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jessepinwheel · 2 years ago

Note

seq logic: obi wan and jango breaking up, if you're so inclined?

jango is sooo normal about the breakup

Jango stares out the viewport, tracing the millions of pinpoints of lights that make the Coruscant skyline as he descends. He doesn't like Coruscant. He never did. Not all the buildings or the constant smell of fog or the people--it's just too much. He really doesn't understand what Obi-Wan sees in this shithole, but whatever. No place like home, or something.

The thought of Obi-Wan makes his heart clench a little. It's been a tenday and still he can't get used to a ship without him. Without the late nights talking over a pile of cracked seed shells, without another warm body sharing his bed, without Obi-Wan's little startled bursts of laughter. After two years together, two years as an unstoppable bounty hunting and tracking team, his absence makes everything dimmer.

So here Jango is. On Coruscant again. He's not here to find Obi-Wan and beg him to come back or anything as undignified as that. The man has had two weeks to see Coruscant and realize it's not all it's cracked up to be. He's probably trying to find a way off this shitty planet at this very moment. Jango is really just making it easier for him--he's considerate that way.

He lands his ship and goes to get his things. Usually, Obi-Wan would have their things ready to go planetside (he hated flying so much) and it feels clumsy to Jango to have to do these tedious preparations himself. Obi-Wan was so much better at it, too. More organized. Had a way of knowing exactly what they would need.

Jango doesn't know where Obi-Wan is, but he's one of the best damn bounty hunters in the galaxy, it can't be that hard to find a person with long red hair and a custom mechanical hand. He considers just comming the man--Obi-Wan would be able to feel Jango looking for him anyways, one of those weird remnant Force things--but Jango decides against it. Obi-Wan had been pretty confident when he left that it was for the better--if Jango's going to have any chance to prove otherwise he'll need to do it in person.

So he looks for Obi-Wan. It takes a busy five days to track Obi-Wan down--not the easiest hunt he's ever had, but definitely not the trickiest one, either. In Obi-Wan's defense, it's not as if he's really trying to stay under the radar. It looks like Obi-Wan has found himself a little undercity apartment approximately the size of a shoe box, almost smaller than the ship they'd shared, and Jango frowns. He knows Obi-Wan's always liked small spaces, but really, this is a bit much.

It would be pretty easy to slice the keypad and let himself in, but Obi-Wan gets kind of fussy about that sort of thing, so Jango decides to wait outside the door. It's a pretty long wait--Obi-Wan has made himself busy in the time since he got to Coruscant--and in the evening, when Obi-Wan comes back...

"...Jango?" Obi-Wan asks.

Jango looks up. Obi-Wan...looks good. He always did, but already in the last three weeks since they separated, he looks better. There's more color in his cheeks, there aren't any bags under his eyes, and his new clothes fit him better. It's hard to deny that, whatever Obi-Wan saw in Coruscant, it was good for him.

"I missed you," Jango says. "You look good."

Obi-Wan sighs. "And you look like shit." He leans in and gives Jango a sniff. "Have you been drinking? I thought you hated drinking."

"What, a man can't drown his sorrows once in a while?" Jango asks. It's not like he drank that much. It was just a few bottles after Obi-Wan left--just to take the edge off.

Obi-Wan frowns. "Jango. Why are you here?"

"I was just in the area," Jango says. They both know it's a lie. "And like I said, I missed you. Didn't you miss me?"

"Of course I missed you," Obi-Wan says. "But I didn't stalk you back to your home. You realize this is...wildly inappropriate, right?"

Jango reaches out to touch Obi-Wan's face. "But you missed me?"

Obi-Wan swats Jango's hand away. "Jango. You shouldn't be here. We're done. We agreed that it was for the best."

"You agreed it was for the best," Jango corrects. "I still think we could be something. Grow old together and get a garden and a family. If you could just get over your hangups, we would be magnificent together."

"My hangups are that I don't want to give up my identity as a Jedi, don't like killing people for profit, and don't think a relationship with someone who hates my cultural identity is going to last," Obi-Wan shoots back. "I love you, Jango, but I don't love you that much."

Jango smiles. "I love you, too. You're so beautiful when you're angry, have I ever told you that?"

Obi-Wan doesn't yield. He never has. It's one of the things Jango loves so much about him--that unbreakable spirit and stubbornness. "Get out of here. You know you shouldn't be loitering around like this."

"What, you're sending me out?" Jango asks. "After I came all this way, you won't even let me stay the night? Isn't that a little unreasonable?"

"I'm saying this for your safety," Obi-Wan says. "You really shouldn't be around me when nightfall hits."

Jango leans against the door and crosses his arms. "Well, now I'm curious. What, do you turn into a big bad monster overnight? I think I'd have noticed something like that when we were bunking together."

Obi-Wan sighs. "Don't be stupid."

"What happens after nightfall?" Jango presses. "You turn into a pumpkin or something? I think I'd like to see that."

"Jango," Obi-Wan says. "Go back to your ship and wherever you came from. It's not good for you to dwell on me. It's a big galaxy--there are plenty of people out there who can give you what you want. I'm sorry that person isn't me." His expression softens, just a bit. "We had a good time. You did a lot for me, and I'll always appreciate that. Maybe in another life, we'd be happy together for our whole lives. But you can't accept me the way I am and I can't accept you the way you are. Is it really so bad to end things while we still like each other?"

Jango looks at him. "Are you really happy here in this shitty apartment on this shitty planet? Are you seriously saying that this is better than being with me?"

"Coruscant is good for me," Obi-Wan tells him. "This is the only place I can feel like a full person. And you know how I am with space travel. You don't need to worry about me."

"I wasn't worrying."

Obi-Wan looks at him up and down, an unreadable expression in his eyes. There's some tension in the line of his body, discomfort just from Jango being here. "Jango. I won't ask again. Please leave."

Jango considers pushing it, but Obi-Wan looks tired. If this keeps going, Obi-Wan might actually punch him in the face--with the metal hand. Even he can't take a hit like that. "Okay," he says. "But if you need anything, you know who to comm. I can make your life easier, Obi-Wan."

"Goodbye, Jango," Obi-Wan says, pushing his way past Jango and into his apartment. The door closes behind him and latches.

Jango sighs and leans against the wall. It's not like he'd expected it to be easy. It just wouldn't be Obi-Wan if he gave in after a short conversation like that. He stares up at the ceiling, thinking about what moves he wants to make next. He can talk to Obi-Wan again tomorrow, for a start. He's always been happier in the mornings, so maybe he'll be more willing to see reason.

He turns his thoughts over like that, well into the evening and into the night, still camping outside Obi-Wan's door. A few other residents go in and out, passing him in the hallway, but they hardly pay him any mind. This part of the undercity, everyone knows to mind their own damn business.

His thoughts stray, not for the first time, to an Obi-Wan in proper beskar armor. He would be such a good Mandalorian, if he didn't have those damn hangups about the Jedi--the Jedi who had abandoned him, anyways. The way he fought was like magic, sometimes, the way he could see what his opponents would do before they did--even Jango has never fought anyone like him, so fiercely exhilarating. Sure, there are billions and trillions of people out in the galaxy, people who would be willing to be a more permanent fixture at his side, who would want to fight and hunt and laugh together and be willing to take on the mantle of Mandalorian on top of that...but none of those people would be Obi-Wan. He'd known, from the moment he'd found a bleeding and borderline delirious man with a lightsaber-stabbed shoulder and a crushed mechanical hand, that Obi-Wan was different. That he would be worth keeping.

The fact that Obi-Wan had left--not killed or taken away, but left--well, Jango can't stand that. He wants Obi-Wan back. He wants Obi-Wan to see sense and give up this stupid idea of going to a shithole planet all alone to try and make some kind of honest living.

Jango clenches his fists. Maybe if he just comes up with a better plan, then--

Behind him, the door unlatches.

Jango freezes.

Noiselessly, the door slides open, and Obi-Wan is standing there, dressed in sleep clothes.

Jango smiles. "You just couldn't resist me, huh?" he asks. "I knew you'd come around."

Obi-Wan doesn't move.

Jango's smile fades. A sense of wrongness starts creeping up on him. "Obi-Wan?"

Slowly, almost mechanically, Obi-Wan turns towards Jango. A shiver goes down Jango's spine--Obi-Wan's gaze is glassy and blank, his expression completely slack. He's not breathing.

"Obi-Wan, are you...okay?" Jango asks. He knows that Obi-Wan's got some kind of weird Force thing where he sometimes stops breathing when he sleeps, but he's never seen...whatever this is. "Obi-Wan, say something."

Obi-Wan's lips move, but no sound comes out. Jango feels something almost electric in the air around them, feels a phantom touch at the base of his neck that crawls into his mind. Obi-Wan says something again, and this time Jango hears it--voiceless words echoing between his ears, You were asked to leave.

Jango sets his jaw. "I'm not leaving," he says. "You're better off with me, Obi-Wan, and you know it. I just have to make you see it."

The feeling in his mind tightens, a headache bursting in the back of Jango's head.

Leave peacefully while you have the free will to do so.

"What, you're going to force me to leave?" Jango sneers, stepping up to Obi-Wan. "You've never forced me to do a damn thing in your entire life, and you won't start now."

Obi-Wan grabs him by the arm. He doesn't grab hard, just hard enough to feel the pressure, but a strange numbness seeps out from the touch, rapidly overtaking Jango's body. Jango tries to pull away, only to find that he can't--he's completely paralyzed. He can't even blink.

You were warned.

The intrusive feeling in his mind intensifies, sharpening until it feels like something is in there slicing him open and pulling him apart, and Jango--

Jango stares out the viewport, tracing the millions of pinpoints of lights that make the Coruscant skyline. He doesn't like Coruscant. He never did. Not all the buildings or the constant smell of fog or the people--it's just too much. He really doesn't understand what Obi-Wan sees in this shithole, but whatever. No place like home, or something.

The thought of Obi-Wan makes his heart clench. It's only been three weeks, but he already misses Obi-Wan so badly--he's gone through a hefty amount of liquor to try and take the edge off, but it's not enough. Nothing would ever be enough, short of something that could make him forget how good they were together. Good as partners, good as fighters, good as friends.

He can't remember why he came here to Coruscant. Maybe he'd entertained some ideas of going down to see Obi-Wan again, just to see how he's doing, see if he's happy in his new life, but every time he tries to think of going planetside and actually seeing Obi-Wan, his mind skitters away from it. He shouldn't be here to begin with. He knows Obi-Wan would find this wildly inappropriate.

They loved--still love--each other. But they would never be able to have a happy ending, not while Obi-Wan still loved his Jedi so much and Jango insisted on staying a bounty hunter. Better to end things now, while they still care about each other and have all those good memories, than to wait until it's all rotted and painful. At least, that was what Obi-Wan had said. Jango isn't sure how much he believes that, but he can see the logic in it.

Jango doesn't think he'll ever forget Obi-Wan and what they could have had, but it's over now. There are other people in the galaxy. They wouldn't be Obi-Wan, but there were options.

He turns his ship and leaves Coruscant behind.

#ask jesse #fic: asynchronous circuit #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 2 years ago

Note

so how's padme doing? is she contacting a divorce lawyer yet?

well no not quite yet

The life of a private investigator isn't as exciting as a lot of people make it out to be from the holodramas. I make most of my paycheck looking things up in the Hall of Records for my colleagues, and when I'm not doing that, I'm usually waiting in my office and catching up on some light reading. Not a terrible way to spend a day, but not exactly a profitable one, either.

On this lazy afternoon, I was reorganizing my office--Bail had gotten tired of buying me more shirts, or realized there was a hard limit to how many of them I could wear, so he had started dropping hints that maybe my furniture was getting a little worn out. So I figured if an unsolicited gift was in my future, it might as well be something I actually needed. I was checking my cupboards when someone knocked on the door and entered.

"Detective," they said.

I turned to face my visitor. "Senator Amidala," I said. "Good afternoon. How are you?"

Amidala frowned. "You're not usually this polite to me."

I closed the cabinet. "You're in my office during business hours for what I must assume are professional reasons. I try to be polite to my clients when I can." I pulled up a chair. "Here, have a seat."

She sat. She was dressed down today, with a simple jacket and blouse and no jewelry--this far into the undercity that was probably for the best. She looked well-rested, but like she had something on her mind. A pretty big something, if she was willing to see me.

"Well," I said, taking the seat behind my desk, "you've come all this way. I take it you have some kind of job for me?"

Amidala nodded. "I've decided to go through with the divorce."

Oh. That was a surprise--it seemed like only yesterday she had thrown her drink at me for implying a marriage with a man who had attempted to kill me was maybe not completely beneficial. "My congratulations. But I'm not a lawyer or a divorce clerk and anything else is hardly my business."

"The last time we spoke, you gave me some advice," she said.

If I did, I certainly didn't recall. I'd been ill and slightly out of my mind at the time and everything about that evening up until I got back to my apartment and fell asleep on Bail's lap was kind of a blur. "You'll have to remind me."

"You told me that if I wanted to go through with this divorce, I should protect myself," Amidala said. "Well, I'm here to get some protection."

"I'm not a bodyguard," I replied.

"Not that kind of protection," Amidala said. "I need more...legal protection."

"I'm not a lawyer."

Amidala scowled. "I heard you the first time."

"Did you? Because so far, you haven't told me anything that's within my scope of practice that you would like me to do for you," I said. "In case you need reminding, I'm a private investigator. It even says so on that door you just walked through."

"I'm here because I need you to investigate something," Amidala said. "Or rather, I need you to collect evidence on something. Something that would be compelling in court if it comes down to it."

That...made things a little clearer. "Are you asking me to gather blackmail information for you?" I asked. "You are a woman with powerful political connections. Why do you think you need blackmail to get something as simple as a divorce to go through?"

"A no-fault divorce would be best, but I don't think he'll accept that," Amidala replied. "I'm sure we'll end up going to court. And I don't have time to stretch out proceedings--I want this divorce to happen as soon as possible. So I need a case against him."

"Dear, you don't need my help for that," I told her. "You can just talk to the former Captain Rex--I'm sure he'll be willing to testify about the incident where Skywalker nearly killed him, and me, and Ahsoka."

"I know. I'm planning to. But Anakin was altered at the time--it might not be strong enough of a case. I need something stronger, and that's where you come in."

I drummed my fingers on the desk. "What, Skywalker's done something worse than try to kill his own Padawan? The only thing courts would care more about than that would be actual murder."

There was an awkward pause as Amidala looked to the side.

My eyes narrowed. "No," I said. "He did?"

"Anakin told me they weren't people," Amidala said softly.

"They?" I asked. "He killed more than one?"

All in a rush, Amidala told me the sordid story. She told me about Tatooine, and trying to save Skywalker's mother from a tribe of indigenous people and failing, then taking their lives in payment for it. An entire people obliterated in a flash of blue plasma, a horrible anger and murderous rage that even I had difficult conceiving of.

"All of them, he said," Amidala told me. "Even the women and children. He was very explicit about that."

My stomach roiled. I felt ill, just thinking about it. I won't pretend I had much of an opinion of Skywalker to ruin, but this was beyond a simple murder or simple revenge. This was a slaughter. A massacre of innocents.

It wasn't as if I had never known anger--anger bad enough to kill someone for it. I'd killed a lot of people who probably didn't deserve it. But even in my darkest moments I could not imagine bringing myself to kill those who had not killed first. To look into a child's face and end their life with my bare hands for nothing more than some horrible and hollow emotional satisfaction.

I took a deep breath. "Senator Amidala. How long have you known about this?"

"Just over a year now," she said.

Just over a year. That put it before the war. Before she married Skywalker. "Are you telling me Skywalker confessed to you his massacre of an entire tribe of people, including innocent women and children, and your reaction was to marry him?"

Amidala pressed her lips together in displeasure. "That's not relevant to this conversation."

"No? You realize that Skywalker should be reported and tried, and that by concealing this knowledge, you've made yourself an accessory to his crimes, right?" I leaned over the desk. "I won't pretend to be a bastion of morality, Senator. But even I draw my lines somewhere and what Skywalker has done is far beyond anywhere my lines have ever been. Despite whatever you seem to think of me, I am a law-abiding citizen."

"You can't report what he's done to the authorities," Amidala said. "What he did was outside Republic jurisdiction--there's no court in the entire galaxy that could convict him, except perhaps Tatooine, and I'm sure they will find his story very sympathetic."

She was not wrong--the Republic cared little for crimes that occurred outside their borders. That didn't mean keeping quiet about everything, much less for as long as she had, had been the right thing to do. I found it hard to think of a less right thing to do--besides marrying the man, which Amidala had also done.

"So you think I should dig up information about it so you can drag it out in front of everyone in divorce court? What the hell do you think that's going to accomplish?" I demanded. "This is not a case of a tail job and some dirty photos because your husband has a side piece, this is a literal mass murderer. This is a man who reacts to things that upset him with extreme violence and you already know he won't take a divorce quietly. How is that safe?"

"I'm planning to leave immediately after the divorce. My handmaiden and I have made arrangements so Anakin can't get to me."

