#Four (in Obi Wan Kenobi voice): The negotiations were short | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greenygreenland · 3 years

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Shy: Platonic! Bad Batch x Fem! Reader PART 2

-requested part two by someone on my Wattpad!

-happyily writing it, especially since I'm motivated! (finished 7 April, 2021)

-I write for females, but you can change the pronouns in your head if you really wish to (I’m sorry, but I’m more comfortable with writing for females, I hope you understand!)

-i got carried away and wrote 7k words. this is the longest thing I’ve written in my life no joke

PART ONE is here, but this can be read as a stand alone

WARNINGS: Self-worth issues, slavery mentions (cuz you’re anakin’s sister), violence (kinda no brainer)

Summary: The mission is easy. The only issue is you.

Remote. That was the first word that came to mind as soon as Havoc Marauder landed. Hunter was the first first set foot on the planet, then Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair I'm the back.

The moment your fit hit the ground, an overwhelming sense of life hit your senses. A thick forest separated you and civilization. In it, you sensed all kinds of creatures, none you know the names of.. The grass, so green and full lit up your eyes while the crisp air hitting your nose refreshed your senses. This was a beautiful planet. Fresh. Full. Lively.

It would be a shame to ruin it.

"Lovely, isn't it?" commented Tech with a warm smile. You shyly mirrored it and kept a gaze focused on the horizon. It was hard to make eye contact with him, especially since Crosshair glared daggers in the back of your head.

He adjusted his grip on a rifle, disdain pulling at the corners of his lips. "Keep your heads out of the clouds. We still have a mission to do." You firmly nodded in agreement. "Right."

Wrecker pounded his fist against his palm. He offered a bright grin, one that went unappreciated by Crosshair. You came to like Wrecker for his open heart, a trait you lacked for years. "Don't mind him General,” Wrecker reassured, “he's just a stick in the mud. If it makes you feel better, that's the first time we haven't been gunned down with an outsider!"

‘Outsider’. What a way to describe you.

Hunter took quick notice of your shifting gaze. Maybe it was the fact he was hyper-aware of his surroundings, or perhaps you were too obvious with pursing your lips into a tight smile. Whatever the reason, Hunter's subtle nod your way made you glad he was around. "What he means,” Hunter clarified, “is that we don't usually have smooth landings when others are with us."

"We'll have plenty of downtime once we infiltrate that Seppy base and leave." Wrecker added. "That's something I'm looking forward to!" You hoped that were true. If this didn't go as planned, you'd have more to worry about than just the Separatists.

"Let's get a move on." Hunter announced. The Bad Batch collectively pulled down their helmets, motioning with their hands and fanning out. You followed, in the back of course. Right where you belonged.

This was still their mission. You were only assigned here because it was convenient. Having been recently Knighted meant you needed something to get you started, but you never expected anything like this. It was odd. Why the Bad Batch? Why not a mission with Obi-wan?

Tech tapped a few buttons on his forearm. "The base is up ahead." You heaved in a rating breath.

Focus. Focus.

A prick came from your chest. It wasn't warm like when you were around Cody, but it wasn't cold either. Rather...lifeless, and...

SNAP!

You drew your lightsaber, swiftly thumbing it on and spinning to your flank. With three strokes, you cut the heads off four commandos in a perfect one-eighty degree line. They fell to your feet, sparking and crackling with whatever electricity they had left.

"'Wow." breathed Tech. "That was incredible."

Your heart pounded, and the blood roared in your ears. That was close. Too close. You never liked being caught off guard, especially when out on a mission. If Master Obi-wan were here, he’d tell you to relax and take a deep breath, but it was hard when you didn’t have Cody by your side, or Waxer and Boil who teased and joked with you.

Wrecker nodded at the scraps in approval. "You're crazy fast! Even I can't move that quickly--and that's saying a lot coming from me." A short sigh left your lips as you awkwardly met his gaze. "'Thanks," a pause, "I suppose." Hunter shared a brief look with Crosshair you didn't miss. A faint sense of relief flowed through them, as if they were glad you were here.

But then another emotion rose in them. Worry. Why were they worried? Was it that you hadn't paid enough attention to their flank? Or did you say something earlier to offend them?

"Let's get a move on." Crosshair muttered.

And so the fight began. You didn't like it--any of it. There was something strange about the small base, dark even. It lurked between the walls, in the air, and in every droid you sliced and diced. Perhaps it was the fact that this all felt too easy, or that Hunter's energy felt...unstable.

As if he were focusing on something far away.

The sizzle of a blaster bolt brought you back to the present. Wrecker kicked over a lone droid, grinning to himself in satisfaction. "And that's the last one. Is there anything else?"

You thought back to Cody and what he reminded you of before you left.

This is strictly a retrieval operation.

Tech pulled his data pad from a wire. “Data’s all here, downloaded and ready for our use.” He turned to Hunter with a nod, who mimicked the action and motioned for everyone to get moving.

The information doesn't seem valuable to the Seppies, so I doubt you'll run into trouble.

Crosshair made his way to the door. You tapped a finger on the edge of the holoprojector. It sat smack in the middle of the room, so you got a good look of a couple maps. They weren’t anything special.

Even then, keep your wits.

You squinted at a few words glaring across the screen. It wasn’t interesting, just a plain report from about an hour ago.

I'll be fine Cody. It's not like this is the first time I've done something like this.

Crosshair paused in his step and turned to face you. His dark eyes bore into you. "What's the issue?"

But you won't have me by your side.

Your gaze didn’t leave the report as you anxiously basked in the quiet of the Separatist base. A word stood out to you in the report, something that you wished you had seen earlier.

What could go wrong Cody?

You re-read the word, over and over again until your blood froze and your head spun.

Everything.

A single, fluid action was all you could muster. There wasn't enough time to pull out your lightsaber, or scream 'SNIPERS!' at the top of your lungs. If you didn't move, then you would die.

The glass shattered with a bang, and every fibre in your body screamed for movement, speed, life. You threw out a hand, willing the Force to stop the lone laser bolt. It hissed in the air, whining and crackling from its frozen spot.

How did you miss this minuscule detail? It was so simple, because of course the enemy needed insurance. Of course they would have known you were coming. As soon as you landed, you played right into the enemy’s hands.

With a tight frown, you sent the bolt back where it came from. You didn't need the Force to know it had hit its target. "Bounty hunters.” Your voice came out stiff and scratchy. “We have to leave."

With a swift swipe of your hand, the base's doors opened. "I'm assuming they have us surrounded. If I'm right, there's a high chance there won’t be any room for negotiations."

"The only negotiations they're getting is one with my fists!" exclaimed Wrecker. His jokes were terrible, and it seemed you weren’t the only one staring at him in disdain. You passed through the quiet halls, hoping over an occasional pile of scraps every now and then.

A prick in the back of your neck caused you to freeze. It wasn’t lifeless like the droids, but focused and angry. That was when a shiver ran down your spine, and you faltered in your step.

Hunter planted a firm hand on your shoulder to keep you steady. You didn’t have time to explain, or run for that matter, because the moment you spun around, you came face to face with a familiar red-faced Sith. He growled, displaying a set of crooked teeth. “If it isn’t (Y/n) Skywalker, Kenobi’s little pet.”

“If it isn’t Maul in need of a long awaited appointment to the dentist.” you shot back. The Bad Batch stirred behind you, raising their weapons and aiming straight for Maul. He lifted a hand, and with a single wave, the Bad Batch flew to the end of the hall. You glanced back at them, back straight and tall. They weren't Maul's target--he wouldn't waste his time on them.

“All of you get a move on,” you firmly called. “I’ll catch up later, understood?”

Hunter's gaze focused on the fierce fire in your eyes. It glowed like a setting sun, sparking like the tethered wires at his feet. When had your shoulders looked so broad? When had you stood so tall with your head high and your chin up to the sky?

This girl--no, this Jedi--wasn't the same person he first met in the hanger. She clung close to Cody's side at the time, heart ramming against her chest like a drum. In the moment, Hunter didn't have to be a Jedi to know (Y/n) was worried, not about the mission, but about what him and his brothers would think of her. It was difficult to talk at first, and opening up to strike a conversation seemed so out of line until Wrecker broke the ice.

Now? (Y/n)'s chest didn't cave in. She tightly gripped her lightsaber with eyes that stared straight through him.

"Hunter, we can join General Skywalker in the west hall." Tech stated.

"Alright," he firmly replied. "Get a move on." Tech nodded and tapped a few buttons on his wrist. "General Skywalker, keep your comlink on! We will relay information and update our status!"

"Copy that, Tech!" you called back.

The Bad Batch disappeared down the hall, leaving an odd silence in their wake. You adjusted your grip on your lightsaber, heaving a tight sigh.

“Well?” Your voice echoed in the long hall. “Here to capture me?” Maul let out a low chuckle that sent shivers down your spine. "Capture?" he echoed. "There's no reward in a mere kidnapping. It'll have to be something far, far worse." He paused dramatically. "Enough to make Kenobi suffer."

That last part irked you in the wrong way. Your chest burned, it boiled, and it bubbled like a vat of lava. This wasn't the first time you faced Maul, yet you couldn't help feeling nervous. On any previous day, Master Kenobi would stick right by your side, along with Cody and the 212th. They always had your back, and so did Anakin, who never was far behind.

The face of your brother flashed in your mind. He would have attacked by now, probably with some crazy plan, and escaped with both Ahsoka and all his men. He was incredible like that. God-like even.

But you? What did you have besides the amount of droids severed by your blade?

Maul raised a brow curiously. He eased forward, closing the vast distance between you in a mere five steps. "I sense your unease...your feelings of inferiority." He held out a hand, and for a second, he looked completely harmless. "You are afraid you'll never amount to your brother, Anakin Skywalker."

This wasn't the time to listen to Maul's monologuing, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to strike first. He wasn't doing you harm, and as long as the Bad Batch got away with the information, it shouldn't matter anyway. You weren't important. You weren't needed. If it were Anakin, The Chosen One, then you'd have to have all of the GAR search for him.

You were just you. A lucky girl who turned out to have a knack for dueling and surviving on the battlefield.

"Come now, why don't we reach a common ground?" Maul tightly drawled. "You know you are skilled, yet it's as though you refuse to acknowledge it because of your brother." He circled around you like a shark, eyeing your expressions, listening to your movements, and dissecting your actions one by one.

"Prove to him you are better." She will make a wonderful tool. "Show them you are worth something before you are cast aside! Thrown away out of fear!" Having her by my side will make Kenobi suffer. "Join me. You will amount to something they cannot talk down upon, and you will--!"

"Become your minion? Your puppet?" A cruel laugh ran past your lips that surprised even you. "Sorry, but I have people relying on me." You imaged the look of absolute betrayal on Cody's face, the sorrow on Master Kenobi's, the tears in Ahsoka’s eyes, and the anger on Anakin's face. No matter what you felt, you understood that it wasn't something reciprocated.

Your family loved you. They would never cast you aside.

The thought brought your bubbling anger to a cease, bringing with it peace and hope. It settled in your chest, warm and welcoming. You clung onto that feeling, channeling it into your very bones.You swung your saber. Right, left, right, right.

Maul dodged by a mere centimeter. He let out a growl and stumbled back.

"Why are you here?" You calmly inquired. "It's obvious not even the Sith want you, so it's not like you were sent here." Maul gritted his teeth. "Why are you alone? Are you not Kenobi’s padawan?"

A tight frown emerged on your lips. It didn’t go unnoticed by Maul. "I’m not a padawan anymore. I’m a Jedi Knight." You swung your blade and Maul thumbed on his own. At the last second, centimeters before your blade grazed his arm, he blocked. The red and (colour) sabers clashed, hissing and sizzling under the pressure.

"A Jedi Knight? I see your Order is becoming more desperate for child-soldiers." Maul seethed. You kicked him in the torso, then faked a punch and uppercutted him in the jaw. “I earned the title, and I’m not a child!”

"Perhaps to your Order,” Maul replied, “but to Kenobi...”

You threw out a hand. Maul mimicked the action, and you found yourself in a stalemate of Force-pushing. Maul’s anger, his hatred and resentment were strong. They burned fiercely, but not like your determination. You didn’t want to kill Maul, but you certainly didn’t want him to escape.

“Give up Skywalker, you can’t win.”

You flew back all the way to the end of the hall. The air knocked out of your lungs as Maul threw you down. Once. Twice. Three times. Your vision danced with spots, and the sore taste of iron spread across your taste buds.

This wasn’t it though. You wouldn’t let him get by. Not until the Bad Batch got out with the information. It didn’t matter what happened to you--the Republic needed whatever was on that datapad.

Clearly Maul didn’t care for the Bad Batch, but that didn’t mean their safety was ensured. Until then, you would hold out.

“Such a shame,” Maul drawled, “all this potential wasted.” You coughed, fingers shaking against the hold of your lightsaber. It was a miracle you held on to it. “I...can’t let you past me.”

A sharp inhale, then the slow, light footsteps of Maul. He glared down at you. “That isn’t my plan.” He threw out a hand again, but at the last second, you thumbed on your lightsaber and swung with all your strength.

He blocked. Your arms shook from the stress of the force and your body screamed out for you to give up. But you couldn’t. Not like this.

Maul kicked you and you went flying into the wall. He threw out a hand, curling it into a tight fist. “I would kill a pest like you,” he curled his fist tighter, “but then I wouldn’t be able to see Kenobi’s face wither with pain.” You gasped for air, clawing at your neck as you blindly waved around your blade.

Spots dance in your vision. Pain seemed like a distant memory. Then, moments before you could pass out, Maul threw you on the ground. You dragged yourself off the ground, wheezing and coughing. Maul took a step forward. He swung his blade, grazing your arm just by a bit.

You chocked back a string of tears and jumped to your feet. With whatever strength you could muster, you slammed a fist into his gut. He coughed, doubling over as you sprinted towards the west hall.

Blood roared in your ears, and the frantic wheezing you called breathing seemed to echo in the halls. You weakly lifted your free arm towards your lips. “We...need to get out of here--ASAP! Is the...the ship ready?”

“Yes,” replied Hunter. “Tech is there right now.”

You heaved out a breathy sigh of relief and wiped a trail of blood away. “Good...good. Where are...you all right now?”

“West hall. We see you coming.”

A familiar group of boys peeked out from behind a sharp corner.

“General, is Maul behind you?”

His light footsteps seemed to harden as he turned a sharp corner. You didn’t dare look over your shoulder in fear it would encourage you to give up. But Maul knew you were on your last legs. When you tripped up, he would cut you down. Slowly. Painfully.

“Yes.”

“Good. Keep running, faster if you can.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing your legs to close the gap separating you and the Bad Batch. Everything burned, from your legs to your chest and every fibre in your body. If it weren’t for the fact that impending doom followed behind, you would have dropped dead ages ago. Hunter motioned for you to follow him around the bend of the hall. Just as you did, a large ‘BOOM!’ sounded behind. It followed, continuing down the other halls right where Maul stood.

Shrapnel, ash, and embers rose in the air, obscuring your view in clouds of smoke. Hunter hurriedly wrapped a hand around your arm and pulled you out of the way of a flaming piece of drywall. “T-thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He didn’t let go of you until you emerged into the last rays of sun. You coughed into your arm, wheezing as the fresh air finally hit your lungs. You doubled over in pain, squeezing your eyes tight.

Endure. Endure. Endure.

I’m not weak.

A familiar sense of worry passed over the group. You hauled your numb limbs up and ignored their stares.

Just as you took a step forward, the galaxy spun with dots and blanched colours you couldn’t describe. You stumbled with a gasp, the tight grip on your lightsaber coming loose. It fell in a patch of trampled grass. You were about to join it, but Crosshair hooked an arm around your waist to help you stand. He was stronger than he looked. “Come on,” he calmly said, “let’s get out of this dump.”

Wrecker picked up your lightsaber and handed it to you. “Wouldn’t want to lose this, right?” You almost smiled. “Thanks Wrecker.”

You don’t recall passing out on the way to the Havoc Marauder, or falling asleep against Wrecker’s shoulder. The low hum of Hyperspace jolts you awake. Your eyes snap open, and it takes all your willpower not to pass out again as you sit up. If you were to get stoned alive in a ditch somewhere, you were sure this was how it felt.

With careful eyes, you surveyed the room. It was dimly lit, with the lights on low and the door firmly shut. The warm bed lowly creaked when you moved. To the walls sat nothing but a desk, chair, and a few fimsies taped to the wall. The sheets smelled familiar, like grass and leaves and dirt all mixed into one.

You made a move to stand up. The doors whooshed open and the sight of the boys made you pause.

“How are you feeling?” Hunter gently inquired.

When you first met the Bad Batch, you thought they wouldn’t like you one bit. You assumed the mission would be absolutely unbearable, not just because you were a terrible Jedi, but because you’d make the mission go south. Surprisingly, you weren’t wrong about the last part, but the former?

You got it all wrong. The Bad Batch were kind, caring individuals. They were smart, funny in their own ways, and interestingly enough, comforting. They were nice people, and you barged in on their mission, stole their thunder and somehow entangled yourself in Maul’s petty affairs. Again.

They were too nice. You didn’t deserve that.

The shared look everyone carried in everyone’s eyes made your chest fill with guilt. "I’m sorry.” you quietly announced. A deafening silence filled the room that made your ears ring. “I ruined the mission for you guys, and now you’re going to have to bring me back to Coruscant because I’m hurt. I guess you won’t be getting any downtime because of me.” You placed a hand to your head, where a bandage sat, tightly wrapped around your head.

Tech stared at you in bewilderment. He couldn’t understand why you were so adamant on proving yourself as anything but a burden. They were special, but not that special. You were a Jedi Knight, for the sake of the stars! It wasn’t like you weren’t assigned to this mission without reason.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” Tech firmly said, stepping into the room. “There was no possible way any of us could have prepared for something as unexpected as that.” He pulled out his datapad and smiled. “Because of you, we escaped with both our lives and this.”

“Tech’s right.” Wrecker agreed. “You did a great job anyway. Back there, when those commandos came out of nowhere, you took them down. We would have seen them sooner or later, but that would have helped the enemy discover us!”

You folded your hands together on your lap with a frown. “What about those snipers?”

Crosshair yanked his toothpick out of his mouth. “Takes a sniper to know a sniper.” You nodded in understanding. “I see, so you took them out...”

Tech knitted his brows together. He waited for you to say something more, but when you didn’t, he realised it was because you thought your time to speak was up. “If you have more to say, that’s okay.” he said.

“I...about Maul...” You trailed off and wrapped an arm around yourself. It was a simple act, but spoke volumes. You were worried. Afraid. And worst of all, you felt alone. Just as quick as that vulnerability made itself apparent, it disappeared. “None of you are hurt, right?”

There was a collective reply of ‘no sirs’ from the boys. You nodded to yourself. “Good.” You were about to stand, but Tech came rushing forward. “With all due respect,” he pushed you back down, “you have to rest.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“You have a concussion.” Tech clarified. “Not to mention a few--”

A loud sigh passed your lips as your shoulders slumped dramatically. “Cody’s gonna kill me.” The mood shifted. It raised in amusement, surprise, and curiosity. The boys wondered how you and Cody could be so close when you were so different. A Jedi and a clone? Who could see that coming?

You made a move to pull out your holoprojector, but just as you sat up a little straighter, your head pounded again, and your sore limbs ached. “You can comm him later, General.” Crosshair firmly said. “It’s better you rest.”

And so you did. You laid there in that warm bed by yourself, tossing and turning in the dim lights. You wondered what the Bad Batch were doing in the common room. Gossiping? Complaining about your incompetence? Deep down, you knew they didn’t blame you for anything, yet the swirling emotions of guilt and worry clawed at your insides.

You tossed around again, this time more roughly than the last. If Hunter’s ears were as good as back in the hanger, then he probably heard you more than you’d like to acknowledge.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there. An hour? Two? Three? How far was Coruscant again? You couldn’t recall. Everything was a hazy blur of colours, faces, and voices. A loud sigh escaped your lips. You slowly sat up, wincing every now and then as you pulled out your holoprojector.

The familiar, blue projection lit up. You placed the holoprojector on the floor. “Hi Cody.” He practically ripped off his helmet. “What happened to you Com--General?” You sighed for what had to be the hundredth time that day. “Maul happened, that’s what.”

“And you fought him. Alone. Why am I not surprised?” Despite the dead-panned way he spoke, you sensed his growing worry. “Comman--General, it’s not that I doubt your abilities, it’s just that you could have gotten seriously hurt.” You snorted. “You’re starting to sound like Master Obi-wan now.”

“Did someone say my name?”

A loud groan escaped your lips. You suddenly regretted ever comming Cody, much less thinking he wouldn’t chew you out. The only thing that could make it worse was the presence of--

“Hey (Y/n)!”

You held back a scowl. “Ani, hi. How do you do, or rather, what are you doing?” You spoke between gritted teeth, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why. Anakin sheepishly shrugged. “We had another mission, nothing too bad. Congrats on being knighted.”

“Thanks...again.”

Anakin sent you a big thumbs-up before disappearing out of range. Ahsoka jumped up on screen, waving excitedly as you offered a smile back. “Hello to you too, Ahsoka.” She waved one last time before disappearing like Anakin.

Cody turned to look at you again, this time with softer eyes. “I’m glad you’re alright. A run-in with Maul could have been gruesome.”

Obi-wan blinked. He stood still for a moment, turning from you, to Cody, and then back to you. “Maul confronted you?” he inquired. You nodded. “Yes, but I’m alright. Nothing a bit of bacta can’t fix.”

“Did he try anything?” Obi-wan thoughtfully added. You thought back to the encounter. Maul had beaten you to a pulp, even when you did your best to fight against him. It was only by chance that you escaped. You were no match for him.

A plastic smile rose on your lips. “Besides the usual threats, nothing, Master.” If Obi-wan were here, he would have said more, but the look on your face must have been too fake because he went silent. “Our mission is finished here. When you get back, I’ll personally see to it that I bring you to the medbay.”

“I’m fine Master, it’s just--”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Obi-wan cut in. He respectfully nodded your way and disappeared out of sight. You helplessly looked at Cody. “Obi-wan’s going to give me a long lecture.” He nodded in agreement. “But it’s because he cares. It’s a good thing too because I believe you need it.”

You raised a brow. “What? Why?” Cody gave you a pointed look. He heaved in a deep breath and said in a high-pitched voice, “‘If they’re as good as I’ve heard, I’ll only be extra luggage’.” You folded your arms with a pout. The fact that he kept a straight face made it worse than it had to be. It wasn’t everyday Cody teased you like this, so you must have really irritated him.

“I’m lucky you’re not reckless like your brother, but sometimes, I can’t say you’re any different.”

“Why’s that Cody?”

“When you want to do something, you’ll do it regardless of the consequences.” He shook his head tiredly. “You wanted to complete this mission, so you risked fighting Maul alone so the Bad Batch wouldn’t get hurt. I’m not surprised, but I’m not happy either.”

“It’s not wrong to want to protect others...” you mumbled. Cody nodded in agreement. “That’s why I’m angry at Maul.”

You blinked, holding fast to his words.

