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fanfic-obsessed · 9 months

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Merge the Timestream AU.

This came about because the amazing @bitter-chocolate-stars muse for the AU idea Merging the TimeStream flew out and bit me. I would highly recommend reading it first, because it is awesome and I could not do it justice.

Now onto the madness.

It is a mission to a Force Temple, old enough that no one knows which side of the Force it was for (or if it was for a specific side). There were rumors that there was an ancient artifact that could change the tides of the War, so The 212th and the 501st were dispatched to get it before the Separatists.

Five people went into the final chamber to search(There was a description of the artifact in the temple. Only four words had been able to be translated-Past, Present, Future, and Knowledge): Obi Wan Kenobi, Anaking Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, Commander Cody, and Captain Rex.

It was these five people who were caught by the artifact. Each of these five were split into three. The present version of themselves, a future version, and a past version.

I bet you all can see where this is going.

Obi Wan’s past version is from Melida/Daan, two days before Cerasi died. The future is Old Ben, coming directly from his own beheading on the Death Star.

Anakin’s past is nine year old Anakin, hours before he would meet Qui Gon Jinn and Padme Amidala for the first time. The future is Vader (I hope none of you are surprised), a month after he cut off Luke’s hand, and just after he fully realized that it meant his and Padme’s child had always lived.

Ahsoka’s past is three years old, just Found by Plo Koon. Her future is Rebels Era Ahsoka, aka Fulcrum, before she found out that Vader was Anakin.

Rex’s past was a physically four year old cadet, the only survivor of his batch (who were decommissioned because of their blonde hair mutation-Rex’s scores were so high that he was kept). The future is Old Rex, post Empire (I always headcanon that Rex survives to see the end of the Empire because of spite).

Cody’s past is ARC Trainer Cody, after the war had started but before he was assigned to be Obi Wan’s commander. His future had just deserted the Empire and doesn’t even know about the chips yet.

Frankly it likely would have been better if one or more of those people had arrived unconscious. Alas this was not to be.

Upon arriving, Little Ahsoka immediately started crying to the visible concern of both Cadet Rex and Child Anakin (both were concerned about punishment at the noise). Before anyone could even think to do anything, Vader pointed a dramatic finger at Old Ben and went ‘You’ and followed up with ‘Why didn’t you tell me my son lived?’

Old Ben caulked his head, ‘Even leaving aside I thought I had left you for dead for a decade, Darth, why would I trust you with your children after the march on the temple?’

Now Darth Vader rocked back on his heels, “Children?” and then a moment later “Leia Organa”

Old Ben sighed deeply, ‘Surely we can both agree that the fact you tortured your daughter does prove me right to keep them from you.’

‘I cut off Luke’s hand too’ Vader said absently

Old Ben just buried his face in his hands.

Now all of this was with the background tune of little Ahsoka still crying. Former padawan Obi Wan is the one who reaches her first, and picks her up, smoothly herding Cadet Rex and Child Anakin behind him, away from the adults in the room. Former Padawan Obi Wan is radiating a vicious, desperate protectiveness.

The movement caused Old Ben to look away from Vader at the rest of the room. His brow furrows. He looks back at Vader, “Do you remember this?”

Vader’s black mask turns to take in the rest of the room, his breath rasps somehow louder than the crying Ahsoka. At last he says ‘I do not’.

Post Empire Rex snorts and says, with an unimpressed deadpan ‘It is probably Force Shit’.

It takes another half hour to get any kind of semblance of calm and start to piece together what is going on. In spite of the fact that neither Old Ben, nor Vader want to admit who they are (for different reasons), no one in the room is actually stupid.

There is a moment when Rex is obligated to give Old Ben shit for the fact that he told Luke that Vader killed Anakin Skywalker, to which Ben responds ‘I was just passing on what he’ points at Vader, ‘told me’.

At another moment Fulcrum throws up her hands and shoes at Old Ben ‘I thought you were dead, again. Why didn’t you tell me you survived.’ Old Ben blinks at her, ‘Leaving aside I also thought you were dead, my dear, for the last decade I have had the single highest bounty in the empire’ Old Ben looks to Vader, who nods solemnly after a moment, ‘I would have thought that would be telling.’ Fulcrum actually pouts and mutters, ‘I thought that was a plan by the Rebellion to draw Vader’s attention.’

There is just…so much trauma in this room. Like it is possible that this group has the highest concentration of trauma in the entire galaxy.

Deserter Cody appears to be having multiple concurrent panic attacks, his face swinging between Old Ben and General Obi Wan almost constantly. Between the residual guilt of having his general shot at, the horror of the long held belief that Cody had caused Obi Wan’s death, the combination of relief and horror at the news of the chip in his head, the combination of relief and confusion at Old Ben (who is proof that Obi Wan Kenobi did not die on Utapau), the confusion of being confronted with two other versions of himself all culminates in the fact that Deserter Cody is going through some things.

ARC Trainer Cody is going through less, mainly horror at the chips. He is also very much a shiny as far as his reactions to the Jedi are concerned. He is confused at being transported from Kamino, and does not know if he was transported to the future or they were tanspote to the past. Frankly by all measures ARC trainer Cody is one of the most stable people in the room.

Current Cody is sure that his younger self should not meet any members of Ghost Company on the basis that he would never live it down. He is also facing the horror of the chips, confusion at the triplicatation that is going on. His horror is that much deeper than his younger self because he knows and cares for Obi Wan (Light CodyWan for the win). He is also quite worried for his older self.

Melida/Daan Obi Wan is still not sure if he is willing to let any of the adults in the room near the other children. He is also doing slightly better with the fact that he grows up to be a general then the fact that he went back to the Jedi. He is also very much a child soldier with all the trauma therein.

Old Ben is not sure if this would be his heaven or his hell. On the one hand he could feel in the Force that he was before Order 66, all the lives he had felt snuff out were alive and well. On the other hand, there were three Anakins in the room, at least one of which hated him. Also he thought getting beheaded would get him out of dealing with more Skywalker BS.

General Obi Wan Kenobi is more than a little horrified. His connection to the Unified Force means that he is perceiving echoes of Order 66 through the future counterparts AND the variety of trauma that exists in the younger counterparts simultaneously. In addition, both his younger self and Anakin’s younger self are each triggering unresolved trauma.

Padawan Commander Ahsoka Tano is staring at her older self in awe, when she was not staring at Vader in horror. She has also been herded to one corner of the room by Former Padawan Obi Wan, despite the fact that she is 16 to his 14.

Fulcrum makes the decision that she CANNOT deal with the Vader/Anakin revelation at this point and is blocking it out. Instead she is staring at Old Ben. And glancing at her younger self, wondering how much being Anakin’s padawan had damaged her view of the Order.

Little Ahsoka has calmed, now that she was securely held by a warmer than average Cadet Rex.

Post Empire Rex is so, so done. This was supposed to be retirement. Being dragged back to the clone wars is not retirement. It was nice to see Fulcrum again though.

Cadet Rex is the definition of stress. He is not sure what test is going on, nor who these new trainers were but he would not fail.

Captain Rex is not sure what to do with the proof that he would survive the war. Nor the fate of his general as he stares at the tall black clad being.

Darth Vader, in addition to all the issues he always carries, is looking at his younger self covetously. Had he had a way he would have tried to possess his younger self, who has everything he wants. At the same time he wants to sit this younger version down and tell him exactly how to avoid everything that Vader is (It should be noted that Vader has no idea how to avoid all that Vader is). He is also boiling angry at every version of Obi Wan, though distantly looks at the little angry version and wonders if this was a way to get his brother back. The knowledge of Luke’s survival is drawing him back toward the single selfless thing he has done in decades, but he is still very much a Sith.

Child Anakin is deeply confused and frankly ecstatic that he hasn’t blown up yet. It is very clear they are not on Tatooine and nowhere near Watto. He is also not impressed that he somehow escaped slavery only to become enslaved again (in his perception Vader is also chip controlled and thus enslaved).

General Anakin Skywalker is freaked out by Vader, who is radiating a weird greed at him, and also by the implications of everything the future people have said. He is also heartbroken over Palpatine being evil (even Vader agrees, in his own way, that Palpatine is evil). Everything strikes deep enough that Anakin actually decided he needed a therapist (There is something about the casual way that Vader talks about torturing Anakin and Padme’s children that cements that decision).

It turns out that the Artifact is the entire temple, so removing it is not feasible.

Like in the original idea, I am not sure if the past and future versions find themselves eventually returning to their own times, or if they are stuck in the present. Though there is something that is amusing about the Jedi now having to deal with three of each of these five people, one of which is a Sith. Particularly since Vader both wants to kill them all and wants to protect them all (to prevent Anakin’s Fall).

It does change so many things though.

#star wars the clone wars #star wars #fanfiction prompt #star wars au #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #codywan #anidala #bamf obi wan

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smashtheshell · 6 months

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sorry i haven't responded to any messages. it's really just exhausting. i don't have anything to say other than that it's unwise to make other people's existence and yours a zero-sum game lol. i wish i thought this pattern was reversible, but with the PLO delegitimized and with the current government not only hanging on but also blaming oslo (!) and the disengagement (!!) for oct 7, i think a regional war is more likely.

i hope u guys will get over the thing where you tell each other that all israelis are fair game because we're settlers/we all have dual citizenship/we all live in luxury and have the ability and means leave. or more specifically the urge to try to convince me via anon asks that my hypothetical death is deserved? that's a strange thing to do.

i was never an antizionist out of the kind of altruism that means i am willing to sacrifice my life or the lives of my loved ones for palestine's liberation. i just believe that, literally, no one is free until everyone is free. that hamas truly is necessary for zionism as smotrich and bibi told us on tv, and that the threat to my safety from hamas and other groups that target civilians is real and will not be alleviated until justice is achieved. i think israelis need to make real sacrifices for that, not just in land or reparations, but certainly not of our lives. trying to convince people otherwise is a fool's errand and makes the people who are "fair game" embrace right wing zionism (this is an observable fact from the past two weeks).

for the same reason i don't understand liberals who seemingly considered stabbings, car rammings and rockets symbolic until now. how come previous targeting of israeli civilians didn't make you genocidal at the time? did the people who died not matter because they weren't you? and how does immediate genocide make more sense than a POW deal and removing right wing lunatics from politics and state security bodies. as barak mayer said, our feelings right now is what palestinians have felt since 1948 (or since the 1890s). how does policy by pure revanchism make sense right now or at any time. no one is making sense and no one cares to listen

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supremechancellorrex · 1 year

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I hear a lot of anti-Jedi and pro-Jedi going back and forth on this platform, but I wonder if we're only dealing in absolutes. That's it, everyone on tumblr is a Sith. Confirmed.