"Senator, I am not concerned about your safety. I am concerned about what the man who thinks murdering children is a reasonable form of collateral damage will do when the woman he's obsessed with divorces him and tells the whole world he's a murderer," I said. "I, for one, would like to prevent a similar tragedy from occurring in my own city."

"What? Anakin wouldn't do that, that would be--"

"Be what? Monstrous? Unbelievable? I agree," I told Amidala. "And yet here we are, discussing an equally monstrous and unbelievable atrocity." I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath. "You clearly expect him to cause you some kind of harm--you wouldn't be in such a damn hurry to get away from him and make such a comprehensive escape plan otherwise. Let me be clear, I support you entirely. You should have done this a year ago when he first told you what he did, but you have rather missed the ship on that one. Fine. The second best time to take action is now, and you've asked for my help, so I'll help. I would like there to be no more casualties at your husband's hands, and I would especially like to not be one of them." I sighed. I could already feel a headache coming on--one that I knew would not subside for a very long time. "Tell me, Senator. What brought this on?"

Amidala frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The divorce. Now. It seems not so long ago you were happily married and perfectly willing to sit on Skywalker's murders. Now you've completely turned around to drag Skywalker's name through the dirt to claw your way into a divorce. Obviously some inciting incident occurred between now and then that made you reconsider how you felt about your husband." I rubbed my beard slowly. "Not some violence against you or someone close to you--you wouldn't have come here to confess his crimes to me if you had evidence like that ready at hand. Did Skywalker ask you for something you're not willing to give? Is there some kind of line he crossed, or you think he will cross when he learns a secret you're--"

Amidala slammed her hands on the desk. "That is enough! I am here to hire you, not to have you speculate about my marriage!"

So something had happened. Something Amidala knew would make things with Skywalker infinitely worse, something she cared about more than she loved Skywalker, something that required cutting contact immediately and for the foreseen future.

I couldn't think of too many good reasons that would fit those criteria. But I could think of one.

"So you are," I said. "You know my rates, I'm sure."

"I'll pay," Amidala said.

"It's not that simple," I told her. "I'm a Coruscant-based detective for several reasons, one of which is a significant medical condition. You're asking me to go out to Tatooine, which is outside my area of operations, and incidentally takes me away from my son, as well as the other jobs I do while in Coruscant. All that incurs a significant opportunity cost, and I find that I do not feel very charitable when I deal with you."

"Name your price," Amidala said. "I want this divorce to happen as soon as possible and I know you will get the job done properly. If that means paying extra, then fine."

I named my price. I won't pretend it was fair, and Amidala didn't like it, but she didn't argue with it, either.

"I'll need to stop by the bank to transfer that much," she told me.

"I don't need the whole thing up front," I replied. "I'll accept one week's retainer now, and collect the rest on completion."

"Fine."

She took her credit chip out of her purse. It was fortunate for her that she was the one in the relationship who handled the purse strings--I have met many people in similar situations who were not so lucky. She transferred the money to me without so much as a wince. Either she was richer than I had estimated, or she really needed my work that badly. Maybe both.

"Very good," I said. "I'll need to talk to some people to arrange for my absence, but I expect I can head for Tatooine tomorrow and work on coming up with a way to safely break your marriage. As for you..." I jotted down a name, address, and comm code on a card, then handed it to Amidala. "You might consider seeing this person."

Amidala looked at the card. "Who is this?"

"She's someone who has a lot of experience working with cases like yours," I said. "She won't care who you are or what your circumstances are, and she knows how to keep her mouth shut."

Amidala didn't like that. "What is this person going to do that you can't?"

"Well for one thing," I said, "I'm not a gynecologist."

#fic: asynchronous circuit #fanfic #star wars #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 2 years ago

Note

For prompt fills: I am very curious about how that first meeting between bail, obi, and breha went?

I'm still kind of vaguely planning to write the story of obi-wan meeting bail but in the meantime here's this

The last thing I remembered was seeing the gunman.

There hadn't been anything specific about them that stood out, just a black coat and blaster pistol the likes of which come a dime a dozen in the undercity. But that Senator and I had walked past and over his shoulder I'd seen the coat sweep open and the muzzle of the blaster, and I'd known in that moment the bolt wasn't meant for me because I'd have felt it if it was.

Well, I must have done something. I wouldn't be waking up in a medcenter otherwise. Whatever I did, it was probably stupid, because there was a spot below my ribs that felt like it was burning, even with the bacta patch on top of it to help the worst of the pain.

"Are you awake?"

It was a woman's voice, and not any woman I knew. I opened my eyes. The room was blurry, but I could make out a someone sitting next to my bed.

"Who the hell are you?" I croaked.

The blurry woman reached back and moved a few things around, then brought back a cup with a straw that she put in my mouth. "Here. You look like you need some water."

I did need some water. I drank a little.

When I had drunk enough, the woman took the cup away again. I blinked a few times and she became less blurry--enough that I could make out long dark hair and a dress.

I coughed. My body ached all over, and the burning under my ribs was still there. "Who the hell are you?" I asked.

I think she heard me this time because she laughed and said, "What a warm welcome, Detective. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'd feel better if I knew who you were and why you're at my bedside." I rubbed my eyes and looked at her again. She was a beautiful woman, it turned out. Soft skin and elegant clothes, dark hair braided back with golden ornaments. Whoever this lady was, she was too rich of company for the likes of sorry little me.

"My name is Breha," the woman said. "You're acquainted with my husband."

"You must have gotten the wrong room," I told her. "I'm not friends with anyone respectable enough to marry a nice lady like you."

This, too, seemed to be funny. Breha smiled, looking radiant in the way holodrama stars only can with the help of special effects and strategic camera work. "No," she said. "I'm in the right place. My husband is Bail."

"The annoying Senator?" I asked. "My condolences. You deserve better."

"Oh, he's not so bad once you get to know him," Breha told me. "He's very clever, and he's very sweet. If you get him a bottle of the Andraste Red, he opens right up--that's his favorite wine."

I paused. Played that back, thinking surely she hadn't said what it sounded like she said.

"I..." I sat up in the bed with some difficulty. "Breha, dear. I'm sorry, I'm not as sharp as I usually am, under these circumstances. But it sounds like you're trying to give me tips for courting your husband."

"Would it be so bad if I was?" she replied, eyes twinkling. She put her hand on mine--soft, delicate hands. "Bail told me about you. He admires you, even if he doesn't know how to say it. And, well, you took a blaster bolt for him. That raises you up in my book."

Okay. Not mistaken after all. I was getting tips from a married woman on how to make nice with her Senator husband, also presumably married.

"Forgive me for saying so, but it seems a little...improper," I said. "And as lovely as you are, I can't say the same about your husband."

"Oh, you're so straightforward. I can see what he likes about you," Breha told me. "I don't mind if Bail likes people besides me. It's a big galaxy and there are so many wonderful people, it's bound to happen. And now that I've seen you, I don't think I would mind if you liked him back."

"But I don't," I said slowly. The Senator seemed like a reasonable enough man, as far as Senators went, but he was a bit stuck up his own ass for my tastes. And annoying, the way rich folks were always annoying. "And I think you're vastly overestimating how much he likes me, too."

"I don't know about that," Breha told me. "He was practically beside himself when he told me. I had to jump on a transport from Alderaan straightaway just to console him about it. Whatever your opinions are on Bail, you've made a strong impression, detective."

"And is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Breha reached out a hand and brushed it against my beard. "Well, I think that depends on how you feel about it. I won't force you into anything, but I'd be happy to know a man like you a little better, and I know Bail thinks the same. You took a blaster bolt for Bail--it's the least we can do to treat you nicely."

I snorted. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't do well as a kept man."

"Oh, don't say that. You'll dash all of Bail's hopes."

"He could use some dashing of his hopes, if he's hoping for silly things like that," I said. "I'm just keeping his expectations reasonable. And in any case..." I felt the sore spot where I'd been shot and winced. "This case isn't over yet. There's still someone gunning for your husband, and I mean to find out who."

Breha leaned back in her seat. She was so regal she could even make the duraplast medcenter chairs look like a throne. "You don't know yet?"

"No, I didn't exactly get a good look at them before they shot me," I said. "But I know what they're after, and they're not likely to stop until they get it." I thought about it for a little while. "We can use that. Set a trap."

"That sounds dangerous," said a voice from the door.

I looked up to meet the dark eyes of Senator Organa, the most annoying man in existence. He looked somber as he entered the room.

"Senator," I said. "I'm glad to see you're well."

The Senator scowled at me. "I know you don't really think that."

"Well, I'm at least glad that my getting shot wasn't in vain, seeing as you're well enough to be unpleasant," I said. "I was just speaking with your wife. How did you ever manage to convince such a wonderful woman to marry you?"

The Senator looked over at Breha, his expression softening. "Oh, don't I wonder."

Breha smiled. "I told you. He's very charming when he puts his mind to it."

"I'll have to take your word for it," I said.

"What is all of this about setting a trap?" the Senator asked without looking me in the face. "You only just got shot yesterday, and you're planning to do it again? I thought you private investigators were supposed to be a little less reckless in real life."

"There's an assassin after you," I told him. "Or rather, after that necklace you came into possession of. If they're going to hunt you down no matter what, it's in our best interests to create an opportunity for them to take a shot while also keeping you safe. Someplace public, I think."

"Someplace public..." Breha said. "Bail, isn't there a Senatorial Ball occurring in a week? You could use that."

The Senator's eyes widened. "Breha, you can't seriously be suggesting--"

"We have enough time to prepare some blaster-proof weave for our Detective and yourself," Breha said. "And it's better that we stop this assassin sooner rather than later--I'd hate if anything happened to you, darling."

The Senator seemed to struggle with something internally, but in the face of his wife, he went down easy. "Yes," he said. "I think you might be right."

"Now wait up a second," I said. "I'm just some private investigator. I can't afford something like blaster-proof weave. And the Senatorial Ball? They'd kick me out at the door."

"Not after I'm done with you," Breha said, looking me up and down. "Oh, yes. I'm sure you'll clean up quite nicely, Detective. Would you mind wearing a gown? I know just the thing."

"Don't worry about money," Bail told me. "Breha is the Queen. We can afford to pay your expenses if it means I won't get assassinated."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. "You're...You're married to the Queen? How in the Sith hells did you manage that?"

Bail rolled his eyes. "Well, apparently I'm very charming when I put my mind to it." He looked at me slowly. "What, would you like me to charm you?"

I sighed and shook my head. "You've got a lot of work to do on your personality before you can even think of charming me. This assassin business comes first."

"Well, I like a challenge." The Senator's eyes twinkled, a playful smile dancing on the corners of his lips, and for a moment, I could understand what Breha saw in him. He folded his arm in front of his chest and bowed. "I live to serve, detective. What do we need to do?"

So I told him. Piece by piece, I laid out what I knew, and what we would need to do to lure the assassin out and capture them for good. The Senator made intelligent commentary on the process, as did his wife, and we made fast progress planning it out.

When the Senator finally bid goodbye about an hour later so he could do his actual job, I thought to myself that he really wasn't as annoying when his wife was around.

"You see what I mean, don't you?" Breha said. "Bail can be quite charming when he tries to be."

I nodded slowly in agreement. It was easier to believe now, that someone like Breha would willingly marry someone like Bail. "You know what, after this is all over, maybe I'll be open to letting him charm me. You said Andraste Red was his favorite wine?"

"I have a bottle in my ship now, if you'd like it," Breha said.

"I'll think about it," I said. "And don't think I don't know what you're trying to do, you damn matchmaker."

Breha laughed. "Well, I admit it's not solely for Bail's sake. I wouldn't mind getting closer to a man like you, either." She lifted up my hand and pressed her lips to it, like I was some holonovel damsel. "You won't forget to keep both of us in mind, will you?"

"A woman like you?" I asked. I squeezed her hand back softly. "Why, dear, you don't even need to ask."

#ask jesse #fic: asynchronous circuit #fanfic #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 4 years ago

Text

I don’t really intend to ever write a “standard” obi-wan time travel story because basically everyone else already has that covered but if I were to write an obi-wan time travel story this scene would be in it because anakin deserves to experience a consequence every once in a while

“Anakin.”

It’s the tone of voice more than the word itself that makes Anakin look up from the project he’s working on--the tone somewhere between ‘I’m absolutely exhausted’ and ‘Something terrible has happened but I don’t want to show it’, which is never a good sign when it comes to Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks. “Did you get called back to the front? I thought they promised they’d actually give you leave this time.”

“Did they?” Obi-Wan says. “Never mind. I’m not being recalled to the front right now, in any case. I need to talk to you, Anakin.”

Anakin starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. In all of his years of being a Jedi, ‘I need to talk to you’ has never led to a good conversation. Anakin looks up at Obi-Wan to try and deflect, try and delay whatever horrible conversation Obi-Wan wants until some later time so it’s not today’s problem, but his words die in his throat when he actually sees Obi-Wan’s expression.

He looks absolutely wrecked. He looks like he’s had his soul ripped out, he looks like he hasn’t slept in a month and he’s barely keeping it together--absolutely nothing like what he looked like a day ago. Somehow, between then and now, someone hurt Obi-Wan bad, and Anakin hadn’t known.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin says, putting his hydrospanner down on the dining table and standing up. “Holy shit, Obi-Wan, what happened? Who did this to you?”

Obi-Wan laughs under his breath and it doesn’t sound like much of a laugh at all. “Don’t mind me,” he says. “I just need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Is it about the war?” Anakin asks.

“I suppose it is, from a certain point of view,” Obi-Wan says, because he’s allergic to giving a straightforward answer. “And also something much greater in scope.” His eyes seem to slip from focus for a moment, staring out into the middle distance, then move back to meet Anakin’s gaze directly. For some reason, Obi-Wan’s eyes look so much older now. “Anakin. I’m going to ask you a very important question, and I need you to answer me honestly.”

“Of course,” Anakin says, because anything would be better than seeing Obi-Wan like this.

“Thank you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He closes his eyes for a moment, then says, “If you were to have...knowledge of the future, that someone would do something terrible. Slaughter thousands of innocents. Destroy your entire family. What would you do?”

Anakin blinks slowly. “Obi-Wan, did you...see something? You had some kind of vision from the Force? That’s why you look so terrible?”

“Answer the question,” Obi-Wan says. “What would you do?”

“Well, I’d stop them, of course.”

“How would you stop them?”

Anakin thinks to his mother, to the dreams he had and should have done something about. If he’d acted sooner, if he’d found those Sand People before they could hurt her, she’d still be alive now. He’s never going to make that mistake again. He’s never going to let anyone he loves get hurt like that. Not anymore.

“I’d find them,” Anakin says, “and I’d kill them.”

Obi-Wan’s expression goes completely wooden, and Anakin knows in that moment that that wasn’t the answer Obi-Wan had wanted. Of course it isn’t--Obi-Wan’s too much of a perfect Jedi, too much about forgiveness and being nice to the wrong people. He’s never cared about someone enough to have it tear him apart if they died. He wouldn’t understand.

“I see,” Obi-Wan says, his voice completely flat. “So you would punish someone for a crime they had not yet committed.”

“If they’re going to kill tons of people including my family, then yeah, I have to stop them so they don’t do that!” Anakin says. “Do you really think someone who’d do something that awful is worth saving? This isn’t just some philosophical argument, there are lives at stake, Obi-Wan. Innocent lives!”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. “Yes,” he says. “I understand.”

There’s a flash of movement, and between one breath and the next, Obi-Wan’s lightsaber is at Anakin’s throat. Even without touching the blade, Anakin can feel the oppressive heat against his skin. If Obi-Wan twitches, he’s dead.

He stares, wide-eyed. “Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan looks him straight in the eyes, and there’s horrible pain there that Anakin can’t understand. “By your own judgement, I should kill you right now,” he says softly.

“M-Me?” Anakin says. “Obi-Wan, what are you talking about? This isn’t funny!”

“In six months time, you swear your loyalty to a Sith Lord and command your troops to destroy the Temple,” Obi-Wan says. “You slaughter the Jedi who you grew up beside, the younglings who trusted you to protect them. You go on to murder hundreds of thousands of people across the galaxy. Millions more die at your command over the following years. Killing you won’t save all of them. But it will save the younglings, and it will save many more.”

Anakin can hardly believe what he’s hearing. “I would--Obi-Wan, you have to be mistaken or something, I’d never join the Sith! I’d never hurt innocent people!”

“No? Not even to save Padme?”

Despite the heat of Obi-Wan’s blade, Anakin feels completely cold. “Is that what this is about? My marriage? Look, I’m sorry. I knew the Jedi wouldn’t be happy about me getting married, but this is completely overboard!”

“Your marriage is not the problem,” Obi-Wan says, still keeping his blade uncomfortably close to Anakin’s neck. “Your willingness to commit genocide is. If you believe that Padme will die, and the Sith offer you the ability to save her at the small cost of all the lives of all the Jedi, you would accept, and I know this to be true because I have seen it happen once before.”

Anakin tries to say something, but finds his mouth completely dry. He can’t refute it out of hand, not to Obi-Wan, not when he seems to see straight into the heart of everything Anakin’s kept locked away. Padme is the most important thing to him, and if he had to choose to do something horrible or to let her go...