“Look what he did to you (Y/n). Stars, how did you get out of there?” You folded your hands together. “The boys,” you answered. “They set up some explosives while I distracted Maul.”

It went quiet for a few moments, save for the sounds of gunships and fighters preparing for liftoff. “You know,” you began. “You were right Cody.” He knitted his brows together. “About what?”

“The Bad Batch. They’re wonderful boys. I...I guess I was worried over nothing, but I can’t help thinking...thinking that...” You trailed off with a shake of your head. “Never mind. Go catch up to them, before they leave without you.” A subtle smile lifted onto your lips, prompting Cody to go. “May the Force be with you, Cody.”

The hologram disappeared, that soft blue light vanishing. You stuffed the holoprojector into your pocket with a frown. “Gosh dang it Cody.” you grumbled. “Actually making me feel sorry for feeling like this.” The strong urge to cry suddenly bubbled up in your chest. But why? What did you have to be a big baby over?

You sharply inhaled, forced the tears back, and weakly punched the stiff mattress. That didn’t make you feel better though. In fact you felt sick again. Your head spun and you stumbled over your own feet. “Force...” Anger poked at your wounded heart. You didn’t want to be angry, but it was like a wave--it wouldn’t stop, relentlessly flowing until it crashed down on you.

“Why are you so weak...?” you whispered. “Stop...crying...” The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the aching in your heart. Maybe this was the reason you were so shy. If you showed your true colours and all the sides you reserved for a select few, then they’d know how weak you were. Underneath, you were pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic.

“Wait--you two--no!”

The door swished open. You stared at Wrecker and Tech, wide-eyed as tears trailed down your face. Hunter stood behind them, a hand over his face to cover his flustered frown. Crosshair walked out from down the hall. He stared at the awkward scene, gaze bouncing from you, to his brothers, and then back to you again.

“Oh...”

“Uh...”

Hunter apologetically met your teary gaze. “We didn’t mean to disturb you, General.” You sniffled with a shake of your head. You wanted to say ‘it’s okay’, but if you talked, then you’d start balling on the spot. Tech awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “We’ll just go. Sorry, General.”

“W-wait.”

They paused to meet your eye. You heaved in a shaky breath, steeling your nerves. “Th-thank you...” A tears escaped your eye. “For everything.” For a moment, everyone basked in the silence, only caring to listen to your soft sniffles and the low hum of the ship.

A bright smile burst onto Wrecker’s lips. “I wouldn’t have seen that great explosion if you didn’t distract that guy long enough.” He heartily laughed and you stared at him, star-struck. The emotions he omitted: happiness, joy, relief. He was just glad you all made it out there, along with the fact that you woke up alright.

Tech mimicked Wrecker’s smile in a mellow version of his own. “Excuse me for being so direct, but I’ve found that you don’t credit yourself enough, General. Your opponent was no ordinary being. Maul--a former Sith Lord--isn’t someone you would fight for the fun of it.” A laugh of agreement came from Wrecker. “Tech’s right.”

“Finally about something worth our interest,” Crosshair piped up. He strode down the hall, stopping at the threshold of the room. The straight look on his face could have been intimidating, if it weren’t for the fact that you sensed the kind emotions in his heart.

He was like you, except colder, and much more battle-hardened.

“See that?” Crosshair grumbled. “You already know what I’m going to say. I don’t usually give out compliments, but you’re different. Strong. It doesn’t make sense why you’re shy all the time when you can trash-talk a former Sith Lord without hiding behind someone’s back.”

General Skywalker, keep your comlink on! We will relay information and update our status!

You felt exposed. They heard everything. From Maul’s monologuing to his reveal of your darkest secrets, your feelings of inferiority. Why were they talking so kindly to you despite that? A Jedi Knight wasn’t supposed to be insecure about themself, much less doubtful of their own abilities.

You heaved in a deep sigh, taking in the scents of grass and trees and dirt. It reminded you of someone. The same energy that wordlessly put you at ease, the same energy that laid quiet, yet so full of life that it was too hard to ignore.

This was Hunter’s room.

He met your eyes and it took you back to when you were a child. Anakin was a few years older than you, so he always took it upon himself to take care of you with as much love as possible. It was how your mum raised you, to care for each other through thick and thin. When he made fun of you for something stupid and hurt your feelings, he’d give you the same look as Hunter’s.

The one with soft eyes that spoke more than words. A silent ‘I’m here’ and a quiet ‘it’s okay. That was right. Hunter’s eyes were like those of an elder brother.

“What makes you so insecure?” His soft voice jolted you out of your thoughts You shuffled as best as you could on the bed, fiddling with the bandages wrapped around you aching fingers. “A lot makes me insecure, really.” you quietly replied. “A lot comes from the fact that I feel out of place.”

No one expected an honest answer, and maybe that was because they were engineered to think Jedi were invincible. God-like even without a care in the world. But you? You were only human. Just like them. Not merchandise, not a soldier, not anything but yourself.

Just like them.

Crosshair adjusted his footing and leaned against the threshold. A tight-lipped frown found its way onto his lips. He didn’t want to speak in fear of scaring you back into your shell. He wasn’t as warm as Tech, he couldn’t make you laugh like Wrecker, and he certainly wasn’t a big-brother-type like Hunter.

But when you met his gaze with doe-like eyes, the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “Kid,” he began. “I get it. We all do. Growing up, we weren’t seen in the same light as everyone else. We were experimental. Lab rats for those long-neck Kaminoans.” He turned the toothpick between his fingers thoughtfully. “What about you? Who made you feel like you didn’t belong?”

“Everyone.” You sniffled. “I haven’t told anyone this besides Cody. Master Obi-wan knows, but that’s only because he was there. He rescued us with his Master.” You paused and everyone listened with batted breath. It wasn’t everyday a Jedi told their life story.

“I was a slave on Tattooine. Simple as that. Anakin was seen as a more valuable candidate because he had more skills than me. He could fix nearly anything, he also knew a bunch of different things, and he helped win our freedom in a bet. If i were in his shoes, I wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips.

“When we got to the Temple, I didn’t do as well as Anakin. He learned faster and Master Qui-gon, the one who found us on Tattooine, paid more attention to him. Master Obi-wan noticed that. He promised to teach me when he was old enough, but that changed. Master Qui-gon died and he made Obi-wan promise to train Anakin. I was passed along different masters after. Some hated me and others thought I wasn’t ready to be a padawan, so they sent me back to the temple.”

Your heart clenched. The memories you tried so hard to suppress flashed before your eyes, reminding you, forcing you, to remember every failure you faced. “‘You’re not good enough’. ‘How are you even a Jedi?’. I was bullied, so I worked hard, but when I got to where I wanted to be, I felt so worthless because...” You heaved out a rattling sigh. “...I don’t know. I suppose I listened too much to everyone, and it all...got to my head.”

The room swirled, mixing all the emotions of the boys into an unreadable concoction. You buried your face in your hands. It was all you could do to hide the tears running down your reddened cheeks.

A strong pair of arms gingerly wrapped around your shoulders. “That’s terrible.” Wrecker tearfully said. “You must’ve felt so alone.” You sniffled and Wrecker only pulled you closer. He was so warm, and it made your chest feel all fuzzy inside. Your mother used to give you hugs just like this. When you felt life was too hard, she’d wrap you close, enveloping you in her arms to block out the cold.

Eventually, Tech joined in, offering the most reassuring smile he could muster. He hugged you a lot like Cody. Short, to the point, and real. When you needed a good reminder that you weren’t alone, Cody offered short hugs just like this. It was clear Tech understood the meaning of ‘actions spoke louder than words’.

“Originally, I thought you were shy because you were in your brother’s shadow. I should have known that it had to be deeper than that.” You shook your head. “It’s not like you could have known Tech.” He pursed his lips together, releasing you to run a hand over his hair. “I’m not very good at understanding everyone’s emotions. They change too much, and there’s rarely any constant to rely on.”

You nodded in agreement. He wasn’t wrong. if you weren’t a Jedi, then you sure as heck wouldn’t understand emotions too well either.

After a few more moments of silence, you recollected yourself. Your breathing steadied a little more and the tears finally came to a stop. Hunter asked Tech to check on the coordinates (”Coruscant shouldn’t be this far.”) and told Wrecker to help.

You stared at Crosshair and Hunter. They eyed you carefully, as if one wrong word would shatter you to bits. But you weren’t fragile, and you most certainly weren’t innocent. Whatever they had to say to you, you’d take it--whatever it was.

“This may not be my place to say this,” Hunter started, “but I feel it’s important.” You nodded in understanding, waiting for him to continue. He eased over to the bed, taking a seat at its edge. Crosshair remained on the door frame.

“Something I learned over time was that fearing what we can’t do holds us back. It makes people feel powerless. You may not be, but in that moment, it feels like it. That’s when it becomes your reality.” He gave your shoulder a good pat and stood. You watched him leave, peering past Crosshair’s shoulders until Hunter was out of sight.

Crosshair stared at the toothpick wedged between his fingers. It was deadly silent, and you were afraid to break it.

“It’s really not any of our places to say osik. Everyone just got too sentimental.” He looked about ready to chuck the toothpick at the wall. “Even me.” He finally turned to meet your gaze. “We all fall, but it’s our choice to get back up.”

---

“I thought she said she was fine.” Cody stated. Obi-wan folded his arms across his chest with a sigh. “It seems trouble follows her wherever she goes.”

“And it looks like she got it from you, General.”

The moment you stepped off the Havoc Marauder was the moment Obi-wan thought he'd get a heart attack. In what galaxy could anyone describe you as clinically sound? Nearly ever inch of your exposed skin lay wrapped away in bandages or bacta patches. You sported a splash of purple bruises across your neck, another bandage around your head, and a nasty looking gash on your arm that couldn't have been from a blaster.

Just what did Maul do to you?

One of the Bad Batch Obi-wan recognized as Crosshair helped you out of the ship. He sensed the immense amount of worry shared among the men, and if Obi-wan didn't know better, he'd think they'd known (Y/n) all their lives.

"You look worse in person." Obi-wan commented. You sluggishly trudged forward, wincing every now and then as Crosshair helps you close the distance. "You're not much to look at either, Master." He nodded to Crosshair with a small thanks and pulled you into his comforting arms. "I'm glad you're doing well, my dear."

You smile, and for the first time in a while, Obi-wan notices that it holds no weight. No setbacks that made his heart clench for you. Your smile was full and bright and everything he dreamed of seeing again on your face.

"Do you think we can arrange something for me to end up with the Bad Batch again?" you inquired. Obi-wan ruffled your hair like he always did, smiling down upon you with eyes that sparkled like the suns of Tattooine.

"Why don't you ask them?"

You turned to the Bad with hopeful eyes. Wrecker didn't hesitate to eagerly nod while Crosshair sent a silent nod. Tech grinned from ear to ear, and Hunter smiled warmly.

"I suppose I can't say no to a majority." Obi-wan stated. "And it's not like the Council knows where to put you."

Wrecker let out a whoop that could have shaken a of Coruscant. "Shh, Wrecker!" cried Tech. "You'll burst Hunter's eardrums!" A small laugh escaped your lips, causing Wrecker to freeze in place. All eyes focused on your smile, and the way you shamelessly held your head up high.

What a beautiful sight.

BONUS:

"I'm still confused how you did that." Rex admitted. "What strings did you pull to get (Y/n) with the Bad Batch?" Cody shrugged and Rex leaned further off his seat in wait. "Well?"

"Let's just say I know a lot of people."

"Did General Kenobi know?"

"Of course he did. Nothing gets past him." Cody relaxed into his chair with a rare smile. "I knew pairing her up with Clone Force 99 would be a good idea. She found herself, and that's all I could've asked for."

TIP JAR <-- please donate, I work so hard on this and if you’re feeling nice, I’d really appreciate it

REBLOG SO THIS CAN REACH MORE PEOPLE!

#star wars #starwarstheclonewarsxreader #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #star wars the clone wars x reader #x reader #reader insert #one-shot #The Clone Wars #Clone Troopers #the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch x reader #commander cody

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

Text

( gif from the lovely @starwarsfilms. )

--- LOVE SICK. ;

summary: khairyn sar is an important holiday within nabirian religion -- it celebrates love and fertility. obi-wan gets a gift for you from the lower-level markets, aided by a helpful women who urges him to buy a certain plant... pairing: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader, established in this fic & this fic as well. word count: 8k warnings: this is porn with a dash of sex pollen trope / nsfw, 18+ a/n: i am literally not even sorry. here’s a late valentine’s day piece for you all, my lovely lil valentines. pls don’t repost!

It’s a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it is.

Padmé’s usual senatorial garb is exchanged for one of deep reds and a grandiose headpiece that mirrors the visage of Khairtai, the goddess of Fertility and Love. Beside her, Dormé, Sabé, Ellé and yourself bear a smudging of crimson down the center of your foreheads. It’s from the crushed millaflower -- ground into a fine, deep red powder and blessed by the resident royal Pontifex.

Your outfits mirror Padmé’s, hair pinned back tightly into a tight, neat braids with a golden pin halo-ing your heads. It’s of religious significance; each comb bearing two bounding ash-rabbits. Symbols of fertility.

The Royal house of Naboo, namely the Amidala’s, are one of many devout to the Brotherhood of Cognizance -- a polytheistic, monastic, allegorical based religion. Padmé herself was a larger worshipper of Shiraya, the goddess of the moon; Obi-Wan, on more than one account, found himself rather enraptured with the large statue on the outside patio of her Senatorial apartment upon visits with his friend.

In the evening sunset, the goddess’ moon shaped harp frames the horizon quite perfectly. Obi-Wan always wondered if it was some sort of metaphor -- perhaps that Padmé was right where she needed to be, away from the throne and serving her people worlds away.

She’d moved to Coruscant following the ending of her second term of Queen, promptly slipping into her elected position as Senatorial representative. With her, she’d brought Dormé, Ellé, Sabé, and you -- along with a small squad of royal guards. Though, Obi-Wan believed she hardly needed them. Padmé’s handmaidens were more than capable.

You were more than capable.

Obi-Wan, from the upper deck of the Senate’s session, can hardly tear his eyes away from you -- you look rather stoic beside the ex-Queen. You’d joked a few days ago to him that you needed to mind you expressions when some of the other Senators spoke. Obi-Wan bites back a chuckle when F’aralo Pxo from Ithor finally stops babbling and your awfully sour look fades.

Crossing his arms, the young Jedi Knight watches as the session is dismissed by Sheev Palpatine and the large, cavernous room begins to dissipate of senators and delegates.

Obi-Wan Kenobi catches you and the others on the sixteenth floor, about to enter Padmé’s apartment.

“Merry Khairyn Sar.”

He strides close, like a glimmering star flashing across the sunset. Handsome and bright-eyed -- you wonder if your heart will ever cease it’s crescendo of excitement when you see him. Your stomach flips and you can’t help but stare at the appearance of one certain Jedi Knight.

The gaggle of women turn on their heels, their faces lighting up at the appearance of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your face, by far, is the brightest.

“I only have a minute, but I thought I might come say hello.”

The two of you bite your tongues, amused little smirks threatening to bloom on your faces. It’s childish, but it’s lovely.

Padmé laughs happily at the sight of you both, moving to gesture for Obi-Wan to come in -- once inside the apartment, the Jedi is quick to loop his arms around your waist and haul you high; the reunion is short and sweet and brings smiles to the faces of your closest confidants as the move to spread throughout the apartment. Your earrings sway as you grapple with his shoulders, sliding down him when he places you back on the plush carpet carefully.

The others have known since... gods, what? Years ago?

Before Anakin had even reached puberty and before Obi-Wan had started growing this beard out. You recall in this moment the first time you’d seen him since his diplomatic mission to Naboo, when you’d fallen in love with the kind-hearted Padawan, and how the others had been so keen on seeing the romance play out on the tarmac.

They had, after all, read the correspondences the Jedi had sent in the time apart from one another.

It’s been four years since -- and yet, the sickly sweet tempo of love is still enough to make your knees weak. Seeing him, though often enough now that you’re permanent residency is on Coruscant, is still enough to bring a needy whine to your heartstrings.

“Don’t you have a Padawan to be minding?” you grin, kissing him quickly as he smiles. The prick of stubble tickles.

“The younglings have a trip to the Archives today,” Obi-Wan explains, bowing slightly to chase your words with a kiss to your cheekbone, “But I do have a council meeting within the hour..”

You swat at his chest gently. “What have I said? Anakin is not a youngling. He’s fifteen --”

“Acts like it,” Padmé supplies, pointing at Obi-Wan who mirrors her amused-yet-trying-not-to-seem-it look, “I’ve heard the stories.”

“I’ll have greys because of him soon, I swear it.”

Another kidding swat. This time, the ruddy haired man catches it and laughs warmly. He holds your hand closely, kissing your knuckles. Your face grows hot as sheepishness creeps up your collar due to the semi-public display of affection.

“I have a gift for you,” he says quietly, eyes softening, “For Khairyn Sar.”

You should have known Obi would have figured out about the holiday.

He was a romantic -- charismatic about love and flirtatiously sweet.

Of course a holiday celebrating love would be right up his alley. You hold your tongue -- you wonder if Obi-Wan truly understands the meaning of Khairyn Sar, or if to him, this is a just a small patronage holiday dedicated to romance.

Khairyn Sar is an important holiday within Cognizance. Weddings and performative engagement ceremonies are large parts of the holiday, as well as... well, plainly put: conceptions.

Nearly every devout Nabirian’s dream would be to conceive a child on Khairyn Sar. Those born within nine months of the day are said to be gifts from Khairtai herself, after all. Those with the blessed with being a Khairtai’é frequently found success within relationships, love, and careers. Fertility meant more than simply sex.

Padmé is a Khairtai’é. She truly did have the making of a Queen.

Ellé speaks up from the couch, balancing her vibroblade on her fingertip effortlessly and watching you both. “...Obi-Wan, you do you have a brother?"

“Maybe a cousin?” asks Sabé, melodic and sweet, “A single cousin?”

“A sister, even,” Dormé croons, dropping her chin into her hand -- her voice goes a bit mopey, “I wish someone would bring me a gift for Khairyn Sar.”

It is akin to announcing your love to the world, after all.

Obi-Wan offers one of his trade-mark smiles. The dimples beneath the blonde shadow of his beard are charming and Padmé can’t help but grin as he watches you blink up at him with a moonstruck look that says it all:

You love him.

“I’m afraid not,” he apologizes, hand gracing the small of your back, “Though, if I find any formidable suitors of the Royal Handmaidens of Naboo, I’ll make sure I let you all know.”

“You better,” Dormé swats at his shoulder as she passes by, hanging her cloak and grinning when the Jedi leans to swats her back.

In the last few weeks, he’s become a fast friend -- they’re all within the same age, and Obi-Wan had fallen easily into a brotherly cadence when it came to the girls; you trusted them all, and so, he did as well. Happily. He’d known them all briefly from the time him and Qui-Gon had on Naboo during the negotiations with the Trade Federation... Dormé, Sabé and Ellé had all been on the Nubian by your side when you’d first met the charming Padawan.

“I’ve got to go,” he breathes, leaning to kiss the crown of your head, “Will I see you later?”

You nod, enjoying the warm pass of his fingers on your cheek.

“Of course,” you promise, “Dinner?”

"Dex’s?”

You groan happily, bending a bit in the knees as you nod vigorously at the thought of fries and a shake. Not the most glamorous meal, but a favorite of you both and a safe haven from the Senate and Council.

“Yes, please.”

Obi-Wan grins, tosses a wink, and sneaks out the door with a wave.

As soon as the door shuts, Dormé is quickly to speak.

“You better marry that man.”

“Someday,” a mindful smile, “For now --”

“For now,” Ellé points, “Please give that man a night worth remembering.”

“Ellé!”

You scold your sister-in-duty with a sheepish look of modesty on your face, swatting at her as you fall beside her on the couch. The others laugh.

If only you had any idea what was in store for both you and Obi-Wan.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You meet him outside of Dex’s as the sun begins to set, happily falling into both his arms and the smell of fried food wafting from inside. It’s not often that you’re able to make the trek to the lower levels with him, and seeing the friendly Besalisk owner, Dexter Jettster, was a perk -- the four-armed man had always been kind to you. Fatherly, almost.

He’s tenfold that with Obi-Wan.

Dex happily supplies a hot plate of fries and two bantha burgers you and Obi’s way, free-of-charge. Dex mentions something about owing Obi-Wan for dealing with “those damn kids last week”. You raise a brow, taking a big bite of your burger, and Obi-Wan waves his hand.

“Street kids,” a shrug, “Pick-pocketing.”

“They stole the damn credit drawer!”

“Mm,” you mumble shaking your head at his uncanny ability to downplay every situation, “Always the humble hero, huh?”

He nudges you with his boot as he laughs, dropping his gaze into his meal. You have a way of making him feel sheepish. It’s been years, but your words of flirtation still strike him in his composure. His cheeks are rosy when he looks up, wiping sauce from the corner of his beginning-beard.

“You love it.”

“I do,” you waggle a fry in his face, spurring a breathless laugh from the Jedi, “Very much. So much, that I’m spending Khairyn Sar with you, in a diner, eating terrible food -- no offense, Dex... Says a lot, y’know.”

“None taken,” the cook calls out from behind the counter, “Merry Khairyn Sar, kid. Yer lucky, Obi-Wan! Those Naboo girls usually spend tha’ holiday with th’ man they’re set t’ marry --”

“Hear that,” you call, raising a finger and pinning Obi in his spot with an amused look as you both play-off your well-kept secret, “You’re lucky.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan clears his throat nudging your boot as you nudge it right back, “Aren’t I, Dex?”

“Sure are,” the Besalisk chortles, “If y’ weren’t a Jedi I’d say hurry up ‘n’ marry ‘er already!

Oh, if only he knew.

“Thanks, Dex,” you say sweetly, throwing an appreciative look the cook’s way, “And thanks for keeping this one in line.”

A big, guffaw of laughter meets your words and Dex hits the counter. “He’s trouble!”

“He is,” you shake your head, “He has everyone fooled. Everyone thinks he’s a flawless Jedi Knight, but he’s trouble. I’ve been saying it for years...”

Obi’s eyes crinkle with fondness. You mirror it.

“I love you,” he mouthes when Dex’s back is turned.

“I love you, too,” you mouth back.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You like Obi-Wan’s quarters.

They’re very him.

Warm, quiet and neat.

The room could be considered a bit small, but with a reasonable sized refresher and a large bed, you find no reason to complain. There are a few trinkets lining the shelves above his bed -- tokens of missions and trainings.

Among them is a pebble from the beaches of the Lake Country; one he’d taken before leaving Naboo after the negotiations. You and him had spent hours on that beach, swimming and rolling in the sand, before things changed. Before Qui-Gon’s death and his rise to Knighthood.

He doesn’t have many belongings, but so is the way of the Code.

His bedroom is a familiar space, now. You’ve spent many nights in this room, tucked beside him in the vanilla colored sheets. You wish it was every night. But, you both knew you needed to keep suspicions low. You were just thankful that Obi-Wan’s direct neighbor, Aayla Secura, was wise enough not to ask questions.