But, seriously (I was serious), are the Jedi good? Are they evil? Are they somewhere inbetween? And what is the system they support? Are they being their 'best selves' by the twilight years of the Republic? Am I a jerk? Are they jerks? Are you a jerk? Well... let's look at both sides and canon as it is, and see where it goes.

Should we ignore the problems and implications?

Dogma: "No! We have orders! We have to go through with this!"

First things first, let's start with negativity, because that's life possibly. There are a number of criticisms which are levelled against the Jedi in the canon. The Star Wars writers didn't always just put scenes and lines in for fun.

Slick: "It's the Jedi who keep my brothers enslaved. We serve at your whim. We do your bidding. I just wanted something more."

The Jedi are accused of slavery in Star Wars: The Clone Wars, which was created by George Lucas as Executive Producer, along with Dave Filoni and a whole host of writers working in collaboration. When Slick accuses the Jedi of being his and other clones' slave masters, it is never refuted by any of the characters, even Obi-Wan and Anakin who he is speaking to. It's never refused by the narrative at all.

Canonically, the Jedi as citizens and being military generals act as the clones superiors and also masters by proxy in the command chain. Slick's accusation is that the Jedi "keep [his] brothers" enslaved, not that they even necessarily enslaved them in the first place. He is indicating that the Jedi have power and agency, which they do as natborn citizens, but they don't direct it for justice and meaningful change in regards to clone rights.

Satine Kryze: "I remember a time when Jedi were not Generals, but peacekeepers."

Now, people have argued that the Jedi do help the clones and they are "in charge of [the clones] care", as Master Shaak Ti says during a continuing arguement where her and Nala Se debated on who Tup, Fives and clones in general belonged to as "property". The Jedi could think themselves better caretakers of the clones troopers than natborn officers like Tarkin, although this verges on character speculation. Canonically, we do see evidence of care, such as Shaak Ti advocating for Domino Squad and calling them "living beings" that didn't deserve to be "cast aside", Mace and Plo Koon and other Jedi do show concern for their men's lives.

But, arguably it doesn't account for much when the Jedi are still working in the framework and structures of slavery instead of protesting it. Being kind to clones doesn't mean much when you prop up the meat-grinder of a system that uses them as cannon fodder.

This is exemplified in the show itself.

Ahsoka: "It's every citizen's duty to challenge their leaders, to keep them honest, and hold them accountable if they're not.”

Unjust actors and systems are to be challenged. The Jedi being nice isn't an absolution for their participation in this system, just as a slave master or a deputy slave master being nice in any context doesn't change the fact that they are still in command of slaves getting thrown into the meat grinder every day. If you support an unjust system, you bear responsibility.

And, moreover, despite moments of compassion from Jedi, for people who value life, the Jedi as an organisation still show a concerning ease with clone death as the war progresses. The Citadel Arc is a great example of this. As Clone Trooper Charger falls to his death and collides with a shock mine, Obi-Wan sasses "Well, they know we're here now" as the other clones still are reaching out in horror. Every time a clone dies on that mission, they leave them behind, even Echo (who turns out to still be alive and is captured by the enemy and tortured). However, despite the urgency of the mission, when Jedi Master Even Piell dies, the Jedi pause the mission to give him a funeral and burial even though the enemy is closing in. If there was ever a message that the Jedi value their slave soldiers' lives less, this is it.

Further evidence includes the fact that Jedi Master Pong Krell's casualty numbers were well-known in the military, to point Torrent Company were openly debating them, and yet no other Jedi General had felt the need to propose a military investigation. Additionally, when the Jedi were fed the cover story the inhibitor chips in their men's brain were just designed to make them less aggressive and more docile, there is no evidence they protested this mental violation. Another neglect in a series of many. Taking this into regard, I think the unfortunate implications are clear.

Perhaps the Jedi should find better use for their mind tricks and lightsabers than cutting up droids and planetary militias all while propping up an unjust regime?

Master enablers

Jedi Master Dooku: "The Jedi blindly serve a corrupt Senate that fails the Republic it represents."

Canonically, the Jedi are deeply flawed as an organisation. They are politically centrist in a way that does not benefit either themselves or the Republic in end, shown to be enablers that uphold the system and law as it is, regardless of how unjust.

How can the Jedi have the high ground when they appease a Senate that supports slavery regardless of how the writers try to downplay it? How can they be morally righteous when they bow down, without much resistance if at all, to such system that uses slave soldiers? Clones die under Jedi command, they work in the Jedi Temple as both soldiers and technicians. The Jedi claim they just can't get involved in changing the system because it's beyond their mandate when what's on their doorstep, what's in their temple, is slavery, slavery that they even benefit from arguably to even maintain their transports and technical systems.

For any person or group in any system, there's a breaking point where things have gone too far, but how much one tolerates up until that point says a lot about their moral character. The Jedi were drafted by the Chancellor (Oh you) and perhaps they thought being 'kind' to the clones when they interacted with them was enough, but it wasn't. And while the Jedi continue to believe in the Republic far beyond acceptable, victims mount.

During the Wrong Jedi Arc, the Jedi Order also show themselves in bad light. It would have been one thing to believe Ahsoka was guilty and leave it at that, yet they practically threw Ahsoka under the bus for politics in reality. Mace kept talking about the politics, essentially showing Jedi PR was a more important factor than Ahsoka's life.

Mace Windu: "I understand your sentiment, Obi-Wan. But, if the council does as you suggest. It could be seen as an act of opposition to the Senate. I'm afraid we have little choice."

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan advocated for Ahsoka briefly, expressing doubts at her guilt, but at best casts a vote in her favour when he knows it won't be enough. Give it to Anakin in this instance, at least he did an actual private investigate to prevent a wrongful conviction instead of sitting back. Like Asajj Ventress said when confronted by Anakin, the Order abandoned Ahsoka and appease a Senate that supports authoritarian policies, kangaroo court trials and a slave army. What a state to die for.

Ahsoka: “This is why the people have lost faith in the Jedi. I had, too, until I was reminded of what the Order means to people who truly need us.”

How can the Jedi believe in the Republic to the point they were surprised when they got inevitably screwed over? Again, the narrative supports the idea the Jedi have lost their way and become enforcers for the Senate, however fascist and dangerous it has clearly become. You kind of have to have in order to become key leaders of a slave army when you were peacekeepers beforehand. The Republic is failing, but so are the Jedi. They fight the war with the tools they are given, from their lightsabers to their slave soldiers, with no solution or appropriate concern for the legislative catastrophe happening at the heart of the Republic until they realise Palpatine's been in a little long with his executive powers. They enforce laws, unjust systems and follow orders.

Fives: "I'm sorry. I cannot just follow orders when I know they're wrong. Especially when lives are at stake."

Captain Rex: "You will if you support the system we fight for."

Fives: "I do support it. I do! But I am not just another number! None of us are!"

TCW shows us that following rules and regulations when they're immoral is the wrong course of action, yet no matter the signs and warning, the Jedi continue to play into Palpatine's hands with their misguided patriotism as the Republic becomes increasing draconian and despotic. The most problematic factor about the Jedi is that they don't acknowledge the problems and the fact the clones' situation is unacceptable on every ground. They don't acknowledge the clones' situation, they don't acknowledge the Republic is bad or try to think of solutions to that even if they don't work. The situation is complicated, but the Jedi went along with bad options when they should have known what the Republic was by this point. How can the Jedi enforce justice when they enforce the corruption of it?

The Jedi continue to believe in the Republic and their part in he hierarchy when it seems more akin to a hostage situation with slaves in the balance. If they're blind, they're fools. If they knew, they're knowing enablers.

A tight spot

Obi-Wan Kenobi: "For over a thousand generations, the Jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the old Republic... before the dark times... before the empire."

Now, the flaws in the Jedi are clear, but it's all well and good to critique them. What could the Jedi have done effectively instead? If the Jedi were more keyed in on the Republic's unsalvageable system and decided to be proactive in regards to it, what could they do realistically? Aside from the emotional weight of getting people to abandon their home and a multi-generation relationship the stretches back centuries and centuries, the logistics of getting 10,000 people to desert and transporting them without the Republic and GAR noticing and stepping in feels unrealistic. Not only this, but they'd be ditching the clones to slavery yet again, as it's not like the Jedi can all desert and take the clones with them like they're plushie toys. Each clone is a different individual and deprogramming child soldiers is difficult.

People like Dogma, Neyo and Bacara wouldn't canonically desert without the right circumstances, Captain Rex wouldn't just desert with Anakin, nor could Obi-Wan sashay Commander Cody and his troops away like some of the fandom thinks. A lot of clones were indoctrinated to be loyal to the Republic from a young age. If the Jedi had just flat out tried desert, Order 66 would have likely happened earlier and Palpatine would have easily painted the Jedi as traitors.

Of course, there are the inhibitor chips as also a factor, but we can only judge the moral character of the Jedi based on the knowledge they did have and what they chose to do with it.

Barriss Offee: "An army fighting for the dark side. Fallen from the light we hold so dear. This Republic is failing. It's only a matter of time."

However, this is no excuse for the Jedi Order choosing the worst option out of a bad bunch. The Jedi crossed the moral precipice. They crossed it ever since AOTC when they decided that indoctrinated, slave soldier of dubious origin were just what they needed to throw into the desert meatgrinder that is Geonosis as the war started. There reasons make sense in their way, there's millions of units of droid army marching their way and the Republic and Senate have only a ten-thousand strong Jedi and the Judicial Forces. At the same time, the reasons for that humanitarian crisis aren't justifications. 'Cool motive. Still slavery' applies here.