Well, he’d never do something as bad as murdering younglings. But he’d be willing to do some pretty bad stuff.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin pleads. “Obi-Wan, listen to me. I don’t know what you saw, but it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let it happen, okay? Let’s talk this over before you do something rash.”

“Oh, I see,” Obi-Wan says. “Because it’s your life at stake, you believe we should discuss it. Even though you would murder someone based on visions of the future alone, before they had committed any crimes, you deserve a chance to defend yourself. Anakin, why do you believe you should be held to a different standard than the so-called criminals you would execute?”

“Because I’m not like them!” Anakin says. “I’m not evil! I don’t murder innocent kids and families to get what I want!“

“No. You would only murder them out of revenge,” Obi-Wan replies.

Anakin’s eyes, if possible, get even wider. There’s no way Obi-Wan knows about that. He can’t know about it. If he knew about it, then everything...everything is over.

“I...don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anakin says, desperately trying to salvage this.

“Now is not the time to lie to my face,” Obi-Wan says. “Before Geonosis, you slaughtered an entire tribe of Tuskens, down to the women and children. They were innocent people, and you cut them down. They tell stories about you--a heartless, violent demon who brings nothing but senseless death. You’ve taken innocent lives already, so many of them that I can’t even imagine how you sleep at night, knowing what you’ve done. By many metrics, you are worse than most of the people we try to apprehend.”

Obi-Wan says it so matter-of-factly that Anakin wants to scream. He’s got it wrong. He doesn’t understand. This is why Anakin never told Obi-Wan about it in the first place.

“Who told you about that?” Anakin demands. “Was it Padme? She promised she’d never tell anyone!”

Obi-Wan’s face twists into something even more hurt. “Padme knew you committed this atrocity? And never told anyone?”

Anakin presses his mouth shut. At least Padme hadn’t betrayed him--not like Obi-Wan. “You’re really going to get all righteous when you have me at saberpoint?”

“You’ll have to forgive my lack of composure. Today I am learning many extremely unpleasant things about people I care about,” Obi-Wan says, and it sounds like his voice is moments away from breaking. “I wonder if I ever knew any of you at all.” He exhales deeply. “Please, Anakin. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you. Give me a reason to spare your life.”

In this moment, Anakin realizes Obi-Wan is entirely serious. There is a very solid possibility that Anakin will not leave this room alive.

“It’s not the Jedi way,” Anakin says.

“No, it’s not,” Obi-Wan agrees. “But you certainly don’t care for the Jedi way, and I have not been a very good Jedi for a great many years. Try again.”

“I’m not going to bow to the Sith. All that stuff you saw, it’s not going to happen,” Anakin says, more desperately.

“I put my entire faith in you once, Anakin. I always believed that no matter how often you stumbled, no matter how you struggled, you would have returned to the Light because at the core, you were good,” Obi-Wan says. “I still believe that there is good in you, and that there always will be, but you’ve proved over and over again that you are willing to ignore your sense of right and wrong, that you will step over that good to get what you want. It doesn’t matter if you don’t bow to the Sith now. Down the line, there will be more struggles and these root problems will not go away. One day, Padme will die and you will not let her go, and I will not have your death toll on my conscience. Try again.”

“You don’t want to do this,” Anakin pleads. “You’re like a father to me, we’ve been through so much together. We can work through this. It doesn’t have to end like this.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and swallows. He looks absolutely devastated, and even now, Anakin doesn’t want to see that expression on his face.

“You are my brother,” Obi-Wan says after an interminable silence. “You are one of the most important people in my life, if not the most important person. I love you, and I always have. Killing you would be like killing myself. I’m sorry I didn’t teach you well enough to prevent these atrocities. I’m sorry I couldn’t arrive early enough to prevent them from occurring in the first place.”

Anakin feels like he’s choking. He’s always wanted to hear Obi-Wan say out loud that he cared, but...not like this.

There’s a low hiss, and the heat of Obi-Wan’s blade disappears as he disengages it. Anakin lets out a sigh of relief, tension draining out of his body.

“In the end, I am a Jedi,” Obi-Wan says, still grim. “And it’s not the Jedi way to punish people for things they haven’t yet done. All the younglings you may one day slaughter still live, as are the worlds you may destroy and the families you may tear apart.”

Anakin’s never been so relieved that Obi-Wan is so committed to Jedi principles.

“However,” Obi-Wan continues, “the fact remains that you have committed an unforgivable crime. The Tuskens are dead and you have slaughtered innocents you vowed to protect. I cannot allow this to go unanswered.”

“What?” Anakin says faintly.

“There is no jurisdiction within the Republic that can prosecute you for the mass murder you committed on Tatooine,” Obi-Wan says. “But your actions will have consequences within the Order. At minimum, we will have to confiscate your saber until you prove you can be trusted with it. Likely, you will be stripped of your rank until further notice.”

“What? You can’t--that’s not fair!” Anakin protests.

“No? When you were Knighted, you swore vows to become the bulwark of the weak, a protector to the innocent and those who need your help the most. You swore to maintain neutrality in your judgement and to place your duty above all other matters, so that you would never sacrifice the many for the few. These are the conditions upon which your Knighthood rests,” Obi-Wan says. “And you have broken every one of them. Why should you keep your rank?”

Anakin bristles. “I’m one of the best Knights the Order’s ever had! We’d never win this war without me!”

“We were never going to win this war,” Obi-Wan says. “It was built on false pretenses from the day it started. And while I will easily admit you are one of the strongest Jedi I have ever known, that does not make you ‘the best’. I cannot force you to accept these charges, but if you wish to be a Jedi Knight, and perhaps one day a Jedi Master, then you must answer to justice for your crimes and change the processes that led you to commit them.”

“You’re going to take everything from me,” Anakin says. “I made one bad move, and you’ll never forgive me for it.”

“That you can call the genocide of an entire tribe of Tuskens ‘one bad move’ is telling.” Obi-Wan slides his hands into his sleeves and levels a look at Anakin that’s so horribly disappointed that Anakin can practically feel himself shrinking under it. “And my forgiveness has nothing to do with it. I cannot forgive you because I am not the one who was wronged--the only people with the power to forgive what you’ve done are no longer able to do so. You’ve ensured that.”

Anakin finds himself at a loss for words. He feels like his world’s been flipped upside-down. He always knew Obi-Wan would let him down eventually, but this is...this is so much worse than he ever imagined.

“So you lied, then,” Anakin says. “You never loved me at all. You’d never do this to me if you did.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “Anakin. You don’t understand,” he says. “My love for you is unconditional. My lenience is not. I can save you from the consequences of your actions no longer.”

#star wars #fanfic #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #fics i won't write #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 2 years ago

Note

How about some shenanigans where ObiWan crosses paths with someone from the Temple before Async occurs and neither realizes until after Async.

this probably isn't what you asked for but I wanted to write obi-wan getting possessed again

For what must be the fifth or sixth time in his career, Feemor blinks his way to wakefulness in the bowels of what is probably not a Sith Temple, but definitely just as creepy as one, with no idea where he is or how he got there. Next time, he thinks, when the Council tells him to go investigate another creepy haunted Temple, he will tell them to go kriff themselves.

Feemor takes a deep breath. His whole body hurts, and if he thinks very hard he can vaguely remember something breaking apart beneath him and falling and hitting many things very hard on the way down. He stares up at the ceiling. It's a very nice ceiling, all told, with intricate mosaics and geometric patterns, lit by eerie blue lanterns that shine like will-o'-wisps. There's no hole in the ceiling, so it's not as if he fell and landed here, and he can't just jump back up, either.

He rubs his eyes. How long has he been unconscious? Unclear, but his mouth is completely dry, so it's probably been a little while. He reaches out to the Force and finds it...heavy. Not Dark or even malicious, but with a strange quality he might describe as viscous. It clings to his mind like tar, making it hard to cast his senses to the outside or call for help. It makes him uneasy, but there's nothing to be done for it. He needs to get out of here, then everything else will hopefully fall into place.

With some difficulty, he stands up. He has no idea which direction to go, so he reaches to the Force for guidance. It suggests a corridor to walk, and Feemor, with no better solutions, follows.

The Temple is silent and dark, only lit by faint wisps of blue light. It was abandoned thousands of years ago, only still standing by the strength of the Force that sleeps within it. From what records that exist in the Archives, this Temple once belonged to a now-dead Force cult who worshiped the Force's dominion over memory and time. And indeed, time does not seem to touch this Temple--there is no dust on the floors, the colors of the stonework have not faded, and there is no sign of decay in any of the corridors.

This Temple has no overt defenses--no traps or guards or warnings to keep interlopers out--but the maze-like corridors are so convoluted and identical that it is impossible to navigate them without the Force, and Feemor finds his vision beginning to blur as he walks.

The Force is heavier, now. As Feemor reaches to it for guidance, it seeps through his shields like a numbing poison as it sends him deeper into the Temple. The pain in his body fades, and, without his realizing it, so too does his desire to escape. As his thoughts slow, the Force whispers wordless commands into Feemor's mind, and his body obeys, carrying him straight to the heart of the Temple.

The inner sanctum is large. Feemor takes it all in--a large circular room lit in pale light from strange Force devices, revealing a high arched ceiling and a ring of steps leading down to an altar inscribed with symbols he can't read. At any other time, he would be excited to uncover and personally see such an esoteric and well-preserved piece of history, but now, with the Force keeping him deeply entranced, he can only passively take in the sight.

There is a sound. Bare skin on stone, a swish of cloth. Feemor blinks, and as if coming into focus, he sees a man behind the altar, with long reddish hair tied back and unkempt beard scruff and wearing an embroidered tunic that looks ceremonial. His right hand has been amputated at the wrist, and in the man's other hand is a glowing blue holocron. It is open.

As if sensing his presence, the man slowly turns towards Feemor, and he's not really a man at all--just a youngling. Seventeen or eighteen, barely older than Bruck, if that. The thought shakes something loose in Feemor's mind, tugging him to awareness just enough to think what the hell is happening to me? as his feet take him down the stairs to the altar.

As he approaches, the youngling stares at him with piercing eyes that glow pale gold. He does not feel like a person--the Force pours through him and surrounds him, like he is a conduit to something unfathomably powerful. He, too, looks like he is frozen in time--he does not blink, does not shift, does not even look like he is breathing. The holocron clutched in his fingers flickers, and Feemor feels something touch his mind.

"Jedi," the youngling says, and his voice seems to be layered twice--one voice physical, one resonating through the Force. If Feemor were to cover his ears, he doesn't think he would be able to block it out. "Why have you come to this place?"

Feemor hears the words, but can't make his mind move to recall the answer. He had been looking for something, he knows. Something had happened, and--

The youngling steps closer to him. An unknown force rushes through Feemor, and his legs buckle underneath him. He sinks to his knees before this youngling, gazing up into an expressionless face.

The youngling reaches out to him with the amputated arm, and Feemor feels a hand touch his face, laying flat over his forehead and threaded into his hair. It feels like skin contact, but not hot or cold, and it vibrates with barely restrained power. "Answer us, Jedi, or we will take the answers from you."

Feemor can't. He's paralyzed, his mouth is dry, and he is scared. He feels himself caught between two unfathomably powerful forces, can feel something in his head looking out his eyes and breathing through his mouth. He has been lured down into a trap without his realizing it and he is too late to pull himself out.

The youngling's grip tightens on his face, and so, too, does the pressure on Feemor's mind. He tries to calm himself and shore up his protections, but the youngling frowns, and says, "Do not hide from us. Let us see you."

The words vibrate in the Force, sinking into the very core of Feemor's mind. He can feel his defenses crumble, even as he struggles to stop it, and then all at once his mental walls disintegrate and he bares his mind to the thing that has him in its grip. Immediately, he feels something dig into him, dragging memory to the surface in a rush, images and sounds and smells all at once.

There has been a strange convergence of the Force in this sector, Master Windu's voice echoes. We know of an abandoned temple that has lain dormant for centuries, and if it is currently waking up again, we must know. You and your Padawan will be the best fit for the job, Knight Feemor.

Very well, says his own voice. We will be ready to leave tomorrow.

May the Force be with you.

And Feemor had felt something then, a squeeze in the Force, a feeling that this was something he needed to do. He knew he would find something and--

The youngling pulls away, eyes blazing gold, his mouth twisted into a snarl. "You dare to take what is rightfully ours?" he says, and there's more than two voices now, it's an entire chorus of otherworldly voices, ringing between Feemor's ears. "You will not touch this vessel!"

The Force bears down on him and pain explodes in Feemor's mind. He screams, trying to pull away, but the youngling grabs him by the throat with impossible strength, dragging him over to the altar and pushing him flush against the cold stone.

"Death would be too good for you, Jedi," the voices say from all around. "For encroaching on this sacred space, we will make you one of ours!"

And then, there is something rushing into him, something tearing at the threads of his mind and unraveling him, ready to weave him into something else and he cries out, desperately:

Help.

There's a tug on his mind. A soft, but determined light. An image floats to the surface, of white hair, unsteady hands, sharp eyes. Bruck's lips move without making any noise, but Feemor sees the words perfectly well.

You have to fight back.

Warmth flows into Feemor's numb limbs, light chasing away the pain, just a little bit. The blue holocron shines in the youngling's hand, and Feemor knows what he needs to do.

With a burst of strength, he lunges for the youngling's wrist and grabs the holocron. It burns to the touch, searing his skin and his mind as the spirit contained within lashes out at him. He holds on for dear life, and he feels Bruck's energy supporting him from afar even as his vision begins to fade...

He pries the holocron from the youngling's hand, and it goes skittering across the floor, then closes on its own. The assault on Feemor's mind stops, but the youngling remains standing, expressionless and dazed. The glow has faded from his eyes, revealing stormy gray underneath. Carefully, he reaches out to the youngling and finds that while he is not breathing, he is still warm. There are burns on his intact hand from the holocron, but they're already healing in front of his eyes. Feemor reaches out with the Force to get a sense of him, and finds the youngling softer, yet no less inhuman. The Force fills the youngling's body like he is an empty vessel, just an amalgam of light and emotion. It makes Feemor shiver. He's never heard of anything like this. He's not sure anyone has heard of anything like this.

"I'm a Jedi. I was sent here to help," he says softly. "Are you...are you the one I'm here to find?"

The youngling looks up at him. There is something looking out from behind those eyes, something Feemor isn't sure he wants to face. "Yes," the youngling says, and the voice that comes out doesn't sound like a youngling's voice. It doesn't even sound physical. "You will take this child from this place."

The words settle on Feemor's consciousness, soaking into his still-exposed mind. The compulsion is gentle and it feels natural as he carefully guides the youngling out of the inner sanctum and out of the Temple itself.

Feemor staggers out into the light. It's a warm, densely forested planet--in the insanity of the Temple, he had completely forgotten.

"Master! Master Feemor!" he hears. "What happened, I felt something happen to you and--"

"Take a deep breath, Padawan," Feemor says, setting a hand on Bruck's shoulder. Bruck looks like he wants to panic, but is holding himself together. "I am all right. I felt your support. I wouldn't have made it through without you."

"And you've--" Bruck's face goes even paler. "Is that--Is that Obi-Wan?"

Feemor looks at the youngling he's brought with him. "Obi-Wan?" he asks. "Is that your name?"

The youngling--Obi-Wan, perhaps--gazes at Bruck. "Ah. You know this child," he says. "That won't do." He raises a hand, and the Force swells.

Bruck's eyes roll up into his head and he collapses in a dead faint.

"What--Bruck!" Feemor shouts, running to Bruck's side. He's breathing and unharmed, but that does little to settle Feemor's anxiety. He glares at Obi-Wan. "What are you doing? Who are you?"

"We are sending this child somewhere safe," Obi-Wan says.

"You don't need to knock out my apprentice!" Feemor protests. "If you need us to take you back to the Temple, we can do that--heck, we were probably going to do that--but you can't just drag me out to the Outer Rim and do all this!"

"This child will not return to the Temple," Obi-Wan says. "The Temple is not safe for him anymore."

"What do you mean, the Temple isn't safe for him--he's clearly got something going on with the Force, we can help him!" Feemor protests.

"The Temple would consume this child whole," Obi-Wan says, and Feemor feels it, a crash of Force blotting out what little soul remains in this youngling. Nobody could endure that and come out the other side alive.

"If you're not sending him to the Temple, then where are you sending him?" Feemor asks. "He's--He's only a youngling."

"Away," Obi-Wan says. "One day, he may return to us, but not now. He will have to make that choice for himself when he is stronger." He looks at Feemor. "And you, my child. You have done well. Thank you."

"Your child, what do you--" Feemor's mouth goes dry. "Are you trying to say you're the Force? That's not--that's not possible."

Obi-Wan tilts his head to one side. "No?"

"If you're--if you're the Force, why would you need to bring me out here to save him? Couldn't you just...do what you're doing now, and take him out yourself?"

"This child is no longer a Jedi," Obi-Wan says, with an edge that Feemor thinks might be sorrow. "We can no longer guide him. So we act through the Jedi. In this instance, we act through you, Feemor, and you have performed admirably."