The lights to his room are warm and low, illuminated strips of light coming from beneath the shelving -- the large bay windows that reach from floor to ceiling frame the colorful air-lanes illuminating the night sky of Coruscant’s Senate District. Like stars weaving a path, traffic moves slow across the horizon.

Obi locks the door behind him before his hands find your waist and he drops a kiss to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth through the layers of your cloak and dress, smiling as he fiddles with your hips and noses your ear.

“Do you want to see the gift?”

You nod, chewing your lip and turning to catch him in a quick kiss. The Jedi leans in, putty in your hands. Obi-Wan makes an appreciative sound when you hold his jaw, pulling him over you as you bend back a bit.

“Alright,” he says, a little breathless, before pecking another kiss, “Stay here.”

You do as your told, laughing as he takes two steps forward only to retreat back for another smile-laden kiss. He disappears into the walk-in closet; as he does, you strip your cloak from your shoulders and toss it on the bed.

Obi-Wan returns, sans his own robe, clutching something behind his back.

You quirk a brow, noting the incredibly excited look plastered on his face.

“Close your eyes.”

“Obi-Wan,” you warn playfully as you do as your told, “If it bites --”

“It doesn’t bite.”

“I swear,” you outstretch your hands, palms up, eyes closed tight, “It it bites...”

He’s laughing. “It won’t bite!”

Suddenly, there’s a cool, heavy weight in your hands. It’s glass, you realize quickly, and as Obi-Wan smiles, you peel your eyes open and quickly sigh in awe.

“Obi...” the bouquet is large, with three or four different flowering bursts of color nestled inside a large vase, “It’s beautiful.”

You’re quick to move across the room, placing the bouquet down on his desk as he hovers, watching you tut over the flowers -- all of them Naboo natives, you realize with a slack jaw. Your whirl around, handing finding his chest. He smiles, dimples kissing his face.

“You didn’t have to --”

“Oh, hush,” he chides, hand sweeping a circle along your lower back as you bend and admire the plants with gentle hands, “I wanted to.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“I only wish...” a soft sigh as he leans forward and pokes at the stem of a deep purple plant that’s clasped shut tightly, “This one refused to bloom, it seems.”

In hindsight, you should have known better.

You should have known what was going to happen when you reached out and touched the plant the same time as him. You should have known a puff of pink pollen would come flying out, right into your face. You should have known the smell would make you gag and Obi-Wan do the same.

You should have known.

You stagger back, grabbing his arm.

“Oh gods --”

“Open a window.”

“What the hell was that thing, Obi?!”

You should have known.

“Open a window!”

“It’s moving,” you screech, carrying the vase in outreached arms as your make a disgusted face and quite literally run to Obi-Wan who is throwing open the small window of his refresher, “Ohmygod, does it bite?!”

“I don’t care to find out!”

“It smells,” you choke, “It smells --”

“Give it to me --”

“What’re you -- Obi!”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, trained Jedi Knight and well-regarded rising leader within the Council’s tanks, promptly takes the bouquet from your hands and lobs it out the thirtieth story window of his quarters’ refresher in the Jedi Council building, vase and all, all while maintaining eye contact.

He quickly slams the window shut and drops his hands to his waist with a panicked look on his face. He looks pained, like he can hardly believe he just did that.

There’s a beat of silence as your mouth falls open, then you cry:

“...What was that thing?!”

“I don’t know!” he throws his hands as his agitation peaks, “The woman at the market said it was for Khairyn Sar -- she kept, gods, she kept saying it over and over --”

Oh.

“... Obi.”

“... What do you mean ‘Obi’?” Obi-Wan’s voice nearly splinters, panic striking hard and fast across the Jedi’s face at the slow realization in your tone, “Don’t say -- don’t say ‘Obi’ like that -- You know it worries me, when you say --”

“Did she say Khairyn Sar,” you annunciate the syllables slowly, moving from the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the bed as you dot the sounds with your finger in the air, “Or, did she say Khaitai Rysar?”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“... Is there a difference...?” he pushes a hand through his hair as you drop your head back and groan; quickly he breathes out a sheepish mutter, “From the look on your face, there’s clearly a difference --”

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant -- named after the two god’s who... they... it’s... Oh my gods --” you drop your face into your hands, not bothering to tip-toe around the subject any longer, “You bought a sex plant, Obi-Wan!”

He blinks. His mouth moves but no words come out. His brows climbs his face. He tilts his head. The look is owlish and mildly terrified.

A pause.

“... Excuse me?”

His voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant from Naboo,” you squeak out, flopping backwards onto the bed and groaning, “It’s a gift typically given to newly weds. It’s got a pollen that acts as an powerful hypnotic aphrodisiac --”

"Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“-- When we touched it, it must have blossomed,” you barely manage, rubbing your face and sighing, “The spores are extremely potent. Any contact with them is...”

Obi-Wan’s face falls and when you pull your hands from your face, you see him staring at the spattering of pink pollen across your nose and cheeks. You shoot up straight before pulling away your hands and gawking, realizing you need to wash your hands right now because you’re covered in the pollen --

Quickly, you dash into the refresher as your curse when you see your now pinkish reflection and make work on scrubbing your face and hands.

Obi-Wan had lucked out -- well, to a degree. The pollen had only caught him partially; cast off from when you’d staggered back and grabbed onto him.

“Oh, this is horrible,” you mumble, washing your face with ice cold water and staring at him in the mirror, “Horrible, but hilarious -- stop looking like you’ve murdered me --”

“I feel horrible!” he cries, face pulled into an apologetic look, “Gods, I’m sorry --”

“Maybe we can... just... sleep it off?” you offer, wiping your face with a towel he offers, “Right? I mean, I’d by lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating us sleeping together anyways --”

Obi’s fiddling with the facial hair along his jaw, nodding as you speak. “Well, yes. Considering the holiday -- I’d planned for it.”

“I mean -- I feel fine,” you wave your hands, “Do you feel fine?”

“Yes,” he nods, sea-green eyes watching your expression, “I -- I feel fine.”

You’re both panicking.

“Okay,” a little squeak, “So... let’s just... try -- try to sleep it off. For now.”

“And if we can’t?”

You hesitate. Both of you swallow.

“Let us cross that bridge when we get there,” Obi-Wan offers, sounding a bit pained, not even wanting to think about the answer to his own question.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

Neither of you can sleep.

It’s been about an hour since the entire debacle began.

You’re both laying awake, staring at the ceiling, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Not that you can blame one another -- you both tend to shoot as straight as an arrow when it came to... stimulants. You really had no need for death-sticks or spice, and Obi-Wan was the same. Having come to terms with the fact you both will be out of control in a matter of hours is a bit terrifying, especially considering the delicate balance of things.

Hiding your relationship wasn’t easy.

In reality, it brought with it a wide array of challenges, including the whole fact that you and Obi-Wan, more often than not, needed to be quiet and quick about sex.

Your encounters were always sweet; always gentle and loving and brought on by moments of happiness or longing. Seeing him for the first time in a while always brewed up arousal in your gut -- you couldn’t help it. It came with the territory of love. Just seeing Obi-Wan smile somedays was enough to snap that coil and wind it tightly in your gut.

After all, he is so damn handsome.

Even now, looking mildly horrified and extra concerned, he looks handsome -- his profile illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows.

The Jedi exhales, rubbing his face, and turns to eye you in the dark light of the room.

You’re already staring -- in the dark, he can make out the trace of a smile on your lips. It’s endearing, and it puts him at ease to know this big mistake hasn’t caused you to hate him

Yet.

“Do you feel any different...?”

You shake your head, pulling your lips into a grimace.

“Maybe I was wrong?” you mumble, “But I’ve heard others tell stories about the smell. Like... rotting meat. There was a guard once, when I was in the Naboo Royal Academy, who was out for an entire week on account of the plant. He’d just been married and...”

Obi-Wan swallows. “I can’t believe --”

“Ah!” you tut, raising a finger, “Stop -- if we’re both about to be off our minds on some aphrodisiac love pollen, it’d just like to remind you that this could be a lot worse.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

You roll over, prop your chin up in your hand, and quirk a playful brow. “You know I’m good at riding things out --”

Both of Obi’s brows rise at your words, his face warping into something of curious contemplation -- he props his head up, mirroring your position in bed. “Has the pollen already gotten you in its grips, then?”

You laugh, ducking your head and snorting a little. “I’m just saying! Trying to stay positive.”

“You’re a wretched minx and you know,” he mumbles, leaning in to steal a kiss, “That I quite enjoy when you do ride things out. Ever the optimist.”

“So, worst case scenario...”

“We lock ourselves in this room for a week?”

“Or we just... get it out of our systems. Ride it out.”

Obi-Wan hums, flopping back down to the pillows. “Right. Ride it out.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

That bridge Obi-Wan had talked about crossing?

Well, it arrives a little past midnight.

And along with it, a roaring river runs below.

You wake up feeling like your body is two hundred degrees and climbing. At first, you’d just figured you’d had one too many covers on you -- Obi-Wan did have a bad habit of being a small space heater -- and so you’d opted to crawl on-top of the covers. But, even that’s not enough.

In your half-asleep haze, you’d nearly forgotten about the earlier events of the night. But, it’s when the sudden urge to strip flashes to the forefront of your mind, you remember exactly what had happened with that damn Khairtai Rysar plant.

You’re peeling off the spare tunic Obi had lended you in a flash, skin glistening with a feverish sweat -- you give in to the urge and nearly sigh when your skin hits the cool air.

Your eyes drift as you sway a bit, room spinning slightly from the quick movement.

The moon casts a cool glow over the man snoring softly beside you, his own shirt having been discarded a few minutes ago. His arm is over his eyes, his entire body above the sheets.

His trousers hang low on his hips and you watch him breathe out a sigh.

He’s dreaming.

The dip of his waist is where your eyes glue themselves, for some reason, and your lapse in reality draws to a conclusion between your legs. The ache there is... horrible. Suddenly, you realize you’re uncomfortable, and you shift in bed. Your mind feels like it’s six steps behind your body.

You lay back down, rolling over to bury your face into the pillow, and groan.

This is bad. This is really bad.

And from the timing of it, it was only going to get worse.

It wasn’t as if you and Obi-Wan hadn’t had sex before -- you had, plenty of times in plenty of places you maybe shouldn’t have, but this was different. This was... This was the sort of thing you’d both heard horror stories about. Hours and hours of feverish impulse, little to no control... Wonderful if you’re trying to conceive a child on the eve of Khairyn Sar, like the market saleswoman probably thought when she sold Obi the plant.

You sigh, a small smile worming it’s way on your face despite the circumstances.

You just want to skip to the part where you can both laugh about this.

You try and keep yourself present -- but it’s getting harder with the sensitivity to every slight breath coming from the body beside you. Your mind wanders as you try to count yourself to sleep; your mind has better ideas, readily delving into fantasies that feel like half-truths, and the ache between your legs worsens.

You’re mid-dream of Obi lapping between at your core when he moves, brushes your arm, and you jump awake.

“Sorry.”

You can only manage to grit out a muffled moan.

The Jedi rolls, ignoring the evident hardness that’s now painful in his trousers, and eyes you carefully -- you’ve stripped, the only thing on your body are the thin, red satin bottoms on your lower half. Sweat is glimmering along your back, and Obi-Wan feels a twang of guilt build in his chest.

He rolls, props himself up, and touches your spine. It was supposed to be a calming gesture, one rooted in apology, but...

It’s a mistake.

Your body reacts immediately, a gasp wringing itself from your throat as your fingers tighten in the sheets -- you grit your teeth, raise your head and nearly plead:

“Please,” a whisper before it all rushes out, “That... feels good.”

You can’t find the words to explain that his touch is like pour ice water over a burn. It feels wonderful. You squirm against the mattress as Obi tries to catch his breath. His lungs stutter and he ghosts his fingers along your spine once more -- this time, it sends a pang of arousal straight to his gut.

“I... I think,” his voice is hoarse and his throat is tight, “I think --”

You just chew your lip and nod, nose brushing the pillow as you remain face down. You feel it too.

It’s all he can manage. His brain is a foggy mess of fantasy and arousal. You’re the focal point of it all; the force around you is louder now, mingling between him and his sensitivities. His fingertips brush the dip of your spine and you inhale sharply, nerves alight at the contact. He can feel the sensation along his own spine -- it’s like a punch square in the gut.

Then, on the hazy impulse of some rose colored pollen, Obi bends, slowly, and kisses the blade of your shoulder.

You whimper, gasping slightly when his hand spreads flat across the back of your ribs and sweeps along your skin, bringing with it a electric sensation that throbs your sex with painful, empty want.

“Obi...”

“This is...,” he breathes, lips ghosting your shoulder, “Not good.”

“It hurts.”

He couldn’t agree more. His brain feels like it’s on fire. When he closes his eyes he only sees you, spread out beneath him and saying his name over and over and over -- fucking hell. His voice is low. “What do we do?”

You pull yourself up in bed, hair wild and eyes set in dark circles. You look dazed and far-away, but your attention is rooted on him.

You reach out and touch his chest, busying your touch with the thatch of reddish hair there. Your fingertips buzz and your body cools immediately -- Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his hand finding yours as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Ride it out?”

Obi’s eyes are as large as dinner plates at the recommendation -- the usual green over-taken by his dilated pupils; his touches are hungry. He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as you shift closer.

“Ride it out.”

It’s a downward spiral from there.

You both surge forward, meeting for a kiss that’s like being plunged into an icy lake -- it soothes a bit of the fever, waves of relief coming in the form of wandering hands and messy love-bites. You roll yourself on-top of him, pushing your arms up beside his head and gasping when the Jedi grabs your jaw and pulls you right back down for a kiss that steals the very air from your lungs.

... This is different.

You whimper, collapsing to his chest -- and Obi shudders at the brush of your clothed hips against his own. He feels like he’s drowning in you, happily, and his whole body is alight from your touch. His brain is six steps behind his body and the room spins around him as he pushes himself up and you follow suit, sitting up in his lap.

Instantly, calloused hands snake around your waist and you have to bite your lip so tight you draw blood to keep yourself quiet when Obi-Wan’s mouth latches onto to the curve of your breast and bites a tender little mark there. Your hands shake, tightening into the tufts of hair at the base of his neck as he makes an appreciative sound at the reaction and blinks up at you from underneath thick lashes.

Gods above this is heaven.

Everything feels so... hot. Tight and needy and wet and just the mere pass of his hands along your waist has your squirming in his lap as his tongue draws up and around the swell of your right breast. In a flash, he’s taken the perk nipple there into his mouth and your body quakes.

In response, you fist his hair. Tight.

And he moans. Right against your skin, gasp worming itself from his throat as you get the message and tug again -- this time exposing his throat and allowing yourself to dive below his stubble and little sloppy little kiss there to his delight.

His whole world is swimming with pleasure and he can feel his own arousal throbbing eagerly in his trousers as your nails run along his scalp and drift to his beard, giving the hair there a gentle tug.

His heart stutters, mouth dropping open as you laugh greedily into his neck.

“You like that?”

A breathless nod; he’s stuck on the way you speak -- half-way in the room and half-way in his mind. Obi-Wan feels like his whole heart is going to give out; he can’t focus, to stuck on your body and the way the force is running directly between you both like a pool of water. Each touch casts a ripple and...

Fucking hell.

He flips you both, pressing you into the mattress with enough force to rush the air out of your lungs and make the bed creak; you can’t help but muffle a surprised laugh, shoving your hand over your mouth lazily as Obi-Wan noses your jaw and litters exploring kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes into your skin, stubble raising goosebumps along the hot burn of your fever. You shiver, fingers greedily looping into his hair as he bites a daring little mark into your décolletage, “You’re so beautiful --”

He sounds like he’s underwater. Your hearing is going in and out, eyes half-open to watch the sight of him drifting lower and lower and lower and...

Obi’s fingers brush the band of your bottoms and you gasp loud enough that his eyes shoot open and he moves to slap a hand over your mouth.

The motion is rough enough to spur you on, lending you to arch your back and laugh headily into the skin of his palm. You feel intoxicated -- like you’re tipping over the edge of a blissful high and every touch is enough to make your legs shake.

“I’ll be quiet,” you murmur, plucking at his fingers and watching his eyes grow darker -- you sit up, gripping his palm, before darting your tongue out to draw around his index finger. Instantly, the Jedi turns to putty, and he drops his head as he curses. You laugh, taking his whole finger in your mouth, before he pulls away and sweeps his hands under your bottom.

“Up.”

It’s not a request. It’s a demand.

Your lower abdomen burns with arousal as you do so, lifting your hips and allowing Obi-Wan to snag the band of your underwear and drag them down your hips. You can feel the wetness brush your thigh as he tosses them over his shoulder. Your legs shake a bit, hands winding into the sheets as Obi-Wan hangs himself off the bed and presses your legs apart with warm hands.

There’s no precursor, no build-up.

Not that you need any.

He just lays his tongue flat to your soaking clit and groans, like it’s the first meal he’s had in days. The vibration is heavenly. Your whole body goes hot-white at the sensation, need to feel full peaking in that moment; your arms collapse and you fall back to the sheets gasping as the Jedi between your legs traces the swollen, pink folds of your sex with his tongue. It feels like you’re not even in your body -- like you’re floating somewhere above the moon and swimming with the stars.

You taste like honey. Sweet. So damn sweet. And he can’t get enough of it.

The sensation of his mouth on your center isn’t the only thing winding the spring in your gut higher and higher. It’s... hands. Everywhere. Touching you where his hands aren’t -- across your waist and pinning your thighs down to the mattress as you squirm, in your hair and running across your breasts as you quiver. It’s like you’re the center of three people’s attention, and you realize with a wanton moan that it’s the damn force.

“Obi...”

He raises his heavy-lidded eyes only for a moment, arms wound around your legs as he holds the apart. A lock of his hair has fallen into his face and you can feel his stubble grace the inside of your thigh as he smiles.

“Sonofabitch,” it rushes out when a non-visible hand ghosts your jaw, trailing down your throat eagerly, “Is that -- is... Obi --”

“It’s me,” he mumbles, pulling away for a moment -- you can see your wetness along his chin as he sways a bit, his grip tightening on the flesh of your thighs, “I’m here.”

And all over.

You move to dig your fingers into his hair, only to watch one of his hands gesture slowly through the air and -- suddenly, both of your hands are above your head and you’re arching against the mattress.

“I’m busy.”

It’s all Obi offers in explanation for the action, jaw falling open as his tongue presses deep past your entrance; once, twice, and again. He rightly fucks you with his tongue, and you suddenly snap.

Your whole body quakes with an orgasm that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. He coaxes you through it, tongue sweeping up your clit as you shake and moan and cry his name over and over.

“What a good girl.”

The reaction is wonderful -- but, it begins an even further downward spiral for you into the land of need.

Suddenly, the fever flares in the glow of the come-down. It’s worse. Hot and terrible and the ache between your legs isn’t stopping.

You mumble, bleary and quiet, trying to keep your voice level. “I n-need more.”

He does as he’s told, watching as your chest heaves and you continue to squirm despite the light hold on your wrists. In his mind, he traces the curve of your waist and you jump -- it makes him chuckle. It gives him enough time to let go of your thigh and slip his middle finger over your clit, down your folds, and past your entrance.

Gods, he loves you.

His name spills over your lips so sweetly, Obi has to catch his own breath.

It’s when he crooks a second finger deeply into you that he gets a real reaction -- this one stirring the haze in his mind and making his thoughts spin. You writhe and gasp and buck your hips down onto your hand, all while begging for more.

And who is he to deny you that?

Suddenly, the pressure for your wrists is gone.

You sit right up, hair a mess and lips pulled into a terrifying snarl -- you grab the back of his head as he shifts up the bed, slamming your lips onto his and clawing at his back; the Jedi can’t help the desperate whine that worms out of him.

Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he hears himself promise to get Aayla an apology card.

“Lay down.”

Your voice is low, and Obi’s brows raise slowly -- he looks fucked out of his mind, but it’s just the pheromones and the force making it hard to think. He obeys the demand wordlessly, rubbing at his face as his head lolls back against the pillows --

Then, your hand ghosts along the imprint in his trousers and he sees stars.

If this is what you’d been feeling... Gods, he’s two beats from coming himself. It doesn’t get any easier -- maintaining some semblance of pacing and composure -- when you tug the hem of his trousers down and away.

Obi bites his knuckles so hard it draws blood.

Everything feels so... overwhelming.

It’s only elevated when your hands brush the warm flesh of his cock, eyes hooded with lust weighted lashes. Your bottom lip only brushes the underside of the head and Obi-Wan has to grab something to ground himself.

His arm bows above his head, securing itself to the pillow. You watch his bicep flex with a greedy gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” you breathe, tongue darting out to slip flat along the very base of his shaft, “I love you -- so much.”

He can’t speak. Not at all. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out -- only a desperate sound of approval muffled against his knuckles when you take the tip of his cock into your mouth and giggle. The sound has his hips twitching at the vibration. You notice, and happily slip your mouth farther along his manhood.

Obi-Wan just swallows, inhales sharply, and muffles a needy moan behind both of his palms.

Your nails run down his sides, causing the muscles there to jump -- years of training has given him more of a physique than he lets on, and you find yourself watching him hungrily as you bob up and down his member. It’s sinful and in no way pretty, but Obi’s two beats from death’s doorstep when you pull away and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Gods --”

You crawl up his side, kissing him hotly as he leans to meet you halfway.

“I -- I need to feel you,” your whisper, voice shattering, “Please.”

He sits up, moving quickly to drag your towards the edge of the bed -- you follow, watching as his cock brushes his stomach when he sits up; it’s all you can think about. Right now, the hollow ache between your legs is driving you mad.

Obi watches as you throw your leg over his hip; he can see the glistening of wetness running down your thighs there -- and the fact the room smells like flowers hits him suddenly. The pollen, he realizes. Which is better than it smelling like sex, which in a few hours, it most definitely will.

You hover above him, backlit by the moon and the sight of Coruscant’s night, and kiss him like it’s all you need in this world. Everything is mingling together, painting an overwhelming collection of synapses just trying to rid the pollen from your system. Every touch, every kiss, every breath... all of it is enough to have you needing more.

“Go ahead,” he breathes, watching as you nose his cheek and sigh, melting into his arm, “I’ve got you --”

You sink down on him and...

That’s it.

There’s no better feeling in the world.

Nothing like riding it out.

It’s all him and it’s wonderful and loving and thick and fits the need just perfectly. His fingers dig little half-moons into the skin of your sides as he gasps, mouth falling open as yours does above him. You don’t need time to adjust; you instantly pull yourself upwards and pack down the slick heat of his cock again. The fever washes away with every thrust, your need escalating to sheer bliss by the time Obi-Wan has finally begun to get his bears.

His grapples with you, words stringing together praise and adoration through messy kisses and delighted moans.

“Just like that,” he whispers, snapping his hips up into yours as you scramble to hold onto him, “Gods, you’re so perfect --”

You tighten a hold into his hair and pull, spurring his words to fall off into pleasure and for the sound to be smothered by a bruising kiss. He’s tipping into the territory of carnal, now, hands scaling your back to lift you up and guide you back down with enough force to make you see stars.

“S-shit --” you hiss, throwing your arms around his neck, “Again.”