Ethically, Yoda and Mace shouldn't have just gone along with the draft without any counter-strategy, especially if they cared about the clones as human beings and a people. They could have pretended cooperation and done discreet resistance at least. Of course, the Jedi even if they resisted weren't probably gonna have a happy ending, as generations under Republic thumb had neutered them and taken their passion and power, but they would have taken the moral and right action.

Instead, the Jedi remain the face of the war effort, using a Trojan Horse slave army just given to them with no real protest. If the Star Wars had truly wanted the Jedi to be wholly good, they'd have had them be more begrudging, cynical and weary at being pressured and coerced by the state. There'd be growing Anti-Republic sentiment, which would have been a start. Rebellion, dissent and mutiny would have been even more valuable and expected. Instead, the Jedi Order are loyal to the regime until the very last moments of the war.

In Conclusion

In the twilight years of the Republic, Palpatine really used every weakness of the Jedi against them. As an organisation, the Jedi really can't save themselves. Individuals can, as shown by Ahsoka leaving, but the Republic destroyed the Jedi, it took their soul, it bureaucratised and militarised their culture, and the Jedi just slid down that slope. That's part of why the people felt abandoned by the Jedi, as the Jedi were too melded to the system both functionally and idealistically, trapped in the snake, them and what they stood for slowly digested as they safeguarded and enforced unjust status quos. Even when Dooku was young, as The Tales of the Jedi said, they were already damned. Ahsoka left, every Jedi should have at that point. The Republic definitely would fight an en masse desertion, but it'd have been the right thing to do.

Some Jedi realised and left, others were too committed the belief of a Jedi Order that had become a shadow of what it was. The Jedi are a warning of what happens when governments, hierarchies and religion connect and influence each other for centuries. At the same time, adult Jedi were responsible for their actions, and each could have done more for the clones than they did.

Fives: "We must be trusted to make the right decision, especially when the orders we are given are wrong!"

#star wars #the jedi order #jedi #anti jedi #pro jedi #i try ok #individuals are lovely #the clones #clone troopers #clone rights #the clones deserve better #star wars tcw #the clone wars #arc trooper fives #ahsoka tano #barriss offee

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canichangemyblogname · 6 months

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People need to realize the label "terrorist" is, more often than not, a political label. When you point this out, people often accuse you of terrorism apologia, but it's actually quite the opposite.

If we were to- say- define a "terrorist group" as "a non-governmental organization that violently targets civilian populations as a tactic to score political points, often relying on 'propaganda by deed,'" many more people and groups would be included under this definition. It would rightfully exclude the Ukrainian military as it engages directly with the Russian military, in direct contrast to Russia's rhetoric, while it would rightfully include groups like the KKK, which has been excluded from official terrorist organization lists.

It is not a perfect definition, but it is one of many working definitions proposed to counteract current political labeling. Current political definitions and usage often result in organizations like the PLO being included on the list for a year before the US government waived it or non-violent protesters in Georgia, USA, being hit with the label. It also leaves out several groups of violent extremists, providing them with more of an air of legitimacy and more discretion in their operations than those groups with the label.

Labeling a group as a "terrorist" group often legally allows a government, like the US government, to heavily surveil the group's members, freeze group and member assets, imprison group members, and engage with the group militarily. The label also often serves to justify any treatment of group members under a government's authority, like denying them due process. Some will argue it is a necessary evil. Others will point out how many men have been released from places like Guantanamo without charge. Or how the US "No-Fly" list appears to racially profile people and primarily target Muslims.

As long as labeling a group "terrorist" allows a government to legally circumvent certain rights, like that of a free and speedy trial, it will be used politically and ideologically, often against civilian separatists and opposition to the state, as we see in Georgia's Stop Cop City protests. But the US is not the only country that does this. Nor is it the only country primarily focusing on Islamic Extremism to the detriment of National security and democracy.

"Terrorism" is the pretext, but involvement in "terror"-related occupation has objectives other than stamping out terrorism. Just as there are socio-political gains in labeling common Georgian protesters as "terrorists," there are geo-political gains in the primary focus on Islamic fundamentalism and violence, like an unwavering international gaze on the Islamic world and multiple different military occupations in the Islamic world. If people's gut assumption is that Muslim = terrorist, they won't think twice about something like US military strategies in the Islamic world. It has led to 30% of Republicans and 19% of Democrats supporting things like the bombing of the fictional nation of Agrabah in polls. It has also led to US militarized counterterrorism in 85 countries worldwide with limited Congressional oversight and next to no public knowledge.

When I point this out, most people like to straw-man my argument to assume my goal is to let listed terrorist organizations prance around and kill people indiscriminately. The goal is not the absence of justice, but strengthening protections for the accused so a label is not an automatic guilty sentence. No government or military should simply be able to invade another to play judge, jury, and executioner on the people of that country. Morally. They also shouldn't be able to justify suspending due process for anyone. It sets a precedent.

Additionally, the goal is not to let a terrorist organization operate without impunity, but to admit that the "War on Terror" was a failure, in large part due to its violent and indiscriminate strategies. That is the second thing people need to realize.

This theoretical war against this nebulous force has been nasty, brutish, and long. It has also been ineffective. The "War on Terror" has only contributed to more violence and extremism worldwide. In fact, terror-related incidents have increased fivefold worldwide since 2001. The number of existing terror groups is at the highest level since 1980, and they've seen their numbers swell. And they have become increasingly transnational.

We've learned that it is impossible to win any terror-related "conflict" without destabilizing a nation or region. It is impossible to win any terror-related "conflict" without inflicting a tremendous number of civilian casualties, especially due to modern governments' aggressive military strategies. It is also impossible to win. Period. You cannot defeat terrorism. An organization, sure (although only about 7% of terror organizations have been quelled by military action). Terrorism itself? No. Mostly due to the diversity, scope, and decentralization of the threat. It is simply not possible to eliminate armed terror groups through the use of force and armies. It's quite literally counterintuitive.

The Hot War on Terror replaced the Cold War on Communism. And leading powers in the Global North are repeating the same failed tactics they used between 1950-1990. An overemphasis on military force to achieve state goals (most terror planning *does not* take place in a dedicated physical location, which military force primarily addresses). Neglecting non-military instruments of statecraft (terrorism is a tactic, not an ideology, so you can't "war" against a tactic). Focusing so narrowly on military action, you practically ignore other foreign-policy goals (like economic and political stability, anti-corruption, and nation-building because terrorist groups thrive in instability and disaffection). Creating the state's enemies of the future (see: arming Afghan rebels to fight the Soviets). And disowning and contradicting their country's own stated moral values to achieve its goals abroad.

Declaring war on terror is nothing short of a forever war. It ends only when counterterrorism measures stretch governments so thin they collapse.

#international relations #tw: terrorism #tw: long post

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gaeasun · 1 year

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New fixit idea: Plo Koon meets Fox, adopts him, and electrocutes Palpatine because he can canonically do that it would be poetic justice

#clone trooper fox #plo koon #g gives a thought

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 5 months

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Poets and Painters (Evening) Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Commander Wolffe shows Reader he cares so fucking deeply for his battalion in this segment because that’s important to me, thanks. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word-count: 6,915

The sun is beginning to set on Little Archossi. Everyone has opted to stay, save for some of the crew. Only, that's untrue; most of the crew has left. Save for you. If the Clones are staying behind, you feel you should too. These are not your brothers, there is no familial bond that drives you to remain by their side and swear to keep them safe.

For Maker's sake, you're not even armed! one of your fellow crewmates says in an attempt to reason with you. That's of no concern thanks to Soapsuds' generosity. (His spare DeeCee now sits tucked into the belt and waistband of your slate gray uniform.)

(There, now I am armed. Will you be leaving now?)

But you couldn't leave. Part of you burned to know what the peoples of Little Archossi would look like, how this potential first contact would go, what it was General Plo Koon had sensed through the Force… An equally large part couldn't leave Commander Wolffe on his own.

But… that's a silly notion. He's surrounded by his brothers, flanked by his diligent sergeants, Sinker and Boost, and he's been readily communicating with his pilots like Warthog as they perform aerial sweeps following their return to the atmosphere of Archossi after dropping off the civilian crew on the Triumphant.

Commander Wolffe is not alone. So why do you feel like your absence would mean he'd suddenly be without company? Why did this equally large, equally loud voice within you tell you to stay for his sake? If he wanted you here, that would be one thing. But he never expressed any such sentiment. And he probably doesn't need you here because now you're one more thing, one more person's safety, to be concerned over.

Why are you offering to stay with Commander Wolffe, Arcadia?

I feel like he needs my…

You couldn't answer your crewmate. So you shrugged them off and told them to get on the LAAT without you. What the hell were you going to answer with? My help? My risk assessment? My friendship?

(… and again that creeping, all-consuming doubt: were you friends?)

Joining you on the hill, Commander Wolffe turns his face into the fading light and watches the final signs of daylight melt away; golden amber and candy-soft pinks are surrendering to the deep, swallowing blues of the sea, and the rich, dignified purples that often cloak royalty.

"No painting in the galaxy would ever do a sunfall like this justice."

"Perhaps not…" Wolffe murmurs. "But many will try." He says it like he pities the wasted efforts. Or perhaps instead he is quietly sorrowful on their behalf, in his own way.

"I think it's a wonderful thing that they will." you muse with a soft smile, deciding not to tease him for getting poetic (though it would be so easy to, after all the instances lobbied your way) but to agree with him instead. "Finding something inspiring and hoping to catch a little slice of that moment in time forever? It's like… a tangible form of courage."

Wolffe turns his face from the fading light, seeking clarity. "Courage?" he asks you tenderly, dark brow buckling just a fraction above the beautiful, cold silver eye. Figuring it's perhaps a measure of facial paralysis due to a severed nerve or two, you take notice that Wolffe's brow which the scar runs through doesn't lift as high as the other.

Old gods and galaxies… it makes your heart clench and your veins burn with fire in anger just for a moment. Such a mark dealt by the blade of one who shrouds herself in the dogma of the Sith has only added to the overarching tragedy of Wolffe's war service. His brothers, his eye, his paint. How much more would this galaxy rob him of?