Hearing some entity speak his name makes a chill go down Feemor's spine. There's really a lot going on right now, and speaking to some kind of Force manifestation really was not on his list of things he'd ever been prepared to do.

Obi-Wan steps closer to him. "There is only one last thing you must do for us, young Jedi."

Feemor can't pull away. Or rather, he doesn't want to. The Force murmurs in his mind, the voice he's trusted above anything else for his entire life, telling him that he will be safe and that he has done well. Feemor sinks to his knees before Obi-Wan, letting the youngling brush the sides of his face with his hands--both the real one and the nonexistent one. They are warm, gentle hands.

"You and your apprentice will forget what you have seen here," Obi-Wan says.

"You're...you're going to make me forget?" Feemor asks, even as he can feel the words settling in his mind and feeling right. The Force caresses him softly, and his senses fade as it tugs him into a trance and begins to comb through his memory. Despite what he knows is about to happen, the sensation is pleasant, like gentle fingers threaded through his hair.

Obi-Wan nods solemnly. "We will replace it with a suitable memory. Your Council will not be disappointed in your work." He brushes a hand across Feemor's cheek, and with a touch of warmth, Feemor feels his scrapes and pains dissolve. "This child must make his own choice to return home. So we cannot allow anyone to interfere. Not now, not before he becomes stronger."

"Will I..." Feemor can feel his eyes start to slide shut despite his best efforts--against the Force itself, there's nothing he can do. "Will I ever remember this?"

Obi-Wan seems to consider that. "Do you want to?"

He does, he doesn't say out loud, but Obi-Wan hears him perfectly well--he is already in Feemor's mind, after all.

"You want to meet young Obi-Wan again?" Obi-Wan asks, answering Feemor's thoughts before even realizes he has them. "Well...perhaps. We cannot control his fate, but if you wish, then...hm. Yes, why not? One day in the future, we will let you remember this." He smiles softly. "Now close your eyes, dear child. This will not hurt."

Feemor's eyes close, and Obi-Wan pulls him into a hug. The Force blankets Feemor's mind, rewriting his memory faster than Feemor can even comprehend. True to its words, the process does not hurt--there is no better expert than the Force itself in remaking a memory and weaving it seamlessly into the surrounding space. Feemor tries to fix Obi-Wan's face in his mind, to try and hold onto at least one thing from this encounter, until the Force gently tugs that away from him, too, and washes the memory clean.

The touch in his mind recedes, and Feemor's eyes flutter open to see the storm-gray eyes of an unfamiliar face. The last coherent thought he has before unconsciousness pulls him under is to wonder why those eyes look so sad.

---

"I think we did a pretty good job," Bruck says as they leave the Council Chamber, his Padawan braid thumping on his chest as he walks. "It took a little longer than expected, but I mean, it's a time Temple. Some weird stuff was bound to happen in there, right?"

"Of course," Feemor says, smiling. "But we did well."

It had been a strange mission, though not outside Feemor and Bruck's skillset. A strange convergence of the Force around an obscure Temple in the Outer Rim. He and Bruck had carefully investigated the Temple and eventually found a strange holocron in its inner sanctum. They had safely deactivated it, then brought it to the Temple for further analysis by the Archivists. No damage was done, no strange entities appeared. The only strange thing about the whole mission was that despite being in the Temple for only a few hours, it seemed they had spent almost two whole days had passed by the time they left. A strange time effect due to the Force in the Temple, perhaps? Maybe the Archivists will know more.

Bruck talks a little while longer, wondering out loud about who had built the Temple and why, and what happened to them and how they knew how to make holocrons.

"Master Nu will tell us more about it when she's done, right?" Bruck asks. "Maybe there's the secret to time travel or something in there."

"Maybe," Feemor says. "I wouldn't hold my breath about that, though. I'm sure it's more likely to be some sort of historical information that--"

Feemor stops walking.

"Huh?" Bruck says. "Master Feemor, is something wrong?"

"We're at the memorial wall," Feemor says.

"Yeah? We pass by here almost every day," Bruck says. His brows furrow. "Are you okay, Master? Did you hit your head and not tell me?"

"No, I'm fine." Feemor's gaze drags along the wall, stopping on a name he doesn't recognize. "Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Bruck grimaces. "Yeah? What about him?"

Feemor looks over at his Padawan. "You know Obi-Wan?"

"I mean, I knew him before he died, yeah," Bruck says. "He was in a lot of the same classes as me. People liked him a lot--he was a little bit dumb, but he was nice and he always worked really hard. I...was kind of a dick to him."

"This says he died when he was fourteen," Feemor says, brushing his fingers across the embossed letters on the plaque. "What happened?"

"Dunno," Bruck says. "He went on a mission and never came back, then one day all his bonds snapped, because he died."

"Or he stopped being a Jedi," Feemor says.

Bruck looks at him weird. "I mean. Yeah, being dead would make you not a Jedi. That's true."

"But nobody ever went to find the body, did they?" Feemor says. "He could still be alive, and--"

Feemor is hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. There's a sharp sensation of something cutting into his mind, completely bypassing all his shields, and the Force murmurs a soft apology, reaching in and pulling something straight. The world seems to spin for a couple nauseating moments, then rights itself.

Feemor blinks. "I--" He looks at the memorial wall in front of him. They walk past it almost every day. Why was he so fixated on it all of a sudden? "I'm sorry, I think I just lost my train of thought. Bruck?"

Bruck doesn't respond. His eyes are glassy and his expression is dazed.

Feemor puts a hand on Bruck's shoulder. "Bruck, are you okay?"

Bruck blinks, shaking off his daze. "What? Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking." He points to the plaque. "That's Obi-Wan Kenobi, he died when he was just fourteen. Disappeared after a mission and never came back. I went to his funeral and everything, and it still...doesn't feel real, sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Feemor says.

"I always wanted to apologize," Bruck continues. "Even before he beefed it. He was always better than me--he had more friends and he worked harder and he was nicer, too. I was always kind of jealous, so I gave him a hard time about it." He rubs the burn scar on his face, the one he had asked the Healers to not fix all those years ago. "He should have been here. He would have been a great Jedi, and instead, it's me who's here doing all this Jedi stuff instead. That just doesn't seem right."

"I'm sure that Obi-Wan would be happy to know how well you've improved as a person," Feemor replies.

Bruck huffs. "Yeah, I'm sure he would. He's the kind of person who would be happy about that, even if he didn't like me. Doesn't make him less dead."

"No, but you still remember him and you're doing honor to his memory. That's important," Feemor says. "Let's head home, Bruck. I think we deserve some rest."

With a nod, the two of them head back to their quarters, Bruck going almost directly to his bed and passing out. Feemor sits down on his own bed, and in the privacy of his room, he takes out a small holocron.

It's not any kind of holocron he has ever seen--it's too small, and it's a strange orange-gold color. He had found it in his pocket on the way back from the Temple, but he has no memory of how it got there or what it might contain. Consulting the Force only tells him that this holocron is for him alone, and the time to open it will not be for many years. He turns it over in his fingers slowly, then sets it on a shelf in the back of his closet. Once it's out of view, the memory of the holocron itself fades from his mind, and he finds himself wondering what he was trying to get out of his closet. After considering it for several seconds, he shakes his head and turns away. He's been so absent-minded today--clearly he needs some rest.

He strips off his outer tunics, collapses on his bed, then sleeps.

That night, Feemor dreams of unfamiliar storm-gray eyes and a sadness that is infinite like an ocean stretching to the horizon that makes his heart hurt. He calls out a name, but there is no response--it is not his place to interfere, as much as he may want to.

He wakes the next morning and the dream is already forgotten.

#fic: asynchronous circuit #fanfic #star wars #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 2 years ago

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I adore your Circuits series, and that you made obiwan and padme imperfect people and also thoroughly people. I won't ever get enough of clones being people in their own right, either, so if you feel inspired, maybe one of the clones being content in their life and not giving a thought to the Big Damn Heroes?

hi it's been a year but I've been writing race con and I wanted to write a thing where carrion isn't dead so here are some clones. warnings for kamino, I guess?

It is raining on the day CT-3122 leaves Kamino.

He is frightened--he is not ready to leave, hadn't expected to be deployed for another year and a half, at least--but the war is now over and General Windu had issued the transfer orders. All operations in Kamino are to cease--training stopped, medbay cleared, and the clones are to leave Kamino and transition to the civilian sector. In the month since the orders went out, hundreds to thousands of clones have filtered out of Kamino by the day, an exodus that CT-3122 hasn't seen since the war started. Except this time it's not just the oldest zero series and Series 1 clones getting shipped out--it's everyone, down to the youngest Series 4 batches. These days, Kamino feels very empty.

Now it is CT-3122's turn to leave.

Commander Colt told them to make their goodbyes. CT-3122 only had one goodbye to make--to Ossus Mu, his medical instructor. He knows that his brothers, even those among the medical track, do not like the Kaminoans, but Ossus Mu had taught him the art of medicine, how to navigate an autopsy, how to surgically repair a body. In all the four years CT-3122 has known her, she has been patient, never yelling or getting upset with his speech issues. She was not indulgent or easy to please, but she was calm where the trainers had been harsh, and CT-3122 does not think he would have survived Kamino if not for her. So he told her goodbye.

"You are a credit to my teachings, CT-3122," she had told him. "I hope you will put your skills to good use in the future."

It was the first time CT-3122 had been praised so strongly, and he'd been giddy as he saluted her one last time.

He will miss her.

CT-3122 owns nothing but his medical uniform and ID badge, so that is all he takes with him to the transport. Other brothers bring their armor if they are old enough to have any, and some bring small items and bags--undoubtedly some kind of contraband, but the Jedi had told them to bring everything.

He goes up the ramp, gets registered, and settles down in one of many seats.

All the clones had been given a choice, back when the transfer orders had first gone through. They could go to a few places--the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, the Jedi Service Corps, or one of a few sanctuary planets across the galaxy. They were not required to stay where they picked, but they would remain there for at least a short time to acclimatize to civilian life and, if they chose, make their own way in a galaxy where the war they had been designed for no longer existed.

It is a frightening prospect.

CT-3122 is going to Alderaan. It is a popular choice. There is an established and rapidly-growing clone community, there are many options for occupational training, and according to brothers who have been deployed, it has a very agreeable climate. CT-3122 does not care about any of those things--he is not generally comfortable around brothers he does not know, he already has all the occupational training he could ever want, and he has no basis for comparison when it comes to any climate besides Kamino. He is going there for one reason only: his big brother, Carrion, is there.

One by one, brothers file onto the transport, a mishmash of white armor and cadet uniforms. There's about two hundred of them in total, and it's a slow process to get everyone on board.

One brother sits next to CT-3122. It's Freeze, with her curly hair clipped back and the bright yellow adenosine molecule that CT-3122 had tattooed just below her eye. She's a medical unit and only a few months older, specializing in anesthesiology. CT-3122 has been partnered with her since the beginning of the war, and they work well together. They're not friends, exactly--CT-3122 isn't good at making friends--but they're more than just colleagues. She is confident where CT-3122 is not, and he is comforted by her presence.

"Are you scared?" he signs, low so nobody else sees it.

Freeze smiles and nods. "I've never been more scared," she signs back.

The last of the clones board the transport and the doors lock. Everyone is a little bit nervous, a little bit excited--for almost everyone on this transport, this is the first time they will see the galaxy outside Kamino. A quick glance around reveals that he and Freeze are some of the youngest clones aboard, only seven and a half years apiece. Most brothers their age or younger had chosen to go to the Jedi Temple or to Service Corps--somewhere they can learn, can work, can have someone to tell them what they need to do.

The transport shudders as the powerful engines come alive. Freeze slides her hand into CT-3122's and squeezes tightly. CT-3122 squeezes back.

The transport takes off, and CT-3122's stomach lurches. It's not the first time he has ever been on a ship--all units are required to know the basics of piloting--but the last time he was on a ship was over a year ago, and never on something this large. The ship vibrates unpleasantly all the way down to his bones as it rockets out of atmo, and then with a peculiar pulling sensation, it launches to hyperspace.

In a flash of blue light, they leave Kamino--their lives, their purpose, their home--behind. They will likely never return.

---

The trip to Alderaan takes two days. Two days aboard an unfamiliar ship as they sail through hyperspace. CT-3122 stays with Freeze for most of it, because everyone else on the transport is a stranger. Combat units do not, as a rule, interact much with medical units--they're put off by the fact that medical units are trained directly by the Kaminoans and their course modules after the age of four rarely overlap. Except for a few older medical units coming to briefly check on them, everyone leaves them alone.

CT-3122 spends most of his time next to the viewport, watching the hypnotic streaks of hyperspace fly past. He wonders what will await him when he reaches Alderaan. He has heard the stories, of course--soldiers brought back from the front for advanced medical treatment always told stories about the different worlds and people out there. They talked about planets with forests as far as the eye can see, endless bone-dry deserts, plains full of frozen ice. There were so many living things out there, plants and animals and people of all shapes and sizes and colors.

CT-3122 has never known anything but the white halls of Kamino, and the idea of a world beyond its walls, beyond the endless rainstorms where things were even more vivid and alive than what they had seen in their educational holos has always felt…impossible. He can't even picture it--they are all just stories.

Freeze leans against his side, her head resting on his shoulder as she sleeps soundly, her fingers still twined with his. She is warm, and CT-3122 finds comfort in the weight. He wonders if Freeze, who has always seemed so sure of herself and who she wanted to be, already knows what she will do with her future. He wonders if they will work together again after they reach Alderaan, or if that is another relic they have left behind in Kamino.

He doesn't know. Ever since the war ended, there are so many things he does not know.

---

When the transport drops out of hyperspace, everyone is crowded around the viewports to see. Alderaan is a pale sphere of swirling greens and blues and white--nothing at all like the gray clouds and dark oceans of Kamino. CT-3122 watches as they descend, watches as colors resolve into shapes and lines. He has no idea what he's looking at, but it's fascinating--nothing like the clean topographical maps they'd used in training.

They descend slowly to a large spaceport in the middle of a large sprawling city. And then…the doors open.

Alderaan is bright. The sky is shining blue, the clouds are white, the structures all around them--the mountains, they were called--are green and capped with white. CT-3122 steps down the ramp to be met with a spaceport that has been painted in grays and bright oranges and reds and blues and standing on the landing zone…

Clones. There's a good group of them, maybe forty or so, all dressed in different kinds of clothes--things with designs and frills and colors and layers they would have been immediately disciplined for in Kamino--and not a speck of plain white to see.

CT-3122 takes a deep, shuddering breath. The air is chill, and it doesn't smell like antiseptic or rain--it smells completely new. It hits him, then, that this is real. They've left Kamino behind and he is out in the real galaxy. Out in his new life.

"3122!"

CT-3122 turns towards the sound of his number, just in time for a brother to scoop him up into his arms and squeeze him tight. "You made it!" Carrion says, swinging him around in a circle. He puts CT-3122 down and grins. "I'm so glad to see you, kid."

Carrion looks different from the last time CT-3122 had seen him, when he'd been deployed after Geonosis. He's one of the oldest clones, fully grown and solid enough to show for it with the scar across his cheek distinct as always. But he looks lighter now, more rested, happier. His hair's grown out a bit, hanging down to his shoulders in waves and dyed with a couple streaks of orange to match the 212th.

CT-3122 hugs him back. "Carrion, I couldn't--" He shakes his head. "…I'm really glad to see you, too. It wasn't--you really didn't have to wait. Sir."

Carrion huffs. "Of course I did. That's what big brothers do, right?" He ruffles CT-3122's hair. "And I was hoping I could pick you up and give you the tour myself. The others will be heading to the res halls, but I've got a place downtown, I think you'll like it." Carrion looks up. "And you've got a friend? I think you were…7721, right?"

Freeze waves hello. "That's correct, sir. I go by Freeze."

Carrion nods. "Freeze. I'll be taking '22 with me, but we've got room for one more if you're coming along."

Freeze nods. "Yes, sir, I'd like that."

With that matter settled, Carrion leads CT-3122 and Freeze out to the monorail station, pointing out trees and flowers and buildings as they go. There's so much going on everywhere that CT-3122 thinks his head is going to explode, but he keeps looking around as much as he can just to drink it all in.

"Is it--Alderaan is always like this? Sir?" he asks.

"Oh, just wait until we get to the clone district," Carrion says, pointing out the monorail window. "Right up there, you see it?"

CT-3122 looks where Carrion is pointing, unsure what he's being directed towards, then he sees it.

It's an explosion of color. Murals on the walls, paint on the streets, sculptures and decorated buildings. Everywhere he looks, the district has been marked by his brothers with depictions of battlefields, of new and alien worlds, of sheer chaotic splashes of color. An entire district turned into a canvas.

Freeze gasps, staring at a wall-sized depiction of a dark-skinned Jedi holding a lightsaber to the sky. "Is this allowed?" she asks. "Isn't this vandalism?"

"It's art," Carrion says. "The Queen gave us a place to live and a bunch of paint and told us to do whatever we wanted with it."

It's so much. CT-3122 feels like he's back in his early days on medic track, falling five steps behind because there's just so much he needs to learn. He's not in Kamino anymore. The rules have changed. "Does that--you mean you live here? Sir?"

