obi-Wan wasn’t really feeling sex, but they both agreed on snuggling, so after cleaning up the kitchen and gathering his things from his extra room, Obi-Wan shifted back into Jaster’s private room, and they did snuggle.

And it felt good, again. It felt safe, and good, and lovely to be all tangled up in Jaster and the blankets, and his Force Signature, to wake in the night half sprawled over him and try to find a more comfortable position, only for Jaster, still fully asleep, to curl back around him.

And so it was exceedingly strange to wake in the morning from a very vivid dream of having sex with someone who wasn’t Jaster.

He did his business in the refresher, feeling off and awkward and actually quite bad about the situation. Perhaps, he rationalized, it was leftover resentment in his subconscious mind, bubbling to the surface and reminding him that he had options.

Except of course that even when Obi-Wan was considering leaving Jaster, it wasn’t because he wanted more, better, or different sex than he was being offered. Jaster, as it turned out, was an exquisite lay. He couldn’t ask for better, and probably wouldn’t find it anywhere in the galaxy.

So… it was really quite disconcerting, having the dream that he had. Except it definitely had not been Jaster. The Force Signature was all wrong, for one. Absolutely not Jaster. And even though he couldn’t quite see the person, couldn’t quite get distinguishing features, that had not been Jaster’s tongue in his cunt.

And he’d fucked the other being in the ass, which… honestly, he and Jaster hadn’t gotten to that, not in a month and a half of having copious sex. (More or less, except for the last two weeks of hell.) It’s not that he wasn’t curious about it. It just involved a lot of prep, and a fair amount of clean up, and Obi-Wan was so very satisfied by what they usually got up to, and it wasn’t like his cock felt neglected or anything, not with how often Jaster sucked on it, or pumped it during other moments…

But no, Obi-Wan was very clearly having anal sex with someone else, as the penetrator. And it wasn’t Jaster.

He felt a bit shaken, to be honest.

He didn’t actually want to be unfaithful to his lover. That kind of break of trust was abhorrent to him. 

What the hell, subconscious? 

He took the issue into his meditation, but he couldn’t find the resentment or dark emotions he thought he would. He was quite thorough in his searching, and he found other dark emotions on rather different topics that had nothing at all to do with Jaster (perhaps he did need that mind healing work, after all - even with the potential pirate/Jedi morality issue, he was certain there were things that could be worked on) but nothing relating to the dream.

But Obi-Wan persisted.

He was not going to stand for these sorts of shenanigans in his head, thank you very much. He might be a pirate, but he was not without honor, and he wasn’t going to do that to Jaster, and he didn’t want dreams to be the first step down a dark tunnel into extremely bad behavior.

He returned to his meditations with fervor, and asked the Force quite a lot of questions. Because didn’t the Sith get up to that sort of thing, back in the day? Mucking about with dreams to make people fall and alter discernment of the Will of the Force, and general destiny-based fuckery? Not that there were supposed to be any Sith around, but he’d been a crechling when he’d heard that, and so what else would the crechemasters tell the younglings?

And the utter banthashit deathtrap at Galidraan had definitely been a constructed shatterpoint, which pointed to a trained darkforce user at the very least. Master Plo had confirmed their suspicion for him a few weeks after he’d left.

Not that Obi-Wan was important in any way, that he should be so singled out. He didn’t at all imagine that to be true. But maybe if there were Sith out there, or trained darkforce users who had mastered somnomancy, they might be mucking about with dreams wholesale, trying to create havoc and aid the falling of any lightside user. That did make sense.

The Force said that wasn’t the case, though, and Obi-Wan was about as methodical in his asking as he could imagine being. He was allowed to ask. He was allowed to know. He was truly discerning. He was listening to the Force that wanted him to be at peace with all life. And there were, at the very least, darkside somnomancers working in the galaxy, but the dream hadn’t come from them, none of his dreams had come from them, they weren’t targeting him specifically or generally. Though someone was targeting him generally to fall, it wasn’t a darkside somnomancer. It was a Sith. Who did not know of his specific existence. But it was the Sith who had orchestrated the constructed shatterpoint at Galidraan!

Oh, but it was the Force who gave him the dream.

When Obi-Wan stopped asking the yes-or-no questions that the Guardian of the Whills had coached him on, and just sat dumbfounded in his meditations, he finally just blurted out what he really wanted to know.

Why?!?

That is your third. Of your polycule. They are coming. Soon. 

Obi-Wan was darkly amused by the Force’s pun. He wondered if it meant it. It probably did. So, the Force was punny, was it?

Silence was his answer, which was either complete confirmation that the Force had a sense of humor, or complete denial that the Force had a sense of humor, and Obi-Wan had no idea which.

He opened his senses and couldn’t feel anyone very close to him in the apartment, and even the muffled bond with Jaster when he had his helmet on was further away, indicating he was probably in a meeting, or in his office already, doing his morning’s worth of work before afternoon training.

He felt Quinlan closer than Jaster, when he had his helmet on, and Quinlan was further away than the Core. He was likely beyond it on the other side of the galaxy somewhere, on a mission.

Well. He needed to discuss this with Jaster. And he also probably ought to discuss the Sith issue with Master Plo. Was that something that could be communicated via comm? Should it be? 

Probably not.

But he could comm him and see if Master Plo could meet up soon, and that would do. And Jaster he could have a private conversation with after latemeal tonight. It was important, but it wasn’t exactly a ‘dining table’ conversation. And he did recall Jaster saying that he wasn’t actually opposed to being polyamorous, he just couldn’t find one person he wanted to be with, much less more than one.

So, maybe it wouldn’t be an issue?

Obi-Wan pushed it from his mind and slowly came out of his meditations. He called his datapad and his comm link to him from their charging station on Jaster’s small and largely unused desk and was a little shocked to see that he’d been meditating for four hours.

That hadn’t happened in a while.

And he still had heaps of messages. The one from Bant he hadn’t read at all. The one from Boris he hadn’t finished responding to, and now Obi-Wan noticed there was one from Jaster and Jango both. He opened Jaster’s first.

Ob’ika, there’s food warming in the hotbox for you. I hope your meditations were fruitful. I had strange dreams last night that I’d like to discuss with you, later. Nothing critical, just in the interest of more communication between us. Attached is a list of the mind healers in Keldabe.

I love you.

Obi-Wan smiled a little and decided to eat his rather late firstmeal and tend to his comms while he did so. He grabbed his input device from the desk as well as his coat and boots on his way out of the room.

Firstmeal was delicious. Jaster was an amazing cook, much better than Hondo’s cook on his flagship, or on Florrum, but then, Hondo didn’t seem to care much about food. If he did, he’d probably have somehow wooed a chef from the Core. Somehow. He wouldn’t put it past Hondo at all.

First, he wrote a quick response back to Jaster. Just a line or two. 

Thank you for the wonderful firstmeal. Meditation was good. Also had dreams I want to discuss. Will send comm to first on list of mind healers. Love you, too.

Then he sent that quick comm asking for an initial appointment from the mind healer, after which he looked at the message from Jango.

Ben, Buir says the two of you worked things out last night. Is that true? Are you really okay? Myles and I were worried about you. Buir was, too, I think. He looked more upset than I’d ever seen him when you skipped latemeal, but he was fine when you skipped firstmeal.

You are eating, right?

Jango,

I am eating. I ate latemeal on your father’s lap last night, once we worked things out. I had two helpings. Trust me, I’m eating, and it was delicious. We did work things out and I think we’ll be a little better going forward from now on. He’s still heavy handed sometimes, but I’ve been encouraged to call him on it, and I shall to the best of my ability. 