His bravery? The willingness to rise from the dust, bare his teeth and say “again”? Would it take his courage, too?

(Courage… how terrible a thing to lose.)

Swallowing your swirling thoughts at long last, you think you should answer the Commander's question. "It takes courage to try…" you offer simply, "...creating art is the marriage of an act of courage and emotion. A little snapshot of the soul, some people might say. Like, for example, when I started sketching you today: it was a test of my courage…"

You explain that while today seems to show evidence to the contrary, it's been a while since making use of more traditional supplies, and you think of your skills as being a bit rough around the edges.

"I also think I can admit now that when you sat down in front of the tree… it kinda pissed me off. Just for a moment." Your nervous laugh breaks any mounting silence that would have built between you as the Commander considers your admission. "I-I, uh, wasn't planning on drawing anyone at all! But you'd finally sat down… and I didn't have the heart in me to ask you to move. Not when you were finally off your feet, and looking a little more… calmer than before when you were pacing. So I made a decision to add you to the sketch. And… you know the rest."

Indeed he did.

The shoulder pad with the icon of the wolf. The request to watch you add the color and ink to the page. How you'd gotten to know each other degree by degree as he spoke of Abregado, of his brothers, showed you he was more than you expected. The buried and measured sensitivity within him. The maroon and the gray paint. His observations that served as compliments of sorts.

You're perhaps too wise beyond your years, Arcadia.

Sketching… stitching little wolf designs into your uniform… How many other talents are you hiding?

Once, a half-joking statement about being able to tame a battle-beaten wolf was offered. ("I'm sure my brothers will start wishing you were around more, if we ever had more opportunities to "do nothing", Arcadia.") You had been watching Warthog assisting with preparing multiple gunships other than his own for takeoff, then. You had made up your mind to stay behind, but you hadn't yet told Wolffe.

Maybe one day… you'd agreed with a wistful smile, one day, when the war is over. We'll have plenty more days like this.

Part of you hoped it would be with him. When he would be free of his inner anxieties, when he was certain his brothers, all of them, were safe… would always be safe… maybe then, you could spend more days with him creating rather than destroying.

"I apologize for pissing you off," Wolffe offers, his voice a welcome interruption to the growing silence, "and now I appreciate your sketch that much more." The sincerity in the sight of his full lips parted in a gracious, charming smile is just enough to make your heart flutter for a mere moment. Mere moments were all he needed before he needed to excuse himself, Warthog was vying for his attention from the portion of the clearing where they had grounded the LAATs.

He'll (unfortunately) have to leave you to enjoy the rest of the natural, wondrous light show on your own.

As he turns on his heel, and starts down the hill, you wonder… Was there always this militant elegance to the way the Commander walked, carried himself, simply existed?

Maker alive… what's gotten into you suddenly?

There's glee and child-like wonder in the clearing, just paces away as you amble around the edge of the forest. Trying to clear your head, you've traded the durasteel halls of the Triumphant for dew-ladden, fragrant grass to pace. (The smell eludes you. It's familiar, yet hard to pinpoint. Is it the freshness of the water or the silky richness of the life-source in the soil under your feet? (Have you been aboard star craft for too long and just forgotten what grass smells like?))

You're trying to make sense of your thoughts, but there's just too much to filter through both internally and externally. While you're trying to figure out a singular thing - if you've made a friend today - it's impossible to miss the way no one can come to an agreement on what the ever-loving fuck these bugs are called.

“I'm telling you, lantern bugs are just as correct as fireflies.” Tack repeats himself with increasing emphasis to an increasingly confused Soapsuds.

“And they can also be called fire beetle?”

“Yes; not to be confused with the flame beetles of Kashyyyk. Those are different.”

Suds stammers in confusion. “H-how?”

“The flame beetles fuckin’ explode.” is all the elaboration Tack feels like supplying, the grim smile a far cry from comfort.

“What about glowworms?”

“Yes…”

“And fireworms?”

“Yes! You can also call them lampyrids and lightning bugs and candle flies. All of them are correct because they're all different common names for the same bug!” Tack promises, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sucks in his teeth.

Bless him, he's been remarkably patient with his brothers, veterans and shinies alike, in answering their questions about what the devil these bugs with yellowed-green lights were, and if they could catch them (or were they like those razorwing moths back on another planet that looked harmless, but had wings laced with a chemical irritant?) and other questions without end.

Yes, they were safe to catch. Yes, his brothers should also be careful not to squish them. They glow thanks to a process of chemicals, enzymes and oxygen, in short. (No really, Commander, I don't mind answering their questions; you don't have to tell them to quit “pestering” me.)

Yes, they are really pretty, in a strange sort of way, Orchid. The Clone researcher could certainly agree with that. “They’re like… Like…” Tack begins to mutter under his breath in thought, searching for the right sort of descriptive imagery and failing. “Fuck, I got nothing,” he admits with a laugh, “I’ve got connections to another researcher Clone in a completely separate unit, and he's really fond of bugs… I'm certain he'd come up with something in no time.”

You've abandoned your walk for the time being, too intrigued by Tack’s trouble, and mention of connection to another researcher like him. “How about something like… “living stars”, for a start, Tack? And who's the other researcher you know?”

Once more, you've opened the door to be teased for potential poetism, but no one takes the bait this time. Instead, Tack and the two brothers who are aging out of being considered shinies look out into the grassy field where the air is softly roiling with maybe hundreds of airborne fire beetles and allow a collective moment of contemplation.

Living stars…

“Yeah, I can see it.” Orchid offers quietly.

Nodding in distracted agreement, Tack offers the answer to your last question best he can. “His name is Cypher, and he's with the… the uh… Sh-shit, sorry Arcadia, I can never remember if he's with a legion or a battalion, officially. There's some weird arrangement going on with this unit being led by one Jedi, with one Clone commander and captain under their command.”

That sure does sound “weird”, you agree. “I didn't think that a Jedi Master would be-”

“Oh that's the thing: they're not a Jedi Master; just a Knight, according to what we know through the rumor mill, anyways.” Tack clarifies quickly (with an apologetic look for interrupting you). “But, yeah, that still doesn't answer why a singular Force-wielder is leading two forces like this. Trying to get answers out of Cypher that don't involve bugs is like trying to pull rancor teeth, too. No idea if it's some kind of grand fuck-up or maybe there… was… a Jedi Master and they were KIA.”

There's a weighted silence in the air now, devoid of the comfort and ease it once had. “That's… horrible, if it's the second case.” you offer solemnly. You admit your knowledge on the Jedi isn't as great as it could be, in all potential, but you think you understand that a Force-wielder with the ranking of a knight doesn't necessarily “need” the tutelage of their masters anymore (at least if you compare them to say, a Padawan?)... It's still a terrible ordeal to lose someone you formed some bond with.

“Not to mention… pretty troubling if it was a grand fuck-up.” Borrowing Tack's words, you have to acknowledge that the circumstances of leading two forces like this means someone is saddled with the task of keeping so many soldiers of the GAR safe. That's an enormous responsibility to shoulder. So many souls… so many brave men to lead. “If it's the first… let's hope whoever is… let's say in charge of directing the Jedi, sends someone else to help them. I know I'd want to make sure someone isn't on their own in a situation like that.”

From time spent in observation of the Clones aboard the Triumphant, when Soapsuds' left hand lifts to shoulder-height, you know that means he's got a question in mind. “Yeah, Suds?”

“Was it surprising to your family when you decided to take a position on a cruiser like ours?”

You shake your head and laugh out loud, the memory of making up your mind and announcing your decision coming back to you. “Oh, stars, no. They weren't surprised that I wanted to help people, but more how I wanted to go about it, I guess. Maybe they expected me to volunteer at a medcenter, rather than… something like this.”

Oh, you can feel it in your heart that this would make for an interesting story to tell, one day. You've definitely given them a decent amount of communication since joining, but it's all been careful and sparsely detailed. No names, ranks or planetary locations. Nothing the Separatists can intercept and use as leverage, or in an ambush.

You doubt the Separatists could glean anything from hearing you complain that one of your crewmates is a little too fond of loud, thrumming music at 04:00, or that no, you still don't like that one particular vegetable no matter how it's prepared, or no, unfortunately you still hadn't had the time to utilize the art supplies you were gifted, but you kept thinking about it.

(You had no reason to believe they were listening; to monitor so many channels of communication takes a lot of time and resources, realistically speaking. But, better to assume they are.)

Hmm… you can finally tell them you used the art supplies today, speaking of them. Handful of doodles, and at least two proper sketches. A flower and a… person?

No, that makes it sound too impersonal and vague, you decide. You drew a flower and a friend.

You were friends. New friends.

You don't have to be good or even close friends with someone for a meaningful connection like the one you've developed with Commander Wolffe today. Even decent friends are capable of creating unique experiences… It's no less heartfelt.

No less heartfelt and beautiful than the way you see so many of the soldiers who have stayed behind romp through the clearing, catching all the lightning bugs they can. Curiosity and childlike wonder abound, especially among the youngest. Giddy despite minor nervousness, shinnies have made a game (of sorts) out of catching as many of these bugs as they can to then “gift” to their older brothers and their Jedi.

Sinker and Boost take these bioluminescent gifts with readiness; thanking their brothers before counting each little bug before releasing them out into the open air once more. The higher the count, the more impressed they act.

When Commander Wolffe accepts them, he chooses to hold onto it for a time - if the firefly allows. Some fly away immediately, others will remain, resting their wings by lazily crawling over his gloved hands for a time, then taking flight. Other times he “trades” a few with his general. Really, on most occasions, he's just off-loading his gifted fireflies to Plo Koon, where each Clone is thanked by name.

“These are from Crash, General.”

He's looking to make his escape from the Jedi’s side, for a moment. The amount of young brothers coming to the highest grassy knoll with their fingers full of fire-bugs must be beginning to overwhelm him slightly. His eyes meet for a moment with your own.

Hello, you, is the silent exchange.