"No, this is the promenade," Carrion says as the monorail chugs along. "I live two stops down. I'll show you."

Carrion, it turns out, lives on the second floor of a residential building ("it's called a flat") that's made of reddish stone ("that's brick") and painted with swirling flowers. On the landing there is a little hanging device with metal rods that clang against each other in the wind ("that's a wind chime"). Inside, there are wood floors and soft green walls, with large colorful cloths ("those are tapestries") hung along the hallways and an enormous sliding window going out to a balcony that directly overlooks the mountains.

It's so much that CT-3122 feels dizzy, and Carrion must notice because he brings CT-3122 and Freeze into one of the bedrooms (there's three of them!) and has them sit down and drink some water. The bedroom is painted a light yellow but is otherwise quite sedate, and there is one bunk which is much wider than what CT-3122 is used to.

"This is the spare bedroom," Carrion says, pulling up a chair. "You can have it if you want, or you can share with me. Or you can find your own place. You don't have to decide right now. We've only got the one bed for now, but we could probably get another bunk if you prefer--"

"One bunk is--I think we'll be okay. Sir," CT-3122 says. He doesn't mind bunking with brothers, as long as he knows them.

Freeze nods in agreement.

"Okay," Carrion says. "I'll get you onboarded after you get some rest--get your ID and documents sorted out, a personal datapad, your credit chip. I'll take you kids out to buy whatever you need."

"Buy?" Freeze asks.

Carrion nods. "Yeah. You gotta actually go out and pick the things you want to have and pay credits for it. We all get a monthly stipend--a pretty small stipend, but definitely enough to cover all the necessities. It's a lot to learn, but you'll get used to it pretty fast. I'll show you how it works."

Carrion clasps his hands. "But before we do all of that…do either of you know what you want to do?"

Silence. CT-3122 looks at Carrion, then at Freeze. No answers there, either.

CT-3122 says, "I'm a surgeon. Sir."

"You are," Carrion agrees. "And a damn good one. But you're not even eight standard--natborns look at you and see a youngling. They're not going to let you do surgery."

"But I'm a medic!" CT-3122 protests. "I'm--I have strong skills, I can be useful, I--"

Carrion holds his hands up. "I know you are. And if you want to, you can keep doing medicine, and go back to surgery when you're a little older. But…you don't have to. The war's over, kid. You don't have to be wrist-deep in your brothers' guts anymore if you don't want to."

CT-3122 considers that. He's good at medicine--he's one of the best surgeons among all his peers--but he never chose to do it. He'd been assigned to the track when he was three, the same way all clones were.

His stomach twists. It feels like a waste to not use his medical skills. He's spent so long honing them, so long using them to repair his brothers during the war, that to let them go to the wayside feels…

It feels like a betrayal. Of everything he's done and is.

CT-3122 feels someone grab his hand again, and looks over at Freeze.

"I don't have to be a medic anymore?" she asks.

Carrion shakes his head. "No. You don't."

"What do we…have to do instead?" Freeze asks.

"You don't have to do anything," Carrion replies. He looks at CT-3122. "I remember, a long time ago, you asked me what I would want to do if I weren't a soldier."

CT-3122 remembers that. It had been sometime before the war, when CT-3122 had started noticing the trainers turning their jobs over to the older clones and leaving to do other things besides training. Carrion had told him it wasn't worth asking, because they were soldiers and talking about a world where they weren't was talking about a world where they didn't exist.

"Well, we're not soldiers anymore," Carrion says. "I'm helping to build this city for us, because I want this to be a place where all you kids can figure out what you want to be. You're still young. You've got plenty of time to try different things and see what you want to do."

"And that's…not a medic? Sir?" CT-3122 asks.

Carrion sighs. "I can't answer that for you. You have to tell me: do you enjoy doing medicine?"

"I'm good at it. Sir."

"That's not what I asked," Carrion replies. "Do you like it? Does it make you happy? Think about it before you answer, please."

So CT-3122 thinks. He thinks about being three years old and told he is insensitive to the sight of gruesome injury and would make a great sniper but would be more useful as a medic. He thinks about seeing a body that looks just like his, lifeless on a table and being told to cut it open and memorize what it looks like on the inside. He thinks about training exercises gone wrong and saving his brothers. He thinks about the ones gone ever more wrong, and having to tell his brothers that he can't save them, the most he can do is ease their suffering.

He is a good medic. Maybe even a great one. A credit to his teachings. He's saved hundreds of his brothers, brothers that nobody else could have saved because they didn't have his keen judgement or steady hands.

But at the same time, he remembers every brother he has refused to treat because he knew he wouldn't be able to save them. He remembers every brother he has decommissioned because it was better to be decommissioned than wasted, even if that meant making himself the cause of death.

He knows that in the wider galaxy, in a galaxy no longer at war, medicine and death do not go hand-in-hand the way they do in Kamino. But for him, he doesn't think he will ever be able to become a healer who is not also a killer.

"I…don't think I want to be a medic," CT-3122 says. "I don't want to kill my brothers anymore."

"Oh, kid," Carrion says. He pulls CT-3122 into a hug and squeezes tight. He's so much larger that he practically engulfs CT-3122, and CT-3122 sinks his weight against Carrion's chest, clutching the back of Carrion's shirt.

"What do I--What am I s-supposed to do now?" CT-3122 says into Carrion's shoulder. "If I can't--if I'm not a medic, then what am I good for?"

"I don't know, kid," Carrion says. "But we'll find that out together. I promise."

#fic: asynchronous circuit #star wars #fanfic #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 9/9 Fandom: 역대급 영지 설계사 | The Greatest Estate Developer (Webcomic) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Original Lloyd Frontera & Kim Suho | Lloyd Frontera Characters: Kim Suho | Lloyd Frontera, Original Lloyd Frontera, Javier Asrahan, Arcos Frontera Additional Tags: Reconciliation, Ghosts, Not Canon Compliant, possible webnovel spoilers, but I don't think they really count as spoilers unless I tell you what they are, which I won't, Family Issues, Secret Identity Summary:

Kim Suho has a lot on his plate--he's got money to make and a family to save so he can fulfill his dreams of living the good, lazy life in this new fantasy world. But there are some things they don't warn you about when it comes to taking over the body of a drunk hooligan who everyone seems to hate.

Namely, the original inhabitant.

Notes: Here we are, a fic for The Greatest Estate Developer which contains [drumroll] ghosts! And identity theft! I’m very predictable.

#fanfic #the greatest estate developer #lloyd frontera #javier asrahan #words: 25-50k #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 3 years ago

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is it self indulgent to write a time travel story about my extremely specific au? yes. but also it's my story and I choose the degrees of separation from canon

Obi-Wan wakes in a warm bed in a warm apartment. This is unusual because he’s sure that when he went to sleep he was alone in an attic on war-torn Melida/Daan.

There is a man sitting next to the bed. He’s an adult, but not too old, probably barely into his twenties. There is a mask covering his mouth and nose but his sad gray eyes look vaguely familiar.

"Where am I?" Obi-Wan asks.

"You're in my apartment on Coruscant," the man says.

"Who are you?"

"Nobody. Just a local private investigator."

"What's your name?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Not important. Don’t worry about it."

And that's that.

---

Apparently, the detective had found Obi-Wan passed out in an undercity alley with no idea how he got there and brought him inside because he was worried about a kid being all alone in Coruscant. In that case, it’s probably for the best the detective doesn't know where Obi-Wan was just yesterday.

The more important thing, even more important than the fact that he somehow traveled across the galaxy overnight, is that he also seems to have traveled seventeen years into the future. Melida/Daan's war is over and has been for over a decade. Official sources never mention him, so Obi-Wan can only assume he either disappeared or died.

He feels...conflicted about that. He's glad they have peace now, but after fighting tooth and nail for months, to have it suddenly be over like this is terribly anticlimactic.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" the detective asks. "Any family? Friends? A home?"

Obi-Wan hesitates. If Melida/Daan’s war is over and he’s been missing for seventeen years, then they probably won’t recognize him, and they probably won’t want him back. And if he doesn’t go back to Melida/Daan, then there’s really only the Jedi Temple, but the Temple...he abandoned them, too. He gave Master Jinn his lightsaber and turned his back on the Jedi. They would probably accept him back, but Master Jinn wouldn’t, and Obi-Wan isn’t strong enough to face that.

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

The detective lets out a long sigh. “Okay. Then I guess you can stay with me for a while.”

---

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to think of the detective. The detective is as kind and patient as Obi-Wan could ever hope for--he gets Obi-Wan clean new clothes, cooks good food with meat and vegetables and gives Obi-Wan second helpings, and doesn’t ask questions about where Obi-Wan came from or how he got where he is. He insists that Obi-Wan sleeps on the only bed while he takes the couch, and it’s...not bad. It’s warm and comfortable, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure how to deal with that. The two of them talk a little bit here in there, but not about anything useful. Just to fill the silence, the detective tells Obi-Wan a bit about his job as a private investigator, which seems to involve a lot of looking through tax records and invoices. It seems peaceful compared to what Obi-Wan was doing, but anything would be.

He can’t help but distrust the detective, though. For some reason, he can’t properly sense the detective with the Force, and it’s obvious the detective is hiding things, besides--Obi-Wan might only be thirteen, but he’s not stupid. There’s no other reason the detective would be so cagey. The detective refuses to tell Obi-Wan his name, he wears thick black gloves all the time even though they’re in his home, and the closest Obi-Wan gets to seeing the detective’s face is when the detective takes meals in the kitchen alone--the apartment is so small there’s nowhere to eat in actual privacy besides the fresher. He faces away when he pulls his mask off so Obi-Wan can only really make out a full beard.

There’s a grim air about the detective. He’s quiet and tired and he’s got the air of someone who doesn’t really spend a lot of time around other people. Obi-Wan gets the feeling that he’s...really unhappy.

“Why are you doing all this?” Obi-Wan asks over a late meal. The detective sits opposite him, though he doesn’t have any food for himself--he’ll take his meal later after Obi-Wan goes to sleep. “You could have given me to a foster care system or dropped me back on the street. You don’t have to do all this. You don’t even know me.”

“I knew someone a lot like you. He didn’t have anyone to help him, and he didn’t know how to ask.” The detective gets a faraway look in his eyes. “He was just a kid. I wish I could have done more for him.”

So that’s all it is. The detective used to have some kind of little brother and something terrible happened to him, so he’s trying to make up for it with Obi-Wan now. It’s kind of a relief, to know it’s for a selfish reason like that--that, at least, Obi-Wan can understand.

Still, Obi-Wan says, “I’m not him.”

The detective looks at him for a long moment, then shakes his head. “No, I guess not.”

---

Three days pass in a blur. It’s almost like a dream, one moment blending into the next. Obi-Wan eats well, sleeps well, and recovers, but nothing really happens. Obi-Wan doesn’t do much except rest and read about all the things that have happened in the last seventeen years. Outside of the resolution of Melida/Daan’s war, he finds out that Master Jinn is still alive and running missions. Not only that, but it seems he has a new Padawan now, and that’s...it stings, Obi-Wan won’t pretend it doesn’t. It crushes the last hope Obi-Wan had that he could still be a Padawan--it was a silly hope after he’d given it all up at Melida/Daan, but somewhere deep in his heart he’d had the childish idea that maybe he could go back and things would be okay. That maybe, Qui-Gon would come back for him.

Obi-Wan, officially no longer a Jedi, officially without a Master, sequesters himself in the fresher and cuts his braid off. It’s a sorry excuse of a braid--stubby and without any beads to indicate any kinds of achievements, but it was his. He stares at the severed strip of hair for a long time, feeling very unreal. Everything seems to hit him all at once--the displacement in time and space, the loss of his home and his dreams and everyone he’s ever known. He feels like he can’t breathe, and he doubles over in the shower stall, sobbing.

The detective knocks on the door. “Kid? Are you okay?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know if he says anything.

“I’m coming in,” the detective says.

The door slides open, and the detective comes in. He looks at Obi-Wan and at the braid clenched in his fist and lets out a long breath. “Oh, kid.”

He scoops Obi-Wan up out of the shower and sets him down on the bed. Obi-Wan clings to the detective, crying into his chest, and the detective hugs him tight, rubbing slow circles across his back.

“You’ll be okay,” the detective murmurs softly. “Things are hard now, but they won’t be forever. Just let it out. You’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan lets it out. It takes a while.

He doesn’t really feel okay.

---

The detective takes Obi-Wan downtown, and he lives close enough to the Senate district that Obi-Wan can see the Jedi Temple in the distance when they reach surface level. Just seeing it so close yet so out of reach makes something in Obi-Wan’s chest feel like it’s collapsing.

He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything, but he can’t have it. That’s the choice he made, and he won’t go back on it now. He doesn’t have much, but he’s at least got enough dignity for that.

They walk around the city, and the detective treats Obi-Wan to some fried dumplings from a food stall. They’re not as good as the dumplings at the Temple, but they’re still pretty good, so Obi-Wan accepts them with thanks. The detective takes him to a couple of stores, too, so he can choose some clothes for himself and other small things he needs, and a few things he doesn’t.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Obi-Wan asks when the detective gives him a striped tooka plushie. “I’m not a kid. I’m too old for toys.”

“You don’t have to be a kid to have a toy,” the detective says. “You can do whatever you want with it, but if you really don’t want it I can take it back.”

Obi-Wan thinks about it, then shakes his head and squeezes the plush in his arms. He had a stuffed tooka like this when he was an Initiate--it’s not too bad to have some reminder of home. He tucks it under his arm when he sleeps that night and he doesn’t have any nightmares at all.

Neither Obi-Wan nor the detective bring up what Obi-Wan thinks of as The Question--What are they going to do with him? They both know this transitional period won’t last, and soon, they’ll have to make a decision.

There’s not a lot of places for a thirteen-year-old human to go. Obi-Wan can’t stay here with the detective indefinitely--it’s obvious the detective doesn’t have the space, time, or resources to take care of a youngling, and Obi-Wan can’t hide forever that he’s Force-sensitive or time traveled from the past. Maybe he’ll get a place on a spacer crew--sometimes mechanical teams will hire kids because of the small crawl spaces, and Obi-Wan is good with his hands. Or maybe he can get put into a foster care system or get adopted and stay with a family for a few years until he’s old enough to go places on his own.

He’s not really excited about any of those options.

Things come to a head one week in, when Obi-Wan wakes in the middle of the night and hears voices in the fresher.

“--don’t want to ask you out of the blue like this, but it’s kind of an emergency,” the detective says, muffled through the door. “I don’t need a lot, just enough to keep going. Enough for food and clothes and still cover the rent.”

Money. He’s talking about money--but with who?

“He’s a good kid. I’ve done my best with him but I’m really not the one who should be doing this.” A pause. "Bail, you don't understand. He's a Force-sensitive youngling, I can't just leave him here."

Obi-Wan goes cold all at once. The detective knows he's Force-sensitive. How? And more importantly, if he knows, then why didn't he bring Obi-Wan to the Jedi Temple? That's what any reasonable person would do--what any reasonable person should do, especially when they're a stone's throw away from the Temple to begin with, because why would there be a Force-sensitive kid in Coruscant if not because they're a lost Padawan?

"What, do you think I'm lying to you? Bail, believe me, if I was trying to scam you I would come up with a much better story. I'm just..." The detective sighs. After another pause, he says, "Okay, fine. I can bring him around tomorrow so you can see for yourself."

Obi-Wan recoils from the door. The detective is trying to sell him. That's why he didn't take Obi-Wan to the Temple and worked so hard to get Obi-Wan clean and clothed and fed, because healthy Force sensitives are more valuable in the slave markets.

The detective keeps talking on the commlink, oblivious to Obi-Wan's presence, but Obi-Wan isn't listening anymore. He has to protect himself, and that means getting away from here before the detective can hock him off to whoever this Bail person is.

Obi-Wan grabs his jacket and a handful of credits from the detective's coat pocket, then leaves. He just needs to get to the Jedi Temple--they won't like him but they'll protect him, and maybe they'll be able to send him somewhere safe. He'll take AgriCorps over slavery any day.

The Force is loud as he hits the streets. Coruscant has always been a psychic cesspool and it feels like being battered from the inside of his mind as he goes down the dark streets trying to find his way up to the surface. He feels the Force's urgency under his skin, like there's a monster on his tail with jaws ready to snap shut. He knows it won't be long until the detective finishes his comm and realizes Obi-Wan has flown the coop.

He's so preoccupied with getting away that he ends up running straight into a very tall Quarren.

"I'm sorry!" Obi-Wan says. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm really sorry!"

The Quarren looks down at him disapprovingly, or maybe their face just looks like that. "What's a kid doing out here this late at night all on their lonesome?"

Obi-Wan presses his lips shut. He knows a bad situation when he sees one and he has definitely reached a bad situation.

"A runaway, are you?" the Quarren asks, a definitely predatory edge to their voice. "Why don't I help you get someplace safe?"

"No, thank you," Obi-Wan says, because he's not stupid. "I have to be somewhere right now."

"It wasn't a request," the Quarren says, stepping closer.

Obi-Wan decides it's time to break and run, but a moment too late because someone grabs him from behind and jabs something in his neck.