My meditations ran long this morning, but I’ve eaten today as well. Perhaps I’ll see you and Myles at midmeal in the refectory. I’ll be brushing up on Hutt history for my conversation with Myles. Did he want to have it in Huttese? Tell him I’ll be ready.

Ben

Then he went back to the letter from Boris, deleted the draft entirely and started a fresh new response.

Dear Boris,

Thank you for the update from home. I hope Hondo isn’t driving you crazy. I know how he gets when he’s back on Florrum.

Things are going well, here. I had a little bit of a hiccup with Jaster, because up until now, I think, we’ve absolutely sucked banthaballs at communicating what we really need to say to each other. He wants me to see a mind healer, and I get it. There’s a lot of painful stuff, especially right at the end of my time with the Jedi, and if I do somehow start training again like Master Plo thinks will happen, that’s all going to be dragged back into the light, so may as well sort it out early, right? But I’m fairly certain he wants to marry me. (Jaster, not Master Plo.) It’s early days, and he’s courting me privately right now until we’re both certain that we could make a good go of it, but I expect in a few months he’ll be courting me publically. Not that you would ever refuse to tell Hondo what he asks directly, but maybe if you can fail to mention it in passing for a bit? I’m still pissed at him. (I wonder where I learned to NOT say important things that need to be said? Looking at you, Hondo Ohnaka.) But I promise I will write him a brief comm promptly on the first of the month from now on. Oh, but I may be very brief indeed.

Did get some very good training in with Force Null cuffs on, but it was brief, because they make me so sick afterwards, and now they won’t let me train with them anymore. But it was quality, and I think if I’m ever in a position where I can’t use the Force, I can still have my wits about me. I admit the first time they went on I had a bit of a panic attack. It was like losing my eyesight, and my hands, and having vertigo, but still having to function. I will admit to you that it was awful, but I’m glad to have experienced it in a controlled environment surrounded by safe and trusted people.

Jaster got me some new clothes, as I was growing out of the old ones, again, and this time they’re leather lined with armorweave. He was quite put out that he needed to bring me into battle without armor on, the sweet, sentimental Mandalorian. I have a very spiffy vest now that Hondo would thoroughly approve of, AND it’s also lined in wool. I’m finally warm all the time. I haven’t grown out of my coat, yet, but I expect the same sort of armorweave treatment there as well, should I do so before my time here is up. And yes, I have told him about my latent issues with psychometry, and he’s been very kind about that, so my new pants and vest were made to the highest standards, and I think the artisan put in a special boost of love into making them, because they feel particularly wonderful.

I ran out of ration bars, but Jaster’s looking into sourcing some more for me, AND he cooks fish for me, and did so just last night. Absolutely the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. And maybe I just really needed the fish, that’s true, but also he’s quite an accomplished chef, in addition to being a reluctant warlord and a philosopher king.

I like him so much, Boris. And he says he loves me. He says that he is no one from nowhere without me. And those parts of his personality I find repugnant, he’s actively working on, because I said so! (Oh, he gets angry sometimes. But he’s going to bring it to his mind healer, so we’ll see if he can work to improve that, or if its a lost cause.) And oh, he is SUCH a lover! Even given the situations of my first three times, none of them can hold a single credit to his account. You probably don’t want to know, but the things he can do with his tongue are legion, and he said that if I want to go up to the highest pheromone suppressant, he doesn’t care. It’s okay. He just likes me, because I’m me. I make him laugh. I can keep up with him intellectually. He thinks I would make a good co-ruler with him. (Can you even imagine?) Even his son approves, and his son is seven years older than I am.

He’s taking me to Jedha soon, but I’m not sure when exactly. The plans haven’t been made. But he’s not leaving me there, not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. He’s staying.

I admit I’ve been slacking off a bit in my studies from home, largely because Jaster had given me heaps of modules to work on when I first arrived - language, culture, history, philosophy, you know, all the things I adore reading about. But I am going to mix in more of the work from home, and maybe I’ll even get in some lessons about fighter-to-fighter combat. I can ask about that, and maybe get the Mandalorian perspective on it. Right now my combat training is being directed by Silas, who is the melee fight instructor for the SuperCommandos and he’s brutal, grueling, and wonderful. (He reminds me of the Battlemaster of the Order.) He fights against me, sometimes, using two beskar javelins, and I am utterly unfettered, I can use the Force and everything, and my lightsaber of course, and he still trounces me, and the javelins are blunted. I’d be embarrassed if only I wasn’t learning so much with each match.

I love you, and I hope you’re keeping well. All my love to the nice half of the crew. (Please let them know that I have picked the absolutely most beautifully gorgeous being I could find and seduced them immediately, and now get to fuck them regularly, and it’s blissful. Also, I’m working on a better holdout weapon. I’ve got it designed and everything.)

Ben

Obi-Wan watched his message from Bant, sent in holovid format, and finished his food and put his dishes in the sonic before recording his response.

“Hello, Bant. Thank you for the message. I’m glad your training is going well. You were always better at the Living Force than I was, so I’m glad you’re becoming a proficient healer. I’m sorry to hear that Siri is still a pain. I always thought she was wonderful, but I realize now that I had a little crush on her, and I think I saw everything through rose petals. I’ve had a lot more experience in social lubrication, and how one person’s attitude really can make or break a tense situation, or sour a whole mission, not to mention living in tight quarters, or on a ship.

“Life with Hondo was good. Fine. I mean, I’m not there now, nor for a while, but it was an adventure and he took very good care of me and no, I promise that wasn’t a euphemism the last time I used it, nor this time. He and his second Boris, have raised me and seen after my needs and my education. Actually, they were better about that than the Temple was, because apparently I wasn’t eating nearly enough of the right things for my biology, but Hondo and Boris researched Stewjon, my home planet, a lot. Turns out I’m meant to have claws and bright red hair and a lot more energy. I eat so much fish and seaweed, you’d be jealous, or, you know, I have and I will again. Little oops with my ration bars, but the Mand’alor is taking care of it.

“Right. So. I’ll answer your question about my lover, but please can we keep it between us? I mean, Master Plo figured it out because he’s Master Plo, but I really don’t want Quinlan knowing about this. Bad enough Quin commed me early on and I picked up voice only when I was upset, and my lover was there, and so they actually talked to each other, and Quinlan has his nickname and even clocked his home planet from his accent in Basic. But anyway. Yes.

“Ahem. Oh, I’m nervous telling you this. I’m worried what you’ll think of me. But what the hell, right? This is what best friends are for. OH! And also, the Force just told me today that I’m apparently destined for a polycule. So there will be another, at some point, I have no idea who or when. I have no idea how I feel about that, or how Jaster feels about that.

“Oh. Well. Yes. Tooka’s out of the bag.

“Jaster. I’m sleeping with Jaster, or as Quinlan has been introduced to him, ‘Jas’ika’. Um. That would be Jaster Mereel, the Mand’alor. Bant, I swear to you he’s the sexiest being I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and Boris is a Nautolan, and you know how Nautolans are just stunningly beautiful people. He outclasses Boris. And Knight Fisto. I adore him, and if we can stand each other this time next year, I think we’ll probably be married. I’ll invite you to the wedding. Also, did you know you can have sex in the Force? Is this in advanced Senior Padawan learning modules that I’m missing? Anyway, in case it’s not, you can absolutely have sex with your Force Presence and someone else’s, provided they are sufficiently Force Sensitive. Which Jaster absolutely is. It’s brilliant. Highly recommend. No, they didn’t teach this at Jedha, I’m just a very horny boy and I figured it out.