Plo Koon offers the excuse sought by Wolffe; a carefully masked chuckle of mischief (or delight in his own cleverness) is made by the Kel Dor as he hands one of the many lantern bugs clinging to his arm guard to his rather stoic second-in-command. “An excellent find, Crash; a most impressive size. Here, why don't you take this little one given to me by Arcadia? Perhaps they would like to return to their first friend, Commander Wolffe?”

“Certainly, sir.”

It should make you laugh to see how obediently, dutifully, a man like Commander Wolffe carries such a puny little thing in his curled left hand down the hill to you. You can't help thinking he looks too serious with such a no-nonsense expression, reminiscent of a predator determined not to let its meal escape them.

A hungry wolf hoping to wear down a frightfully-footed lamb.

But you are no lamb.

And you recall his promise from earlier when you call out to him, forgoing rank or respectful title in front of his brothers currently nearby. “Not getting overwhelmed, are you, Wolffe? Is that why the General wanted you to give me back the first firefly?”

Soapsuds regards you with eyes wider than a porg to hear you tease his Commander so flippantly. What's gotten into you?! the expression seems to scream between the young and bright brown eyes to the sudden drop of his jaw. Where's your respect?!

If you can tease, you will be teased in kind. But first, Wolffe gives you the singular, small glowworm as he was instructed. “I wouldn't say I'm the overwhelmed one, Arcadia. Taking your own turn to walk around the clearing, making more faces than Suds does listening to Orchid swear.”

You chuckle for a number of reasons, first for the ticklish nature of the bug's feet in the palm of your hand, and second for the comparison. “You noticed that, hm?” Wolffe does not answer right away, you notice. He seems contemplative as he watches the little firebug scuttle across each knuckle of your dominant hand, open its wing-covering (Tack called it the elytra) and take off with a buzzy zwit! into the cooling night air.

“A professional Sabacc player would read you like an open book.” Wolffe responds levelly, refraining from mirroring the curious smile with one of his own. (Noted, you think to yourself.) “You clearly had something on your mind.”

To say someone was on your mind as a part of that ‘something’ would be more accurate. At least in large part. Before you say anything to the affirmative, Wolffe offers some reassurance that he's not saying anything with the intention of prying for any information.

“Not that it's any of my business, of course.”

Not that it was any of his business, no, but he had been watching you at least long enough to make an observation, a guess.

“Well, there's been a few occasions where I've been told I'm rather… expressive, so, I'm not terribly surprised.” You offer the response in hopes that it'll keep the conversation from going completely dead; something overly-playful seems like the wrong move to make right now. Something too dismissive would likely be seen through, too.

“You could also say animated, I suppose…” you add with a soft laugh, inspired by the exuberance Orchid shows in tearing after a particularly large firefly that Tack has pointed out rather suddenly. “Or lively or… whatever else. I dunno. Guess it happens more than I'm aware.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Tack promises you, “we've all got our quirks.”

Wolffe nods in agreement to the researcher, a slow roll of his eyes as if to say don't I know it. Adding in a way that's almost an aside, he says, “Comet and Warthog were the ones who noticed. They thought perhaps you might've come to regret staying behind with us.” Here, perhaps subconsciously, his scarred brow lifts when he looks at you again.

Are you? the action says.

You lift one brow of your own, eyes narrowing a fraction. “I haven't.” you promise. (Why? (And are you sure it wasn't you?))

His head bobs slowly, thoughtfully. (Fair.) “Only thought I'd mention it. But I'm glad to hear, Arcadia.”

There's an unusual softness settling into every feature of his face with the last syllable of your name. Something beyond the selfless gratitude typical to hearing someone you care for has had a pleasant day. His brow unfurrows just so. The thumb hooked in his belt just behind his holster - keeping his weapon near - becomes less deliberate now. (Not completely relaxed, but certainly less of a chokehold.)

Not to mention the slight, relieved smile before he turns his concern on one of his brothers.

“Where's your DeeCee, Soapsuds?”

Startled by the sudden addressal, Suds yelps and nearly squishes the large firefly Orchid has caught. “Huh! O-oh I'm letting Arcadia borrow it, Commander. One of the other crewmates, uh-”

Either in the interest of time, or the disinterest in hearing long-winded excuses, Wolffe shortly asks for the firearm tucked into the waistband of your uniform to be returned to Soapsuds. One of the flint-gray commander's own DeeCees is extracted from his belt, no fanfare or fancy fingerwork to make it twirl like Suds had when he offered, and is firmly planted with all the proper weapons-handling etiquette in the palm of your hand. Commander Wolffe's hand is undoubtedly solid - it is not just the form of the blaster that lends to your arm dipping under its weight.

Even through the raven-dark material of the gloves, the body suit, the neutral-colored armor, you know Wolffe is warm, too.

“Here. Why don't you take mine?”

It is not a suggestion.

You don't immediately understand what the big deal is about trading Soapsuds’ weaponry for the Commander's until you spend a little more time thinking about it. Suds has only the one gun with him on Little Archossi, and if the Commander has two, then, it'd only make sense to take his.

As a precaution, you shouldn't be unarmed; that much was agreed upon between the soldier and his commanding officer a ways off in the clearing now. You could catch snippets of their voices, carried on the stiff, evening winds.

“I was only trying to help.”

Suds had not intended to be completely defenseless himself, nor would he be, owing to his training instilled in him on the Clones’ rainy motherworld. Push comes to shove, you've seen your fair share of how proficient these men could be with only their hands. Hands that have hoisted and carried a fellow soldier to safety under enemy fire. Hands that have shown tenderness to the frightened and battle-scarred, civilian and brother alike.

(And that's not without mentioning the many knuckles broken against the plating of the CIS battle units by the brazen (or desperate) men of the Grand Army.)

“I understand that, but you should have considered that we don't know what's out there.”

You're unsure if the Commander is lecturing this brother and young soldier out of disappointment, or out of worry. You've known many Clones who tend to fret after their ‘little’ brothers, each in their own way and fashion. Only too understandable with everything Wolffe has been through and faced (and lost), he must feel some need to really make sure these lessons stick. He will always lose brothers, from the callous to the curious, but if he can ensure as many as possible make it out of this war alive, he likely would.

In this lifetime, in the next, and every heartbeat in-between.

Commander Wolffe cares. About his General.

“... are you angry at me, sir, for giving away my blaster without thinking again?”

About his brothers.

“No, Soapsuds. You were thinking… You… You only meant to look out for Arcadia.”

About you.

Though it feels too private a moment, one between brothers, to witness, you cannot turn away when Wolffe lifts Suds' head hung low and gives him a quiet look. “Your blaster and your name. Never forget.” Soapsuds waits a beat before nodding solemnly; there is a seriousness and severity to his brother's reminder.

Their blasters and their names are among the few things a Clone can own. I own my blaster, I own my breath, I own my Name…

Never will you forget the mantra you've heard multiple shinies, fresh off Kamino, mutter to themselves in isolated halls in the dead of the night aboard the Jedi cruiser. Suds must be one of the few who still repeats this to himself even now.

“I won't.” he promises with an emotional grimace, one that prompts his CO to clutch him to his chest.

He can't. No brother would ever let him forget his name, and a blaster can always be replaced in the event it is lost. There would never be another him. Never another Clone who would twinkle, or glimmer, or burn the same way as him in the Force. Every one of them feels, senses different in it.

(How do you compare, you wonder.)

Would you feel steadfast, seemingly indomitable like them? Or rather you'd be found out as having a bright, sun-like spirit; not merely hot and golden, but perhaps comforting. Maybe flickering and dreamlike, just the way the fireflies are.

You might go your whole life never finding out how you are sensed, never knowing the details in the thumbprint of your soul. You can make your peace with that. You'd sooner exhaust yourself asking after the likes of the Clones, given the chance.

Commander Wolffe releases his brother at last, the hand cradling the back of Suds' neck lifting away last of all as he's freed from a needed embrace. The time for tender doting fulfilled, Wolffe once more cautions his brother to be careful as the evening deepens before turning him loose. “Be sure to watch your step. And keep clear of the trees.” It's totally dark with the sun sunken below the horizon, casting this side of the planet with the deep blues of night. It would be wise to give the forest an even wider berth than before.

After doing some theorizing, the sergeants carried out the test themselves while everyone else had been mesmerized by the emergence of the first fireflies.

You can not see what stares back at you when you peer into the thicket; denser than Kaminoan rainfall, according to Sinker and Boost’s findings.

(Just what the Commander needed… more reasons to worry.)

Soapsuds bobs his head as if to say no, right, makes sense. “I'll, uh… remind Orchid as well, sir.” he promises almost meekly. If he can help it, he won't make his Commander stop whatever he's doing just to wrangle him back into place a second time.

He's not stupid. Soapsuds is just… young. Excitable.

Less experienced. In a moment, perhaps one of mild frustration or fraternal anxiety, Commander Wolffe may have temporarily forgotten that. Which is okay - forgetting is not a crime, much in the same way that being young is not a crime.

Nor should being unable to help your nature…

After some time alone, when you come to check on him, Wolffe casts a nearly pained look in your direction, surmising that you've witnessed the entire encounter. The sloping, pinching squeeze of his eyebrows and the haunted expression suggests maybe he believes he's been too harsh. That he's spent the last five, maybe ten minutes beginning to second guess what he's said - or how he's said it - to an almost-not-a-shiny brother.

No matter how much he's been trying, he's done it again. With every good intention, Master Plo can invite him to relax as many times as he'd like, but it will not come so easily for a soldier.

Commander Wolffe will not relax completely today, because he can't. At least not on his own, not without someone to reign him in should he stray too far beyond briefly conferring with a soldier or two, or sparing a few moments for a visual sweep across the clearing when it had been light out.

“Thought I'd keep up my habit of keeping you company,” you offer quietly, setting yourself down in the lush grass beside him to pull out your sketchbook and pencils, “if that's alright.” You won’t mention the fact that while you were giving Wolffe the space you thought he needed, Sinker had extracted himself from where he, Boost and Comet had steered a giggling mess of Clones a little further off when their retellings of their “sexploits” had become a little more colorful.

You’ve been having better luck than us, Arcadia, Sergeant Sinker had admitted to you, we think you should be the one to keep him company. We’ll keep the lid on things here best we can.