So he does. Again and again and again and you’re shaking. Your legs are burning, pace stuttering into a disjoined slow -- and it prompts Obi-Wan to take the lead. You nearly shriek when he lifts you off his member fully and tosses you to the bed, forgetting their previous position in favor of one where he can fuck you right into the mattress.

Calloused fingers slip between your legs as you grin, legs spread wide and back to the sheets.

Above you, the Jedi’s smiling. “Let me do the work.”

A shaky nod; he climbs over you, bracing himself up on his elbow beside your head. His cock slips into you easily -- the sound you both make is akin to bliss. Again, the fever begins to receded. Now, his hands are in your hair and your legs are hiked around his hips. You can feel your muscles shaking with each filling of your core.

“I love you,” it’s muttered against your lips, bodies jostling with each impact of pleasure, “I love you so much --”

Your arms are tight around his neck when he bends, lifts your hips, and drives home.

It’s world-ending -- before you can even vocalize it, you’re screaming his name and coming so hard you swear you hear something in your chest snap. You shake, tightening harshly around his cock and working his own sudden orgasm out of him in a blink; suddenly, the whole bed moves an inch with a sudden push and the room rocks on impact.

BOOM.

He’s grasping at you, catching you as you writhe against the sheets and send him spilling a mess everywhere. Inside you, across your thighs, along your stomach. He can’t help but muffle the mantra of your name into the skin of your shoulder as he heaves and shakes and tries to grab your hips for stability with one hand.

There’s a moment, then two.

Then, Obi-Wan collapses next to you on the sheets.

His eyes are wide, chest rising up and down quickly as he swallows and turns to look at you beside him. You’re no better, arms spread out and jaw slack -- there’s a smile on your face, one that blooms into a laugh when you raise your head and stare down at the mess between your legs.

You drop your head back and Obi-Wan exhales slowly.

His voice shakes.

“... I feel better.”

“Yeah,” you muster with a tired laugh, “Me too.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

The next morning is... interesting.

His room is a mess. You both wake to find nothing is where it was before. All the trinkets adorning his shelves have flown across the room and even the bed as moved an entire foot from its usual location.

There’s a crack in the wall where the headboard meets the dura-plaster.

You both wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a land-speeder, full throttle.

Obi-Wan sits straight up and you nearly scream when you see the state of his neck and back. He’s covered in dark purple bites, and running down his back are welts from your scratches. You’re in no better shape -- you face plant into the carpet upon first attempts to stand.

You both stand in the refresher, slack jawed and just as dazed as you’d been when you’d finally won-out the pollen last night, sometimes around two in the morning.

You just know that the girls are going to have a lot to say about this.

Obi-Wan spares you a single mortified look -- and you both burst into laughter.

Gut-wrenching, tear bringing laughter that sends you both out of the refresher and bracing against the objects in his room. He’s smothering a terrible snort when you try to speak.

“I can’t... I can’t believe --”

“Merry Khairyn Sar?”

You shriek, swatting at the Jedi’s arm as he descends into another bought of laughter. You can’t worm the smile off your face. At this point, you don’t want to.

“I need breakfast,” you point, gathering up your gown and robe from the day previous, “Before I can handle the trademarked Kenobi snark.”

“Dex’s?”

“I’d love to see you try and explain those hickey’s on your jugular to him,” you prod at his neck, earning you a delighted kiss on your way to change in the bathroom, “So yes.”

“Oh, trust me,” he waggles his finger, “I’ve got everyone fooled, you know --”

Obi-Wan eats his words when, after cleaning up, dressing, and straightening his quarters, you both step into the hallway only to come face to face with certain an exhausted looking Twi’lek.

Aayla Secura most definitely heard everything.

The apologetic look she offers is enough of a give-away as you cover your mouth and Obi-Wan guides you away before you can even utter an apology.

“Morning, Master Secura!”

Once you’re in the elevator, the laughter begins anew.

Obi-Wan will find a way to make it up to Aayla.

After all, it was a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it was.

#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi lemon #obi-wan imagine #star wars imagine #nothing like. a little porn.#nightfall & daybreak

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grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years

Text

only following orders

Summary: Cody's communicator has been broken for weeks and he's been too stubborn to fix it; in other, related news, Order 66 isn't set off, Order 6 is, and the clones justify their overprotectiveness with military regulations in the aftermath.

Cody’s comm unit has been on the fritz for weeks now. It hasn’t gotten as bad as that one time when Rex’s got shorted out completely after an unfortunate fall into a river, nor as bad as when Waxer’s broke so badly it shocked him the next time he tried to turn it on. There’s just been some interference, a couple dropped calls (thankfully nothing too important--Cody’s been sure to take anything extremely delicate through the comm in his helmet, and he doesn’t really mind being able to truthfully tell some senators that, no, actually, he couldn’t get around to asking General Kenobi to give them special treatment, and you know what, they were actually breaking up a bit). He’s got to go to the quartermaster for it soon anyway; it wouldn’t do to have one of the highest commanders in the GAR be unreachable, especially so close to the end of the war. He resolves to get it switched out after the Utapau mission.

Cody is tired . The Separatists are in strong force on Utapau, and while Obi-Wan is more than capable of holding his own with Grievous, Cody worries. It’s a dignified worry, but he has to admit that it’s a little overwhelming when enhanced by nine or ten cups of coffee and about a gallon of adrenaline coursing through his blood. The fighting is over but he hasn’t seen Obi-Wan since returning his lightsaber, and he always feels better when he can keep his general within eyesight. It's driving him nearly to distraction. That’s his excuse for opening the call from a secure channel on his handheld comm rather than his helmet and Cody is sticking to it. The miniaturized figure makes Cody arch his brows behind his visor, all flowing robes and black hood. Very dramatic. Cody’s seen better at the Jedi Temple on a lazy Sunday morning before laundry day.

“Commander Cody, execute Order 6-- bzzt . ” The Emperor’s figure wavers, sways, and disappears as his order takes hold. The comm does, in fact, let off a static shock at that, but Cody’s already too far gone to do more than let it fall from numb fingers.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” Cody says, his lips moving like someone else is controlling them. He raises his boot and crushes the comm unit under his heel. It’s like Cody is watching all of this happen from very far away even though he knows he’s stuck in his own body. He grinds the broken plastic and metal into the dirt with vehement anger, then raises his hand to his visor and retransmits the order throughout the 212th. After, he reaches up and snaps off the transmitter on his helmet too, just for good measure. Parjai Squad is in the air again, and Sergeant Barlex can be trusted to transmit Order 6 throughout the rest of the GAR as soon as Cody’s relay reaches the 2nd Airborne Company before cutting off his communications too.

Order 6 is completed. All around him, the 212th is destroying their communication units as fast as possible; Boil chucks his straight off a cliff. Cody gives him a nod when he snaps to a salute afterwards. The Order still pricks at him, though, a strange, slick feeling, oozing along his spine into his brainstem. It burrows teeth into his mind, like the jaws of some great beast shaking its prey by the throat. “Good soldiers follow orders,” Boil says, still not dropping his salute, and Cody finds himself repeating the words back mindlessly.

Good soldiers follow orders. But his orders have been completed. What now?

“Orders, we need new orders,” he hears one soldier mutter nearby. His head pounds, Order 6 curling, white hot, through Cody’s frontal lobe. There’s no way he can make sure the order is carrying out across the other battalions and it stabs at him. What other orders do they have? Cody puts a hand to his bucket, desperate to rub at his temples. There’s a wetness on his face; he thinks his nose might be bleeding. Rex used to go over the rulebook with him before all the batchmates were tested on Kamino.

“Listen to this one,” Rex says, laughing in the semi-darkness of their bunk. “‘Order 49: in the event that communication with the Republic or Senate is unavailable under presumption of corrupted or compromised systems, secure Jedi command as quickly as possible through any means necessary. Treat any obstacles with hostile measures.’ They want us to secure the Jedi ? What do the Jedi need protecting from?”

“Execute Order 49,” Cody shouts; his voice breaks, weaker than it should be. This headache is killing him. He sees Boil jump into action, shouting Cody’s order to those nearest him. Then they shout too, on and on, until Order 49 turns into a wave through the ranks. The rest of Ghost Company immediately begin to get the ships ready for departure; some of the gunships take off, getting into position to escort The Negotiator to safety. The bombardment measures and cannons the 212th had set up to break into Grievous's compound are dismantled and put away in seconds. My battalion, Cody thinks proudly, is very good at following orders .

My battalion, Cody realizes, are not themselves. But then he hears a call of his name and rank and the thought is lost to him.

He turns just as General Kenobi’s mount reaches level ground and Kenobi disembarks. The ever present worry eases slightly at the sight, but then Order 49 slams into his skull. It is all Cody can do not to rush to the man and bundle him into the nearest airship. He has to secure the Jedi. He has to follow orders. Cody is a good soldier.

“Commander Cody!” Kenobi calls again across a quickly clearing battlefield. The Jedi’s head swivels, taking in the soldiers preparing to leave. “We’ve made fast work of the end of the war, but I never thought your brothers would be so quick to get back to Coruscant.” General Kenobi nears him now, dropping the reins he’s been holding onto and patting the beast once on the neck before stepping to his commander’s side. He’s smiling. “That anxious to be rid of me, are you?”

Cody opens his mouth, a moment of clarity seizing him. Obi-Wan’s bright eyes gaze straight into his through his bucket and Cody thinks, what am I doing? But what comes out is, “Good soldiers follow orders.”

The general’s brow furrows. “Come again?”

“The Emperor has issued Order 6, sir.” Cody says. His jaw works, chewing over the words he actually wants to say, chewing over what is happening? Obi-Wan, what's happening to me? “Communications are compromised. Order 49 is now in effect. Immediate retreat is necessary.”

“Emp--Order--Cody, what?” Kenobi’s hands come up, reaching out, and Cody tenses, but he only places them on Cody’s shoulders. The gentleness is strange. No commanding officer has gripped him so carefully before. “Cody, what’s wrong? What are you saying?”

“Order 6, General,” Cody replies, just as helpless and useless as Kenobi’s hands on his shoulders. His own hands, working independent of his brain, reach out and steady the man before him. The Negotiator is almost ready. Boil and Waxer will give the high sign when they’re ready to board. In the meantime, Cody slips Kenobi’s communicator from his belt, deftly palming it. He keeps a sharp eye on Kenobi’s expression at the same time, because the man is paling fast and looks a little green around the gills. Order 49 dictates he must see to the Jedi’s wellbeing and if that means he’s got to lend his bucket as a makeshift--well, bucket, then so be it.

The Jedi reels. “What is Order 6? Who is the Emperor? Why--why would you--”

“The Emperor transmitted Order 6--get rid of all communication units, effective immediately--approximately twenty-four minutes and thirty-six seconds ago, General.” He raises Kenobi’s own communicator and, ignoring the man’s squawking protest, slams it into the rock beneath their feet. “Communications are compromised.”

“Why would you ever listen to--”

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Cody wants to scream, wants to rage. His chest fights to hyperventilate. His eyes are watering. His nose is bleeding even more now. There’s a pronounced trembling in his limbs; the Jedi must notice, because Kenobi reaches out and grips his hands, bringing them up to his chest, cradling them there. Kenobi's heart pounds underneath his knuckles.

“Cody, please.” Kenobi’s eyes search his; distantly, Cody wonders what he feels like in the Force. Whatever it is, judging from the look on his general’s face, it’s not good. “I don’t understand. Who is the Emperor?”

Again, his mouth opens on its own. “That’s classified information, sir. Order 7 includes a clause dictating that any ruling Emperor’s identity must be protected from public knowledge, for that individual’s protection and continued survival.”

“Of course it does,” Kenobi replies. “Because Force forbid any of this is ever easy .” He gathers Cody’s fingers into one hand and reaches up to place his other palm against the side of his commander’s neck. His fingertips brush the bare skin where Cody’s blacks end just before the bottom of his bucket. Cody’s spine snaps straight, shoulders coming up, but Kenobi holds on, gently, gently. In his mind, Cody screams.

Yes, yes, it’s me, I’m here, he pushes out with all his might. His Orders swirl through him, trying to push him back, keep him down. There’s a door waiting to lock behind him somewhere in his mind, hiding a deep, dark black Cody doesn’t think he’ll ever return from. He doesn’t know how the Force works, per se, but trying to push his thoughts out into it is better than surrendering to oblivion. I’m here!

General Kenobi draws in a sharp breath and pulls away slightly. The hand Cody instantly pulls from Kenobi's and drops to his waist flexes involuntarily, but the Jedi doesn’t step back. “I heard you,” Kenobi says, quick and low, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “I heard you Cody. I’ll help. Let me help you, alright?”

“Negative. Assistance is not needed; Order 49 states Jedi command be secured before all other forces.” Over Kenobi’s shoulder, Boil waves. Cody sends him a nod. “Order 49 is now in effect, sir. I have to ask you to get on the ship.”

“Cody--” Kenobi cuts off with a frustrated noise and drops their hands but stays close. Cody’s body stiffens, ready for resistance. Cody’s mind reels from the lost contact. “Commander. I--please state Order 49’s parameters for me.”

“Jedi command must be secured at all costs in the event of total communications failure, sir. Any hostile forces may be taken out by any means necessary to secure the Jedi. Any resistance from Jedi may be disregarded and treated as command being incapacitated. Power structure moves to next in line until threats to Jedi have been neutralized.” General Kenobi’s face does some interesting gymnastics throughout the explanation, but he doesn’t start yelling or running, which Cody takes as a good sign. He also seems distracted; this works in Cody’s favor, though, because Kenobi doesn’t realize his commander has begun slowly walking them both towards where Boil waits on the landing platform. As soon as they begin the trek towards the ship Cody’s headache eases.

“And all these orders come from the Emperor?” His face is still troubled. Within himself, Cody feels the old urge to reach out and brush his fingers over his fringe, hold on until the lines in Obi-Wan’s face smooth away, but he can’t seem to act on it. Then Kenobi’s eyes snap up to his visor again.

The Jedi stops moving. Cody takes another step and turns his back to the ship, carefully keeping hold of him. He doesn’t tighten his grip, but it’s secure; if Kenobi wants to get away, he’ll have to use the Force, which Cody knows he’d never do. Obi-Wan never uses the Force on his men. “Yes sir. If we could keep moving, Order 49 instructs us to get Jedi out of active warzones, General.”

The general doesn’t move. His feet drag when Cody takes a step back, pulling him along, but he doesn’t fight. “An Emperor--the Republic has fallen.”

“Sir?”

A Kenobi distracted is a Kenobi easily moved. Cody doesn’t mind keeping quiet if it means Order 49 doesn’t stab quite so sharply into the backs of his eyes. His nose has nearly stopped bleeding. It’s almost enough for him to be able to open his mouth and say something not pertaining to orders, but then he catches himself and his jaw shuts with an audible click.

“An Emperor with the power to topple the Republic--Only a Sith could--” Kenobi’s eyes are glazed over, far away, and within his own mind, Cody hides the bright beam of hope that lights in him. “But why would a Sith protect Jedi?”

“I don’t know, General.” Boil waves them in and Cody gives Waxer the go-ahead to raise the ramp after them. Something aching and nervous in his chest eases once his general has set foot on The Negotiator, but his shoulders are still tense and high. It’s not enough. Kenobi is shaking under his hands, he’s distant. His face is bruised, his clothes scuffed and battered. His hair is covered in dust. He’s fresh from battle and likely experiencing emotional and psychological turmoil. Cody would be operating within the parameters of Order 49 if he were to take Kenobi to rest in his private quarters--so he does. Kenobi doesn’t speak again until Cody’s gotten him settled on the edge of his bunk. He isn’t receptive to being pushed gently to lay down, so Cody gives up on that for a moment and goes to the bridge to confirm take off.

When he returns, the general is pacing the length of his quarters, gripping at his hair and muttering under his breath. Cody assesses the situation and drops his blaster and bucket by the door before entering, hands up like he’s approaching a scared animal. Order 49 was correct; command structure needed power taken from the Jedi right now. Kenobi is more rattled than he’s ever seen him. Inside, Cody feels about the way Obi-Wan looks.

“A Sith wouldn’t protect a Jedi!” Kenobi exclaims when he catches sight of his commander. Cody pauses and nods. Best to agree with him for now. “Unless they got something out of it--like, say if the Sith was at the center of the Republic and needed to make himself look good to politicians before setting off a galactic war! ” His voice rises in pitch at the end, his eyes wild. “I can’t believe it, I’ve been so blind--Dooku even told me--”

All the blood drains from Kenobi’s face. Cody lurches forward on the balls of his feet because for a second it looks like he might faint. Then General Kenobi whirls around and starts rummaging through his desk. “The Senate ! I sent Anakin there for years, I knew there was something off about the Chancellor, I knew it . And--and Padme, and Bail, Commander Fox, they’re all there-- Cody, where is my spare communicator?”

“Communications are compromised. The crew would have gone through each room to make sure no unit was left for us to be hacked or tracked with.”

General Kenobi turns back to him, looking near feral, a strange light in his eyes, just on the edge of hysterical. “Oh, well that’s just perf--urk! ”

He cuts off suddenly as his head jerks back on his neck like Cody's just struck him across the face. Cody, whose hands have been hanging uselessly by his sides, lunges forward to catch his commanding officer before he slides to the floor. He thinks for a moment that he has actually fainted now, but Kenobi’s blue eyes flutter open and shut once, twice, three times before he gasps and opens them wide. There’s burst blood vessels coloring his sclera as he pants. Cody adjusts his grip on the Jedi, wrapping both arms around him. He looks like he needs something solid to hang onto. Order 49 tells him Cody needs to provide that, and for once his inner voice doesn’t try to fight it. “General!”

Kenobi doesn’t come fully back to himself until Cody’s managed to heft him up and transfer him to the bed. It’s little more than a cot but it’s better than the metal floor; Cody lets Order 49 push his hands into bringing up the covers around his general, smoothing out the wrinkles. Kenobi mutters something under his breath but whatever happened, he’s definitely not all there yet. Cody goes to the ensuite and returns with a damp cloth. The process of wiping blood and grit from Kenobi’s face is familiar and warming; it’s almost enough to let Cody push his fringe from his face, to tell him he doesn’t know what’s happening but that he loves him, to tell him to run--

But then Cody stops himself because why would he do that? Order 49 says he has to keep watch over Kenobi, not let him flee.

“Anakin--” Kenobi murmurs. Cody leans closer to hear. “Something--Cody, something terrible has happened to Anakin--I can’t feel him through our bond anymore. I’m supposed to be able to feel him in the Force. I don’t know--I don’t know what to do .”

“The 501st will secure General Skywalker as per Order 49 stipulations after they have carried out Order 6, sir. He will be safe.” Cody hesitates, fighting himself, fighting Order 49, fighting the Emperor. Through gritted teeth that want to bite off his tongue more than let the words out, Cody whispers, “ I’m here, Obi-Wan. ”

Hands close around the sides of his head just as white hot pain lances through his skull again, the orders punishing him. Obi-Wan looks right into his eyes, bruised and beaten and just as lost as Cody, and says, “I know, Cody. I’m here too. I’m here with you.”

It’s all Cody can ask of Obi-Wan now. Cody curls as close as the body-which-is-not-his-body will allow and prays it will be enough.

“It’s--it’s alright,” Obi-Wan assures softly, a little too fast to be truthful. He’s bleeding from his nose too. Cody wipes it away. “I--we’ll go somewhere safe, just like you want, and we’ll find--we’ll find Ahsoka, she’ll be with Commander Rex and they can help find Anakin. We’ll--we’ll fight the Sith together, Cody. I swear it.”

“I have to keep you safe,” Cody says, and means it in every way he knows. “I will keep you safe.”

“In that, Cody, I have the utmost trust. I always have.”

#sw #star wars #star wars the clone wars #obi wan #obi-wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #cody sw #sw fic #star wars fanfiction #clone wars #clone wars fic #waxer and boil #my writing

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hobiiwan · 3 years

Text

tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand.

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable.

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments.

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off.

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.”

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds.

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it.

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy.

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen.

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss, “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead.

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate.

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation.

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground.

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it.

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas.

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest, “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.”

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?”

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response.

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.”

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air.

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld.

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings. The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one.

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship.

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone.

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits.

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice.

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.”

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while.

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers.

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once.

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm.

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days.

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes.

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar.

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?”

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it.

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.”

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld.

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.”

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest.

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol.

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight.

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass.

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him.

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead.

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first.

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand.

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely.

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people.

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too.

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second.

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer.

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration.

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place.

You want to do that too.

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs.

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks.

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks.

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront.

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths.

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow.

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance.

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve.

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape.

Happy New Year, indeed.

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both.

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen.

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before.

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room.

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign.

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic.

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again.

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours.

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair.

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever.

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin.

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork.

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual.

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin.

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers.

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow.

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started.

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal.

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil.

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag.

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army.

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you.

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all.

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door.

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze. His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest.

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.”

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

“Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?”

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence.

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels.

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you.

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever.

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say.

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise.

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh.

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

#editing this was a nightmaRe but i think it turned out okay!!#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obiwan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars oneshot #star wars headcanons

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val-aquenta · 3 years

Text

So hey y’all. Remember me talking about that au yesterday where Anakin leaves the order and Obi-Wan and Anakin just drift apart. Well it’s here for the prompt: “I’m right here where you left me.” Anyways. This will be my last piece for angstpril for this year as I want some kind of break before Mace Windu appreciation to plan or stuff. So yeah. Thank you for coming on this journey, it’s been fun.

Here on ao3

Obi-Wan watched him walk away just like Anakin had once watched Ahsoka walk away and down. His heart broke just a bit then, seeing the broad, robed shoulders dip past the line of the stairs, the blonde curls disappearing as he walked down. Mace, strong and unmoving, laid a hand against his shoulder as he swallowed, a suspicious lump in his throat. He inhaled sharply, standing straight. The hand remained, a warm pillar that he could lean on should he wish. He didn’t.

The quarters were empty. Just him and the remnants of the past. He sighed, he should probably get to cleaning. Mace, he’d almost forgotten. He turned around, facing the taller man. “Mace, I should…”

“Take a break, Obi-Wan.” He said, a grim sort of smile on his face. “Force knows you deserve it.”

Obi-Wan nodded and bowed. “I will.” He promised softly, not fully trusting his voice not to break. “May the Force be with you.”

Mace bowed back, “And with you, Obi-Wan.” He turned and began walking away down the hallway, just like everyone else did. However, Mace turned around at some point, something desperate shining in his eyes and bleeding into the Force. He wanted to help. Obi-Wan just didn’t know how to accept it. “You ask if you need anything, alright? We’re all here for you.” Obi-Wan could only find it in himself to nod shakily, thanking the Force for blessing him with Mace. Mace seemed to want to say something before smiling ruefully and turning down a corner, waving behind in farewell.