“Tell me all about your modules. I’m learning a ton about Mandalore, of course, but Boris also has me studying the cultures and histories of the crime syndicates and empires, which is both hellish and fascinating, if very focused on the Outer Rim and Wildspace. Good thing I still have borrowing privileges, or how else would I get to read ancient Alderaani epic love poetry? I promise you it’s not on anyone’s curriculum out here. 

“How is your saber training coming along? I’m dying to learn more Soresu, but I’m currently learning a Mandalorian sword form, slightly modified for a plasma blade, and the fight instructor here kicks my ass regularly, but it’s all good, I’m learning so much.

“I love you, and I miss you. Give my love to Garen and Reeft and fill them in on any part except the fact that I’m fucking the Mand’alor. Don’t fill them in on that.

“Force be with you, Bant Eerin.”

Obi-Wan considered what he wanted to write to Master Plo.

Master Plo,

Something odd has come up in my meditations that I thought you should absolutely know about, if perchance you didn’t know already. Perhaps if you are out and about you could find your way to me and I could tell you in person? I’ll be heading with Jaster to Jedha soon, if that is a better location, and I can send another message when I’m sure about my arrival date. I wouldn’t bother you, but I think it might be quite important.

Did you know that the Guardians of the Whills have a variety of quite different discernment techniques for the Will of the Force than are taught at the Temple in Coruscant? Fascinating stuff. Perhaps you’d like to learn some while you’re there, if you’re unfamiliar with the techniques. I’ve found them quite helpful, when I remember to use them.

Thank you for all the work you are doing on my behalf. Still haven’t heard from Master Antilles, but I’m sure you and the Force will sort that out in the perfect time. I look forward to meeting him.

May the Force be with you,

OWK

Obi-Wan stretched, made himself some shig, then cued up his module on the history of the Hutt Empire, which was naturally in Huttese. He hadn’t used the language in too long, so he had the datapad read it out to him as he did some more stretches.

Midmeal was nice, and conversation was conducted in Huttese, as Myles wanted to become more proficient and Jango was determined to learn more than just the swear words of the language, and the conversation ended up involving the entire table’s occupants, with more than one helmet recording it, and in the end Obi-Wan offering to share his Huttese language modules, as he both had a set from the Jedi Archives, as well as a set that Boris had gotten for him from Hutt Space.

Training kicked his ass that afternoon, now that he was finally feeling fully well and recovered from the Force Null cuffs incidents. It wasn’t the sparring training, or the Force jumps and agility trials that were set up for him (today he got to run through the rooftops of Keldabe! It was such fun!), and it absolutely wasn’t his katas which he had to go through every day, and then discuss one aspect with Silas and go deep on his understanding, there.

It was the calisthenics.

Pushups until his arms were going to fall off, no Force use.

Sustained squats at different depths until his legs were jelly, no Force use.

Pull ups until his arms didn’t actually function anymore, no Force use.

He only had to do the calisthenics every other day, and this was a Muscle Day, dammit, and he was back on them now that he was better.

He was going to be growing out of his pants and jacket in the next six months at this rate.

When he coded into the Mand’alor’s apartment, it smelled amazing, and after kissing the chef, he staggered into Jaster’s room and threw himself into the hot shower, deeply missing Hondo’s hot salt water soaking tub.

Muscle Days would be perfect for a hot salt water soak. But a hot, steamy shower would do.

Clothes in the sonic, he threw on his foundling linens and wools, plus his socks and slippers and padded out to the common area with his datapad and his comm link. His pilgrim and foundling clothes did make for very cozy end-of-day clothes that were a little more presentable than his pajamas, especially since sometimes Jaster had people over for dinner and Obi-Wan found out about it when he emerged from his post-training shower.

Jaster, he noticed, had very nice end-of-day clothes, which he typically just wore his vambraces and boots with. They were linen and embroidered, a tunic and trousers even nicer than Obi-Wan’s foundling clothes, and they looked very well on him.

Since they seemed to be alone, Obi-Wan hopped up on a clear bit of counter space slightly away from the action to talk to his gorgeous man. As his muscles were in a state of mild protest, he shamelessly used the Force to accomplish this.

“Hello there, gorgeous. What beautiful thing are you making for us this evening?”

Jaster stole a searing kiss before he described his buir’s recipe for nexu chili (hot enough to kill your tastebuds, naturally), and mixmeal quickbread, with some vegetables for the look of the thing, and some small fish on the side, sauteed and served in a cheese sauce, just for him, and meant to be eaten whole. He also had a new condiment jar of dried seaweed that could just be added to things that Obi-Wan was going to try with the chili, because why not?

“Oh, love, you spoil me.”

Jaster gave him a narrow look over his shoulder. “I’m taking proper care of you. I’m sure there’s a fundamental difference.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes right back. “I’m still grateful and I’m not allowed to thank you. You need to leave me some outlet to tell you how I feel.”

Jaster paused his vegetable prep and stalked over to him, widening Obi-Wan’s legs so he could fit between his knees. He pulled him into a forehead kiss, and then he switched to Mando’a.

“I want to give you all good things that you need to be happy and well. My heart is full when I can do this. If this is spoiling you,” he said the scorned word in Basic, “then you need to redefine everything. Raise your bar. Expect more. I want your best. I want to give you my best. Stop expecting a half-assed effort from me, Ob’ika. 

“Also, it’s good you’re dressed. Kal and Illipi are coming to dinner with Myles and Jango. I think he’s planned to get you drunk so he can see how we’re really doing. I don’t think I mentioned before - he’s keeping an eye on you to make sure I’m not treating you poorly. He helped me to pull my head out of my ass yesterday, actually, before our conversation.”

Obi-Wan might have said something about not really wanting to eat with anyone beyond Jaster’s family (Myles was included in on that measure, naturally), but it appeared that he owed Kal a debt of gratitude, if not a debt by the Mandalorian’s measure.

So instead of mildly complaining, and perhaps doing it in a charming and saucy manner, Obi-Wan took it with grace and redirected the conversation. And wrapped his legs around Jaster’s waist so he couldn’t get away.

“I like this idea of expecting your best. A little daunting to always give you my best, but I will try. But Jaster, I also want… I want all of you. I want the mistakes. I want the imperfections. I want the rough draft. I want the incomplete thoughts that you’re still figuring out. I want the real you, not a mask you put on. And I… I have plenty of masks. You’ve seen some of them. And they’re fun to wear, sometimes, especially the Seductive Pirate mask. But I’m not the mask, right? And I don’t want to create a new mask, the Perfect Partner mask. I could do that, but I don’t want to.”

Jaster kissed him and then pulled back into the forehead kiss, rubbing his hips and breathing for a moment. “No, no, no,” he finally said. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want a mask. I don’t want you to try to be someone you’re not. I want the actual best you can give, which will be different from day to day. And if the best you can offer in a day is really seductive pirate, then I want that, too.”

“You want me to be real,” Obi-Wan said, and accidentally said it in Basic, in a rather accusatory tone of voice.

Jaster laughed at him, just a little. “Yes, Ob’ika. I want you to be real,” he responded in Mando’a. “And I want to be real for you, too. Not the Mand’alor. Just Jas’ika from Concord Dawn.”