(Force be with you and all that if ‘keeping a lid on things’ involves Orchid and far too many details about sex in any capacity… (Like the time he purportedly ‘froze up’ for a moment when he realized the date he scored himself at 79’s was with an intersex humanoid-species he can't remember the name of.))

You're aiming just to be non-intrusive, out-of-the-way in your company. You're not expecting conversation when you've already done plenty of talking today. You're not even sure what you'll sketch, or if you'll even draw.

Hearing the words “Could I?” out of his mouth is surprising to you. He almost certainly hears that surprise in your voice.

“You wanna give it a try? Uh. S-sure, here.”

The pad is immediately flipped to a clean, unmarked page once it's in his hands; selecting a pencil takes longer, the labels making little sense. Herf. Besh. Herf-Besh. 2-Besh. There's at least two others he hasn't touched yet.

“What does it all mean?” he murmurs more to himself than you. (He takes the 2-Besh at your coaching.) “Level of the graphite’s softness?”

You can only shrug. “Apparently. From what little I know, 2-Besh is most versatile, so that should work for just about whatever you had in mind.” He could fill the page with circles until you've gone cross-eyed for all you care, honestly. There's obviously been a lot on his mind today; there's been a lot on yours too. Whatever it'll take to drive the thoughts nipping at your heels back even for a moment, or even slow or halt altogether that tumultuous tailspin of anxiety for both of you would be a welcomed discovery.

He's made up his mind on what he'll be drawing, but you're not permitted to look. “Not just yet.”

“What? Oh, Wolffe, come o-”

“Ah-ah. Would only be fair.” He didn't see what you had been working on for a few hours, after all, right? The piece the Commander plans to compose is less involved than yours, so it shouldn't take ‘terribly long’. (Okay, that would only be fair, you concede.) You have one of his pistols, so if you wanted, you could walk around the outskirts of the clearing so long as you were mindful of how close you were to the forest.

Maybe not right now. Maybe instead you should keep an unoccupied eye out instead. You both did just hear General Plo begin to caution several men only a few yards away that there was a shift in the Force around the planet.

The inhabitants of Little Archossi might be waking up.

“Good idea.” Wolffe agrees. He'll be quick about it, he promises. You'll have a look before long, though for now, you'll need to find a way to entertain yourself between the intermittent safety checks. Keep your eyes up, keep your ears perked, and sweep your line of sight often. The only thing he won't tell you to do is keeping a closer eye on the shinies. “I don't know how well you know my men; how readily you can tell them all apart, nevermind who is and isn't newer to the battalion.”

You single out a trooper at random - one who's absolutely covered in grass stains and dirt after rolling down a hill in his full armor kit - and in full confidence declare “That's Halogen. I believe he's fond of rotary cannons as opposed to blasters.”

He chuckles once, impressed. “And is Halogen a shiny?” You're good; he wants to see just how good you are. The pencil is flipped in Wolffe's hand and he tediously erases something for a moment.

“He’s not. Waves, the brother he's sneaking up on is, though.”

Another impressed chuckle. You know more than you've let on, perhaps, he admits, but he still won't task you with shiny-wrangling. Leave that to him as their commander. He turns his attention wholly to the spiral-bound book in his hands, occasionally leafing through the previously marked pages until he reaches the first. Comparing? Admiring?

Or is he thinking, remembering?

“Like worship…”

You try not to respond, acting entirely too interested in the busy-work of fixing up your footwear, ensuring all is secure as you wait for those choppy, sweeping skritch!-es to resume.

And with Commander Wolffe nose-deep in the sketchpad, shielding it from your field of view, you find yourself zoning out somewhat. He won’t show you what he’s working on, but from the sheer amount of times he’s glanced your way, you have a possibility in mind.

You turn your gaze skyward for the moment, higher than the fireflies and beyond the misting of stars. “Wow… would you look at the size of that moon?” you marvel under your breath, more to yourself than anyone in particular. Round and bright, she’s certainly the celestial focal point over Little Archossi, and though it will likely be dark, or perhaps partly back-lit, you know the general location of the Jedi cruiser from your position.

Will the moon look just as beautiful from the viewports of the Triumphant, or does she lose all her shining splendor in the spiraling vastness of space?

“I’m not going to howl.”

There’s a beat of silence before the commander either realizes that you had not made the remark he assumed you had, or that you had not reacted to it like he would have guessed.

“Sorry, Arcadia, I…” The graphite pencil halts in his hand as he reigns in his thoughts, sharply exhaling the likely frustration or disappointment. “Terrible joke. There was a trooper named Howell… It was part of a routine with him; he had a fascination with astronomy. Could tell you the name of every moon a planet had. First thing he’d look for every nightfall. “Look Commander,” he’d say, “Look at the size of that moon!” with such palpable excitement, too…”

You can guess why Wolffe’s reply was what it was. You can almost hear how he’d likely say it too, were he less distracted by the sketch in his hands… “What happened to Howell?”

“The half-starved megafauna the droids were using cornered him in a foxhole while we were aiding another Jedi in the Outer Rim. General Plo couldn’t reach Howell in time.” Commander Wolffe's pencil strokes become halting, brisk, as he thinks about this brother. “Without a helmet, it takes roughly 235 kilograms of force to crush a human skull. Or so I'm told.” The afterthought is added in a small, tight voice. A memory he’s jostled loose that’s left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A fist squeezes the material of your uniform over your heart as you infer poor Howell’s fate for yourself. “Fucking shit…” How terrible. You try not to dwell on those thoughts as you glance over your surroundings, even behind you for good measure. (What sort of megafauna is capable of that, anyways?) Nothing appears out of order in the clearing, but there seems to be perceptible activity from the treeline that the Force-wielder is picking up on.

Why else would Plo Koon be steering the Clones deeper into the heart of the clearing with that kind, almost fatherly cautioning; “Why don’t you join your brothers near the hills, son? (Why, General?) In the interest of safety, that’s all.” Every opportunity he has, Plo has his eyes trained on the forest as he moves from cluster to cluster of troopers, directing them to move closer to where Sinker and Boost have positioned themselves, or the Republic gunships at the very least. He’s moving with purpose, his stride unbroken and direct through the ankle-high, fragrant grass.

Something must be awake beyond the trees… You don’t know if you should start feeling concerned by all these precautionary measures, or feel assured. The Commander hasn’t reacted in any noteworthy way as of now, but you know he’s at least noticed your nervous tells once more. Only once he’s taken a more thorough read of your body language - the shoulders creeping closer to your ears, the occasional bob in your throat with every dry swallow, the fistful of your uniform rumpled in your dominant hand - does Commander Wolffe begin to act.

He begins covering and setting the sketchpad aside, just for a moment, to give you and the immediate surroundings his undivided attention. “Don’t hold your breath, Arcadia. The last thing you should do when you’re starting to get nervous is hold your breath.” he advises you, being cautious about his line delivery. Too casual, it comes across flippant at best about your anxieties. Too stern, and it will sound like a lecture. A reprimand. And he’s not here to do that; Wolffe only means to soothe your nerves best as he can - like he tried to do for Suds. “General Plo would be addressing those troopers a little more urgently if he sensed real trouble.”

You bob your head, but want to offer him a questioning look all the same. The Jedi’s behavior seems pretty damn urgent to you. But Commander Wolffe knows the Kel Dor better than you do, so you trust he’s telling you the truth. “That’s good to know.” you reply with a lilt of relief in your voice.

A lilt he of course notices, and takes as a permission of sorts to resume his sketching. He’s nearly done, he tells you, but he needs to clean up one last thing and add another first before he shows you. Then, perhaps, you could help him decide how he should finish this.

“That sure was fast.” You don’t know if surprise or admiration for the speed of his work is more appropriate.

Maker have mercy, when he flashes a slightly wolfish smile at you, you’re almost tempted to pinch yourself - just to be sure you haven’t imagined it.

“It helps when you’re inspired.”

That’s certainly true, in your experience. When you feel inspired by something, feel inspired to create something, it feels like little else matters in that moment. You can become a whirlwind of creative thought, so swept up in the progress, that time just seems to slip away.

Before you can ask what it was that inspired the Clone commander, Wolffe has added his last few pencil strokes, and presents you with the page.

It becomes very clear right away what it was that has captured his eye, what it was that inspired him. It’s just as you suspected.

“Is… that supposed to be me?” you utter in wonder.

The figure on the page looks just like you, resembles you at the very least; but the wear is not your own. The slate gray uniform has been swapped for the raven of the bodysuit, and encasing every limb are the segments of Clone armor. The gauntlets sport claw-marks, and you think that partially-hidden phase two helmet at “your” hip has what are supposed to be bare teeth - wolf teeth, no doubt. And the chest plate is clearly modeled after his own, at least in part. Otherwise crisp lines partly ruined by eraser-smudgings, there's a large crack in the direct middle, and in the center there's an attempt at an anatomically-correct human heart.

There is a tiny, tiny little icon of the Wolfpack on the throat of the bodysuit in your favorite color, and that's when you see without further doubts that yes, this is supposed to be you.

If your drawing was described as worship, you find his to be an equally heartfelt act of devotion. You're drawn with such care, it's nearly… you don't even have the words for it.

You find yourself almost choking out your words now. “It is me…”

“And you're welcome to color it as you see fit, Arcadia,” Commander Wolffe says rather abruptly, thrusting the pad into your open hands, “I’m needed to speak with the General.”

Pleading with him to stay is like trying to catch smoke. “Wolffe, wait-” He's quicker to his feet than you expect, trampling the grass underfoot without a moment's hesitation to answer the Kel Dor’s distant summons. He will not wait. He will not explain what the bottom of the page, in tidy, thin Aurebesh means.

Behind the teeth and claws, there is a beating heart.

I now have a taglist form, which you can find -> HERE! <- 🩷 Thank you for your patience as the length of this fic spirals out of my control, haha. Clearly it's no longer just the four initial segments like I once thought. (Hey, it's just more Commander Wolffe content, can we really complain?)

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Here] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn part 2]

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star-wars-writing · 4 months

Text

In Sickness and in health

Story written for the @codywanbingo @swfandomevents

the prompt I used: Nursing back to health.