He closed the door behind him, hand raising to his beard, absently stroking it. There was… too much here. A Temple room which had housed Qui-Gon and him, then Anakin and him, then Anakin, Ahsoka and him, and now finally just him. It was large, enough room to have two and a half people living comfortably. Anakin only stayed with them half the time. It felt strangely empty. Four generations of Jedi growing up here and now the only remainder of this lineage, just him, still lived there. The throw blanket, Anakin’s because he had simply been too unused to Coruscant’s climate, still laid half open from where Anakin had used it recently. His belongings, at least what little remained in the quarters after spending half his time apparently married to Senator Amidala, had been hastily packed away and taken to her apartments, Anakin’s new one. No doubt, he would have left a few things which he would either comm for or would simply be returned to him.

Obi-Wan sighed, folding the blanket and throwing it over the back of the couch. It was ridiculously soft, comfortable for curling up with. He made his way to the kitchen, opening the cooling unit and seeing it still filled with Anakin’s favourite sauce, Anakin’s special juice (probably with alcohol. Obi-Wan hated it with a passion,) Anakin’s favourite everything. He sighed and shut the door quickly. Tea, he decided, would be able to be made with little memories of Anakin. Ever the odd one out, he had not enjoyed the intricacies of tea like Yoda, Dooku, Qui-Gon, Ahsoka, and himself had. Instead he had drunk caff, violently sweetened and strong enough to rouse a slumbering Krayt dragon with solely it’s scent. Cup fresh in hand, he moved to Anakin’s rooms where he could begin cleaning the reminders of Anakin away. Begin the process of truly becoming himself once more.

He sees Anakin three weeks later. Predictably, there had been quite a few things left over. Obi-Wan, whenever he found one had placed it in a box, waiting for Anakin. “Hey Master!” Anakin greeted, dressed in fancy garments, very different from the leather tabards, perhaps not as traditional as Obi-Wan’s cream robes, but still rather traditional. They suited him. Perhaps more than Jedi robes ever did, Obi-Wan mused quietly in the pits of his mind.

“Hello Anakin. Come to retrieve your items?” He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the haircut, more like a trim. Anakin had been growing it out, ends raggedly poking out where they wished. It looked tamed, coiffed in a fashion that Obi-Wan began to recognise as Nabooan. He moved from the corner, inviting him in. He’d never done that before. Anakin entered awkwardly, quickly making a beeline from the rather full box of assorted materials. “You left behind quite a few items. Tea?” He offered, hands tucked into his robe sleeves.

“No thank you… unless it’s floral.” Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in surprise, sending a silent question at Anakin. “Oh. Padmè, she’s got this blend in her rooms from Naboo. Really delicate and sweet.”

“Interesting.” Obi-Wan tried not to be bitter over the fact that despite over a decade of his efforts to get Anakin into some kind of tea, Senator Amidala had done it in less than a month. “I did not think you would ever willingly drink tea.” He murmured, somewhat idly bustling away to prepare his most floral, and sweet tea.

Anakin chuckled, hoisting the box in his hands. “Yeah… er, Master? I know I said yes to tea, but Padmè has this function thing she wanted me to go to soon. So…” He trailed off apologetically. Obi-Wan stopped where he was rifling through his canisters of tea, plastering an easy but false smile onto his face. Anakin could only tell the difference sometimes. Hopefully he was distracted enough not to.

“Of course. No worries. I’m sure you’re busy.” Anakin did not notice it. That stung. “I’ll just…” He bustled to the door, clicking it open. Anakin followed, box easily balanced with liberal use of the Force.

“Well…” There is a silence, pregnant and uncomfortable. Obi-Wan shifts slightly. “Are you busy too? With relief missions and stuff?” Obi-Wan wonders what he can say and what is confidential. Once, he would have shared almost everything, but Anakin isn’t a Jedi anymore, isn’t here… with him.

“A lot to do, as I thought, but it is relieving to do something that is not fighting anymore.” Obi-Wan admits easily. No specifics, just vague truths. “Being at peace, it is a good feeling.” Indeed. There is a lightness in the Force that he hasn’t felt in a while.

“Yeah. The Force is… warm. Light.” Anakin nods in agreement, items in the box clinking as they move against each other. There is another silence, deeply uncomfortable. Obi-Wan’s cheeks colour. He has been coined the Negotiator but he can not even speak with his own former Padawan now. The rift is just… wide now, in ways it was not before.

“Yes. Well… your function?”

Anakin startles, as though he’s forgotten which… is not exactly unlikely. “Oh yeah. Sorry Master, gotta go.” And, just like before, Anakin moves away, walking down the hallways for the exit. Instead of robes shoulders and unruly hair, Anakin is now all fancy fashionable clothing and perfectly done hair. Obi-Wan slumps against the doorframe, waiting until Anakin turns a corner before returning back to his quarters. It feels like a cruel mirror of the day Anakin first left, except Mace is not there and his room is even emptier, the few knick knacks of Anakin now gone. He sighs. He’s prepared water for tea, might as well use it and make himself a cup of tea.

There is a long period before he sees Anakin again, just a glimpse of him in the corner of his eyes as he steps out of the Senate and into a speeder, Senator Amidala visibly pregnant. They don’t notice him, but he supposes that it is only a short moment, hardly their fault. The speeder emits a low hum before pulling away and racing for the speeder lanes. He hopes that Anakin is driving more cautiously with Padmè because of her pregnancy.

He sees Anakin a handful of times as Padmè's pregnancy continues, standing next to Senator Amidala in holo’s, Ahsoka sometimes with him, or on the other side of a function he’s been invited, or in the Senate pod for Naboo. There is no real talk, and their meetings become few and far between. The distance, not consciously done by either of then, begins to feel insurmountable. The handful of moments grow further apart.

Obi-Wan catches him with Senator Amidala as they leave a function, no doubt returning to the newborn children they now have. The two are dressed wonderfully in a matching outfit, cool blue and green. Their hair is done up. Obi-Wan notes how sharply they contrast him and his cream robes and short hair. “Congratulations. I heard you had twins.”

“Master Kenobi, what a surprise!” Padmè says, smiling at him. “Yes. Luke and Leia. Ani named them.” She tugs Anakin’s arm a bit, adoring eyes turning in his direction, a wide smile on her face.

“Yeah, Master. They’re the cutest. You should see them!” Anakin says excitedly. “Padmè can he…?” He trails off questioningly, eyes pleading with her.

“Of course, of course.” She says. “I know how important he is to you.” Her voice is soft, only loud enough for Anakin. She looks at Anakin before turning to Obi-Wan. “Of course, only if you want to.”

“I would love to, but I… actually have something to do.” He says sadly. “I only came to offer congratulations.” He feels guilty at their twin expressions falling into a light dejection before Padmè is tugging at Anakin’s sleeve.

“Well, Ani, we just have to invite him when he’s not busy. In… two years? Three?” She jokes lightly. The three chuckle softly before there is a pause, awkward and full of the gentle rustles of fabric as they shift a bit.

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan finally responds, an easy smile lighting his face. “I’ll just call you when I have free time. I would like to see them.” He leaves soon after, the two bidding him a fond farewell. He never has time to make that call, he hardly ever has free time with all the relief missions going on. Mace says that he’s drowning in work to avoid his problems, but Obi-Wan would disagree. By the time he thinks he’s free enough to visit them, Obi-Wan spends ten minutes staring at the contact on his comm. Shame rises, it has been years since the function and it feels too late to call them to ask to see the twins. The meetings between then and now have been formal, in events where Obi-Wan wore dress robes and represented the Order officially, or they have been fleeting, glimpses across the Senate or on opposite ends of a transport.

Obi-Wan and Anakin meet in the hangar of some backwater planet by pure coincidence. It is one of the first times he’s seen Anakin without Padmè at his side. Obi-Wan is leaving his ship as he spots Anakin walking up, his back turned away. Anakin feels him in the Force and turns instinctively, eyes locking with his. They stare for a moment, just a second, before Anakin turns, not even waving or acknowledging him, and climbs up the ship. Obi-Wan finds himself watching the ship lift off and disappear into a small pinprick of light amongst millions, feeling an acute piercing sense of loss. His mind replays sparse moments of connections. He does not know exactly when, but Anakin’s been slipping away for a while. It is only now that Obi-Wan is realising it.

Obi-Wan and Anakin. Kenobi and Skywalker. The names once only ever used in tandem. Each one following the other into battle and in space, to the ends of the world. Once as close as brothers, so in tune with each other. Some starships still bear the symbol that would showcase their connection to each other. Two halves of a whole. Now… little connects them. Obi-Wan has not even seen Anakin’s children save for small snapshots of their lives from the other end of a fancy dress party, and some footage of them on a holonews report about a break in. He had not even messaged or called Anakin to ask about his health after that. Simply looking at the contact made him almost want to throw the device at the wall, but that would not help. The problem wasn't the device, it was just them and their lives falling apart from each other. No, they are not close. Not at all. Obi-Wan looks at Anakin no. the new Anakin. He’s changed a lot. The scar still cuts his face roguishly, accentuated by subtle makeup. His hair is long, braided and pinned into an elegant style on his head. His robes, a riot of colour, mostly warm orange tones. Little reminds Obi-Wan of the Jedi knight, recklessly driving forwards with his blue blade raised high, let alone the young Padawan he had once held so dearly by his side. He has let Anakin walk away and Anakin is not his Anakin anymore. The lump of emotion, a solid block laying in his throat threatens to choke him.

“Hey Master, or should I say Grandmaster Kenobi?” There is that teasing tone, strangely stiff yet still familiar. The motion is familiar, ingrained after there decade of companionship, but rusty with disuse. Yoda had stepped down, age forcing the green troll to spend it in easy meditation with younglings and Masters alike. Obi-Wan finds Yoda’s shared meditations a highlight of his week. Lately, though, he has an inkling that the little Master is falling asleep during meditation. He doesn’t have a heart to point it out, not when the wrinkled clawed hand will reach for his after and lightly squeeze, a soft smile curving the wrinkled face when Obi-Wan responds similarly. He’s also pretty sure Yoda knows he knows.

Obi-Wan quirks a smile at Anakin’s quip. The smile feels formal and stiff. When had their easy camaraderie turned to… this. “Hello Anakin, or should I say Senator Skywalker.” Anakin had become Tatooine’s first Senator, notorious for starting revolutions and rebellions on planets as well as causing problems in the Senate. There is silence, not the easy silence they had in the calm before a battle. It is uncomfortable, glances shared between them awkwardly. Obi-Wan both wishes and does not for those times before Anakin left. “Well, perhaps I should g-”

Anakin speaks in tandem, “Master I-”

“Oh… sorry, go on.” Obi-Wan gestures a bit with his hand in a waving motion.

Anakin pauses for a moment, hesitating before speaking, something flashing in his eyes and in the Force, some kind of desperation for something. Closure, perhaps. “Obi-Wan… we hardly ever talk. Like we used to, you know?” Obi-Wan nods, his hands clasped respectfully in front of him under his robe sleeves. “We almost never see each other. I never see you around anymore.” There is a hint of accusation as if it is Obi-Wan’s fault that they never see each other. Anger flares softly before it is controlled, accepted and let go. It is not his fault, nor is it Anakin’s. They have simply… drifted apart. It has happened naturally over the course of years. The bonds that had once bound them tightly together had loosened with distance before fraying completely.

Obi-Wan feels obligated to answer, though. “I’m still here. Right where you left me.” He says, softly, feeling his eyes sting. “I never left really, just tried to move on.” He tacks on after a moment. “You left. I let you go, and you bloomed far away.” His hand gestures absently at Anakin’s getup. Anakin makes an aborted move to speak, stopping as Obi-Wan lifts a palm, asking for silence. He needs to say this. “You’ve changed. It’s not bad, but you have. You’re not the Anakin Skywalker I knew, and I don’t think I’m really the Obi-Wan you knew.” The tear slips and falls, cleaving a warm trail down his face to his beard. He sniffs, wiping it away absently. “We’re not the same as we were before you left. This… rift, it is not your making or mine, it just happened over time. A product of it.”

“But I don’t want it to change!” Anakin protests loudly, voice raising. Even his voice has changed. It is no longer just an outer rim accent, but it’s also mixed with the formal tinges of Coruscanti “I wish it wouldn’t.” His voice is a bit softer, but the vindication is still evident.

“And I wish I still knew you the way I did.” Obi-Wan agrees easily. The tears fall easily, mourning the man he’d known before, lost to the sands of time. He misses his Anakin like a limb cut off, but he knows better than to think it can still come back. He will take what the Force gives him and will accept what it takes.

“You do!” Anakin said, moving forwards slightly. "You do know me." Obi-Wan steps back and blink up at the perfectly coiffed hair and colourful intricate robes. “You do.” He repeats again, softer and less certain.

“Do I?” Obi-Wan inhales sharply, his chest hitching. The tears fall quite freely now, wamr trails sinking into his beard. He doesn't sob, it is not his way, but his hcest does rise in aborted sobs. “I don’t think I do.” He looks up at Anakin. “I knew you in one chapter of your life, Anakin, but now you are not him.” His face turns to the ground, hiding the fact that he’s desperately scrubbing at his face. “I miss him.” Obi-Wan admits readily, letting out a tired breath. “I miss the Anakin I used to know, but I’ve let him go. Long ago I watched him walk away forever. I know he’s not coming back.” He finishes softly, tiredly.

“Master…” Anakin doesn’t say anything. Anakin doesn’t sob, not anymore. HIs tears are silent little streaks of water glinting in the light as they fall down his face, still smooth like it was before. They take some time to compose themselves, Anakin bringing out a tissue to dab his eyes while Obi-Wan simply uses his robe sleeve. “I don’t think you changed. Not really. Already too old and set in your ways.” Anakin smiles grimly at Obi-Wan’s wet chuckle. “I think it’s just me.” Obi-Wan’s silence is almost an answer by itself. Obi-Wan’s silent sobs start disappearing, replaced by a numb, emptiness. He finally looks up at Anakin. “I just wish things were different. If I’d visited…” He trails off.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I don’t think that would have changed much.” He swallows, smiling softly. It juxtaposes the tears that still run freely down his cheeks. He mourns the Anakin that was a Jedi Knight, the Padawan who had eagerly asked him for answers to his infinite questions. This Senator Skywalker is little more than a stranger. The realisation hurts. “I’m sorry. For taking your time and all that.” The smile is hesitant, soft and unsure of how it will be received by his once-brother.

“No, no. I’m sorry.” Anakin smiles, the response thawing Obi-Wan’s heart just a bit. Anakin looks down at his wrist, a hum going off. “Oh, Force, the time. I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but I have to go.”

“No worries. Just… stay safe, Senator.” Anakin nods in acquiescence before bowing respectfully and turning around. Obi-Wan watches him go, the sun lighting his back and, for the first time since Anakin left the Jedi, Obi-Wan does not exactly feel the rift between them grow as Anakin walks away.

#star wars fanfic #fanfic #duna writes #angstpril2021 #lol this is just me projecting for 3000 words.#obi wan #Obi-Wan Kenobi #anakin skywalker #hoo boi I'm sad

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coruscantguard · 4 years

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Jedi June - Days 1 & 2 - Compassion and Lightsaber

Quinlan Vos, Luminara Unduli, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Rael Averross, Nim Pianna

TW for past canonical child character death, and the resulting angst because of that.

@jedijune

They’re in The Room of a Thousand Fountains when it happens.

“Okay, fine, I just don’t get why Master Nu would only let you in.”

Obi-Wan’s voice is just shy of a whine, and Quinlan carefully doesn’t make eye contact with Lumi, because he doesn’t trust himself not to start laughing. Obi-Wan has sharp elbows, and Quinlan's not about to give him a reason to use them.

(Master Nu’s refusal to allow Obi-Wan and him access to the ancient flimsi records that Lumi has been studying isn’t something that Quinlan is taking personally. Obi-Wan, however...

Well, there’s a reason they’re not in the Archives right now.)

“Both of you are still initiates,” Lumi points out, completely ignoring the fact that she’d started studying the records when she was also an initiate.

There’s a sense of pride and smugness around her in the Force, and Quinlan sticks his tongue out at her. She pretends not to see.

“You’ve been a padawan for like, three days,” Obi-Wan shoots back, and his leg kicks out to hit her in the shins. Seemingly expecting the blow, Lumi jumps over it easily, and her face is serene as she moves to Quinlan’s other side so she can use him as a blockade.

Well, he can’t have that.

“Come on, Obi, don’t mock the elderly,” Quinlan says, and instinctively covers his head as he ducks down into a forward roll, propelling himself away from Lumi and her retaliation. “Have respect for Padawan Unduli. You could learn a lot from her.”

“Oh, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, his voice agreeable. “I mean, as Master Yoda always says, the sign of infinite wisdom, a padawan braid is.”

Quinlan has never heard Master Yoda say that. The glare Lumi sends Obi-Wan indicates that she’s also never been treated to that particular nugget of wisdom.

Obi-Wan manages to keep his face serene for about two standard seconds, before he bursts out laughing at their faces. Lumi huffs.

“Both of you are the worst,” Lumi informs them, matter-of-factly. “The worst, and I hope Instructor G’raeche fails you so you have to sit through xyr lecture on the Ruusan Reformation again.”

“I’m sorry, Luminara,” Quinlan says, but he’s snickering through the apology despite himself.

“The. Absolute. Worst.” She empathizes each individual word, but there’s no anger in the Force around her, just waves of the light green of her eternal spring. Quinlan is moving to get up from his crouch in the grass when he sees a flash of something purple directly on his right. His hand is touching it before he even realizes--

The world spins, just like it always does when this happens, a nauseating swirl of colors that has him four and shaking in Master Tholme’s arms, the image of his parents burned behind his eyes, breathe, he has to breathe, I am one with the Force and the Force is with me, I am one with the Force and the Force is with me--

When the image stabilizes out again, he’s standing on an unfamiliar planet, the wind howling in his ears. There’s ice as far out as he can see, cliffs and caves of it, an image he dimly recognizes from the holoprojectors displaying worlds in Instructor Daagir’s classroom. Ilum.

Wow. He’s on Ilum.

In the distance, he can see two people exiting a cave-- other Jedi, probably-- and he heads towards them, the image bending with him, unusually life-like when compared to his usual pyschometric visions. The taller of the two looks to be humanoid, but they have their hood up, so he can’t make out any distinguishing features. The smaller one is Tholothian, her headdress and tendrils easy to distinguish, and when he gets closer, he can see that there’s a short padawan braid behind her ear.

“Don’t deliberately be obtuse, Master,” the Tholothian says, one hand twisted in the taller Jedi’s robe, the other in a fist that she holds close to her chest. “You know what I meant.”

“Young Padawan of mine, I can assure you that I would never deliberately be obtuse.” There’s humor in the Jedi’s voice, and Quinlan recognizes it, knows it from the recordings of that Jedi’s recent testimony. Padawan Kit had been in so much trouble when Master Windu figured out that he’d sliced it from the Archives. “You’re telling me that the Force wants you to include a lilac purple ribbon in your lightsaber design. Might I remind you that your lightsaber is your life?”

That’s Master Rael Averross’s voice. Master Averross.

And if that’s Master Averross, then the girl must be--

“Okay, now you’re just doing your Master Yan impression.” Nim Pianna protests, letting go of Master Averross robe, her eye roll practically audible. She opens her hand, and a blue kyber crystal rises from it to hover in the air. The glow the crystal emits is partially covered, as there’s a purple ribbon wrapped around it. It’s been tied into a delicate bow, and it flutters in the wind. “I'm just gonna wrap it around the hilt! You don’t need to channel him and be all--”

Nim Pianna pauses, and Nim Pianna crosses her arms, the crystal and ribbon still hovering in the air in front of her. Nim Pianna gives Master Averross a snooty look, tosses her tendrils back with a flick of her head and lowers her voice to say, “Padawan Pianna, the galaxy will end if you do not learn to cut a fish in the exact way they did on Serenno a thousand years ago. Knowing the history of a planet you’ll probably never visit is important, as is properly cutting fish--”

Quinlan’s yanked out of the vision abruptly, his stomach swirling uncomfortably as he’s brought back to the present, dumped back onto the grass of The Room of a Thousand Fountains. He comes back to his body in a rush.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Quinlan?” Lumi asks, her voice low and worried. “Quinlan? Are you with us?”

Lumi is sitting on the ground next to him, her legs folded under her, worry rolling off her in waves. Obi-Wan is nowhere in sight. “Mm’fine,” Quinlan manages, pushing himself into a sitting position. Hands reach out to steady him, and he forces down the automatic embarrassment and insistence that he doesn’t need help, instead focuses on grounding himself in the present.

“Obi-Wan went to go get Master Tholme,” she says, and he nods in response, doesn’t look up to meet her eyes. “You were out of it for a lot longer than usual.”

She doesn’t say that she was worried. He feels it anyways. Lumi’s shields are always a mess when she’s distressed. She’s a lot like Obi in that way.

“Thanks,” he manages after a few seconds. He looks to the side, and sees the ribbon on the grass. His hand is still on it.

Quinlan picks the ribbon up, and wraps his fingers around it. There’s an idea starting to form in his mind. It might be a really bad idea, but just maybe...

It’s years later when he sees Master Averross again.

Quinlan is a Padawan when there’s an event in Pijal, some kind of celebration, and it’s large enough that coverage of it makes the news channels. Master Tholme and him are on Ringo Vinda at the time, crammed into a diner booth as they try to figure out which groups are most likely to make trouble at the upcoming trade negotiations the planet is hosting. He’s almost halfway through his iced cream when he looks up from the report he’s been scanning, and sees a familiar figure on a nearby viewscreen.

The viewscreen shows Master Averross standing outside, in front of what looks to be a palace. It’s windy in Pijal, and Master Averross’s hood is down this time, so the Jedi Master’s hair looks a lot like Master Tholme’s hair looks in the morning before he gets his hands on a hairbrush.

Master Averross’s hand is on the shoulder of a youngling that the newscaster announces to be Crown Princess Fanry, but after a particularly strong gust of wind hits, he visibly sighs and lets go of the princess’s shoulder to pat down his hair. The Crown Princess twists her head backwards, and she brings her hands up to her face to hide her giggles at his disgruntled expression-- but that’s not what catches Quinlan’s eyes.

What catches his eyes is the flash of color revealed by the movement of Master Averross’s robes, the flash of color he hasn’t seen since Master Windu had a mission to the Pijal system, and Quinlan had pulled him aside, pressed an envelope into his hands.

There’s a lilac purple ribbon tied around the hilt of lightsaber at Master Averross’s hip, and the sight of it has Quinlan releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

It happens in an instant, just a flicker of movement and the twist of light. Quinlan turns, his eyes following it, and in the crowd outside the diner window, he sees something like an apparition, a shimmer of blue in the shape of a girl. He breathes in, and there’s a whisper of thank you, he breathes out, and the image is gone, leaving behind nothing but a feeling of fleeting warmth.

On the viewscreen behind him, Nim’s ribbon flutters in the wind.

#Jedi June #quinlan vos #rael averross #nim pianna #luminara unduli #obi wan kenobi #my writing #child death tw #death tw

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brothers-all · 6 years

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Aru'e Tio'r (Enemy Within)

Whooooo guess who's still alive? ME! For now anyway. School is breathing down my neck, but I only have this next week left and then I AM FREE (assuming I passed all my tests that is) I am so sorry for the super late Update, especially since it feels kinda short for the wait, but I tried working on it as much as I could and I think it says a lot but not too much (which will be shown next time) SO yeah, I'm back! Hopefully, I'll be able to get my regular irregular updates up soon as well. And again, there's plenty of you lovely reviewers so I went from oldest to newest on my reply thingy.