Unconsciousness follows swiftly and not gently.

---

Obi-Wan wakes on a cold floor in a cold room. This is not unusual because he remembers exactly how he got here, despite the throbbing headache between his temples. His hands are cuffed and he appears to be in some kind of warehouse. He can still feel the Force, which is a good sign.

There is a man sitting on a nearby crate, smoking a stick of something that smells absolutely foul.

"Where am I?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Shut up. You're not here to ask questions," the man says.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who will be a lot happier if you stop making so much noise."

“What’s your name?” Obi-Wan asks.

The man walks over to Obi-Wan’s side and kicks him in the stomach.

So that’s that.

---

Apparently, Obi-Wan has been kidnapped with the intention of being ransomed, though good luck to his kidnappers finding anyone to ransom him to. If that falls through, plan B is to sell him to a slave market, which, while a very bad thing to happen, probably won’t happen for at least a couple of days, which gives Obi-Wan plenty of time to orchestrate an escape. Especially because these people, unlike the detective, don’t know he’s Force-sensitive and can pop his cuffs literally any time he chooses to. He just has to wait for the right moment, especially because the kidnappers keep him on constant watch, which makes it hard to use the Force without anyone noticing.

This isn’t the first time Obi-Wan’s been kidnapped, so he takes a deep breath and tries to figure out what to do next--nobody knows he’s here, and nobody’s looking for him, so if he wants to be rescued he’s going to have to do it himself. His kidnappers don’t treat him kindly, not that he expected to be--he’s barely given anything to eat, and he’s made to sleep on what appears to be a literal door mat, and nobody really talks to him except to make vague threats and occasionally hit him. On the bright side, they’re not actively torturing him, so it’s definitely not the worst captivity Obi-Wan has ever endured.

Obi-Wan bides his time, tracking the kidnappers through the building with the Force. There seems to be about eight of them in total, and his understanding is that they do this kidnap for ransom song and dance every so often for cash and haven’t been caught because they haven’t tried it with anyone important enough yet. Obi-Wan doesn’t find them too intimidating. He knows how to fight adults with his bare hands, and these are no different--he can’t take them all at once, but he could get them down one by one. As long as he plays his cards right, he should be able to escape.

He makes his move on the second day while one of his captors is escorting him to the fresher. He snaps his cuffs open and jams an elbow directly into the man’s stomach, and the man doubles over, gagging. Obi-Wan slams him in the ankle, sweeping him to the ground, then cuffs him, wrist to ankle behind his back so he won’t be going anywhere any time soon. The man shouts and swears at Obi-Wan, loud enough that someone definitely hears him, and Obi-Wan breaks for it, grabbing a length of old pipe to use as a weapon.

He takes down three more goons on his search for the exit, swinging the pipe into their knees with a sickening crack. One of the kidnappers cuffs him on the side of the head, hard enough to make him see stars, but Obi-Wan hits him in the jaw just as hard, and the man goes down shrieking in pain.

The fifth man is the Quarren who had gotten him into this mess, who snarls and twists the pipe from his grip. Obi-Wan dodges the kick at his side and calls the Force to his aid. It swells and ripples outwards, forcefully throwing the Quarren back into the wall.

“You little Jedi rat!” the Quarren roars at him. “I’m going to kill you!”

He pulls out a primed blaster. The Force screeches out a warning, but Obi-Wan is too close to dodge, and without a weapon to deflect it. He closes his eyes, bracing for the burn, and then--

The Quarren screams, then abruptly stops.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes. The Quarren is slumped against the wall, thoroughly unconscious...no, dead, Obi-Wan corrects. Or will be soon. There’s a blaster bolt straight through his chest--a perfect shot. Obi-Wan looks through the doorway where the shot must have come from, and...

The detective is there, a smoking blaster in his hand. His eyes widen when he sees Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan,” the detective says, running to meet him. “Obi-Wan, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

Obi-Wan snatches the Quarren’s blaster and levels it at the detective. He doesn’t want to kill anyone, but he’ll do what he has to if it means he gets out of this alive. “Don’t come any closer,” he says. “Put the blaster down.”

The detective drops the blaster and holds his hands up.

“Why are you here?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I was looking for you,” the detective says. “You ran away in the middle of the night in the undercity--I was scared something had happened to you.”

“How did you find me?”

The detective’s brow furrows. “I’m a detective. Finding missing people is one of my main marketable skills.”

Okay, Obi-Wan kind of forgot that. That’s on him. “How do you know my name? I never told you.”

The detective looks at him a long moment, then sighs. “That’s...a long story. One that should probably wait until we get you out of here.”

“Why should I trust you?” Obi-Wan asks. “You killed that man. Why wouldn’t you do the same to me?”

A pained look flashes across the detective’s face. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says softly. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but please, Obi-wan. I want what’s best for you, I really do.”

Obi-Wan tries to get a sense for what the detective is feeling through the Force, but as always, it’s like trying to grab smoke with his hands--his senses just pass through.

“I’ll answer everything you want,” the detective says. “But please, let’s get out of here first.”

Obi-Wan nods. He’s not eager to be here, and there’s still three more kidnappers prowling around, presumably. “Okay. But I get to hold onto your blaster.”

The detective agrees, and the two of them leave.

---

There is a man in a speeder waiting about a block away. The man is taller than the detective and has darker skin and short black hair. He is also dressed much nicer than either of them. He looks at the detective with a sort of fond exasperation when he sees the two of them.

“Why do you always get into trouble like this?” the man asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the detective says. “I’ve never got into trouble like this before.”

“Well, it sounds like you get plenty of other types of trouble,” the man says. He looks at Obi-Wan and smiles softly. He looks like a kind man, but Obi-Wan’s met a lot of people who looked kind but aren’t. “Hello, Obi-Wan. My name is Bail Organa. I’m a friend of your, um.” He glances over at the detective.

“I’m not anything to him,” the detective says. “I’m just trying to get him somewhere safe.”

“Organa?” Obi-Wan asks. “Like the royal family of Alderaan?”

Bail nods. “I’m from Alderaan. I married into the royal family and I do some work for them.”

The detective snorts. “He means he’s the Viceroy and Senator. We might as well not dance around it.” To Obi-Wan, he says, “Bail’s a good man. I helped him out with a case a few years ago, so he’s paying me back the favor. He should be able to help you.”

Obi-Wan isn’t really sure what’s going on, but Alderaan is a good planet with a lot of social support. If Bail really is the Senator like he claims--and the Force gives no indication that he is lying--then he should have some connections to put Obi-Wan somewhere that isn’t too terrible. He nods his assent and Bail drives them away.

This is how the three of them end up in a very cushy apartment in that really expensive building where all the important people stay. The detective seems to find the building unpleasant to be in, but Obi-Wan likes it well enough. Bail gets Obi-Wan a glass of sparkling fruit juice and it’s sweet with a little fizzy sensation that he doesn’t find too unpleasant.

“I’ll let the two of you talk,” Bail says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

The detective nods and sits down opposite Obi-Wan. He looks more tired than usual--his hair’s in disarray and his eyes are slightly bloodshot. “You had questions, and I don’t blame you,” he says. “But before I let you get to all of them, I want to start with asking you: How old do you think I am?”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows. “Like twenty-three?”

The detective shakes his head. “I’m thirty.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He wouldn’t have guessed that at all.

“I’m sure you want to know why that’s important,” the detective says. “Well, it’s probably easier to just show you.”

He reaches up and pulls his face mask off.

A lot of things make sense rather quickly, after that.

---

The detective’s name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Seventeen years ago, he was a Padawan who left the Order to fight a war in Melida/Daan. Now, he is a private investigator in Coruscant because he cannot go back to the Jedi.

“So that whole time, you knew,” Obi-Wan says. “You knew who I was, and where I’d come from, and what I was.”

The detective nods.

“Why didn’t you take me to the Temple?” Obi-Wan asks. “Is it because you knew I’m not a Jedi anymore?”

“I didn’t take you to the Temple because I can’t make that choice for you,” the detective replies. “You chose to leave the Jedi, so you have to make the choice to go back.”

“You didn’t go back,” Obi-Wan says.

“We’re not the same person,” the detective says. “You are who I was once. But I’ve done things you haven’t and hopefully never will. You don’t have to grow up to be me. I sincerely hope you don’t.”

Obi-Wan looks down at his juice. He wonders what it must be like for the detective, to look at a past version of himself and realize they’ll never really understand each other. “Why can’t I sense you?” he asks. “In the Force, you’re...you feel empty. It’s like I can’t even touch you.”

“I lost the Force a long time ago,” the detective says simply, like that isn’t something that would kill just about anyone.

“But even people who are Force null can be sensed,” Obi-Wan presses. “Even if you...somehow lost your Force sensitivity, that doesn’t mean you should be like this.”

The detective scrubs a hand over their face. “I guess I should have known that wouldn’t get past you.” He looks up. “You can’t sense me because I haven’t been letting you. I didn’t want you to, because then you would know, and I didn’t want to burden you with that.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says. “But I know who you are now. Can you let me sense you?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You said you would answer my questions,” Obi-Wan says.

The detective seems to think about that for a long time, then says. “Okay. Just this once.”

He takes a deep breath, and Obi-Wan feels the detective’s presence shift like it’s coming into focus. Obi-Wan reaches out to touch it, and--

There’s nothing there. It’s like the endless void of space, a black hole from which nothing can escape. The detective’s presence is so small yet impossibly vast, an infinity stretching out to the edges of the universe that’s trapped in the soul of a single man. There’s hurt trapped in that infinity, a crushing loneliness and feeling of insignificance, the feeling of being the only creature drifting in a sea of dead stars and who will swiftly pass, unmourned and unloved.

Just as quickly as the sensation had come, it shifts out of focus once again, pulling away from Obi-Wan’s reach. Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, realizing only now that there are tears in his eyes. His chest hurts like there’s a fist squeezed around his heart, the yearning for someone to reach out to him, to touch him, to keep him grounded and here and alive.

Does the detective feel like this all the time? Obi-Wan can’t even imagine it. He would go insane--he doesn’t know how the detective hasn’t.

Obi-Wan wipes his eyes. “You said...you said you knew someone like me. And that he didn’t have anyone to help, and didn’t know how to ask.”

“There are people who care about you, Obi-Wan,” the detective says. “It’s not bad to ask for help sometimes, and not take everything on yourself.”

There’s weight behind those words, a kind of loneliness that makes Obi-Wan’s heart hurt just to think about. He wonders just how long the detective has been alone and trying to fend for himself. He wonders if the detective isn’t still that way now.

“Is that why you’re so unhappy?” Obi-Wan asks. “You needed help and nobody was ever there for you?”

The detective looks at him for a long time, then looks away. “I don’t think you need me to answer that.”

---

That night, they stay at Bail’s apartment. It is much larger than the detective’s little shoebox studio in the undercity, and it even includes a guest room with a huge bed.

“You can share with me,” Obi-Wan says. “There’s a lot of space.”

“I’ll be fine on the couch,” the detective replies. “It’s large enough to drown someone on, anyways.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. Ever since he found out who the detective is and felt the depth of emptiness in his soul, he’s noticed how much the detective...doesn’t reach out. He does what he can for others, then relegates himself to the sidelines. Easily forgotten. Obi-Wan doesn’t want that. He wants the detective to be...better. To have something good and kind and soft. To have someone give him a striped tooka plushie and say it’s okay to have something frivolous just because it makes him feel better.

“Can you share with me?” Obi-Wan tries. “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept on a big bed like this. I think it would be better if there was someone else, too.”

The detective looks at him like he knows what Obi-Wan is trying to do, then huffs and says, “All right. If you insist, I suppose I won’t mind.”

The two of them settle under the plush blankets side-by-side and Obi-Wan marvels at how much larger the detective is than him. There’s seventeen years between the two of them, longer than Obi-Wan’s entire life, and Obi-Wan can feel it. It’s a distance that can never be bridged, and the detective clearly doesn’t want it to be. Maybe that’s for the best, but it doesn’t mean Obi-Wan shouldn’t at least try.

The detective settles an arm over Obi-Wan’s side. He’s warm, and Obi-Wan goes to sleep wrapped in that warmth.

For the first time since he left the Temple, he feels safe.

---

The next morning, the two of them have a large breakfast courtesy of Bail, and Obi-Wan sees Bail make some eyes at the detective which raises a lot of questions about their relationship. Bail provides the detective a change of clothes which is much nicer than anything the detective owns, and later on, Obi-Wan sees Bail pass the detective a credit chip, which is...

Obi-Wan’s not sure how to feel about the fact that his future self apparently has some kind of...sugar baby arrangement with a Senator. He decides to ignore it--it’s none of his business anyways.

“What do you want to do?” the detective asks Obi-Wan as they leave.

“I want to go back to the Temple.”

Obi-Wan’s thought about it for a while now, ever since he got kidnapped. In the end, the Temple is still his home. His family is still there, even if they’re all so much older than him now. Maybe he isn’t a Padawan anymore and he never will be, but he can still have a good life there, surrounded by people he cares about. One setback isn’t the end of the world--not even one as big as what Obi-Wan did--the detective has proven that much.

The detective smiles. “Okay. We can go there today.”

“But can we wait a little?” Obi-Wan asks. “I just wanna...be with you today.”

The detective doesn’t seem to know how to answer that.

“It would make me happy,” Obi-Wan says.

The detective laughs. “You can’t use that to always get your way, kid.”

Obi-Wan makes big tooka eyes at the detective. “Please?”

“All right,” the detective says. “Just today, and then I’ll take you to the Temple.”

They spend the day in downtown Coruscant, seeing the sights. The detective takes him to a diner that’s run by a very cheerful Besalisk and Obi-Wan gets to eat a nerfburger the size of his head, then they visit one of the many aquariums and Obi-Wan looks at the colorful fish from so many different worlds. Obi-Wan drags the detective into a holo booth and he makes silly faces at the detective’s side. In that tiny little holo reel, the two of them really do look like brothers, and Obi-Wan gets two copies so he can slip one into the detective’s coat pocket when he isn’t looking.

For the first time since he became a Padawan, he feels like a kid in a good way--carefree and not having to worry about anything further than arm’s length. Nobody’s lives are depending on him, nobody’s judging his skills or his knowledge or if he’s making the right decisions. It’s just him and the detective in a city that’s so big and colorful and new.

When the sun goes down, the detective walks Obi-Wan to the Jedi Temple. Obi-Wan holds the detective’s hand tightly, hard enough to feel the hard metal hiding under the detective’s right glove--something else the detective has chosen not to explain.

“This is as far as I can go,” the detective says when they reach the Temple’s threshold. The gates are not even five minutes’ walk away.

“You won’t go with me?” Obi-Wan asks.

“The Force doesn’t work for me the way it works for you,” the detective says. “And it feels like it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to enter the Temple grounds. I’m not a Jedi besides.”

Obi-Wan makes big eyes, but on this, the detective won’t budge.

The detective ruffles his hair. “Sorry, kid.”

Obi-Wan flings his arms around the detective and squeezes him tight. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for being there for me. And for looking for me when I ran away. And for--for everything.”

“It’s the least I could do,” the detective says. “I want you to be happy, Obi-Wan. Live a good life, find the people you want to be with, do something that is important to you. Be something better than me.”

“You’re not so bad,” Obi-Wan says. “You’re a good person, still. You helped me and did all those things even though you didn’t have to. You got through all those things that happened to you, and you’re still so kind. That’s important.”

The detective smiles sadly. “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

“I just wish you weren’t so unhappy,” Obi-Wan says. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

The detective shakes his head. “I made my choices a long time ago. You can’t change any of them. It’s not your job to take care of me, kid. Just look after yourself, okay? That’s all I want.”

Obi-Wan nods. “Okay. I will.”

He stays there for a while longer, clinging to the detective because he doesn’t want the moment to end, but eventually he has to go.

“What if they’re angry with me?” Obi-Wan asks. “What if they don’t want me back?”

“I don’t think that’ll happen,” the detective says. “The Jedi are kind and understanding people, and you were in a situation where you made a choice that was unfair and never should have happened. Maybe you won’t be able to have all the things you wanted, but that doesn’t mean things can’t still be good.”

That all makes sense, but Obi-Wan can’t help but think what if. “You should come with me.”

“The Temple is your home, not mine,” the detective says. “Now, go on. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you alive and well.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I��m ready.”

“Goodbye, Obi-Wan,” the detective says. “May the Force be with you.”

“Goodbye, Obi-Wan,” Obi-Wan replies, squeezing the detective’s hand one last time. “May the Force be with you always.”

With that, Obi-Wan turns and walks up to the Temple’s gates.

---

Obi-Wan’s appearance causes a bit of a stir in the Temple. And why not? He left the Order seventeen years ago and now he’s here again, still the youngling he was when he left.

He gets questioned by a lot of people who look a lot older than Obi-Wan expected them to. He even meets some of his old friends--namely Quinlan who happens to be on planet--who nearly bursts into tears to see him. He squeezes Obi-Wan tight in his arms just to see that he’s here and alive, gives him his old lightsaber back (and why Quinlan had it in the first place is a question for a later date), and introduces Obi-Wan to Aayla, his new Padawan. Obi-Wan greets her happily while trying not to think about how so much has changed since he last saw Quinlan that he doesn’t really even know him anymore.