“You’ve done and seen many things since Concord Dawn, Jas’ika. And you are the Mand’alor.”

Jaster tilted his head from side to side, as if he was saying both yes and no. “I have. And a part of me deep down is still just Jas’ika from Concord Dawn. And I’m not really the Mand’alor. I’m just a guy who makes decisions that others trust to be right. It doesn’t mean they are right. And one day I’ll either die in the position - it’s just a position, it’s not who I am - or I’ll step down for Jango or someone else and live out my days in an archive, reading. And I’ll still be Jas’ika from Concord Dawn. And I will have killed people, kissed people, organized people, and pissed people off, but I’m still just Jas’ika. If I’m lucky, I’m a wiser and happier version of Jas’ika than the one who first left Concord Dawn. But that’s the only thing that matters to me.”

“So you want to know Obi from Coruscant,” he said, but not as a question.

Jaster smiled, pulling back a little bit. “Obi?” he asked, his smile turning into a grin.

“It’s what Bant calls me. She’s my best friend, for all that Quinlan and I got up to mischief and pranking. Quinlan is too annoying to be a best friend. Bant is the most instinctively kind and caring person I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I want to know Obi from Coruscant, who is best friends with someone who is instinctively kind and caring,” Jaster agreed, his tone and expression both quite soft. He said it like it was… something important.

“I want to know Jas’ika from Concord Dawn, who doesn’t think that Mand’alor is something anyone can be,” Obi-Wan admitted, curious and wanting to dive into the deep pool of Jaster’s personal philosophies, as he always tended to want to do whenever they came up.

They kissed then and it was so sweet, and Jaster’s thumbs rubbed circles on Obi-Wan’s sides underneath his sweater.

When Jaster’s lips kissed a trail down the side of Obi-Wan’s neck, he considered a thing. “Just so you know, I don’t think I’m really a chaos gremlin deep down, as Quinlan truly is. But I think it’s very possible that I am, at heart, a little shit.”

“I suspected as much,” Jaster whispered against his throat in between biting kisses. “Most of the time I think it’s hilarious. You bring much needed levity into my life, Ob’ika,” Jaster responded in Basic

And then the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get that,” Obi-Wan murmured, releasing Jaster from the leg lock he had him in.

“Be nice to Illipi? She’s had a hard go here,” Jaster asked quietly.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Naturally. And I’ll remind you I have Core manners.”

He hopped off the counter and answered the door.

“Skirata, do come in,” he said in Basic and once the large warrior had passed the threshold, Obi-Wan turned to the second one who was behind him. “Madam Skirata,” he addressed in a calmer, sweeter tone, his hands held out in front of him, palm up and pointed to her. He performed a perfect Alderaani half bow over them, indicated for when one didn’t know the other’s rank. “Be welcomed to Jaster’s home. I am Ben Ohnaka, his companion.”

Illipi Skirata’s eyes went wide and a little glassy. She stepped toward him, placed her palms feather-light over his as it was polite to do, and bowed a somewhat deeper bow, as she had clearly categorized him as more than just Jaster’s companion. “I am welcomed, Ben Ohnaka of Jaster’s household. May peace and the Force be with you, and all who gather herein,” she said, adding the bit that is traditional for when it was a Jedi one was greeting.

That over, Obi-Wan backed up and held out a hand inviting them further into the space.

“Jaster, are there drinks I can offer your guests?” he asked, even as he half turned to Illipi and continued, “you’ll forgive me I just got out of the shower. I haven’t the faintest clue what’s going on and it was a grueling training today.”

“Uh, I think there’s wine?”

“Red would go with the meal,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Dry would be best. Do we have dry red wine?” It would be the first he’d heard of it.

Hondo may not require excellence in his cuisine, but Obi-Wan did get a crash course in wine pairings.

Kal had put a bottle of tihaar on the counter as he passed on the way to karyai and Obi-Wan was busy looking for the mystery wine stash Jaster apparently had. He was down on his knees, half inside the bottom of the pantry before he found it, behind two barrels of netra gal. “Ah hah! You do have dry red. Fantastic. This will do nicely. You don’t own wine glasses, do you, love?”

“There are special glasses for wine?” Jaster asked.

“Oh, darling. There are special glasses for different types of wine. White, red, sparkling, desert, pink, aparatif, brandy, and oh, I’m probably missing some. Let’s see. Well, these small glasses will do. Do you have a corkscrew?”

“What’s a corkscrew?” Jaster asked.

Obi-Wan looked over just in time to share a controlled look with Illipi, except Obi-Wan’s look was perhaps less controlled. “It’s the only way you can get a cork out of a wine bottle, unless you happen to have very minute control of the Force. Luckily, this is one of the party tricks I learned how to do for Hondo.”

He ripped the seal off, and in the space of counter farther away from the action, but also facing into the rest of the common area, admittedly to show off, Obi-Wan held his hand over the top of the bottle while holding the bottom. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

Twist and pull, twist and pull, twist and pull.

Pop! 

He poured out the wine for the three of them, served it, and then went to set the table with murmured instructions from Jaster.

“This is cozy,” he heard Illipi say, and a bit louder than would be necessary to make a comment to her husband, who sat next to her in the karyai. “When I was in University, we would drink wine out of our small glasses. It was all we had,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her tone.

“What did you study at University, Madam Skirata?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Oh, biology. Microbiology and immunology for various dominant species.”

“How fascinating. What is your current research?”

“I don’t work in the field anymore. There really isn’t anywhere for me to do so, here,” she said, her voice composed and perfectly polite.

“Not even in the medical clinic here in Keldabe? There isn’t a single research lab?” Obi-Wan asked, confused.

“The closest one is in Sundari, at the University there, but… we live here.”

Obi-Wan scrunched his brow. “Jaster,” he threw over his shoulder. “Surely the medical clinic here needs to expand a bit into the odd bits of microbiological research, for the good of Mandalore.”

“I have no idea. Book me a meeting with the head of the clinic and I’ll find out. Make sure Illipi can attend the meeting,” he added.

“I’ll get to that tomorrow. Might I have your comm code, Madam Skirata?” he asked, walking over to fetch his datapad.

He watched her swallow. “It’s… actually Dr. Skirata.”

Obi-Wan bowed to her. No wonder she’s unhappy. “My apologies for the mistake.”

She gave the comm code and they were interrupted from saying anything further when Jango and Myles entered the apartment very noisily.

Jango gave him a forehead kiss and Myles greeted him as Ben’ika as he took his helmet and his boots off, and then Jaster and Jango and Myles were bringing food to the table and Obi-Wan grabbed the second bottle of wine and started pouring from the first to everyone who wanted to try it, which was everyone once he pointed out it would taste particularly good with the meal.

“And where did you learn about wine pairings, Ser Ohnaka?” Illipi asked.

Obi-Wan smiled. “My guardian. He’s not exactly keen on cuisine, but he does have a palate for good wine and the perfect pairing. I started out as his cabin boy, and I learned quickly.”

“Is your guardian truly the famed Pirate King of the Outer Rim, Hondo Ohnaka?”

Obi-Wan stifled a giggle. “He would be thrilled to hear you call him such.”

Illipi laughed a beautiful, trilling laugh that made both her son and her husband look at her as if her mind had been invaded and her personality replaced by someone else.

He felt Jaster tug on their bond, and so he opened it up a bit more.

Disbelief was warring with astonishment in his love. ‘Are you being a little shit?’ Jaster asked directly into his ear, through their bond.