Now, onwards to the thing you've all been waiting for! Hopefully there's still people left who read it. Also, this is where my own story for Rex's past comes into play, so if you haven't read it yet, feel free to do so - It's Aliit Ori'shya tal'din (Family is more than blood) but it's not really necessary to understand this story

[Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4] [Ch.5] [Ch.6] [Ch.7] [Ch.8] [Ch.9] [Ch.10] [Ch.11] [FanFic] [AO3] [Master-list]

More about the 112th [Standard Headcannons] [Happy Version]

Chapter 12

Despite how tired they were; they knew this would likely be the last battle. So, they pressed on. With reinforcements here as well, it made it bearable and probably the only reason they were still alive.

“They’re retreating!” the voice came over all the com. links and everyone relaxed ever so slightly. The Umbarans were leaving and the Separatists were destroyed. They’ve won.

“Cody, any luck with reaching the surface?” Obi-Wan asked, steadily flying back to the Negotiator. They won this battle, finally, but the war isn’t over.

“No, only static. We can’t reach anyone,” the worry in the Commander’s voice couldn’t be missed. And the feeling he was getting through the Force didn’t bode any better.

“We should get these men back on the ships – they deserve rest,” Kenobi glanced around at the pilots and saw their tired but relieved smiles.

“Perhaps-” Cody started, cutting himself off. Just as the General was going to prompt him to continue, he spoke again. “Perhaps we could send a small party down, to check on things? Maybe going there with a fresh communicator could break this static?” He didn’t sound like his usual self, less confidant, but given what was happening, it was understandable.

“I second that,” Tiin’s voice cut through as he flew closer to Obi-Wan. “We need to organize with ground forces as soon as able.”

“It’s settled then,” Kenobi gave a small grin. “Cody, take a squad of your best men and see what’s happening down there. Report back as soon as you are able.”

“Waxer, Boil! Get the boys organized – we’re heading to the surface!” Cody called as he briskly walked through the ship. He needed experts – Umbara was no place for rookies. Trapper and Hunt are a must and he was hoping Nighteye was feeling better.

“Sir!” the duo quickly saluted and scurried off in a rush to tell the others. They’ve all been itching for a fight and some action, but they weren’t fools – they need to be ready for anything down there.

“Hang on brothers, we’re on our way.”

As Reeve stepped out the tent again, he let out a sad and trembling sigh. He hadn’t meant to do that - to tell them everything like that. He was supposed to be better than that. And yet… And yet he too was broken and looked to these men as heroes, as guides to something better and something more. And maybe, maybe he wanted them to understand, to see just how bad things were here. Maybe he wanted to let it all out, all the pain and suffering he’s felt since everything had gone to hell. After all, he was broken as well…

“Captain?” his eyes snapped up at the voices and he saw three brothers standing there, looking anxious and worried. Then again, when didn’t any of them look that way?

“Yes?” his voice was stuffy and weak so he cleared his voice and straightened his back. He remembers these three - they’re a bit younger than him, but older than most here. And there were five of them, back then… He remembers one of theirs was the first to take his own life rather than wait for Krell to do so. Many more followed.

“Is - is it true? That, they’re from the 501st?” their eyes were wide and hoping and he didn’t know why.

“Yes,” was his simple answer. He can’t blame them from hoping - who wouldn’t want to meet their hero? Someone they looked up to so much. “Go in if you want, just don’t overwhelm them, okay?”

“Thank you sir!” their lips formed weak smiles, but smiles nonetheless. When was the last time any of them had really been able to smile?

“Is this everyone?” Ahsoka asked, looking at the gathered soldiers. Many were tired and wounded, and those able, took watch over their small resting spot. They needed a camp and fast.

“Yes. About 50 made it, the rest either captured or dead,” Appo’s voice was cold and curt, but she sensed the anger and sadness from the Force around him.

“We need to find a defensible spot and soon - we got lucky no Umbaran’s attacked us so far,” Kano said, looking around at the men.

“I need to know,” Tano stared up at them, eyes hard, “what happened here.” It wasn’t a question.

“...We’ll explain everything as we move,” Appo seemed to promise, but the pain in his tone made her question it. Just how much would they really tell?

“Then we better get moving…”

“Hey… Hey! Heeeey!” he heard someone calling, but it was like he was underwater. What happened?

“Cut it out! Let him sleep,” a shove, a grunt and a snicker. He knew those voices.

“He’s usually the first one up…” a third one now, and they sounded closer.

“Rough week – it’s understandable,” a fourth one and he swallowed hard to keep his panic in control. This can’t be real.

“Hey, Rexy, can you hear us?” a hand on his shoulder and he managed to open his eyes.

“Welcome back to the living!” he was greeted by four brothers – one with long hair, a bald one, a bearded one and a tattooed one.

“…” he opened his mouth, but no words came out. No, no, this can’t be… It can’t.

“Why are you crying?” they looked in worry and concern, but they seemed real.

“…You died,” his voice was barely above a whisper and he could feel the tears running down his face.

Jezdec, or was it Fives, laughed as Bishop, why does he look like Jesse, shook his head. Pion, since when does Kix have long hair, gave a weak smile and Turm, is that Hardcase, seemed highly amused. Then, they each bent down, aiming to pick him up, when a bright light blinded him, hurting his eyes and he had to close them. But just before he could, he saw Echo again, or what they made him into.

“Good morning, Captain,” he heard and the voice boomed in his head, enhancing his headache. But he knew instantly who the speaker was, as if the way he said his rank wasn’t indication enough.

Rex quickly managed to turn his pain into hate as he glared at the Besalisk, who stood in front of him, grinning. It was then that he noticed he was trapped – his hands were raised above him and held there with a small containment field, encasing both his fists, as his feet barely touched the floor. The top of his armour has been stripped off, so at least he had more manoeuvrability. It did little to ease him though, as he tried to struggle against his bonds. And as he did, he felt something on his head - felt like a metal ring, with small boxes on his temples. What is it?

“None of that,” the activation of a lightsaber and it’s light next to his head gave the soldier pause as he glared at the Jedi. “You are making this needlessly harder for yourself.”

“…” the Captain remained silent and saw the glint of annoyance in Krell’s eyes. Good.

“So be it,” Pong hissed and raised one arm. As soon as he did, Rex felt his airway close and couldn’t breathe properly. He started choking, even closing his eyes, before suddenly being released and automatically gasped for air.

“Sir,” his vision was blurry, but he managed to see… an Umbaran? Why was he-

“What?” Krell snapped, turning back to the native.

“The clones are ready for the implants – you said you wished to remain updated?” the Umbaran’s voice was more mechanical than he remembers – must be using a translator.

“…Of course, I’ll be there momentarily,” Krell waved him off and turned back to the captured soldier. “Don’t go anywhere now,” the sadistic smirk on his face made Rex sick and he actually swallowed. The power coming off the bastard was… immense. With a fleeting glare Rex let out a deep breath and hung his head, feeling exhausted.

They sat in silence, their eyes focused on some random point in the tent as they tried to swallow and process what they’ve been told. To think their distant brothers had it so bad? It just… seemed too unreal to imagine. Their eyes met briefly, and they both saw the sadness and sorrow in the others, while their faces were unable to hide worry. What are they going to do?

Just then, they noticed the trio of brothers entering the tent, looking skittish but excited as they seem to whisper among each other about something.

“Can we help you?” Fives decided to ask, still sitting by his brother’s legs.

“Um…” the middle one, maybe a little bit taller than his companions, shifted his weight. “You’re the 501st men, right?” his voice was weak and his words quick as he avoided looking either of them in the eyes.

“Yeah,” Jesse spoke up, leaning on his elbows to get a proper view of the rookies.

The middle one craned his neck, whispering to his friends again as they seemed to get into a small argument. But their eyes always drifted back to the duo.

“Okay, okay!” the far left one, a bandage over his left shoulder, hissed more loudly and took a small step forward. “We were… um…” he mumbled, biting his lip.

“Captain!” the far right one, holding his bucket in his hands, added to his friend, almost in fear.

“R-Right… Um,” the bandaged one started again. “Your Captain… He’s still the same, right?”

“…There’s only been one captain in the 501st,” Fives clarified, but he looked confused. A look at Jesse, but the man only shrugged.

“So it’s still him…” the middle one whispered, eyes widening slightly. “We don’t… get much news out here.” At that, the ARC winced internally. That’s right. If anything did happen, these soldiers wouldn’t know about it.

“Why do you ask?” Jesse mange to speak and made the boys jump slightly.

“Well…”

“Dogma…” Tup whispered, looking up from where he was sitting. “What’s going on out there?” He was tired but dared not sleep. Ever since… since Krell captured them, they were brought to one of the Umbaran secret bunkers. Looked like a lab of some sorts. There were many others too – they were together with Kite, Jigsaw and Griff in the second one from the entrance as Umbarans kept milling about. When they were brought in here, strange collars were placed on their napes and so far, no one was sure what they did. Nothing good.

“…I don’t know…” Dogma’s quite voice sounded defeated as the man stood by the prison field-gate, trying to understand.

“There’s a lot of the others… Probably half of everyone who was at the base…” Kite’s eyes followed the movement outside and inside the cells.

“How many more do you think were killed?” Jigsaw didn’t mean to sound so angry, but the hopelessness of the situation put him in a dark mood.

“From what we heard, some are still left,” Griff spoke up for the first time in a while, voice low and weak. “The medics barricaded themselves and the wounded in one of the hangers.”

“Krell would’ve been able to open them without much problem…” Tup mumbled, resting his chin on his arms as he wrapped them around his knees.

“What?” Kite asked, turning his attention to the rookie. The others gave a similar confused expression, with Dogma clenching his fists.

“Krell betrayed us,” Tup didn’t raise his voice, but he felt sick as the words left his mouth.

“…” the silence in the cell was broken only by the Umbarans outside, as the others were too shocked to give a verbal answer.

“I knew he was a bastard but…” Griff didn’t even finish, shaking his head.

“How long? How long has he been working with them?” Jigsaw looked from one brother to the other, trying to keep his anger from growing.

“Who knows…? But think about what’s happened here? It’s all on him…” Dogma spoke up, but the sheer anger and hate beneath his words made his brothers pause. For someone who seems to always be in control, he was losing the battle against his feelings quickly.

Before anyone was able to say any more, the door opened and through it walked the Besalisk himself and a group of Umbarans. Suddenly, everyone’s attention was on the Jedi.

They landed carefully and as quietly as they could. The deadly silence around them as they disembarked put them all on high alert.

“Communications?” Cody asked, looking at Jetstream as he worked on the transmitter.

“Losing fast – there has to be something here blocking any outgoing or incoming transmission,” Jetstream explained, clearly annoyed.

“How much time till we’re compactly in the dark?” Boil glanced from one brother to the other.

“I’d give it half an hour, maybe less. The closer we’re going to get to this thing, the sooner it’ll all be gibberish.”

“Then we better work fast – are our group links still operational?” the Commander activated his and saw his brothers doing the same.

“Read you sir,” they chimed in. At least they had something.

“Good – spread out into three groups, but not too far away. This is enemy territory. We need to be able to take them out quickly and neatly, otherwise these woods will be swarmed with Umbaran patrols,” Cody saw the boys already moving into squads as he spoke.

“What’s our main objective?” Trapper asked as all eyes turned on their superior.

“Find the airbase and our brothers,” was the simple reply as Cody himself joined a squad.

“How are we supposed to do that?” Waxer tried to make it sound humours, but the Commander’s answer killed any of the joy.

“Follow the bodies.”

He was tired, in pain and couldn’t properly focus. So much happened so quickly… he could hardly wrap his mind around it. Echo was alive – if he could call it that. Krell’s been a traitor for who knows how long. Fives, Jesse and Hardcase – what happened to them? What happened to all his brothers in the hanger? When was the last time he dreamt of them…

But maybe more than anything, he wanted to know why he was here. Why was Krell keeping him locked up, but very much alive? What does he plan to gain, that he can’t get himself. It made Rex shiver where he hung, just thinking about it. Letting out a deep breath, he tried to focus, to remember what happened. He found Echo, Krell saw him and then…

He fired off his blaster, but the Jedi used one of his lightsabers to deflect the shots. He didn’t have much room to manoeuvre, so Krell easily crashed into him, sending him flying into the nearest wall and knocking the air out of his lungs. For a second, the world turned dark and in the next, blight lights almost blinded him. The weapons were inches from his neck on both sides – if he even tried to move up, he’d behead himself.

“How troublesome,” the Besalisk had said, frowning as he looked down on the clone. “This makes things… complicated.”

Just as he was about to open his mouth to ask something, he felt his head knocked back against the wall and everything was spinning and there were black dots in his vision. A second shove and his head hit the wall again, this time he could feel something dripping down his neck. A third, and he was knocked unconscious.

Another deep sigh and Rex frowned as he could hardly feel his arms any longer. Looking up, the field holding him was solid and seemed to be connected to a panel on the outside of his cell. So much for trying to break free. He was worried about everyone – especially since he had no idea how long he was unconscious. Just what madness has Krell done in that time?

“This seems like a good enough place,” Kano said quietly as what was gathered of the escapees arrived at a small clearing in the forest. They’ve ran into a scouting group of Umbarans, but managed to take them out while not losing anyone.

“…” Appo said nothing as he stared off in the distance, but he clenched his fists. The others were quietly whispering to themselves and Ahsoka glanced from group to group. Then, she followed the Sergeant’s gaze and felt the air in her throat choke.

“…What happened here?” her voice was a quiver, her eyes wide and a hand going up to cover her mouth. Tears, sudden and unbidden, started falling down her cheeks as she took in the white amour lying in the red and black fields of flora. Brothers. Vode. Dead. All of them.

“…War,” someone, she didn’t know who, said back quietly. Only then did she notice the destroyed shells of Umbaran walkers and tanks, as well as the dark suits of the natives. But the amount of white clad bodies she saw. Never before had she seen such a number of dead.

The emotions radiating off the others did little to help her ease her mind and control her emotions as she tried to stifle a sob.

“Commander…” a hand on her shoulder – probably Appo – but she didn’t react. She didn’t want to be commander. Not right now. She can’t be. She was Ahsoka, padawan learner and youngling.

A sudden noise near them put everyone on edge as they reached for their weapons, and Ahoka just barely had time to collect herself to yell a warning before the first shot was fired.

“Everything is ready,” an Umbaran said as he walked up to the Jedi, handing a datapad.

“Then prepare the first two volunteers,” a smirk came to the Besalisk’s face as he looked down and then looked at the imprisoned soldiers.

The Umbaran turned around, said something in their tongue, and the fifth cell was opened up. Instantly, the soldiers inside tried to fight it off, but the natives had long, electric staffs and shocked any brother who would fight.

The first two, being torn away from their group, were Lad and Himo – rookies. Yells and shouts of the older ones were heard as the two were dragged forward, forced on their knees with their backs bent. The electric shocks must have cramped up their muscles as they clearly had problems moving at all.

“Do it,” Krell said and two Umbarans, wearing black and yellow instead of the usual gear, walked over and behind the two rookies, holding blue boxes. Once there, they pressed a button on the collar and it opened up a small compartment. It was like a small cage only on the nape. And then… then they took something from those blue boxes. It looked like bugs – small and glowing blue, with long antennas and a tail with a sting at the end of it. The men only saw them for a second, before those things were placed in the collars – compartments more like – and it was closed. But not a second later, and the two rookies started screaming and thrashing, their bloody cries shaking many of their brothers to the core. Yet just as quickly as it started, it ended and the two calmed down, head hung and eyes void. The Umbarans released them and they collapsed forward, still unmoving.

“Well?” Krell was impatient as he asked, frowning down.

“…Dead,” an Umbaran checked their pulses and shook his head. “We need to fix it so it works properly.”

“Well, do it. You have all the lab rats you may need and I’ll be fetching those who thought they could hide soon. I want this working.”

“Understood.”

As Pong turned to leave, the still imprisoned soldiers couldn’t breathe or even really react. Some went to touch the collars on their napes, swallowing in fear. Others simply dropped down, unable to stand any longer. Few of the rookies turned away, trying to fight the emotions boiling inside. But they were all scared.

“Alright, you should be able to move now, but don’t go rock jumping yet,” a medic said as he did a final check on Jesse. “But…” he cut himself off, a weak sigh escaping.

“But?” Jesse asked as he slowly and carefully put his feet off the bed.

“You’ll never be able to move like you did before. Running should be fine, but any more complex movement and you risk injury again,” there was sadness and pity in his eyes as he spoke that.

“It can’t be that bad!” Jesse tried to protest, but as he stepped on his feet, he nearly lost his balance. Luckily, Fives caught him quickly enough. “I can hardly feel my legs…” the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“That’s what I was talking about – they’re still damaged. I’m not… I’m not sure how long, if even ever, they will fully heal.”

“…” another silence in the tent as the two 501st boys let this sink in.

“Hey,” came a voice as someone entered the tent. It was the bandaged rookie from before. “They said he’s woken up – you can see him now.”

“Thank whoever,” Fives breathed out, a small smile of relief on his face. But still, one look at Jesse put him back into a sad mood.

“Let’s go… He’ll be lonely soon,” Jesse managed, but didn’t deny the support Fives gave him as they slowly walked towards the exit.

“Just follow me – the Captain is already there. He’ll probably have some more questions for all of you.”

Cut! Hehe, things are probably still confusing and all over the place, but I think we're getting somewhere! Hopefully, anyway. Jumped a lot all around again, so I hope it didn't make anyone space sick or anything - you can always ask me about something, and I'll do my best to try and clarify, without spoling the story ANYWAY! Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Please, do review what you thought - I love hearing from you lovely people! Till next time~

#Aru'e Tio'r (Enemy Within)#Pong Krell #Ahsoka Tano #commander cody #captain rex #fives #jesse #dogma #tup #captain reeve #appo

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eirianerisdar · 7 years

Note

Fic title "a face in the crowd"

First off, anon, I’m terribly sorry for how late this is. I can’t even pinpoint when I got this - this has been sitting in my inbox since before I came up with Silent Measures. Which means months. But I’m trying to clear my inbox so here’s something I came up with on the spot.

A Face in the Crowd

Summary: During the Clone Wars, the Jedi were lauded as heroes, but so out of reach of the masses that they seemed at times to be toy soldiers selling war bonds more than actual walking beings. But there were four Republic Days that fell within the Clone Wars, and in each one of them, if you look carefully enough, there are things to be seen that are special. A child watches, is inspired, and remembers, twenty years after.

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Aayla Secura, Plo Koon, (and many clones, though only in passing)

(note: this is after Ahsoka leaves, so she isn’t here)

Edit 24/7/18: There is now a companion fic to this, For the Brother I Did Not Deserve.

Little Meron Junshi is not sure whether he likes this Republic Day parade.

It technically hasn’t started yet, but the heat is stifling here in the masses milling behind the railings along the Senate boulevard. His father has put him on his shoulders, and the air is a little clearer up here, but Meron would much rather they be back home on Alderaan, where the air is sweeter and the skies much, much bluer.

And less loud. There are many interesting species around him that he has not seen before, but Meron finds the noise rather distracting. And the boulevard before them is still empty, except for the red-and-white armoured clone troopers that stand guard at equal intervals along the railings themselves.

But he will behave, because he his a big boy of eight and his father is here to do important business with Senator Organa, and Meron is only here because he pleaded and pleaded until his parents said yes.

And then suddenly, there is thud of a plasma cannon from high above, so deep and low that Meron feels it shudder through his frame and down to his father’s wide shoulders; and the guarding troopers snap to attention with a muted thud of armoured boots against duracrete.

This first thud echoes across the suddenly silent masses; and in the distance, under the Senate Building itself, comes an answering drumbeat.

Then another. And another.

And then a steady tramp-tramp-tramp comes filtering down the boulevard, and before Meron can do anything but sit up straighter on his father’s shoulders, the first company of clone troopers come into view.

The Coruscant Guard is first, led by a proud-shouldered trooper with a helmet visored in grey and painted in red, the etched plaques on his armour marking him as a commander.

Meron gapes as row after row of red-white troopers follow, posture ramrod-straight, each holding a blaster at parade ready. The cadence of their steps are so well-matched that if Meron were to close his eyes, he could imagine a singe titan was thundering down the boulevard, and not nearly a hundred and fifty men of one company.

The crowd around them is shrieking with excitement.

A company of soldiers, each with stylised wolf-head painted on their grey-lined white armour, and striding confidently at their head, a Kel Dor Jedi with russet robes flowing jauntily in the wind.

Plo! The crowd is screaming. Plo Koon!

The Wolfpack! Meron stares, wide-eyed, so engrossed in the clean lines of General Plo’s wolves that he nearly misses the ground-shaking thud that follows.

Five paces after the last grey-painted trooper comes twin files of eight AT-TEs, six-limbed bodies creaking with every solid stamp of durasteel legs. And marching between, standing on, and holding to the side of these giant assault walkers are many yellow-striped troopers. Most strikingly, somehow balanced perfectly on a walker placed centrally between the two main lines, is a blue-skinned Twi’lek woman with a smile on her face and a lightsaber at her hip.

SECURA! The masses yell, in a hundred thousand different sentient voices. SECURA!

She stands tall, but her smile widens.

Company after company come, whole battalions and legions painted every colour of the galaxy, each with a Jedi marching before them, or sometimes two, with the younger marching alongside a clone captain.

Meron watches, dumbstruck, as hero after hero steps off the war-reels and into reality, like toy soldiers ripped from the holonet and placed within reach.

But then a roar of pure sound sweeps through the masses like an oncoming wave, and Meron is nearly unseated from his father’s shoulders.

The troopers coming into view now are painted with bold gold stripes.

And at their head, stepping with a calmly fluid gait-

-is a Jedi with red-gold hair and cream robes, and eyes the colour of a silent sea above a beard trimmed to immaculate neatness.

Meron forgets to breathe.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator.

The multitude raves. There is no collective chant, now, not like before; overlapping screams of KENOBI and NEGOTIATOR and OBI-WAN rise in an increasing cacophony of unleashed madness.

Throughout all this, Meron only watches the Negotiator.

General Kenobi steps in time with his men, but something in the smooth effortlessness of his pace and the gravity of the tabards over his shoulders speaks of a noble sadness, mixed with extraordinary determination.

Sadness, in the middle of the greatest parade of the year?

Meron lowers he hand he was using to wave, and frowns. He is struck with the sudden impression that General Kenobi would look much the same leading his men into battle.

But then there is a blare of trumpets, and Meron nearly gives himself whiplash as he jerks his head to look.

These new troopers are painted blue.

The crowd is shouting in synchrony, now.

SKYWALKER! SKYWALKER! SKYWALKER!

The Hero With No Fear himself is stood next to Chancellor Palpatine, on a slow-moving barge surrounded on all sides by a sea of blue-and-white armour. His smile is rakish, his waving casual, and the scar that curves around the edge of one eye effortlessly cool.