Now the story:

In the heart of Coruscant, as the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, the Jedi Temple stood majestic and serene. Its towering spires, once silent witnesses to the echoes of war, now basked in the light of a peaceful era. The galaxy, having weathered the storms of the Clone Wars, embraced a newfound tranquility, a hard-earned reprieve from years of conflict.

Within the Temple's venerable walls, the air hummed with a gentle, almost musical calm. The hallways, adorned with ancient Jedi artifacts and symbols of the Force, resonated with a quiet, harmonious energy. This was a time of healing, of rebuilding, a time when the Jedi Order, the guardians of peace and justice, turned their focus inward, nurturing the delicate balance they had fought so fiercely to restore.

The integration of the clones, the brave soldiers of the Republic, into the daily life of the Temple marked a poignant shift in the Order's history. These warriors, once defined by their roles in the grand theater of war, now walked the peaceful corridors as brothers and sisters in arms. Some had chosen to accompany the Jedi they had served alongside during the tumultuous days of battle, their bonds forged in the crucible of war now evolving into deep, enduring friendships. Others explored new paths within the Jedi Corps, lending their unique skills and perspectives to various roles - from Temple guards to instructors for the younglings, each finding their place in this new chapter of the Order's legacy.

In the Council Chamber, high above the sprawling city, the Jedi Masters convened, their presence a tapestry of the Order's wisdom and strength. Among them sat Obi-Wan Kenobi, a figure of quiet dignity and thoughtful resolve. His eyes, carrying the depth of experience and the gentle touch of empathy, reflected the morning light that streamed through the tall windows.

Beside him, the esteemed members of the Council, each a pillar of the Jedi philosophy, engaged in thoughtful discourse. Master Plo Koon, his keen insight as profound as the depths of his Kel Dor heritage; Mace Windu, his presence commanding yet tempered with a deep understanding of the Force; Kit Fisto, his Nautolan grace and jovial nature a reminder of the diversity within the Order.

Together, they discussed the future, contemplating the path the Jedi would tread in this era of peace. The conversations were reflective, considering not just the protection of the galaxy, but the growth of the Order, the nurturing of young Padawans, and the exploration of the deeper mysteries of the Force.

Obi-Wan listened, his thoughts often drifting to the wider implications of their decisions, the impact on the countless lives across the galaxy. Yet, part of his mind lingered elsewhere, on a presence that had become a cornerstone of his own life - Commander Cody.

Cody, who had stood by him through the darkest hours of the war, had become more than a comrade. In this new era, where the rigid doctrines of the past were being reevaluated, their friendship had blossomed into something deeper, a connection that transcended the usual boundaries of Jedi detachment.

As the Council meeting drew to a close, Obi-Wan's thoughts were with Cody, anticipating the quiet moments they would share, away from the responsibilities of the Council and the weight of their past.

In the serenity of the Jedi Temple, amidst the timeless halls echoing with the wisdom of the ages, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody had crafted a life together, a testament to the enduring peace they had both fought valiantly for. Their shared quarters, a harmonious blend of the Jedi's contemplative simplicity and the soldier's pragmatic touch, stood as a sanctuary where titles and ranks were left at the door.

Cody's transition from the battlefields to the tranquil corridors of the Temple was marked by a profound shift in his role. Alongside his brother Rex, he had taken on the responsibility of instructing not just the young Padawans but also the cadets freshly arrived from Kamino. These young recruits, the next generation of those who once formed the backbone of the Republic's army, were now being raised and educated within the Temple's nurturing environment.

The presence of these cadets within the Temple's walls was a new concept, one that symbolized the evolving nature of the Jedi Order in this era of peace. Cody, with his firsthand experience of the Clone Wars and his natural leadership abilities, was a pivotal figure in this integration. He brought to these young minds a blend of tactical knowledge and life lessons, instilling in them values of loyalty, courage, and integrity.

For the Padawans and cadets alike, Cody and Rex were living links to their heritage, figures who embodied the history they had only read about in their studies. Their teachings were practical, often taking place in the training grounds where simulated exercises and real-world scenarios brought to life the principles of strategy and teamwork.

Obi-Wan, in this new chapter of his life, found solace and fulfillment in the quiet joys of domesticity shared with Cody. The burdens of war, which had once weighed heavily upon his shoulders, seemed to lift in the comfort of their companionship. Their evenings were often spent in quiet conversation, sometimes joined by Rex when his duties with Ahsoka allowed. These moments, filled with laughter and shared memories, were a stark contrast to the solitude of the Jedi Masters' usual existence.

The couple's bond was a subtle dance of understanding and respect, visible in their shared glances during council meetings, or in the way Obi-Wan's hand would find Cody's as they walked through the Temple gardens. Their relationship was a silent declaration of the changes that had come to pass, of a world where the lines that once divided Jedi and clone had blurred into irrelevance.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the corridors of the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi returned to the quarters he shared with Cody, his thoughts still echoing with the day's council deliberations. Pushing open the door, he expected to find Cody, perhaps reading or preparing their evening meal, the usual domestic routines that had become cherished pillars of their life together.

Instead, he was met with an unusual silence, a stillness that prickled his senses with unease. The room was dimly lit, the only light emanating from the small lamp on the side table. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness, and he saw Cody lying on the couch, his body wrapped in a blanket, shivering despite the warm temperature of the room.

"Cody?" Obi-Wan's voice was tinged with concern as he approached. The sight before him was disconcerting; Cody, always the embodiment of strength and resilience, now appeared vulnerable, his usually stoic demeanor replaced by a visible discomfort.

As Obi-Wan neared, he reached out with the Force, instinctively seeking to understand Cody's condition. What he felt through their bond startled him — a tangible sense of misery and physical malaise emanating from Cody. It was unusual, for Cody had always possessed strong mental shields, a necessity forged in the crucible of war.

"Cody, what's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked, kneeling beside the couch, his hand gently resting on Cody's forehead. It was burning hot to the touch, a clear indicator of fever.

"Just a bit under the weather, I guess," Cody replied weakly, attempting a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His voice was hoarse, each word seemingly an effort.

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in concern. Cody's attempt to downplay his condition was typical of his stoic nature, but the Force did not lie. The tremors that ran through Cody's body, the pallor of his skin, and the strained look in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Let me get you to the medbay," Obi-Wan suggested, already calculating the fastest way to get medical help.

"No, no... I'll be fine here. Just need to rest," Cody insisted, his words punctuated by a fit of coughing that seemed to rack his entire body.

Obi-Wan hesitated, torn between Cody's wishes and his own concern for Cody's well-being. He knew the importance of respecting Cody's autonomy, yet the alarm bells ringing in his Jedi instincts urged him to act.

"Cody, you're burning up. This is more than just a minor ailment," Obi-Wan pressed, his voice laced with worry. He placed a gentle hand on Cody's shoulder, feeling the tension coiled within.

Cody looked up at Obi-Wan, his eyes conveying a mix of gratitude and stubborn resolve. "I don't want to cause a fuss, Obi-Wan. I've been through worse," he said, trying to muster a semblance of his usual strength.

Obi-Wan sighed softly, reading the underlying fear in Cody's gaze — the fear of vulnerability, of being a burden. He understood then that what Cody needed most was not the sterile environment of the medbay, but the comfort and reassurance of their home, of his presence.

"All right," Obi-Wan conceded, his decision made. "But I'm here for you, every step of the way. You're not alone in this, Cody."

As he settled beside Cody, offering his warmth and the gentle, healing touch of the Force.

With gentle yet firm movements, Obi-Wan helped Cody into their bed, arranging the pillows to prop him up comfortably. Cody, whose pride often made him reluctant to show weakness, acquiesced with a tired sigh, the lines of discomfort etched on his face. He lay there, a stark contrast to his usual robust self, his breathing shallow and labored.

Obi-Wan's gaze lingered on Cody, a storm of emotions swirling within him. Concern was at the forefront, mixed with a sense of helplessness that was foreign to the seasoned Jedi. He knew he needed to act, to do more than what his limited medical knowledge allowed.

Stepping away from the bedside, he moved to the corner of the room where a small communicator rested. As he reached out to activate it, he was acutely aware of the contradiction in his actions. He, who had always preached self-reliance and the Jedi's philosophy of detachment, now found himself grappling with the overwhelming urge to protect and care for Cody. It was a humbling realization, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

The communicator flickered to life, and soon, Bones' familiar face appeared on the screen. The medic, who had served with them during the war and was now working under Master Vokara Che in the Temple's healing halls, was a sight for sore eyes.

"Bones, I need your help," Obi-Wan began, his voice betraying his underlying anxiety.

"Obi-Wan? What's wrong?" Bones' expression shifted from surprise to concern. He had always been perceptive, able to read the unspoken distress in others, a skill honed on the battlefields.

"It's Cody. He's fallen ill, and it's beyond my ability to treat," Obi-Wan explained, his eyes flickering back to where Cody lay. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't serious."

"Say no more, General. I'll be right there," Bones replied promptly, his use of Obi-Wan's wartime title reflecting the gravity of the situation.

As Obi-Wan ended the call, he felt a twinge of guilt for his hypocrisy. He knew, deep down, that if their roles were reversed, he would have insisted on Cody not fussing over him. Yet here he was, doing exactly that. It was a contradiction he was willing to accept, his concern for Cody outweighing his own principles.

Returning to Cody's side, Obi-Wan took his hand, offering a silent stream of comfort through their touch. Cody's eyes fluttered open, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and mild reproach.

"You didn't have to call anyone, Obi-Wan. I'll be fine," Cody murmured, his voice a shadow of its usual firmness.

Obi-Wan offered a small, rueful smile. "I know you're strong, Cody. But sometimes, even the strongest among us need help. Bones will know what to do."

Cody's gaze softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. He knew arguing was futile; Obi-Wan's concern was as stubborn as it was endearing.

As the stillness of the room enveloped them, Obi-Wan stood, his movements quiet and deliberate. He moved to the fresher, retrieving a flannel. Soaking it in cold water, he wrung it out carefully, his mind a tempest of thoughts and worries. Returning to Cody's side, he gently placed the damp cloth on Cody's forehead. The coolness of the flannel was a small comfort, but Obi-Wan hoped it would bring some relief to the fever that had taken hold of Cody's strong body.