You said to be nice to Illipi. I’m being nice to Illipi. She must absolutely adore Kal to have given up a life of prestige and fulfillment for him. I think you’ve all completely misread her. You really don’t know the first thing about Core cultures, do you?

‘I’m beginning to believe you’re right. But don’t flirt, or Kal will gut you.’

I am not flirting!

‘You’re getting awfully close, Ob’ika. If you feel the urge, flirt with me instead. I’m beginning to think your core-self is actually a flirty little shit.’

Obi-Wan closed the door on the bond a bit, as it was distracting to try and hold two different conversations on two different frequencies. 

“Myles, were you contented with the history of the Hutts that we went over at midmeal? Did it answer whatever questions you had? I can offer you my modules on the subject, but they’re all in Huttese, I’m afraid.”

The conversation shifted, then, and Jango joined in while Kal gave him calculated looks that Obi-Wan largely ignored. He ate his cheesed fish instead and put more dried seaweed flakes into his chili.

Ah, but Illipi, Kal, and Jaster weren’t conversing. Jaster told him to be nice, so this wouldn’t do.

“Dr. Skirata, may I ask how you met your husband?”

She smiled and gave her husband a flirty glance. “My knight in shining armor saved my life. I was attached to MediCorps Outpost V, and I was dispatched with a field mission to a plague area. We were attacked by… by raiders.”

“They were pirates,” Kal interrupted, sourly.

“Kal,” Illipi said tersely, her eyes turning sharp.

“It’s quite alright, Dr. Skirata. Pirates are generally speaking, a menace. Fully half of my guardian’s crew have absolutely no morals to speak of. They’re like rabid massifs on a chain. Some crews are made up entirely of such individuals. You may call that spade a spade, I shall take no offence whatsoever.”

She gave him a relieved little smile. “You’re very kind. And forebearing. Thank you.”

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan said, smiling in return, only to feel Jaster yank hard on their bond. “So you were attacked by pitiless pirates on a plague planet? How did Skirata happen by?”

“Had a series of contracts on the other side of the world,” the gruff warrior answered.

“He was meant to extract a single individual from our area. Instead, he saved us all, and once he had the governor’s daughter back on the other side of the world, he came back and helped us salvage what we could and finish our relief mission. I… he swept me off my feet,” she ended softly, and Obi-Wan could see that she’d put her left hand on Kal’s thigh under the table.

It was incredibly sweet.

“It reminds me of the epic of Terendawn. Do you know it?” Obi-Wan asked.

Illipi sighed and put her right hand over her heart, and gazed at her husband. “‘And I will walk with thee until the end of the dawn, through mist and shadow, far from the lands I have loved, into the desert of your heart.’” she quoted, getting appropriately emotional.

Obi-Wan opened the bond a little, for the express purpose of gloating. “See? She does adore him beyond all rational measure. I was right. She doesn’t need mind healing near so much as she needs a job other than ‘Kal’s Wife’.”

He immediately closed the bond and returned to the conversation, however.

Obi-Wan finished the quote. “‘And I will take the time to shed my water over you until the fierce jungle beats at the core of my fierce warrior king once more.’” Halfway through he glanced at Jaster, saying the words to him.

“What… what is that?” Myles stammered out, eyes wide.

Obi-Wan sat back and ate his chili and mixmeal while Illipi enthusiastically explained a part of her own culture that she valued. It transitioned into a conversation about religion, and Obi-Wan began to see at least one crux of why Illipi never became Mandalorian.

She was already a zealous adherent to quite a different religion which left little room for the Mandalorian god of war and antigod of sloth. She honored the Daughter, the head of at least three Force Sects that Obi-Wan was aware of, and a symbol of the light side of the Force.

Really, it explained a lot.

“Have you ever made pilgrimage to Jedha, or I suppose Tython would have been closer to Alderaan and perhaps easier to access?” Obi-Wan asked in a lull in conversation.

Her eyes lit up. “I have been to Tython. It was transcendent. I went the summer before I left home for University, to clear my mind and my intention, and to listen to the Will of the Force. It’s easier, there, somehow for someone like me to hear, to listen, to know. I would love to go to Jedha, but it’s far away, and Kal has responsibilities.”

Obi-Wan yanked hard on the bond with Jaster, who choked on his wine a little. Once he sorted himself out, he did exactly what Obi-Wan wanted him to do.

“Illipi, we’ll be going to Jedha soon. It may be an extended trip. I’ll make sure you and Kal have a room on the ship.”

The woman was blinking hard but pulled herself together, balled up her fist and put it to her heart, and bowed her head. “Jaster, that would mean everything to me. I very much look forward to going.”

The huge beskar vambrace on her right forearm that had padding between it, and her much thinner arm, suddenly did not look out of place.

“Perhaps we should put off the meeting with the head of the clinic?” Obi-Wan asked. “This is another life-changing trip for you, Dr. Skirata, and the discernment opportunities will be endless. I’ve never been to Tython myself, but I understand the light Force nexus that is Jedha is even stronger, and magnified by the Temple of the Kyber, and the kyber caves beneath it. Everything is just… easier there.”

The smile that Illipi gave Kal was brighter than the sun, and Obi-Wan watched as he fell in love with his wife all over again.

Myles caught his eye and discreetly signed, ‘Thank you. I owe you debt.’

There was no way for Obi-Wan to respond in any fashion in a discreet manner, so he refrained.

The rest of dinner flowed seamlessly, with the conversation pinging back and forth and as far ranging as The Hutt Empire, the Force god known as the Daughter, Light Force Nexii, and different medical and medical-adjacent disciplines.

It was, actually, quite a fantastic dinner party, and they absolutely finished the second bottle of wine. Even without a corkscrew.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan panted and whined and clutched at the back of Jaster’s head as he gave his love one last orgasm, this one on his tongue.

Jaster climbed up his limp and replete body, draped himself alongside and waited for signs of life to be evident. The sheet and blankets were to hand, but he was still too hot to need them, though his prince would get cold quicker than he would.

His dream still troubled him, though, as it had all day long, and he wondered if they would be able to speak of it this evening, or if he would have to wait longer.

He was also still in a state of awe at the transformation that his Core World raised lover had wrought in Illipi Skirata. He had no idea she was a variety of medical-adjacent doctor. Kal never said. He didn’t realize she was particularly religious, either, even if he did recall that she was from Alderaan. She was a dual citizen of both Mandalore and Alderaan, that he remembered, but if Kal had mentioned any of the rest, Jaster couldn’t say.

Certainly Kal had gotten a stim shot in the arm, and he had invited himself over in order to check on Obi-Wan!

The big, dopey, in-love hypocrite.

Jaster’s fingers traced circles on Obi-Wan’s abdomen, the sprinkling of hair south of his navel still the wrong color, and dull besides. He had no idea how long it would take for his hair and nails to repair themselves, but he also knew it wasn’t just an aesthetic issue. It was a red flag that something deeper was wrong, and he needed to be on top of that sort of thing.

Jaster mentally shook himself and promised to do better next time, starting now.

His love rolled a little to get closer and Jaster took his cue to pull the sheet and blankets back over them, and pull a few pillows in.

It was soft and quiet and a little like sleeping in some sort of glorious love nest, really, and Jaster was loathe to interrupt the beautiful calm to discuss his disturbing dream, and whatever else his lover had dreamed of.

But dreams were often from the stars, and the Manda, so it couldn’t be ignored forever.

Perhaps one more day?