Meron stares at Anakin Skywalker, and wonders if he imagines that those ice-blue eyes flicker towards him, if just for a moment.

Meron does not waste it. He straightens up so abruptly that his father grunts in surprise, but he does not pause to think about it - instead, he nearly slaps himself in the forehead as he salutes.

He is halfway through the motion already before he realises General Skywalker is looking at him.

Krayt spit! Meron tells himself, knowing his father would give him a good scolding if he heard the words out loud - I probably look stupid!

But what is done is done. The edge of his right hand is pressed to his forehead.

The General watches him for a moment - it cannot be more than half a second, but it seems the longest moment in Meron’s short life - and then suddenly, General Skywalker raises two fingers to his forehead and flicks them to the side in a jaunty salute.

In return to his.

Meron’s brain smashes into a wall of disbelief and disintegrates into awed smithereens.

It is only after the barge has passed by, and the next company is marching past that Meron remembers that he should drop his hand. He lets it fall by his side, numb.

He barely registers the rest of the parade.

He is grinning so widely his cheeks ache.

“Father,” Meron says, later, when a squadron of LAAT/is have flown overhead and the crowd is beginning to disperse, “I’d like to join the Alderaani guard.”

“Oh? And why is that?” his father says distractedly, holding one of Meron’s ankles to stop him from sliding off.

“I want to be a General,” Meron says.

There is a long pause. Meron’s father slows his pace, and stops.

“War isn’t as fun as you think, Meron.” His father’s voice sounds different.

“Oh.”

“Talk to me when you’re eighteen. We’ll see then.”

“Okay!” Meron chirps happily, as his father carries him across the sea of Coruscanti crowds, and away from the Senate boulevard, its white duracrete surface stamped grey with the feet of two hundred thousand men.

Twenty years later, clutching a blaster and kneeling in a white-walled corridor swamped with shadow, Meron Junshi thinks of that long-ago Republic Day. Of the sun and the chants and the bright-painted soldiers with their Jedi Generals.

He had gone to his father when he was eighteen, and he had gotten his wish.

The Alderaani guard had led to a permanent place in the Rebellion, and the Rebellion…here.

Behind him is a short passageway, and beyond that, the Tantive IV, with a precious person aboard. In front of him is a darkened corridor, which lies silent and still beyond the echoing howl of the klaxons.

And then Meron becomes aware of another noise.

A sawing, unnatural breathing, like air rasped through a grille of harsh desert sand.

And the passageway is lit with a bar of crimson plasma.

“Open fire!”

Oh, Meron thinks, as his finger tightens on the trigger and plasma spews uselessly out of the barrel of his blaster. You were right, father.

War is not a parade, with sun in your eyes and bright-painted soldiers and their much-loved generals marching before them; war is red-painted white walls, and flashing bolts, and screaming, and the never-quickening and never-slowing breaths of a shadow that reaches for you, and grasps you with invisible hands, and sends a screaming blade of blood-red light slashing towards your chest.

“Take it! Take it!”

And Meron knows that perhaps there is a little truth in what his eight-year-old self thought about war: War is nothing without hope.

Hope, to a boy watching a war parade on his father’s shoulders, is to receive an acknowledgement from the General he loved so much as a hero.

Meron stares into those hard black lenses, and holds this image in his mind as he dies.

He has no time, before the end, to wonder if he imagined Darth Vader flinch.

END

Sooo…

I’m…evil?

I hope this makes up for how late this is, anon. I made up Meron on the spot; his name means soldier. Reblog as you like, and thanks for reading, everyone.

Edit 24/7/18: There is a companion fic to this one now, For the Brother I Did Not Deserve.

My fanfic masterlist

My ff.net profile and stories

#star wars #rogue one #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #tcw #the clone wars #darth vader #vader #kenobi #anakin #my post #fanfic #replies

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msu82 · 7 years

Text

Pajustji (Ch.3)

Hey! This only updated 5 days late, and considering I was doped up on pain medication for an injury? That is a perfectly-landed feat and y’all should be proud of me.

Tagging: @markwatnae (The lovely creator of TPAU), @peskylilcritter, @devilangel657, @demad69, @tygermama, @isweariamanadmin, @wordwelder

[Ch.1]

Previous (Ch.2) | Current | Next - Coming Feb. 24th – March 3rd

Chapter 3: An unexpected series of tea, truth, tears, and nonchalance

She wanted her Master. She had only seen Obi-Wan Kenobi roughly twenty minutes prior, but she wanted her Master. Edie wanted her family for, even though the four year old was cute, the blatant lack of existence in regards to her family was starting to grind down on her faint hold upon her emotions. The more she realized she was truly in the past (she had already pinched herself many times) the more the feelings of dread and anxiety began to well up within her. She wanted to eat candy, make tea with Master Obi-Wan, and read old books—digital and paper—with him. She wanted to spar with Anakin, accidentally hurt him, and get to fret over him even as he was complimenting her abilities for taking him down. She wanted to play pranks with Ahsoka and help her fuse over the troopers if either of the battalions were planet-side on Coruscant. She did not want a toddler version of her guardian and teacher that she had been the one to comfort.

She did not want her padawan-brother to not be alive for roughly another decade. She did not want her best friends—from Ahsoka to the troopers—to not come into existence for even longer than that. I want my family. The brunette thought to herself, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to keep herself out of the throws of the panic attack the Force was tickling her ears in warning to calm herself. I want Obi-Wan, I want Anakin, I want Ahsoka, Cody, Rex, and all the others. I want my family. Her hands clenched in the fabric of her pants, her eyes burned as her breathing did its best to start hitching. I want my family, I want my family, IwantmyfamilyIwantmyfamilyIwantmyfam–

“Drink.”

Edie startled, blinking back tears quickly to come cross-eyed with... a cup of tea cradled by a pair of green three-fingered hands. A moment passed, long yet tension-free, and slowly she cupped the blue porcelain in her hands before taking a slow sip. She was about to lower it from her mouth, but the sight of the green being raising his hand in a 'Stop' motion made her freeze. “Drink all of it at once, nice and slow, you shall. Savor it, you will, but have it last a while? It will not.”

Edie hesitated, anxiety and panic still doing it's best to boil out of her young body, but then her logical side kicked in. Her Master's voice, gentle in her ear as if he was there with her in the scary, long-ago past that was now tangible far before her birth into the galaxy. Reminding her that she was still in the Temple even if it was not her own, that she was safe, and that Yoda would never harm her. The brunette tipped the cup on her lips once more. She closed her eyes as she slowly swallowed down the rest of the warm drink. It was.... minty. Mint was the first thing that stuck out to her. As she sipped more, slowly draining it all away as it flooded her tongue, there were traces of chocolate that grew more clear the longer she drank. And the there was the absolute warmth of it all combined. The warmth of the tea was swirling like petals in the wind come blooming season, filling her up and running away the chill of stress that had settled upon her. It startled her a little when her lips met wetness no further, she blinking as she lowed the cup and saucer from her mouth before looking at a grinning, ancient, beloved troll capable of using the Force. “What was in that, Master Yoda? Some sort of soother?” “Bah, chocolate and mint only. Believe in simple comforts I do, young one. Perk it is, if delicious.” Yoda let out a chuckling, and Edie found herself smiling as all of her current flooding of negative emotions were lost to the Force. Unfortunately, it was seconds later that her face fell flat and paled. She dropped the dishes to the carpeted ground. A bond thrummed with pure terror in her mind, and she was not used to being flooded with such intense emotions that were not her own. Not the negative kind, anyway.

“What is the matter, young one?” Yoda asked, humor gone and clear concern in his voice but it had no effect on her at first. Edie had simply stood there a moment more....

Less than a heartbeat, actually. She scrambled to pick up the spilled tea-cup and saucer. Thankfully it had been empty. “I-I'm so sorry, Master Yoda, but I have to leave right now! I won't leave the Temple and I'll be back later. I promise!” There was no time to wait for a response. Edie ran as if her life depended on it. Or rather, she was running for a life that she didn't personally possess. But, considering who she was connected to, it was technically her life she was running for.

Her anxiety was mounting as she raced through the Temple, past other Jedi, and into the depth of a room that smelled of a mixture of fresh-water and chemicals that kept the waters as such. She was blinded and saw nothing until wet curls and big green-blue eyes were in her sight. “Obi-Wan!” There was a flurry of movements, a wail, before she was kneeling and hugging a sobbing child in her arms.

She hugged the shaking little body in her arms, whispering soft comforts and taking off her padawan robe, wrapping it around the young boy to bundle him up for some kind of warmth. He truly was chilled to the bone. She had no idea what had been happening, but she felt Obi-Wan's stress and lingering fear in the Force; what was still inside of him, for there was strong amounts of some kind of evilness having almost occurred that tainted the room filled with bright, aquatic life. “It's alright, Obi-Wan. You're safe.” The girl whispered, pressing a kiss idly to the side of the little ginger's head before standing up with him on her hip. It was then that she looked up, blinking at the tall figure standing up by the large pool. Oh.

She hadn't noticed that there was someone in the room, but considering she felt no fear from the one she was holding on her hip when the young attention was turned the same way she was looking? It was near instantly clear that Edie was staring at a savior and not the potential doer of evil. He was tall and clearly a few years older than herself, wearing a padawan braid with the rest of long-and-dark hair pulled into a tie behind his head, blue eyes, pale skin, and soaked to the bone just like the child she held.

The other padawan's features taken in she bowed, ducking her head before raising straight once more. “Thank you for whatever you did to save him from, well, whatever was happening in here.” Edie hugged Obi-Wan a little closer, resting her chin against the side of his head, “I felt his stress and I got here as soon as I could, but-”

“No thanks needed.” The boy spoke, and he wore a smile that almost made her think of her Master—the adult version—when he was speaking with those he needed to be diplomatic with. Or when he spoke of those he didn't like, like with how he spoke with Anakin on the topic of Chancellor Palpatine, whom she was supposed to meet in about week... and around thirty years from the current time. She was pulled from her wandering thoughts by the boy speaking once more, “The young one didn't deserve what was happening. No one did.” The firmness of declaration did nothing to comfort her lingering anxiety from not knowing what had happened just yet, but the goodness of it brought a smile to her face. “Obi-Wan is his name, yes? That's what you called him?” The boy continued, “It's nice to know the name of my young rescuee, but may I know yours Padawan....?” His voice trailed off, but his face spoke of the 'kind' expectation of wanting to know who she was.

Well, far be it for me to be rude. Especially to a fellow padawan, for being in a different time isn't an excuse for a lack of manners. The girl thought, though a tickling in the back of her brain almost felt like Anakin and Ahsoka were right there, on her shoulders, whispering sass and snark into her mind. The voice of her Master was there as well; scolding and giving the voice of reason over the two troublemakers. “I'm Padawan Edie and, yes, his name is Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Smile still in place she kept her face a perfect picture of pristine innocence. At least, she assumed she did. In all honesty her lineage line always claimed she looked constantly innocent, but she was being raised by a negotiator and knew how to use appearance to an advantage. “And again–” the short brunette hiked the ginger-haired Crecheling a little higher on her hip– “I can't help but thank you for saving him from whatever happened. So, thank you Padawan....?” Her eyes upon him as her words trailed off, browns almost meeting blue, she saw as the boy's expression became more genuine and felt a twitch in the Force and a slight tingling in her eyes. She was not one with the Unifying, though her Master and padawan-brother were, but the Living Force seemed to be ruffling it's feathers in a near content way at such a subtle change in the teenager. Speaking of, her attention returned he gave a half-bow respectfully fitting for when addressing one who was younger and not of the same standing, for the titles of 'junior' and 'senior' for apprenticeships was more than just an age-divider. “I am Padawan Xanatos Du Crion,” The teenager smiled, “It is a pleasure to meet.....” Edie knew he was speaking more, and that it was rude of her to be staring at him as wide-eyed as she could feel herself doing. Xanatos. Her teacher and guardian's lineage-brother whom he had never gotten to meet until after the elder's abandonment of the Order to become a Dark Jedi. It had occurred as a flickering thought in her mind that there would be many alive, around, or still members of the order if they had left. In pertaining to her own line of heritage, she had not thought that far ahead even if she had spent the majority of the morning (after noon? She was unsure of the time of day) with Master Yoda. However, it was not the realization of who this teenager was that caused her such stillness and surprise, for her mind had raced a thousand parsecs in a moment's notice to focus on one tiny, loan fact that if Xanatos was here, and still very clearly a jedi, then that would mean.... My... grandmaster is ali–?

“Are you alright?” Edie startled, looking to the boy who was no frowning at her with a touch of concern but she swore she saw a flicker of curiosity. “You looked slightly dazed.... you aren't prone to visions, are you? Of the Unifying? I am of it myself, though was not granted such a gift by the Force.” She just stared at him, it taking a moment for her wits to return, but then quickly she gave a smile. “Oh! Oh, um, no. I'm one of the Living Force, not the Unifying.” She offered up a smile, that moment being enough to cover up thinking of an excuse. “I was just...” The brunette then turned around, beginning on the path to exit the room since the child in her arms had finally calmed down, but was still cold to the touch even through her tunic despite it having been a handful of minutes since he'd been saved from the water. “I was just trying to remember where I've heard your name before. You're... Knight Jinn's padawan, right?” He as taller and she knew this, but it didn't stop her from startling when the response he gave to her question was a surprising chuckle from beside her, rather than behind still. “Yes he is, though you're wrong by the title.” She knew her confusion but be clear on her face as she glanced up at the boy, for he added, “He may only be 38 years old, but he is already a Master.” A button was pressed by the boys hands and they continued on, Edie's eyebrows scrunched up in further confusion until shooting up in shock a moment later the boy added, “He had a padawan before me, and after seeing him to Knighthood, the Council rewarded my teacher with his Mastership as a Jedi.” There was another padawan? Her Master had another padawan-brother out in the galaxy somewhere. “Really? Wouldn't he have been too young to have taught you and another by now? What's the other one's name?” The girl asked quickly in rapid-succession, barely holding back a wince at how eager she sounded for information. One rule of negotiation was to never show too much thirst for knowledge in something that should be a neutral topic even if it was one of interest. Thankfully, the boy did nothing more but arch an eyebrow. “In a usual circumstance, most likely, but he only taught his padawan for two years,” The duo had made quite a bit of distance already, and neither noticed the stairs that were lingering after them for two different reasons; interest at the unfamiliar face, and seeing a very familiar and usually stuck-up being having a seemingly civil conversation with one other than Qui-Gon Jinn. “His name is Feemor Gard, and he was 18-years old when Master Jinn took him on to finish his training.” Why didn't I know about this? Why didn't Obi-Wan, Anakin, or Ahsoka ever tell me? The girl wondered as the duo of two trotting a totting-third to the Healing Halls fell into a casual silence. ...Did he do something bad? Did he Fall too? Did he die? The girl wondered and, unable to hold off for more than five minutes, she decided that some things she'd never know until she got home. Well, if she got home that was. No, no! No thinking like that, brain! Be positive, not negative. Despite her words being from her own-brain-to-itself it didn't have much effect, for the body didn't like listening without reason, so she decided to distract herself by asking more questions on this lineage-uncle she had formerly not known the existence of. “How old is he? Master Jinn's graduated padawan?” “Well he's ten-years older than myself, and thirteen-years younger than my Master. I don't exactly remember his birthday,” a look of disbelief must once more be clear on her face at such a declaration, a very firm expression of 'Really? Really?' for Xanatos blushed slightly. Clearing his throat, he continued, “But either way, knowing the exact date or not, he is either already 25-years old, or in the least will be rather soon.” “Why did Master Jinn take Knight Feemor on if he was already 18-years old? Didn't he have a Master before him?” She couldn't resist asking. It was odd to have such a well of information to the past... while in the past. “Now that, though not a happy fact, is one I know for certain.” He offer a dry yet genuine smirk, glancing down at her as they walked through the large, swishing doors that lead into the Healing Halls. Edie smiled a little back at the boy's growing openness, even if still barely existent, as the doors swished back shut after their entrance. It was time to get a certain little Crecheling checked over.

A chuckle was the first thing released as he heard doors swish to an open, and Master Qui-Gon Jinn was hunched over in a stretch. He knew it was instantly by both bond and Force signature. “There you are, my wayward padawan. I've been hear nearly an hour, rather like the amount of time you claimed it would take myself to get here,” His voice was full of a mixture of tease yet mild scolding, the man standing up, straightened his training clothing, “However, I can't lie how much it tickles me... that....”

His words trailed off, steel-blue meeting grey-blue. There was a set of blinks from either of them, while each simply stared back at the other. “...Xanatos?” “Yes, Master?” “Why, in the name of the Force, do you look like a drowned womp-rat?” “Probably because I was in an aquatic-life pool with my clothing on, Master,” The boy walked further into a room, moving to sit on a bench before beginning stripping down to his under-tunics. “Water does make things wet on most planets in the galaxy.” Clothing now hung on the bench beside himself, Xanatos proceed to shed his boots and socks, both equally damp as the rest of him, since their sessions usually involved no shoes. “Though–” he sat there, running his fingers through his hair before standing and redoing it as he moved to a corner of the room “–there are the few planets that rain acidic water, and there is also that moon which holds carnivorous micro-organisms in its entire water supply.” The boy fell silent a few long moments, rummaging through the cabinet for a spare set of training robes that would fit him. The poor Master Jedi in the room, Qui-Gon, had been doing his best to keep track of all this babbling and silently searched for an answer in all of the rambling. He found none at all unfortunately, and he sent a small wave of thanks to the Force that his padawan had yet to notice the undoubtedly gobsmacked expression he must be wearing. Finally removing a set of training clothes in his size, he watched as Xanatos pulled them on over his semi-dry under-tunics before finally finishing his slight babbling with a simple, “I am very certain in those circumstances that water technically dries or violently burns, and in the other leave scarring or death by mauling.” The two were finally looking at each other once more. Another set of blinks was once more granted from each other. “Xanatos.” Qui-Gon's tone was firm, though most of it was due to confusion rather than discipline.

“Yes, Master?” “Why were you even in one of the Temple's aquatic-life pools?” Not that the man was against the fun of youth—Mace Windu, his friend and lineage-uncle (the little kriff was only 18-years old and was held dear to the man's heart, but that boy just never let up on his 'position of authority' in their lineage unless Qui-Gon's former teacher was around, for Yoda just encourages the teasing) had said many a time that long-haired man acted very immature for his age and rank. Qui-Gon never denied it, for he enjoyed a good time and following the will of the Force. If the Force said have fun then, by the stars, he'd have it. However, he was still a Jedi. He was a jedi, and connected to the Living Force. He encouraged his padawan to enjoy himself, sure, but Xanatos could have hurt whatever creatures were assigned into that pool! Some of them have extremely delicate ecosystems that should not be disturbed unless by a sanitized, aquatic-raced Jedi handler. Xanatos sighed, arms crossing over his chest as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. There was a long, hanging silence before sound once more filled the room. A muttered, grumbling sound that was hard to understand even with their Master/Apprentice mental bond. “Can you repeat that, padawan?” Qui-Gon asked, eyebrows arched. His boy was not one for muttering in any circumstance, no matter how angry he was. It interested and concerned the man all in one go. Another sigh was his response, before Xanatos moved past the man and back to the bench to pick up his lightsaber from it's place next to his wet clothing. “I said, 'I got pranked by some Initiates'. Some younglings got one over on me, okay?”

Qui-Gon's eyebrows shot up even higher after the information was now given clearly. Xanatos took that as a prompting for more information. “I was on my way here, a boy stopped and asked me for some help in naming some species for an assignment in one of the aquatic rooms.” The boy bent over, beginning his stretches and Qui-Gon began to mimic his student in order to finish his own interrupted exercises. “When I got there we both bent over a pool, he pointed one out but I couldn't see it... and then a friend of his popped out and pushed me in.” The boy stood up straight, stretching his arms out now, “To be fair to them it was partially an assignment for a class. They're practicing Force-stealth in their learning group. You didn't receive any calls, so I obviously let them live.” The boy looked irritated despite the apparent kudos he gave to the unnamed Initiates, but Qui-Gon was impressed with the boys maturity when one disregarded the last bit that was tacked on. The man couldn't resist chuckling at the teen’s dead-pan. Qui-Gon stepped forward, clapping a hand onto the younger's shoulder. “I see. If that is the case, the only answer is to exercise quite a bit to work the chill from your bones. And then, after I've turned you into exhausted mush, we shall go to that buffet I promised.... and perhaps to that dessert place with your favorite cakes after that.” Master and student shared a grin, and the training for the day would begin. Unknown to Qui-Gon, but the Force had done something rare in the past few minutes; it had helped a student successfully lie to their teacher.

#teeny padawan au #msu82writes #sw fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction #edie kenobi #elora edie kenobi #obi wan kenobi #baby Obi-Wan Kenobi #Xanatos du Crion #Teeny Padawan AU Fanfiction: Pajustji #markwatnae #msu82 finally wrote something #qui-gon jinn #yoda

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fireflyfish · 7 years

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Tano and Kenobi: Give it the Old Temple Try

Previously on Tano and Kenobi...

Jedi Knight Ahsoka Tano and Senior Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi have grown close over the past two months. Ahsoka is determined to see that her disruptive arrival in the past does not alter Obi-Wan’s destiny, to see that he become’s Qui-Gon Jinn’s. But that may not be what young Kenobi has in mind and no one has really asked for Master Jinn’s opinion on this matter.

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A week came and went and Obi-Wan still did not have a padawan’s braid or a master.

With only two weeks left before he was to be shipped off to Bandomeer, breakfast between Ahsoka and Obi-Wan had turned into a somber affair. Obi-Wan frowned at his Gatalenta porridge and Ahsoka picked at her steamed bun.

She glanced over at Obi-Wan, at his slumped shoulders and downcast blue eyes and felt like even more of a failure than she already was. All of her best efforts had been for naught and now it seemed like Ahsoka’s sudden appearance had upset the balance of the past and had knocked Obi-Wan off the path of his rightful destiny.

She didn’t know how she could make it up to him, short of taking him on as her own Padawan and Ahsoka felt she was nowhere near ready for that kind of responsibility.

But Skyguy was barely 21 when he took you on, and Master Obi-Wan was 23 when he took Skyguy on. You’ve got at least seven years on both of them. You could make this work. You know better than anyone what is ahead of him and what he needs to learn in order to be successful.

Ahsoka ignored the selfish voice in her spirit that had already taken to the young Obi-Wan like a mother gundark to its child. Just because she missed Master Obi-Wan and Anakin did not mean she had the right to rob the young boy in front of her from his rightful apprenticeship with Master Qui-Gon.

Even as the idea of sending her faithful little shadow off into the Galaxy without her was getting harder and harder to stomach. Especially when he would gaze up at her, those familiar blue-grey eyes asking silently, Why do you keep sending me away? Why don't you want to keep me?

Ahsoka let out a groan and rested her head on the table.

“Master Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan murmured, his spirit soft and gentle in the Force. “Would it be alright if we skipped jar’kai this afternoon?”

Ahsoka looked up from her crumpled position, brows raised in puzzlement. “You want to skip your lesson today?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze was focused on his hands as he spoke and she could tell he was trying hard to say something very painful. “I… I will be… if it's not too much trouble, I would like to go to the Parks before… I would like to go to the Parks, if you would be willing to escort me.”