He even sees Master Jinn once, who looks like his heart shatters the moment he sets eyes on Obi-Wan. He apologizes for what he did, for having so much pride that he made Obi-Wan make the choice he did, and for never going back. It’s a cold comfort, because he knows from the detective that for all of Master Jinn’s remorse, he never would have gone back.

Master Jinn introduces Obi-Wan to his new Padawan, whose name is Anakin and who is a little bit older than Obi-Wan. He’s got a Force presence like a sun, powerful and blinding, and Obi-Wan supposes he can see why Master Jinn would want a Padawan like that--someone skilled and strong and who isn’t tripping over their own feet.

Anakin looks at him up and down and seems to find him wanting. “Master Qui-Gon is my Master,” he says.

“I know,” Obi-Wan says. He supposes he would feel a little threatened, too, if he’d been a Padawan and his Master’s old Padawan had appeared out of nowhere. Anakin needn’t worry, though, because Obi-Wan’s not a Padawan at all anymore--he’s got no braid or anything.

Anakin nods. “Just so long as that’s clear.”

Obi-Wan decides he does not like Anakin very much. It’s obviously petty--it’s not like it’s Anakin’s fault that Master Jinn chose him, and he’s happy to be there--but Obi-Wan doesn’t like how proprietary Anakin is about Master Jinn, nor how it seems to come out every time Obi-Wan is near him.

Obi-Wan doesn’t like Anakin and that’s okay. There’s plenty of other people in the Temple.

After some very long days, Obi-Wan finds himself in front of the Jedi Council, awaiting their judgement. He’s scared, but it’ll be okay. No matter what happens, he can make something work, and worst case scenario he can probably go talk to Bail again and get some help, not that he expects to need it.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Master Windu says. He has more wrinkles than the last time Obi-Wan saw him, just over three months ago, but he looks as dignified as ever. “We believed you were lost to us forever. Perhaps it’s the Will of the Force that you were able to return to us.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t respond. He still doesn’t know how he came to be here, now, but he doesn’t think it’s very important.

“Between the assumptions we made about your fate and what appears to be time travel, we find ourselves in an unprecedented situation,” Master Windu says. “So I must ask, Kenobi. What do you want to do?”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. “I want to be a Jedi Knight, Master.”

“Master Jinn reported that you chose to leave the Order at Melida/Daan because you felt were unable to uphold its principles. Has this changed?” Master Windu asks.

“I...chose to leave the Order because I believed that I could help the war in Melida/Daan,” Obi-Wan says. “I understand that war is not the Jedi way, and that I have done things that I should not have, but I did those things believing they would result in the least harm, and because they were the best choices I had. I still believe in the principles of the Jedi Order, and want to live by them, and if you will welcome me back, I hope to continue my training and become a Knight that the Order can be proud of, Master.”

“Well said, young one,” Master Koon says.

“I understand Master Jinn can no longer be my Master, because he has taken on a new Padawan,” Obi-Wan continues. “But I would like to petition for another Master. I understand I may need a firmer hand of guidance to correct my past mistakes, so I humbly request that Master Windu or another member of the Council takes me on as a Padawan.”

Master Windu’s brows go up. “That’s a bold request.”

“If I am a Councilor’s Padawan, I will be sent on fewer off-world missions,” Obi-Wan explains. “It will reduce the risk that something like what happened at Melida/Daan will happen again, and you will be able to closely monitor my progress. I thought--it’s just...” Obi-Wan swallows nervously. “It made sense to me. I apologize if I overstepped, Masters.”

There’s a long silence as the Council deliberates, then Master Windu lets out a long sigh. “Well, it’s not that I don’t want to take you on as a Padawan...”

Obi-Wan’s heart sinks. He came on too strong--they’ll never let him be a Padawan now.

“But as it turns out, you’re already spoken for,” Master Windu says. “A Knight has already requested to be your Master, if you’ll accept them.”

“A Knight?” Obi-Wan asks. “Who?”

Master Windu gestures to the door, which swings open on cue. There’s a Mon Calamari in Healer’s robes there, and she smiles at Obi-Wan. It’s Bant. She’s so tall now, and she looks good and healthy and strong. She’s grown up into a real Knight, and it makes Obi-Wan’s eyes tear up to think of how much time has passed. Her presence in the Force is steady and warm, like it always was, like the crisp smell of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and she reaches out to him with joy and relief.

“Obi,” Bant says. Her voice is lower than it used to be, but she still says his name the same way. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my Padawan learner?”

Obi-Wan says yes. Of course he does--there’s nothing else he’s ever wanted more.

---

Obi-Wan spends his first day of being a Padawan for the second time not doing much at all. He helps Bant move into a set of rooms which has a Padawan suite--Obi-Wan himself has nothing to move, of course. He spends the rest of the day shadowing her work in the Halls of Healing and talking to her without words. He tells her about all the things that happened after he went to Melida/Daan, and she tells him about what she had done in the years since his disappearance.

A lot has changed in seventeen years. Master Tahl is dead, for one thing, and all of Obi-Wan’s old friends are Knighted now, or chosen different paths. There’s also a new Chancellor, which makes sense--it has been seventeen years, and politics are hardly going to wait for Obi-Wan’s time travel mishaps.

Bant is a Knight Healer, which means she does most of her work in the Halls of Healing, but also she helps with archival work under Master Nu and coordinates relief work with MedCorps and AgriCorps. It’s good work, and Bant has settled into it like she was born for it. This, at least, is not unexpected--Obi-Wan always knew Bant would find the right place for her. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if this is the place for him, but he’s willing to try.

“You’ll have some off-world missions,” Bant says. “They won’t be like the ones you had with Master Jinn--I mostly work relief missions, like administering vaccines, disaster reconstruction, or evacuations. Some of them, you’ll work with Service Corps members more than you’ll work with me--it’ll be a lot to handle at once, but you’ll pick it up quickly, I know it.

“Other than that, I can teach you about Archivist work or Healing, or if there’s something else you want to learn I can help find a Master who can work with you on that,” Bant says. “I want you to be the best you can be, Obi. Just let me know how I can help.”

Obi-Wan nods. The whole world is open to him now, and he just needs to choose a path. If only it were that easy.

“Obi?” Bant asks. “Is everything okay?”

“You’re so...talented, Bant,” Obi-Wan says. “You know so many things now and you’re so strong and kind and good. I don’t know if I can be like that.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Bant says. “All you have to do is try your best, and I know you will, because you always do. I’ve had all these years to learn everything I know now, and I’m still learning. I think it’ll be the same for you, too.”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s just a lot.”

“It is,” Bant agrees. “But we’ll make it through this together.”

---

A tenday after returning to the Temple, Obi-Wan finally asks the question he’s had ever since he found out who the detective was.

“Why didn’t anyone ever come back for me?”

Bant looks at him, takes a deep breath, and puts her tea down. “We didn’t know how bad it was, Obi. Master Jinn didn’t think you were going to be in the war the way you were, and he thought you would contact us again for help. He didn’t expect that you would fall off the map the way you did.”

“But even if I hadn’t engage in the fighting, it was still a war,” Obi-Wan says. “I wouldn’t have been safe.”

Bant shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t.” She moves the food around on her plate a bit, then says, “I had dreams after you left for a long time. Dreams of battlefields and blood and death. I tried to tell people about what I saw, but I don’t think anyone ever could have expected that you would...do what you did. You were just a youngling, after all.”

“The war went on for three and a half years after I left,” Obi-Wan says. “Why didn’t anyone at least try to check on me or see what happened?”

“At first, we didn’t know there was anything we had to check on, and after we realized how bad it was, we thought you were dead,” Bant says. “Your bonds all snapped, and we--we thought you were gone. Maybe that’s when you traveled through time.”

That seems like a reasonable assumption, but Obi-Wan remembers the emptiness in the detective’s soul and doesn’t think that’s right at all.

“When did that happen? The bonds snapping?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Just a bit after your fourteenth birthday, I think,” Bant says. “We held a pyre for you--your name is on the memorial.”

Realization floods through Obi-Wan. They...don’t know the detective is alive. They have no idea. All these years, the detective has been drifting through the galaxy, believing the Jedi didn’t want him, and all this time they’ve missed him and let him go because they thought he was dead.

“Bant,” Obi-Wan says tightly. “Bant, I need to tell you something.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“I’m not fourteen yet,” Obi-Wan says. “That thing you felt, that wasn’t me.”

Bant looks at him. “Obi?”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. “There’s someone you need to talk to.”

---

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Bant asks as Obi-Wan leads her up the stairs to a small undercity apartment. The two of them look very out of place, but it’s the place they need to be.

“I’m certain,” Obi-Wan says. “Just trust me, okay?”

“I trust you,” Bant says. “But I hope you’re not bothering some random civilian.”

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan replies. He stops in front of the door he remembers and presses the door comm.

There’s a long silence, then static. “Who is it?” the detective asks.

“It’s me,” Obi-Wan says. “Obi-Wan. I have someone you need to talk to.”

There’s a burst of static that is probably a sigh. “Kid. Didn’t I tell you not to get in trouble?”

“No, you told me to look after myself. That’s not the same thing,” Obi-Wan says. “Can you open the door please? It’s important.”

“Fine, just give me a second to make myself presentable,” the detective says, then shuts the door comm off.

Bant glances at Obi-Wan curiously, but doesn’t say anything. She’s patient enough to wait and see what happens.

Soon enough, Obi-Wan hears footsteps inside the apartment, and the door slides open. “All right, here I am,” the detective says. He’s clipped his hair up and put on one of those shirts that Bail probably gave to him--it looks too expensive for the detective’s usual budget. “When I dropped you off at the Temple, I didn’t mean you should come back, and--” He sees Bant and abruptly cuts himself off. There’s an awkward silence as they measure each other up. eventually, the detective seems to gather his thoughts and says, “...I see. Maybe the two of you should come in.”

---

The detective’s apartment looks just like Obi-Wan remembers--small and neat. The detective brews a pot of tea and in the meantime, Bant seems to take it all in, trying to find some meaning in the arrangement of the furniture and the trinkets, like she can unearth the detective’s secrets just by seeing the place where he lives.

Eventually, the tea is finished and the detective pours three mugs for them and pulls up a box to the table to sit down on--he only has two chairs. “All right,” he says. “What do you want from me?”

“Obi-Wan,” Bant says. “You’re...alive?”

“Of course I’m alive,” the detective says. “I’m too stubborn to die.”

“But I thought...with Obi...” Bant glances at Obi-Wan. “So you’ve been out here this whole time? How long have you been in Coruscant?”

The detective shrugs. “About five years now. I was out in the Outer Rim for a while, but I didn’t like how it was going and wanted to come back somewhere more familiar.”

“But you didn’t come to the Temple?” Bant asks.

“Didn’t seem like a good idea,” the detective says. “I’m not a Jedi by any metric anymore, and it didn’t seem like anyone would want me back.”

“Obi, no, that’s not true,” Bant says. “I’ve missed you ever since you left, all those years ago. I used to go up to the spire and look up at the stars and wonder if you were out there, and--” She lets out a long breath. “Obi-Wan. I’m so sorry we abandoned you.”

“It’s a little late to say sorry,” the detective says. “But I’ll accept the apology in the spirit it’s made.”

The two of them talk for a while, and piece by piece, Bant gets the story out of the detective--of the war at Melida/Daan, the crimes he committed in an effort to end the war, trying to come back to the Temple and being sent away by the Force, going to Jedha and then drifting around the galaxy with a notorious bounty hunter before coming back home to Coruscant. Obi-Wan can’t even imagine going through all of that, especially with nobody to support him.

“Don’t tell me to come back to the Temple,” the detective says. “I don’t belong there anymore, and I think it’s best for everyone that I don’t try.”

“Is that what you really want?” Bant asks.

The detective nods. “The way I use the Force now, I don’t think the Temple is good for me anymore, and I don’t want to see all the things I’ve lost. You can’t begrudge me that, can you?”

“If that’s your choice, I’ll respect it,” Bant says. “But you should at least let your friends know you’re alive. Quinlan especially would be thrilled.”

“He has a Padawan now,” Obi-Wan says. “Her name is Aayla and she’s a Twi’lek.”

“They let Quinlan have a Padawan?” the detective asks. “What is the world coming to?”

“Aayla’s a good kid,” Bant says. “Quinlan hasn’t corrupted her, somehow. They’re good for each other.”

The detective’s expression softens. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad everyone’s doing well in my absence.”

Bant frowns. “Obi-Wan...”

“I mean it sincerely,” the detective says. “It would be insane to expect you all to not move on. That’s not the Jedi way, and it’s not a good way to live, either. I’m glad you’re happy, even if I wasn’t there to see it.”

“Oh, Obi,” Bant says, and pulls the detective into a hug. “I missed you. I missed you so much, Obi.”

The detective goes stiff for a second, then relaxes into the hug and wraps his arms around Bant. “I missed you too, Bant. I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

---

Obi-Wan and Bant stay over with the detective for a couple of hours, talking and eating and playing a few rounds of cards where Obi-Wan loses very badly. It’s a good time, but it can only ever be temporary, and eventually they have to leave.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan says. “Can I...talk to him a little bit? Just on my own?”

Bant looks at the detective, then at Obi-Wan, and nods. “Okay. But don’t take too long--we’ve already taken enough of his time.”

Obi-Wan nods and goes back into the apartment, where the detective is washing dishes.

“Why are you back in here? Did you forget something?” the detective asks.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Obi-Wan says.

The detective runs a dish under the sink, then puts it on the drying rack. “Well, we’re both here. Say whatever you want to say.”

“I think you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Obi-Wan says. “I think you should forgive yourself a little more, and not feel so guilty about all the things that happened when you were in an unfair situation.”

“You want me to forgive myself for killing people?” the detective asks. “That’s not a very Jedi-like thing to do.”

“I get the feeling that you’re so unhappy because you’re...not the best version of you you could be, because you left the Order and aren’t a Jedi and can’t be a Jedi,” Obi-Wan says. “And because you’re lonely, and nobody was there for you, and you had to go through all those really hard things on your own.”

“I’m not the best version of you,” the detective says. “I’m not even the second or third or fourth best versions of you, because I decided to throw everything away when things got hard.”

“You’re the alive version of me,” Obi-Wan says. “And maybe it could have ended up better, but you’re here now and you’re still trying to be good and that matters a lot.”

The detective doesn’t answer right away. He scrubs the last dish and rinses it off, his expression as flat as it ever is. He sets it aside and shuts the faucet off. “Obi-Wan. I don’t need you to absolve me of what I did. That’s not your job.”

Obi-Wan balls up his fists. It feels like he’s talking to a wall--the detective won’t open up even the slightest amount. “Why--Why do you feel like you need absolution at all? Why do you feel so guilty about me? You are me.”

“I’m not,” the detective says. “I’m not, because sixteen years ago in a hellhole of a battlefield, I killed you. I killed you, an innocent youngling who was trying to do his best to help people because I was desperate and didn’t see any better way out but to get rid of everything that made me me. I ripped the Force out of my chest, I went back on all my vows, and I murdered you so I could live, and sometimes it feels like the only reason I’m still alive is so that your sacrifice isn’t wasted. If I could take it back, I would, because you deserve so much better than to become someone like me.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what to say to that--what can he say to that? The detective isn’t what Obi-Wan ever wished to be, but he’s still so strong and kind and trying so hard to keep everything together, and it hurts to think that the detective would trade his existence for Obi-Wan’s in a heartbeat.

“I don’t--I don’t know what circumstances you were in,” Obi-Wan says. “Or the choices you had to make, or if you made the right or wrong ones. But if I...if I gave my life for you...I wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up for it forever. I would want you to be happy.”

The detective looks at him a long moment, then turns away and rubs his eyes. “Obi-Wan,” he says, and he sounds a bit choked. “You shouldn’t have come back here, much less brought back a Jedi. Just go home and forget about me. It’ll be easier for everyone that way.”

“I brought Bant here because you deserved to know,” Obi-Wan says. “The Temple didn’t abandon you because they didn’t want you--they thought you were dead, and didn’t know they could do anything.”

“Their reasons don’t change that they weren’t there for me when I needed them,” the detective says. “And now they’re not a part of my life at all.”

“But you still deserve to know,” Obi-Wan says. “They still love you. Even Master Jinn, who made all those mistakes when he didn’t go back, he’s sorry for what happened.”

“I don’t need or want his apologies. I spent years hating Master Jinn--and years getting over it,” the detective replies. “I don’t need to rip those wounds back open.”

Obi-Wan looks at him. He can’t read the detective’s expression at all, and his presence in the Force is just as ghostly as ever. “So you don’t want to go back to your family at all?”

“I don’t have a family,” the detective says, and that hurts. “You know what I’ve done, you know what’s happened to me. You know as well as I do that I can’t be a Jedi anymore. I know you want to help, Obi-Wan, but there’s nothing you can do. Let it go.”