“I had a dream last night,” Obi-Wan started, one of his arms slung around Jaster’s waist and his face on a level with his own, and so close in the dark. “It disturbed me at first. It’s why I meditated for so long. I still don’t know many small details, but I do understand it now, and I’d like to share the interpretation the Force gave me. It… well, there are many things to discuss, perhaps, that came out of my meditations, but dreams first. Out of curiosity, did your dream happen to involve sex?”

Jaster could barely breathe. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Mine as well. I’ll take a wild shot here and guess that like mine, you were also having sex with a stranger?”

Jaster still wasn’t breathing, and he should probably start that again. “Yes.”

“Right. Yes. Me, too. I thought at first perhaps I was still angry at you, somehow, somewhere deep down, you know, but I’m not. I checked really very thoroughly.”

Something released in Jaster and he could breathe easily again. He leaned in and kissed his beautiful one who moaned and wrapped his top leg over Jaster’s hip, and he let their legs tangle together.

He knew. He’d absolutely known that he wasn’t resentful at his young lover and would never go off and have some kind of anger-based revenge sex with someone else, but then he’d had a dream about it, and it was hard to come to any other conclusion, and that was desperately disturbing to Jaster.

But if that wasn’t the reason for Obi-Wan to have a similar dream, then it probably wasn’t the reason for Jaster to have it, either.

He pulled away and gasped his breath. The conversation, as brief as it had been, had also been incredibly stressful, and now Obi-Wan’s beautiful wet flower was rubbing on his ion cannon, which he could have sworn was powered down for the evening, except sex magic was doing things, so, maybe Jaster was wrong about that.

“Tell me the Force’s interpretation,” he said, kissing a line up his lover’s nose and across his brow.

“Apparently we’re destined for a polycule? Of at least three? I mean, it might be just three. The Force wasn’t forthcoming on that part. But that person is our third. It was clear on that.”

That piece of information crash landed in Jaster’s brain and forced an immediate hard reboot of all systems.

Reeft stared hard at Bant, then glanced at Garen. “I will research this,” the Dressellian padawan proclaimed.

Garen raised an eyebrow, but Quinlan beat him to what was on all of their minds. Well, maybe except Bant. She was too good for the rest of them, and they all knew it.

“With who?” the older padawan asked, smirking.

“Whom,” Bant corrected.

Reeft threw up his hands and scoffed at them all. “I mean I will look this up in the Archives. Obviously. You know. Research. That place we go to ask questions we don’t want to pose to our masters.”

“I will absolutely ask Tholme about this, no problem. After I do a little… research,” he said, grinning. “Anybody want to be my research partner? For the sake of science, obviously?”

Bant put her head in her hands as Reeft looked like he was trying to figure out if Quin was being serious. This was a frequent issue, actually.

But Garen already knew. “Yeah. I’ll do it. For science.”

It was Bant’s turn to throw up her hands. “I did not give you all the amazing and pertinent details of our intrepid and beautiful Obi-Wan’s life and experiences for you to go schedule a metaphysical orgy for science!”

“I will not be out done by a pirate,” Quinlan said, leveling a gaze at her as he lied through his teeth because obviously Kenobi had outdone them all. And who was his lover, anyway? Bant had been very cagey about that, which meant she knew but wasn’t supposed to tell, which made the information so much more valuable to obtain.

Soon.

Garen would send his own comm and see if he could find out on the sly.

“Reeft, are you in?” Quinlan asked.

Reeft turned to him. “Would you mind, Garen?”

The pilot padawan shrugged. It wasn’t exactly how he’d intended to spend his evening with his friends now that they were all in the same place, but why not? And apparently you could have Force sex with someone who wasn’t even a Jedi, so that had a wider applicability, and maybe especially across species lines where sex and intimacy had vastly different rules about equipment usage that could be too constraining or difficult to surmount.

Also, less chance of disease and pregnancy. So it was possibly the safest kind of sex to have, provided your partner could have it with you.

“No,” Garen answered, deciding and thinking about other things, too. “But no physical touching for me. Stay in your own corner, both of you.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Reeft said.

“Obviously,” Quinlan said, though what was obvious about it Garen couldn’t say. “This is for science. No touching allowed, physically speaking. Bant, you just going to observe?”

Before Bant could answer, Reeft quickly spoke. “Won’t you join us Bant? It would be really nice if you would,” he said, eyes tooka wide.

Garen also spoke. “I’d like it if you did, Bant.”

He gave Quinlan a warning look and for once in his life, Quin pressed his lips together and said nothing. The Kiffar was probably also biting his tongue, but good for him.

Bant sighed. “No touching. I’m in. Anybody know how to start this?”

Quinlan sprawled deeper on the beanbag poof he was lounging across and smiled a slow, admittedly sexy smile. “I have a few ideas,” he said.

Jaster breathed deeply as his mind booted up again.

How… did he feel about this?

No. No. Not ready to go there yet. Clarification first.

“Was I in your dream at all? Because you weren’t in mine,” he said.

His stars-wise pirate prince murmured in the negative.

“You’re absolutely certain that the Force gave us both those dreams?”

“I did a quick bout of meditation and discernment just now, and yes. It wasn’t the Sith, or random or specific darkside somnomancers, or even, not that I’m sure such people really exist, but I wanted to cover all potentialities, you understand, lightside somnomancers. It also wasn’t the Jedi, or the Guardians, or any member or multiplicity of members of a Force Sect, nor was it any sort of individual Force Entity, sometimes considered gods, like the Daughter, for instance. It was the actual Force that gave us those dreams and the actual Force who wishes us all to experience peace, who wants us both to participate in a loving, caring, life-long polycule of exactly three members.”

Jaster took that on board with a deep breath. It was… a lot. And his beloved had just name dropped the Sith, which they needed to discuss more, in a moment. And somnomancers. What in the twelve hells of the sloth lord was a somnomancer?

“You figured all of that out while I was… having my moment?” he asked.

“Yes. The Guardians of the Whills are very good at this sort of discernment, when it can be had, which is not always, and also… your moment took a while, Jas’ika. I was a little worried I’d broken you or something, but the Force was all very calm about it, so I just meditated instead.”

Jaster wordlessly nodded and breathed in the darkness of their room, the security of their private karyai. He had the urge to reach and just double check that his holdout knife and blaster were still easily available, but he knew the urge itself was a red flag that he felt scared and vulnerable.

He breathed some more and did the mental exercise his mind healer had taught him. Find the fear. Name the fear. See if there is more than one fear, do it for all of them. Are the fears rational? Make provisions for rational fears. Dismiss irrational fears.

Fuck.

Provisions, in this case, would involve talking with Obi-Wan about it.

Fuck.

“I have three fears in this situation which seem to me to be fairly rational that I think I need to discuss with you,” Jaster said. It took all of his collective courage to do it.

“Go on,” his lover said.

“These… are… This is hard, Obi-Wan. I… no jokes, please. No sass. No mocking. I feel… a little like a caged, rabid strill and if you treat this lightly, I’m not sure I will be able to respond honorably,” he whispered.

“I… yes. Yes. Thank you for telling me that. I’m… I’m glad you did, because this is awkward and difficult, you know? And I might have made light of it, just because it is so difficult. But I, I won’t. I promise.”

“Fear number one. I am thirty-nine years older than you. I’m afraid that this other person is going to be younger, and thus closer to your age and experience of the galaxy, and when we’re seen side-by-side, you’ll want nothing more to do with me because I’m too old.