Obi-Wan glanced up at her, his eyes round and begging for this, for this one last bit of fun and time together before everything started rolling downhill and he was sent off to Bandomeer. One last happy memory, please? For me?

The Parks was a sprawling artificial wilderness that served as a source of amusement and wonder for the residents of Coruscant. It was a favorite field trip destination for younglings and Initiates who so rarely had a chance to simply be the children that they were. Ahsoka remembered several such trips fondly.

Ahsoka smiled sadly at Obi-Wan and nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Sure. We can go to the Parks. On one condition.”

“What's that?” He asked, perking up considerably.

The words that came out of Ahsoka’s mouth were not what she had planned on saying but out they came all the same. “You have to ask Master Qui-Gon Jinn if he will take you on as his Padawan.”

Ahsoka watched Obi-Wan’s face and her heart broke, watched his tempered excitement and curiosity curdle into first disappointment and then ice over into a paper-thin facade of mature acceptance.

“Yes, of course, Master Tano,” he said, withdrawing his hand from hers and sitting up a bit straighter in his seat. “If you feel that is a valuable use of my time today, I shall endeavor to reconnoiter Master Jinn’s whereabouts and… present my candidacy as his Padawan for his perusal and contemplation.”

With each four-syllable word Obi-Wan flung at her, Ahsoka felt more and more miserable, more and more alone in this strange parody of her childhood. She had seen this before, when her master had done something or said something to infuriate Master Obi-Wan but he had never turned that sharp, mean streak on her. He had only ever been kind and caring with Ahsoka.

“Are you angry with me, Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Are you angry that I asked you to talk to Master Jinn?”

Obi-Wan folded his arms over his chest, staring over at the exit. “Of course not, Master Tano. Jedi do not get angry. They release their negative emotions into the Force and proceed forth in harmony.”

Ahsoka sighed and sat up in her chair. “Obi-Wan… please, talk to me. If you keep it bottled up inside, all it will do is fester and bleed. It won't help you, or anyone else for that matter.”

Obi-Wan scowled, actually scowled at the far wall before he turned his head sharply and glared at Ahsoka. “Why won't you take me as your Padawan? What is the point of all of this? Why are you teaching me anything if you don’t want me around? What's wrong with me? What aren't I doing, saying, feeling right?”

His vitriol and anger struck Ahsoka like a smack in the face and she took a moment to breathe and collect her thoughts. How could she explain to Obi-Wan that a part of her wanted him to be her Padawan, to say the hell with what had happened and to chart a new course. To run so hard and so far off the path of destiny that there was no possible way for Palpatine to reach them, to reach Anakin.

But the ghost of Master Obi-Wan was real and solid in Ahsoka’s mind. She could hear his caution, could almost picture his frown of doubt and hesitation. The part of her that was Anakin Skywalker’s padawan practically begged for her to give in to what they both wanted but the parts of her that were Master Obi-Wan’s grand-padawan and Padme’s friend, and that had looked up to Plo Koon, urged patience.

Trust in the Force, she could almost hear them whisper. Obi-Wan will be a Jedi Knight. You know this is foreordained. You just don’t know how.

But none of those whisperings, from the Force or her imagination, would ease her mind or soothe Obi-Wan’s broken heart.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka said, finally. “Master Yoda and I have a good feeling about Master Jinn. Please do this for me and I won’t ask it again. We can spend a whole day in the Parks if that’s what you’d like.”

Obi-Wan gazed up at her and Ahsoka nearly lost her nerve at the hurt on his face. He gave her a long, steady look, as if he were trying to decide how best to handle the situation, to carefully parse together the words necessary to get him out of the conversation. Ahsoka had started to realize that part of the reason Master Obi-Wan was so quiet during her master’s tantrums (and she was also old enough now to realize Anakin had in fact been throwing tantrums) was that he was carefully crafting a reply that would soothe her master’s short temper.

The idea that he felt it necessary to plot, to negotiate his way out of a painful situation with her stabbed Ahsoka in the gut.

“If you want me to, I will do it, Master Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan finally sighed, giving into truth and his own sorrow. “I will try to find him during lunch, if that’s all right.”

“You eat around 1230 hours right?” she recalled, careful to keep her voice neutral. “I’ll be there with bells on if you need help.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and picked up his tray to take it to the trash receptacle. “I need a miracle, Master Ahsoka. Do you have one of those in your pockets?”

And with that stinging rebuke, Obi-Wan walked off, shoulders slumped and gaze focused on the ground in front of him.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains offered no comfort as Ahsoka sat under a fireoak and tried to remind herself that taking Obi-Wan as a padawan would be tantamount to kidnapping him from Master Jinn and his pre-ordained destiny. She tried to close her eyes and find her way into a deeper meditation but she couldn’t stop seeing his crumpled smile and those furrowed brows as he looked away, and called her Master Tano.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She could still remember the delight she felt when Master Yoda told her she was going to be a padawan before she found out who her master was. Becoming a padawan was the first step to becoming a Jedi knight and that had been her only desire at the time.

And here she was, refusing to take him on and acknowledge the potential of one of the greatest Jedi knights in history because he was supposed to go off with Master Jinn.

Who showed zero interest in anything that wasn’t the Living Force or his many plants, according to some of the other knights she had sparred with in the practice salons. Ahsoka had always assumed that Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon had bonded, that the Force had somehow brought them together, unlike her and Anakin. That had been the Force too, but that had also been Master Yoda so she assumed their pairing wasn’t typical.

“Nothing we did was typical,” Ahsoka let out a breath and opened her eyes, surprised to find herself confronted with Master Yoda and beyond that, the boots of Master Windu. “Oh! Master Yoda! Master Windu! What a pleasant surprise!”

“You asked me last week what Master Yoda saw in the pairing of Qui-Gon Jinn and Initiate Kenobi and I thought he should tell you himself,” Master Windu said, his voice low and definitive. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lesson with Depa in fifteen minutes.”

His mission completed, Master Windu strode off into the distance and Ahsoka got the feeling that Master Yoda had been dropped into her hands like a particularly ornery toddler.

“Troubled, are you, Knight Tano?” Yoda questioned, hobbling over to her and settling into a seated position with the soles of his feet touching. “Pain, I sense from you, yes?”

Ahsoka bowed her head, frowning and worrying at the hem of the brown knight’s robes she had been given. Even after two months, it still seemed strange to be dressed like most every other Jedi in the Temple, to let go of her armor and her bracers and the idea that she was one of the only Jedi left in the galaxy.

“Do you think Qui-Gon Jinn is a good match for Obi-Wan, Master Yoda?” Ahsoka spit out, deciding that directness was the best way to bring up the topic. “Really?”

Yoda tilted his head to the side, his ears settling low, a sign that he was truly thinking about something. “Confident in the pairing, I was, before your arrival. Gifted, Kenobi is, but troubled by strong emotions and anger. Too easily attached, he is. But clever and patient, he can be. A good diplomat I sensed in him.”

Ahsoka nodded, agreeing with the ancient master’s assessment of young Obi-Wan.

“Difficult, mastery has been, for Qui-Gon,” Yoda shook his head, curling his hands together in his lap. “Raised one, he has. Lost another, he did. Deep sorrow, I sensed, and regret. Regret for himself and his former padawan. Hope, I had for the union of the two.”

“How so?” she asked, curious. Perhaps there was something there Ahsoka had missed. Someone to bridge the divide between the well-meaning but distant Qui-Gon and the intense and devoted Obi-Wan.

“Light the way, Kenobi would,” the Grand Master said, peering at a far distant waterfall quietly pushing along a stream that flowed through the massive room. “Guide the boy, Qui-Gon would. Find a balance between them, I believed. Now, I do not.”

“What changed?” Ahsoka looked at Yoda’s hands and wondered how many more times in his life would he worry over the wrinkled knuckles. How many times would he run his hand through hair he had lost decades, perhaps centuries ago? How many times would he reflect back at his decisions and wonder if he made the right one?

Was Master Yoda even capable of questioning himself in that manner?

Was he even listening to her?

“Master Yoda?” Ahsoka repeated, leaning forward. “What changed?”

Yoda turned back to her and smiled, a twinkling in his eyes. “Know this, you do. Meditate on the choice before you, you should. Trust in the Force, young Ahsoka. Much time you have, yes, but for Obi-Wan, not so much.”

Yoda slowly pushed himself upright and collected his gimer stick. He raised it to Ahsoka and began to hobble off, leaving her wide-eyed and opened mouth in shock. Crossing paths with a senior padawan who knelt down as instructed, with a dry rasp of a laugh Yoda climbed up his arm and was off.

Stunned and more than a bit confused by Yoda’s cryptic visit, Ahsoka decided to return to her meditations in earnest, hoping to find a way forward, to understand the will of the Force and what it wanted of her and of Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka closed her eyes and fell into a breathing pattern, letting her conscious thoughts drift past her mind’s eye as she slowly sank into the dark peace of the Force. With each inhale she fell further down into the gentle, rocking waves of the life around her. She could not pick out the individual life forms but she could feel the strength of the tree behind her, the firmness of the ground and the distant warmth of sunlight on her skin. The breeze tickled across her montrals and she shivered.

When she sensed she could go no deeper, when she seemed to have reached her destination, Ahsoka took out her thoughts and her worries and let them unspool and unravel before her. Questions and pleas bounced free out of her hands and heart as she reached out into the infinite space around and within her, desperate for an answer.

What should I do?

There was no answer, only the muffled sound of a distant surf and the faintest whistle of wind through the leaves overhead. Ahsoka waited, reaching out, stretching her awareness as far and as deep as it could go. Even if it was a wordless plea into the void of the Force, she called and called again.

What should I do? Please… Please help me.

I know you’re out there. She tried one last time, desperate.

Walk. A voice, the Presence from before, answered and Ahsoka found herself on a beach at night, beneath a sky filled with so many stars it seemed almost as if she could reach up and gather them into her hand like sand from Tatooine. The ocean washed in and out, a soothing rhythm to one who was so confused and lost.

Walk. The Presence spoke again and Ahsoka started to make her way down the shore, torn between the beauty of the ocean at night and the star-filled sky overhead. There was something mesmerizing and she couldn’t look away, try as she might, to focus on her question.

Please… I don’t know what to do. Why am I here, now? I know Master Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan as his padawan when he was younger but… but I don’t… I don’t think I want to let him. Ahsoka pleaded her case, hoping for another bit of understanding from whatever concentration in the Force was helping her. I’m wrong, aren’t I? This is attachment, isn’t it? I’m being selfish and robbing Obi-Wan of his true future.

The Presence seemed to stop and Ahsoka mirrored it, even if she didn’t really understand how she knew that a disembodied Force voice could “stop”.

Do you know why you are where you are? the Presence queried.

Ahsoka nodded. To change the future. To save Anakin, the Jedi Order, and the Galaxy.

And you think that you cannot do that as Obi-Wan Kenobi’s master? The question seemed simple enough but she could sense that her disembodied advisor wanted more than a simple “I don’t know.”

But Master Obi-Wan is supposed to be Qui-Gon Jinn’s padawan, Ahsoka insisted, gesturing to the infinite field of stars overhead. If I choose Obi-Wan, if I take him as my padawan, I will change the future. What if that means Anakin is never born? What if that means the Trade Federation invades Naboo and Padme can’t save her people? What if I fail as a master and Obi-Wan doesn’t grow up to be anything at all like Master Obi-Wan?

Ahsoka bowed her head. What if I fail and something happens to him? What if he dies?

And what if you don’t try? came the reply.

Master Qui-Gon will take care of him. He’ll raise him and train him and he’ll become a wonderful knight and a Jedi Master to Anakin, Ahsoka said, wrapping her arms around her as the air turned cold. I already know what’s going to happen if I don’t take him as a padawan.

There was silence again and just when she started to wonder if the Presence had left her, it surged back in with the tide. Why do you think you have been returned to this particular time?

Puzzled, Ahsoka shrugged. I… I don’t know. I’m not sure I understand.

Why not before you left the Order? Why not before Obi-Wan’s false assassination? Why not Mustafar or on Naboo in the plasma refinery? Of all the times and places for you to travel to, to be sent to, why did the Force bring you to this time and place?

Ahsoka went silent at that.

Why had the Force brought her back to Obi-Wan’s childhood and not Anakin’s? Why had it returned her to the Temple? Why three months before Obi-Wan was scheduled to age out?

If you want to save your master, to save your friends and family, you must start at the root of the problem, the Presence continued and she got the faintest sense of an exhausted sigh in the Force. Had you arrived at another time, you might have been able to prevent Order 66 and the Purges. You might not. You may have stopped the horror of Mustafar or maybe even some of the more tragic deaths of the Clone Wars.

You might not.

But only by acting here and now can you prevent all of that. You can save your master and the Jedi Order. You can graft a new branch to an aging tree and give it new life, little one.

Ahsoka frowned, her arms folded over her chest a flicker of anger and offense in her gut. Are you saying Master Obi-Wan is the problem?

No. Anakin Skywalker is the bitter fruit of a poisoned tree.

She ran a hand over her face. I don’t suppose it’s too much to ask you to make some sense?

Yes. It is. And for a moment, Ahsoka could almost swear she heard the damn being laugh. There are things you cannot change, little one. Obi-Wan Kenobi will be Anakin Skywalker’s master. As for who is Obi-Wan Kenobi’s master, well, that is up for negotiation. Time only flows one way, Ahsoka. Make the most of this time you find yourself in.

And with another soft susurration of the waves, the Presence was gone and the stars started to wink out, one by one. It would have struck Ahsoka as a rather ominous thing if she had been aware to notice it, but she had already passed into unconsciousness.

Ahsoka awoke to find a well-meaning knight gently prodding her shoulder. She sat up slowly, a little confused and surprised to have fallen asleep during her meditation. The knight, a smiling Zabrak with her hair pulled into a complicated braid, offered her hand to Ahsoka and helped to pull her up.

“You must have been really out of it,” the knight said as Ahsoka got her bearings and waited for the last bits of sleep to blow out of her mind. “The midday chime for lunch went off and you didn’t budge.”

“Thanks for waking me,” Ahsoka replied, bowing her head. “I have to be somewhere at 1230 and I can’t be late.”

The knight stepped out of her way and sent her off with a pleasant “Good luck!”

I’m not so sure what that would mean anymore. Ahsoka mused as she hurried to the lunchroom and Obi-Wan. I guess we’ll wait and see if Qui-Gon accepts his offer.

Ahsoka’s heart ached in her chest and she hurried faster through the hallways.

“Don’t do it,” Quinlan hissed at Obi-Wan as he and Luminara Unduli watched Qui-Gon Jinn eat his lunch at a table in the main dining hall, tucked back in a corner with a few other masters. “Master Ahsoka is going to choose you, Obi-Wan! She has to! She’s teaching you jar’kai and why would she teach you her style of fighting if she wasn’t going to take you as a padawan?”

“You shouldn’t disobey an order by any master,” Luminara observed quietly, although she did peek over at Qui-Gon with trepidation on her face. “But… maybe you could wait until Master Ahsoka arrives?”

Obi-Wan frowned at his plate and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. His mind flickered from moment to moment, trying to find something to distract his panic with. He had tied a long stem of a vine fruit into a knot and then molded his mashed Alderaanian tubers into a spiky volcanic mountain range. Then there was the tapping and the compulsive desire to look anywhere but over at the immobile bulk of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, well-known diplomat and peerless swordsman, the former padawan of Master Yahn Dooku, considered the master of Makashi.

And Obi-Wan was supposed to just walk up to him and politely beg him to be his master.

I don’t understand why it can’t be you, Master Ahsoka, he thought, stabbing at his nerf steak listlessly. What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you want me to be your padawan? I know there is a connection there! I can feel it!

So… why do I have to do this?

“Master Tiin just left!” Quinlan announced as he turned back to Obi-Wan. “That just leaves Masters Fua and Ando.”

“And the entire dining hall,” Luminara observed coldly. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“Well it’s this or Bandomeer,” Obi-Wan sighed, pushing himself upright. “And I am not going to Bandomeer.”

Grabbing ahold of a flicker of resolve, Obi-Wan stepped away from his table and slowly marched over to Master Qui-Gon, his hands curled into fists that somehow vanished into his sleeves the closer and closer he got to the master’s table. He tried to run through the short, brief speech he had prepared for this moment. He had shown it to Luminara, who agreed that it was a good one, giving Obi-Wan a bit more confidence.

Obi-Wan came within five feet of the table and caught Master Fua’s eyes first, the dark-skinned man smiling at him and beckoning him closer. “It’s Kenobi, right? Come, come! We don’t bite.”

Master Ando turned to gaze down at Obi-Wan, a tall, thin Munn whose presence was neither warm nor cold. He simply sat and watched, making Obi-Wan feel somehow even smaller and more nervous than he already was.

“M-Master Jinn?” Obi-Wan stammered, glancing up at the broad-shouldered man who was in the middle of taking a long sip of his tea. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Master Qui-Gon finished his drink and set it down with an exhalation, turning just enough in his chair to face Obi-Wan. “I wondered when you were going to search me out. You’re getting quite the reputation, Initiate Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan went cold then hot and then he froze, his words dying on his tongue, and the speech he had prepared flew right out of his head. He couldn’t think. His mind was stuffed full of wool and the suddenly pressing noise of the dining hall.

“I am, Master Jinn?”

“You are,” Qui-Gon nodded, resting one large arm and hand on the table in front of him. “I have heard you are searching for a master.”

“You have?” Obi-Wan echoed, his eyes falling away to Qui-Gon’s large right hand, resting on his leg. A strange, detached part of Obi-Wan’s mind wondered at how much larger his hand was than Master Ahsoka’s, at how Qui-Gon’s looked like it had been carved out of veined marble and Ahsoka’s from warm, smooth sandstone.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon nodded, his eyebrows raised. “I have chosen to be flattered that I am on your list, even if you have placed me at the bottom.”

“‘List’, master?” Obi-Wan looked up at the master’s face, horrified to see the harsh edges hidden behind his kind words. “There was no list, Master Jinn. I thought that… with you not having a padawan...”

“You are mistaken, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, his body language saying nothing polite. “You did not think, for if you had thought, you would have realized the foolishness of your actions, no?”

Obi-Wan’s blood started to pound in his veins and his ears. He dropped his head again, his eyes locked on the floor as he waited for the next barrage of politely destructive words.

“Have I not made it abundantly clear that I will never take another padawan?” Qui-Gon sniffed, taking a long sip of his tea.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Master Ahsoka wouldn’t cry. She would be strong. Like Master Skywalker. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. He started to breathe through his mouth lest his nose give him away. He couldn’t cry, not in front of Qui-Gon Jinn, not in front of the whole dining hall, which had gotten suddenly and noticeably quieter.

Just one more week and I never have to see any of these people ever again. Obi-Wan vowed, digging his fingers into the palms of his hands to keep from wiping at his eyes or his nose.

“This kind of behavior is beneath a Jedi, Initiate Kenobi,” Qui-Gon finished with a sigh, turning away from the boy. “Jedi do not grovel for scraps. Nor do they go begging for a foolish reprieve from their destiny. A true Jedi accepts what he cannot change and embraces the will of the Force. Perhaps that is something you should meditate on in your next position. Learning to accept the will of the Living Force and not seeking to defy its teachings.”

Obi-Wan wondered if he were going to faint, if it were possible to simply faint away dead. Was Qui-Gon done? Could he leave? Was everyone laughing at him? Is that what he heard coming from a not-so-distant table filled with upper-level Padawans?

“Oh, there you are!” Ahsoka’s voice rang out over the dining hall, bright and cheerful and just as warm as Qui-Gon’s had been cold. “I am so sorry I’m late, Obi-Wan. Did you already speak to Master Jinn like I asked?”

A large swath of brown wool and cream linen appeared in Obi-Wan’s vision. He felt his body being moved away from Master Jinn and tucked up against Ahsoka’s side, her hand warm on his shoulder. He didn’t know what was going on, only that Master Ahsoka was there and that she had situated herself in such a way that she was between him and Master Jinn.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and inhaled a tight, watery gasp of air. “Yes, Master Ahsoka.”

“Good!” she beamed and Obi-Wan felt her shields wrap around him like a warm, soft blanket, muffling the sights and sounds of the room, the prying presences and the growing cacophony of curiosity, mocking superiority and horrible, terrible pity. “Then it’s time for us to be leaving. Oh! Master Jinn?”

Qui-Gon’s voice was pleasant, if a bit strained. “Yes, Knight Tano? How can I be of assistance?”

“If you have some free time next week, could I still interest you in some sparring?” Ahsoka breezed, her voice sparkling like sunlight on the water but her spirit burning against Obi-Wan’s behind her shields. “Just a few rounds or so?”

Obi-Wan could hear the large man shifting in his seat, hear him clearing his throat. “Ah… yes, I believe so. If you will comm with the time and place, I will meet you there.”

“Excellent!” Ahsoka said, bowing over her left hand as she firmly guided Obi-Wan around and away from Master Jinn. She kept him under her arm as she marched them both out of the main dining hall and didn’t let go of him until they had left the Temple and arrived at the Parks,

It was only once they were out of the speeder and tucked away in a small clearing beneath a sprawling and gnarled smoke tree that Ahsoka turned to examine Obi-Wan’s numbed and humiliated face.

How had this happened? How could Master Jinn have done that to Obi-Wan in front of half the Jedi Order? What was she going to do now? How could she make this up to poor Obi-Wan, who looked like he was going to shatter at any moment? What was she going to do?

For now she would focus on the task in front of her, comforting Obi-Wan from Qui-Gon’s brutal rejection. She would work through what had to happen after that later, when Obi-Wan was feeling a little better and she had a moment to plan.

“I am so sorry, Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka murmured, reaching up to wipe away the tears that were spilling over his cheeks as feeling and emotions started to return to his frozen body. “I am so, so sorry. Come here.”

Obi-Wan found himself too distraught to argue and promptly curled into Ahsoka’s arms and sobbed until there was nothing left but a cold finality in the pit of his stomach.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would never be a Jedi knight.

And next week, he was going to Bandomeer.

#Tano and Kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Ahsoka Tano #Qui-Gon Jinn #Star Wars #Yoda #Mace Windu #Someone you don't want to mess with #bigger than life and twice as snippy #The Fastest Glacier in the Galaxy #Okay y'all #the THING has happened #Please do not flame me all at once #Please line up in a single file line #So that I can be rotate and be roasted evenly on all sides #I would hate to be burnt and underdone #at the same time #So yeaaaaaah....#Qui-Gon did not aquit himself very well in this chapter #Luminara was right Obi-Wan #The lesson we have learned today is #Listen to the Miralan girl when she says #Yo wait for Master Ahsoka #I'm sure you can all predict what Ahsoka is going to do now #And now I hope everyone has an inkling of what going Full Skywalker is going to entail #But don't forget she has other influences on her and she's also 31 #She's not going to fly off the handle and deliciously stand on a table and challenge Qui-Gon to a duel in the middle of the dining hall #Although she would like to #I PROMISE NEXT WEEK WILL BE MUCH HAPPIER!#MOSTLY

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