The clones, engineered for strength and resilience, were not often felled by illness. Their robust constitutions were one of the many marvels of their creation, a testament to the ingenuity that had birthed them. This reality only deepened Obi-Wan's concern. Illness in someone as inherently robust as Cody was rare, and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Cody, sensing Obi-Wan's unease, managed a weak smile. "Always the caretaker, huh, Obi-Wan?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Obi-Wan returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, clouded as they were with worry. "Someone has to look after you, Commander," he replied softly, his hand brushing back a strand of hair from Cody's sweat-dampened forehead.

"You know, I'm not used to being on this side of things," Cody said, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling. "Always thought I'd be the last one standing."

Obi-Wan's heart clenched at the words, a poignant reminder of the countless battles they had faced together, where the fragility of life had been all too apparent. "We've both seen enough to know life has its own plans, Cody. But you're not alone in this fight," he assured him, his voice firm with conviction.

Cody's eyes met Obi-Wan's, and in them, Obi-Wan saw a mixture of gratitude and a trace of the soldier's innate fear of being seen as weak. "I never thought I'd be glad to be wrong," Cody admitted, the ghost of his usual humor flickering in his eyes.

The sound of the door chime sliced through the stillness of the quarters, heralding Bones' arrival. Obi-Wan stood, a mix of apprehension and relief stirring within him. As the door slid open, Bones stepped in, carrying the air of seasoned professionalism tempered with an underlying current of concern, a medical bag in his grip.

"General Kenobi, Commander Cody," Bones greeted, his eyes swiftly appraising Cody's condition from the doorway. "I hear we're having a bit of a medical evasion again?"

Cody, despite his evident discomfort, managed a weak smirk. "Old habits, Bones."

Bones approached the bed, his movements efficient but not without a gentle touch. He began checking Cody's vitals, his practiced hands betraying no hint of the frustration they had often felt during the war, chasing after these two whenever they evaded medical check-ups after battles.

Obi-Wan watched silently, the memories of those hectic days flooding back. Both he and Cody had been notorious for avoiding the medbay, often needing to be dragged there by Bones for treatment. It was a trait born out of necessity and stubbornness, a soldier's and a Jedi's shared disdain for showing weakness.

Cody, trying to sit up, winced slightly. "I'm fine, really. It's just a small fever," he insisted, echoing the many times he had downplayed his injuries in the past.

Bones, unfazed by Cody's protest, gently but firmly pushed him back down. "Commander, you might have evaded me on the battlefield, but in here, I call the shots. Let's not make this a battle, shall we?"

Cody relented, albeit reluctantly, settling back against the pillows. Obi-Wan could sense the internal struggle within Cody, the ingrained soldier's instinct to never appear vulnerable, to always be battle-ready.

After a thorough examination, Bones straightened up, his expression relaxing. "It's the flu, nothing more. It's been going around the Temple. Even with your engineered resilience, you're not immune to everything, Commander."

The tension that had held Obi-Wan in its grip began to ease. "Just rest and care, then?" he asked, needing to hear the course of action.

"Exactly that. Rest, fluids, and some TLC," Bones confirmed, preparing to leave the necessary medications on the bedside table. "He'll be back on his feet in no time."

As Bones made his way out, he turned back with a knowing look. "And no sneaking out, either of you. I know your tricks."

Once alone again, Obi-Wan settled beside Cody, a small smile playing on his lips at the familiar banter. "Seems we can't fool Bones," he said.

Cody chuckled weakly. "Never could."

Obi-Wan's gaze softened as he looked at Cody, this man who had been his comrade in arms and was now his partner in life. "I'll take care of you, Cody. Just like I promised."

Cody's eyes met Obi-Wan's, a depth of trust and affection shining in them. "I know," he whispered, his hand finding Obi-Wan's.

In the quiet of their room, as the evening deepened around them, Obi-Wan held Cody's hand, a silent guardian in the stillness of the night. The Force hummed softly around them, a comforting reminder that in this moment, all was as it should be.

As night enveloped the Temple, a cloak of silence settled over the quarters shared by Obi-Wan and Cody. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across the room, creating an island of calm in the vastness of Coruscant’s nighttime tapestry. Throughout the night, Obi-Wan remained vigilantly at Cody's side, his concern etched in the lines of his face, illuminated by the dim light.

Every so often, Obi-Wan would rise, his movements a quiet dance of care and concern. He would refresh the flannel on Cody's forehead, the cool cloth a small but significant comfort against the fever's relentless heat. Each time, he watched Cody's face for any sign of relief, any hint that the fever might be breaking.

Cody, caught in the grip of the flu, shifted restlessly under the sheets. At times, he shivered uncontrollably, his body fighting the invisible battle against the illness. Then, moments later, he would throw off the covers, the fever spiking to the point where even the light fabric was too much.

During one of these restless moments, Cody’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze. "Obi-Wan, you should go, stay with ashoka or with Rex ... I don’t want you getting sick because of me," he murmured, his voice tinged with worry.

Obi-Wan offered a gentle, reassuring smile, his hand finding Cody's in the darkness. "I'm exactly where I need to be, Cody. I won't leave your side."

"But the Council, your duties..." Cody’s words trailed off, a frown of concern creasing his brow.

"The Council will understand. You are my priority now," Obi-Wan replied softly, his voice resolute. The Force flowed around them, a soothing presence that comforted Obi-Wan as much as it did Cody.

Cody, too weak to argue further, simply nodded, his eyes closing once again as he succumbed to the exhaustion wrought by the illness. Obi-Wan watched over him, a silent sentinel in the quiet room. His thoughts drifted to the countless battles they had faced, the many times they had each been the other's protector. Now, in this battle against illness, Obi-Wan found a different kind of strength – the strength to care, to nurture, to simply be there for the person who meant more to him than any title or duty.

Throughout the night, Obi-Wan continued his vigilant care. He soothed Cody’s fevered brow, whispered words of comfort, and held his hand, a steady presence in the face of uncertainty. The bond they shared, forged in the fires of war and solidified in the peace that followed, was a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder that even in vulnerability, there was strength.

As the first light of dawn crept through the window, casting a soft, diffused glow into the room, a sense of relief slowly began to unfurl within Obi-Wan. The long night had passed, each hour marked by his unwavering vigil beside Cody. Now, with the new day, came a welcome change – the fever that had gripped Cody so fiercely seemed to have finally broken.

Cody, his face still pale but no longer flushed with the heat of illness, stirred weakly under the sheets. Obi-Wan, who had dozed off in the chair beside the bed, awoke at the slightest movement. His eyes, heavy with the remnants of a sleepless night, focused on Cody with a mix of concern and hope.

"How are you feeling?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice soft, the worry of the night still lingering in its timbre.

"Better," Cody rasped, his voice a shadow of its usual strength. "The fever's gone, I think."

Obi-Wan's hand found Cody's forehead, confirming the absence of the feverish heat that had been so persistent. A sigh of relief escaped him, the tension that had coiled in his chest easing at last. "That's good to hear. Very good."

Cody attempted to sit up, his movements sluggish, the ordeal of the past night having taken its toll. Obi-Wan was immediately at his side, offering a supporting arm. "Let's take it slow," he cautioned, his eyes scanning Cody for any sign of lingering weakness.

With Obi-Wan's help, Cody swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing for a moment to gather his strength. The simple act of sitting up left him breathless, a stark reminder of the flu's impact on his normally robust physique.

"I think I can manage a shower," Cody said, determination edging his voice. It was a small milestone, a step towards reclaiming his strength and independence.

"Alright, but I'm right here if you need me," Obi-Wan assured him, his tone leaving no room for argument. He helped Cody to his feet, keeping a firm but gentle grip on his arm. Together, they made their way to the refresher, Obi-Wan's support unwavering with every step.

In the refresher, Obi-Wan steadied Cody as he undressed, his movements careful and mindful of Cody's weakened state. The steam from the warm shower filled the small space, a comforting embrace against the morning chill.

As Cody stepped into the shower, leaning heavily against the wall for support, Obi-Wan remained just outside, ready to assist if needed. The sound of the water was a soothing backdrop to their quiet morning, a symbol of renewal and recovery.

A few days had passed since Cody's bout with the flu, days that had slowly returned a sense of normalcy to their quarters. Cody, now mostly recovered, moved around the kitchen with a renewed vigor, the clatter of pots and the aroma of cooking filling the space with warmth.

As he stirred the simmering pot on the stove, he glanced towards the door, anticipating Obi-Wan's return from the Council meeting. The sound of the door sliding open drew his attention, and he turned, a greeting ready on his lips.

The words died away, however, as he saw Obi-Wan step inside, a noticeable pallor on his face. His steps were heavy, weighed down by an unusual fatigue, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. The Jedi Master's cough, rough and persistent, echoed in the otherwise quiet room.

"Obi-Wan?" Cody's voice was laced with concern as he moved towards him, setting aside the wooden spoon.

Obi-Wan managed a weak smile, an attempt to dispel Cody's worry. "It's nothing, just a bit of a cough," he said, though the effort of speaking seemed to take a toll on him.

Cody raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning up in a wry smile despite his concern. "Looks like you should have listened to me and stayed with Rex. Now you've got the flu too."

"I didn't want to leave you alone," Obi-Wan replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned against the wall for support.

Cody's expression softened, the teasing tone giving way to one of affectionate concern. "Stubborn Jedi," he murmured, helping Obi-Wan to sit down at the table. "Let me take care of you now."

As Obi-Wan settled into the chair, his body surrendering to the fatigue, he looked up at Cody, his blue eyes conveying a mix of gratitude and apology. "I suppose I'm not the best patient," he admitted, a hint of ruefulness in his voice.

"You're the worst," Cody agreed, but the fondness in his voice belied his words. He fetched a glass of water, placing it gently in front of Obi-Wan. "But I've got you, just like you had me."

#commander cody #obi wan kenobi #codywan #codywanbingo #clone bones

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