“Fear number two. I’m boring. I’m an administrator and a historian, and only very occasionally do I get to blow things up and kill people. I’m afraid that this other person is going to be so much more interesting than I am, and that I won’t be able to compete for your affection, and that even if we do become three, you’ll just like them so much more than you like me.

“Fear number three. I have lost my honor. Nearly anyone you could choose would have more than I do right now, and I am afraid that when faced with a viable option who has retained their honor, you will do the reasonable thing and reject me.”

Jaster stopped talking, his heart in his throat.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

“Thank you… I mean, oh fuck it, I hate this aspect of Mandalorian culture. Fuck it. Jaster, thank you for telling me that. You were brave, and so… so clear, and it is helping you to regain your honor in my eyes. Thank you. Your honesty is beautiful to me.

“I was taught that fears are something intensely personal that each being needs to come to terms with and release on their own. But I do see that these fears have a lot to do with my actions, so I’ll just say this; I trust in the Force. The Force tells me that my heart is big enough to hold both you and this other person in it, with perfect balance and symmetry. It’s not either-or. It’s not a zero sum game where if someone else gets a portion of the loaf of bread, you get less; it’s more that there’s just more bread and everyone always gets to eat their fill and see there is more leftover for later.

“And, well, I guess I do have other things to say. So, in order. Let’s talk about age. Darling, I adore that you are older than me. Why would I want to be with a nitwit my own age when I could be with you? That you put up with me is a Force-granted miracle in my own mind. And if this person is closer in age to me than you, it will be an actual Force-granted miracle and they’re probably, I don’t know, they’ve probably had wildly different life experiences and are manifestly not a nitwit, or else I’m not sure how I could be attracted to them at all.

“Now, interest. I can’t believe you think I think you’re boring. I mean, you need to think whatever you think, though perhaps it’s time to stop believing everything you think, because I think you’re entirely wrong about what you think, particularly when you’re thinking about yourself, but I think you’re fucking fascinating, darling. Your personal philosophies twist my brain into new patterns and open up doors of being I never thought existed! You wrote the SuperCommando Codex, and you’re considering revising it! You debate historical implications with me, and I just don’t get to do that with anyone else, and I never have! I don’t actually think killing people and blowing things up is interesting, darling, but then, I wasn’t raised a Mandalorian. I’m an odd little hybrid of Jedi and Pirate, and while that is confusing as hell sometimes, I’ll tell you this: I wanted to be a consular Jedi. I mean, toward the end I would have taken anything, yes, true. But I wanted to be a diplomat. An ambassador. I wanted to help warring peoples negotiate peace, which one can only do if one has done a rather deep dive into their cultures and their needs and come to understand who they truly are as people, and if you think Hondo Ohnaka gives two shits about that, you’re absolutely wrong. But you do care. I know you do, even though we haven’t touched on that, exactly, yet. But you care about people being able to live in peace, you care about honor, you care about being able to raise children in safety, you care about non combatants, you care about making good decisions for the majority of the people and hard decisions for the people who have been forgotten. You care about culture and history and what makes people people. Jaster, the way you think just makes so much sense to me, and half the time with Hondo and Boris, even though I love them, I swear I do, half the time I’m just wondering, ‘they can’t actually, really think that, can they? Surely not.’ But they do. Oh, they do. And you don’t, and it’s like being around sane people again. Not that the Jedi were perfect, of course they weren’t, and some of them are right assholes and downright stupid, despite their midichlorian count, and so I see where some of the more stringent rules come in, there, but still. You’re sane, Jaster, and I love that about you. Please don’t call all that beautiful sanity boring. You’re not boring, you’re fascinating.

“And now, now I have to say something hard. I… this honor thing, it’s… it’s difficult, but maybe not for the reasons you think. It’s like… I absolutely want you to become that better person we discussed, and deal with your anger, and do things because they are right to do and not as a base manipulation tactic, and leave me space to call you on bad behavior, and all of that. And when things come up, I try to put it in a way you’ll understand, but in doing so I’m not actually expressing the truth as I understand it. I mean… it’s true from a certain point of view, mainly yours, but it’s not my deepest truth. So, let me try to say that, here.

“Jaster. You have honor. You already do. You have the full measure. You need to regain nothing. That you have made these changes, and continue to make these changes assures me that you already have the full measure of honor that anyone could have. You are not lacking in any way. Do I want you to stop making these positive changes? No, of course not. But every single time you live up to them, you are acting with the full measure of honor, which is probably what is required to actually do them. You demonstrate that you have honor when you do them, and that’s what I don’t actually say, because I’m trying to translate into Jaster-the-Mandalorian speak. Now, having said that, do I understand that you are under some kind of cultural-religious-ritual compulsion to finish your vow in order to regain your honor? Absolutely. I get it. And, also, from my perspective, you already have what you seek, and it is your having of it that allows you to seem to regain it. If you didn’t have it, you’d never gain it. Trust me. I’ve lived with pirates for the last four years, and as much as I love him, Hondo Ohnaka has no honor. He has a code. He has a capacity for love. That’s… kind of it. The only reason he hasn’t trafficked in slaves in the last four years is because I freed all the ones he took on, right after Korda VI. I threatened to kill him with my lightsaber if he came near them, and I promised to continue to free any slave found on his ship. He discovered that was my line, and because he’d already decided to love me, chose to respect it. But when I’m not there? I have no illusions about whether or not he trafficks in slaves. If it is convenient and profitable for him, I’m sure he does. Because when it comes right down to it, people in aggregate don’t matter to Hondo, only individuals do, and therefore he has no honor. Honor isn’t what we do to our loved ones, or when our loved ones are watching, not really, or not limited to that. It’s what we do when no one’s watching, and what we do to people who can’t say anything or do anything back to us. It’s what we do when the galaxy has given us an absolutely ‘free’ action, with no apparent consequences, what do we do? Hondo would steal everything, sell everyone, and burn all the rest down. You would not. I know what not having honor looks like, Jaster, and it doesn’t look like you. 

“And as for our third? Well, they better be able to keep up with you, because your honor sets a high bar, Jaster Mereel, and I need help dragging my dishonorable pirate ass up to meet it.”

Jaster had just been stunned, marinating in the way Obi-Wan saw him and all the beautiful, seemingly true words pouring out of his mouth in the blissful dark, right up until the last, when his lover’s terrible self-worth was flagrantly aired.

“No, no, no,” he murmured. “You had honor before Hondo, and you’ll have honor after him, and you have honor now. Now isn’t the time, but we will be discussing your low self-worth soon.”

“Can’t wait,” his lover murmured mutinously.

Jaster returned to the subject at hand, and released the fears that he now realized were irrational. “Thank you, beloved,” he said. “Thank you for being so honest with me, for telling me how you understand the galaxy, for sharing such a tender part of yourself. Thank you for clearing my vision.”

Obi-Wan kissed him, sweetly, briefly. “There is no debt between us. There can be no debt between us, Jaster. And if you behave badly, I’m just going to fucking tell you that you’ve hurt my feelings and trust you that we will work things out between us. And if I behave badly, you just need to tell me that I’ve offended you, or hurt your feelings, or whatever I’ve done, and we will work things out between us. And I just… I get that it’s counter cultural to you, but it’s not counter cultural to me. Jaster, sometimes I just need to pour out my gratitude to you without dealing with the Mandalorian concepts of debt. Because I hate the idea of debt between us, but I swear to the Force, Jaster, I want to fill up all the cracks between us with gratitude and love. And I wouldn’t do it in public, Jaster, that’s not what I’m talking about. But in private? Please. Please just let me be grateful. You could never fear I’d be more interested in someone else if you knew how grateful I was that you are in my life.”

Jaster put aside his kneejerk reaction to deny the request, to double down hard on what he knew to be true about debt and honor. He took a deep breath.

This is how Kal fucked up with Illipi. This is exactly how Kal actually fucked up with Illipi.

He ignored her culture. He ignored her needs. He ignored who she was, and who she trained to be, just because it didn’t fit in with his world view. He took her acceptance of living with him, on Mandalore, facilitating the life he wanted to live as a white field to just tank over everything she was before, even while she respected fully and completely everything he was before.

Mandalorians easily respected those areas where other cultures intersected with their own, but that was often where it ended.

Jaster wondered if he needed to make more than just one sort of revision to his Codex.

He took a deep breath.

“This is hard, but I want to do this. In private. I don’t want you to lose something that is beautiful and from your culture, only to exchange it with something from mine that you find difficult and painful to endure.”

Obi-Wan kissed his nose.

“Thank you, Jaster. And so we’re clear, it’s not difficult and painful in public. It almost makes a kind of beautiful sense, because it just cuts through layers of bullshit and gets right down to it, and I love that about Mandalorian culture. I think it is one of your great strengths. But for intimate relationships, where there are little hurts and little helps all throughout the day? Washing over those doesn’t feel like a strength. It feels like it weakens what we have, until something like what happened to us happens to us.”

“I want to discuss this more, but later. This… this has been exhausting, and I need to think about what you’ve said, and we haven’t even finished our original conversation.”

“Oh. Right. About 'to polycule, or not to polycule.' Right. Um, well, for my part, I think I’m tentatively with it, so long as you are. I mean, I’m not a Jedi anymore, and I’m not under any oaths to follow the Will of the Force, but it just… I mean, it seems obvious to me, that if the Force is going to deign to explain something to me, much less send me an engraved invitation to begin with, then it’s in the galaxy’s best interest that I go ahead and listen carefully and follow it out to the letter. I mean, even if it is something very small, or very intensely private, I do still believe that what the Force wills is for the best and highest good for everyone, everywhere, for the galaxy itself.”

Jaster felt himself grinning. “So, for the good of the galaxy, and in an entirely altruistic manner, you will grudgingly take on a second lover? How good of you,” he remarked, realizing that his sarcasm covered up anger (his mind healer was very clear about that, early on), but not entirely sure where the anger was, in this instant.

“I know! It sounds utterly ridiculous, but those are my beliefs as they are applied to every day normal situations, as well as the one we presently find ourselves in. So. Where are you, now that you’ve dealt with some fears?”

Jaster sighed and thought about it. “The stars give us gifts, sometimes. Sometimes earned. Sometimes unearned and unlooked for. Only fools reject them, earned or unearned. You were an unearned, unlooked for gift from the stars. And if they’re planning on giving me another such unearned, unlooked for gift? I would be a fool to reject it.”

“Wow. My reasoning looks so good in general, and so stupid close up, and yours is so much simpler, but it looks good both in general, and close up. Why is that?” Obi-Wan asked, perhaps rhetorically.

“Mine comes from common wisdom. Yours comes from theology. Common wisdom always holds up under close scrutiny, or it wouldn’t be common. Theology never does, which is why there is orthodoxy, schism, and heresy in every religion, along with cults for good and for ill.”

There was a long moment of quiet when Jaster wasn’t sure if he’d just offended his lover.

“You blow my mind yet again, Jaster Mereel. Kiss me and let’s call it a night.”

And so he did, and they did.

Jon Antilles had been meditating on and off all day long, and for the first time in his life since Dark Woman began training him, the Force was forsaking him.

He’d had a dream. It had actually been quite the most beautiful, the loveliest, the most calm and comforting, and yet also the most scintillating dream he’d ever had. Usually, when the Force spoke to him in dreams, which did not happen often, but he knew how to interpret them when they happened, and knew how to discern through the difficult and confusing parts… Usually, with an hour or less of meditation he had the situation sorted through and was ready to either depart, or draw his current mission to a close, refuel in whichever way was required, and then depart.

But no.

This time it wasn’t working like that.

But the dream. Oh, the dream.

Just for the briefest moments he took refuge in the dream, which had not faded and was not likely to fade until he had figured it out completely.

That might be an unexpected boon, in this situation. If he couldn’t have the reality, at least he had the dream.

In the dream, two individuals of indeterminate species and a variety of genders though he wasn’t entirely sure which belonged to whom, and that was another confusing aspect of the dream, had session after session of intimate, caring sexual encounters with him, both at the same time. Their Force Signatures were clear, and Jon would recognize them anywhere, and possibly at a distance. One was soft, small, not someone who was strongly Force Sensitive, but what they had they apparently worked hard and grew. That Force Signature felt like a delicious hot spring Jon had once been directed to that had healing properties. It had been one of his best refueling experiences so far. The other one was bright and strong and stunningly beautiful, like the one time Jon had been brought by the Force to just witness a nebula in Wildspace, and nothing else, and he had stayed for days and wept for the beauty of it, and for the utter kindness of the Force to offer him something like that.

The Force had urged him to seek them out, that they were for him and he was for them, which Jon had to imagine was some kind of short term respite the Force was offering him, like his actual trip to a hot spring and his actual trip to see the Sitari Nebula, because otherwise the opportunities for Falling to Inappropriate Attachment (see rules twelve and eighteen) would be too high, and the Force wouldn’t do that to him.

But then when he asked the Force where to go, when he begged the Force, promised that he was listening, when his hand hovered over the nav computer ready to punch in the coordinates with his eyes closed, nothing came.

The Force had never forsaken him before.

This had created something of a crisis in Jon Antilles, but he couldn’t comm Dark Woman for help, he just couldn’t. She had seen this moment coming since she first had picked him up off the streets of Nal Hutta, starving in the gutter, and she had warned him about it when she’d dropped him off at that space station after his knighting.

‘One day,’ she had said, ‘The Force will forsake you. You will Fall. And you will call me. I will come to you, and I will end you so that you will not be a blight on the galaxy, a dark stain in the Force, and a harm to your fellow sentients. I will do this for you.’

He held that promise close to his heart, in case the time would come, because Jon truly did not want to be a harm to anyone, or a dark stain in the Force, or a blight on the galaxy. But he’d checked his heart, and his eyes, and he knew he wasn’t there yet, even if the Force had forsaken him, and perhaps this was the first step down into a slow spiral.

He still wasn’t going to call until he was much farther down the spiral. And possibly one or two of his friends might help him out of the spiral before too much time passed.

So, no. He would not be calling Dark Woman.

But he did know who to call.

Master Fay would know what to do, and help with his horrifying block. She would heal him, or remove the blight and cauterize the wound and help him see past it again. Nico would also be good to call, Nico, who had always promised to help him out with interpersonal questions, whenever he had them, and had been very helpful so far. Nico, who had promised him that even if they don’t see each other for a while, the door will always be open, and Jon can always walk back through it, always.

Nico and Master Fay would know what to do.

Now he just needed to repair his ship’s long distance comm.

Which needed parts.

Which required funds.

So another bounty it was.

Jon Antilles set the coordinates for the nearest Guild Office, which happened to be dangerously close to Mandalorian Space (see rule four: Never Go To Mandalore), but needs must, so Navarro it was.