But Obi-Wan can’t let it go. Not now, not like this. He steps up to the detective and hugs him tightly around the waist. “Maybe you aren’t a Jedi anymore and you never will be again,” he says. “And maybe you don’t have a family anymore. But you can have a new one. I’ll be your family, and Bant too, and probably a lot of other people.”

“Obi-Wan...”

“I know it’s...hard for you to ask for help, because you don’t know how,” Obi-Wan says.

“You shouldn’t use my words against me. That’s not fair.”

“So this is me telling you you’re not alone anymore. Because I’m here for you,” Obi-Wan says. “And maybe it’s not my job to make you stop being unhappy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be with you, because I like you, Obi-Wan. I forgive you. Even if you’re not who you wanted to be, I’m glad you’re here and alive and that I was able to meet you.”

The detective sets a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Well, you were always a better person than me.”

Obi-Wan headbutts the detective in the chest. “Don’t talk like that.”

The detective pushes Obi-Wan away. “You should go. Bant’s waiting for you.”

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” Obi-Wan says. “Because I’m gonna come see you again, and I’ll be really sad if you get hurt or something happens to you.”

“You can’t emotionally blackmail me for everything,” the detective says.

“Will you promise?”

The detective looks at him, then sighs. “I have a dangerous job, you know.” Then, at Obi-Wan’s mulish look, he adds, “But okay. I promise I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says. He gives the detective another quick hug, then goes to the door.

“And Obi-Wan?” the detective calls out.

“Yeah?”

“If you’re going to bring a Jedi to my apartment again, can you comm ahead first?”

Obi-Wan grins. “Yeah, I’ll do that next time. I’ll see you then!”

The detective waves him goodbye, and Obi-Wan goes out into the hall where Bant is waiting for him.

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“I think so,” Obi-Wan says.

“I’m worried about him,” Bant says as they head back down the stairs. “He’s so sad, I don’t even know how he stands it.”

“He is,” Obi-Wan agrees. “But I think he’ll get better. We’re here, and we’ll help him.”

Obi-Wan will never be able to understand what the detective went through, and that’s probably a good thing. All those years he suffered, all those trials he endured, the marks they’ve left on the detective will never go away. He’s carried so much guilt and remorse and anger over the years, mourning his own death and his own innocence, and Obi-Wan can’t change any of that, but he can make it better. The detective won’t have to face all those things alone anymore.

That much, Obi-Wan can be certain of.

#fanfic #star wars #obi-wan kenobi #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 3 years ago

Note

Just read - and loved - Asynchronous Circuit - and while I see you're slowing down on prompts, if you're inclined I'd love to see a further encounter between Obi-Wan and Padme, or even just a situation where Padme is reminded of her conversation with Obi-Wan and finds herself re-evaluating what he said to her.

sure why not

"You don’t have to make a choice now,” Sabé tells Padmé softly. “But you do have to make a choice. And you’ll have to make it soon.”

Padmé takes a deep breath, thinking about the doctor’s visit that had turned everything upside-down.

Pregnant. Two months pregnant, at that.

Not long enough to see anything, but soon that’ll change. Anakin would definitely notice, and then he would...make a production of it, like he always does. He probably wouldn’t give her a second of time to herself, and he’d work himself into a frenzy over things she knows how to handle, and...

Padmé feels exhausted just thinking about it.

“As your friend,” Sabé continues, “I want you to know I’ll support you no matter what you choose. But I want you to be happy, and I don’t think Anakin is making you happy anymore--if he ever did.”

“I’m not a youngling,” Padmé says. “You can tell me what you really think.”

“I think your taste in men is terrible and you should divorce Anakin," Sabé replies. "He doesn't respect you, he always thinks he's right, and also he scares me. Haven't you seen what he's capable of? It's dangerous."

"All Jedi can do what Anakin does."

"Most Jedi don't swing their powers around like a toy," Sabé says. "But Anakin does whatever he wants. He doesn't care about getting things he wants by force, and I'm scared one day that'll be you."

"Anakin would never hurt me," Padmé says.

" Padmé, it's not a selling point if he hurts other people," Sabé says slowly. "And maybe he won't mean to hurt you, but that doesn't mean he never will. He's not really the kind of person to be concerned about collateral damage."

Padmé remembers someone else, several months back, saying something similar. She'd dismissed it out of hand then, because she knew Anakin better than anyone, but...

Anakin had gotten angry when she wanted to leave. He'd jumped to the conclusion that she would cheat on him and grabbed her hard enough to hurt and yelled, and she was...she was scared, as ashamed as she is to admit it. She remembers Anakin confessing what he'd done on Tattooine, how angry he'd gotten and the damage he'd done. Padmé never saw the scene herself, but after the war and seeing him carve a path of destruction with his Sabér and the Force alone, it's not hard to imagine what might have happened in the vast expanse of desert.

It makes her sick to think about it. She can't believe Anakin would do that to her, when they love each other and they've been through so much together. Whatever they're going through, they can fix it--she has to believe that much, and leaving Anakin...it would break his heart. She can't do that to him.

"I don't want to talk about this," Padmé says.

Sabé looks at her a long moment, then sighs. "You'll have to talk about it eventually. I'm willing to wait but the babies won't. Neither will Anakin."

"I know," Padmé says. "I know."

"As long as you know," Sabé says. "Let's get dinner. You'll feel better after you've eaten."

Padmé, relieved to have an escape from this conversation, readily agrees.

Sabé takes her to a small restaurant in Coruscant's surface level. It's a cheap restaurant compared to anyplace she would usually go, but it's clean and the food smells appetizing enough, if on the spicy side. Dressed in plain clothes, nobody even spares Padmé a second glance--it's a strange feeling, to be so invisible in the heart of Coruscant.

Sabé talks to her as they order. It's a lighthearted conversation, about everything and nothing. Sabé is doing well in her new diplomatic job--not that she needed to work after the generous service package she had received from being Padmé's handmaiden, but it's important work and Sabé enjoys it. Padmé wishes she could give Sabé news that exciting--outside the pregnancy thing, that is.

Padmé gets some kind of rice dish with a lot of vegetables mixed in. It's a bit strong for her taste, but she enjoys it just fine. Sabé, who's got tolerance for spicy foods but doesn't especially enjoy them, has a noodle soup dish that smells very good.

Sabé's halfway through telling a story about her last trade negotiation when she stops and pauses.

"Sabé?" Padmé asks.

Sabé points behind Padmé. "Is that...Senator Organa?"

Padmé turns around and, sure enough, tucked into a corner booth is Bail, dressed down just like she is. The interesting part, though, is that there's someone with him, sitting by his side and leaning their weight on his shoulder as if asleep. Padmé can't see the face of Bail's companion from this angle, but they are definitely not Breha.

"Who is that?" Sabé asks. "Senator Organa wouldn't..."

"No, he'd never," Padmé says. "There's surely some explanation."

She sees Bail murmur something to his companion, then look up. He scans the room briefly before making eye contact with Padmé. He smiles--certainly not the smile of a man who's been caught cheating on his wife.

Padmé takes the acknowledgement as all the invitation she needs to see what’s going on--just to put her own mind at ease that nothing untowards is occurring. She and Sabé take the opposite seat from Bail and his companion.

“When I told you someone spotted us, I didn’t mean you should invite them over,” Bail’s companion murmurs, low enough that Padmé barely hears it.

Bail puts a hand over their shoulder. “It’s fine--they’re friends.”

“Your friends, maybe,” is the quiet response.

Up close, Padmé gets a look at Bail’s companion--a human or near-human with brown hair braided up and coiled in the Alderaan fashion, a full beard, and a dark turtleneck sweater. The face, half obscured by Bail’s shoulder as it is, looks familiar. It takes a moment for Padmé to place the name.

“Detective Kenobi?” she asks.

Detective Kenobi grunts in response. He doesn’t even open his eyes.

“Do you remember me?” Padmé asks. “We spoke once, almost a year ago. I don’t think you liked me.”

“I don’t like most of the people I meet. You’re not special.”

Bail sighs and squeezes Detective Kenobi’s shoulder. “You don’t need to be rude.”

“Talk to me during business hours and I’ll spare some more decorum,” Detective Kenobi says. “Under these circumstances this is all I can be bothered for.”

Frankly, he looks terrible--feverish and tired, at minimum. He looks like he’s recovering from something bad. “What happened to you, Detective?” Padmé asks.

“None of your business,” Detective Kenobi says.

“Obi-Wan,” Bail chides gently. He looks up and says, “I’m sorry, Padmé. You caught us at a bit of an awkward time--Obi-Wan’s not usually like this. He’s not in the best mood for conversation right now.”

That, of all things, makes Detective Kenobi crack open his eyes and look at Padmé. “Oh, Senator Amidala,” he says, irreverent as ever. “I suppose I should tender my congratulations.”

Padmé’s heart jumps into her throat. There’s no way he knows, is there? But then, he’d known about her marriage when nobody was supposed to, and had the documents to prove it. For someone like Detective Kenobi, no information is truly secret.

“Congratulations?” Sabé asks.

“On your divorce,” Detective Kenobi says. “Or incoming divorce, whichever the case may be.”

Padmé shoots a look at Sabé, even as she swallows her relief. "Did you plan this?"

"I've never seen this man in my life," Sabé replies.

Padmé turns back towards Detective Kenobi. “I’m not divorced. Why would you think that?”

“Because Skywalker has spent the last two weeks moping around Coruscant trying to find a sympathetic ear to listen to all his woes of how his wife no longer loves him and has left him,” Detective Kenobi drawls. “I am tired of hearing about it, but for what it counts, I’m happy for you. Living with Skywalker is not a fate I would wish upon anyone.”

That’s...a lot to take in at once. It doesn’t surprise Padmé that Anakin would do that, but it gives her a sinking feeling in her stomach nonetheless. Who even knows what he’s told people at this point?

Padmé chooses to address the simplest point. “You’re happy for a divorce?”

“I believe that breaking up incompatible relationships is a good thing that should be celebrated,” Detective Kenobi says. “I don’t know what kind of person would be compatible with Skywalker, but you should be happy you’re not.”

“Don’t talk about Anakin like that,” Padmé says. “He’s a good man, not some kind of monster.”

Detective Kenobi grunts and closes his eyes again. “I don’t see why you’re trying to convince me.”

Padmé bristles. "I don't see why you're so against my marriage--it isn't any of your business, so why do you care, Detective?"

Detective Kenobi makes a noise into Bail’s shoulder, and Bail pulls him closer. The motion is so natural he must have done it hundreds of times before, which is insane because Padmé didn’t know Bail even really knew Detective Kenobi, much less had a relationship of...this variety.

"Bail," Detective Kenobi murmurs. "Darling. My head hurts. I don't want to be here anymore. Can we leave?"

Bail's gaze softens. Padmé's never seen him look at someone like that except Breha. "Of course, Obi-Wan. Just let me handle the bill, okay? I'll be right back." He smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, Padmé, I'll have to cut this talk short. We should catch up sometime though--it’s been a long time."

"Of course," Padmé says. Even though she can’t say much for Bail’s apparent taste in friends, Bail himself is a reasonable and pleasant man. It would be nice to spend some time with him.

Bail excuses himself to pay for the meal.

When he's out of earshot, Padmé looks back at Detective Kenobi. "Are you running away? I didn't think you were a coward."

Detective Kenobi opens his eyes all the way, looking directly at Padmé. His eyes are reddish and there's a feverish glint in them, but he is perfectly lucid when he replies, "Senator. I don’t care what you think. As you have helpfully reminded me, we don’t like each other. I don’t see why I should continue a pointless conversation if my head hurts and I would rather be somewhere else.”

“Then what makes you think you have any right to comment on my marriage?” Padmé asks.

"Because despite how much I dislike you, you seem like a reasonable person,” Detective Kenobi says. “And because I have seen a side of Skywalker that you have not.”

“You barely know him,” Padmé says.

“I’ve come to find you learn a lot about someone when they’re trying to kill you,” Detective Kenobi says. “I suppose he wouldn’t have told you about that.”

Suddenly, Detective Kenobi’s distaste for Anakin makes a lot more sense. Anyone would hold a grudge after that, even if there was some kind of misunderstanding.

“I’m sure he had a reason to act the way he did,” Padmé says.

“He did,” Detective Kenobi agrees. “I can’t really blame him for thinking I had betrayed him. For that, I could forgive him, if I cared enough to. But...” Detective Kenobi takes a deep breath, then has a drink of water. “It wasn’t just me he had tried to kill. It was Ahsoka. And Rex.”

“No,” Padmé protests. The thought of Anakin doing that to Ahsoka is...she can’t even think of it. “That’s impossible. You’re lying.”

“You can ask them yourself. I highly doubt they’ve forgotten the experience,” Detective Kenobi replies. “Assuming you still speak to them.”

The coldness with which Rex had regarded her last jumps to mind. She stays silent.

“Rex and Ahsoka are some of the most loyal people I have ever met, and in all likelihood, the most loyal people Skywalker has ever met, too,” Detective Kenobi says. “But the moment they stood against him, he declared them traitors and tried to strike them down. I don’t know if you understand what it means for a Master to attack a Padawan--the relationship doesn’t directly translate to what non-Jedi are used to, but the closest comparison is often that of a parent and their child.”

Detective Kenobi scrubs a hand over his face. “Maybe Skywalker protects you now, Senator, but one day you will find your will does not align with his and you are not willing to bend, and that day, he will turn on you. Maybe he loves you--I can’t say--but for someone like Skywalker, it doesn’t take a lot for love to turn into hate.”

Detective Kenobi says that all with the intonation of a death omen, and Padmé shivers. Maybe not everything he said is true, but...enough of it can be. It sounds too plausible, for what Padmé knows of Anakin. She thinks of him crying, tear-stained confessions of how he hadn’t just killed the men, but the women and children too. Slaughtered like animals in their homes.

“If you’re telling the truth,” Padmé says, “then why didn’t you tell me any of this before now?”

“Because I was busy with other matters when we last spoke,” Detective Kenobi replies. “And because this time, you might actually listen to me.”

Padmé is stopped from saying something scathing in response to that because Bail returns then, apologizing for the delay. “Their chip reader had a malfunction. It happens so often I feel like I should just start paying cash.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Detective Kenobi says. “You’re paying for the meal, after all. It’s the least I can do to wait.”

Bail helps Detective Kenobi up to his feet, propping him up with an arm steady behind his back. Detective Kenobi practically melts, trusting his weight entirely on Bail. It’s so gentle it’s almost hard to look at.

“It was good to see you,” Bail says, smiling at Padmé and Sabé. “I hope we can meet up again soon, maybe in a more convenient locale. Someplace like this, people might think we’re up to no good.”

“Likewise,” Padmé says. “I hope, um, the detective feels better.”

“He’ll be okay,” Bail replies. “It looks worse than it is--he’s bounced back from more dire situations than this.”

That’s not exactly an encouraging thing to hear, but Padmé nods anyways.

Detective Kenobi makes a noise from the back of his throat just as they begin to leave. “Senator,” he says.

“Yes?” Padmé asks.

“If what you said is true--you’re not yet divorced, but planning to...protect yourself. Have an exit strategy before you deliver the news.” Detective Kenobi looks over at her, then at Sabé. “I’ve seen...a lot of cases. In my work. I’m not saying he will do something. But I don’t think he won’t do anything, either.”

“That’s what you wanted to say?”

Detective Kenobi nods. “Yes. That’s all.” He grips Bail’s jacket. “Darling, let’s go. I might collapse if I stand too much longer.”

With that, Bail leaves, practically half-carrying Detective Kenobi. Sabé looks at them, frowning.

“What an unpleasant man,” she says. “I don’t know what Senator Organa sees in him.”

Privately, Padmé agrees. Detective Kenobi has been nothing but abrasive and cold. She had thought him unfeeling to the highest degree, aloof like so many other Jedi were--so it’s a bit of a shock to see him with Bail, how much naked affection they show for each other without even thinking to.

She can’t even remember the last time Anakin did something like that--to be a shoulder to rest on, to take her home when she was tired and wanted to be somewhere else. Something small to make her happy, something outside the grand declarations and the expensive gifts. Something that showed that he didn’t just love her, but he cared about her.

She rests a hand on her stomach. She can’t feel anything yet, though she knows it’s there. There’s a sense of dread creeping up her spine, the time counting down to where she has to make a choice before someone makes it for her--because if Anakin finds out about the pregnancy, she knows what he’ll pick.

“Sabé,” Padmé says softly.

“Yes?”

“I think I need to talk to Ahsoka.” She knows something happened, all those months ago when Anakin had been kidnapped, but...she doesn’t know what. It’s something nobody wants to talk about, but she knows Ahsoka had been pretty badly hurt herself. If Anakin was the one who did that...

Padmé knows she is strong. She can endure whatever she has to for her and Anakin to fix whatever is poisoning this relationship. If it means things will be better, then she will wait even at her own risk.

She can’t afford to do the same with her children.

#star wars #fanfic #fic: asynchronous circuit #padme amidala #obi-wan kenobi #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 3 years ago

Note

hey how about that story where obi-wan and rex go on a walk and nothing bad happens. maybe they could even hug and maybe have a tiny smooch if they want. they deserve nice things

okay fine they can kiss just this once

"Rex, your boyfriend is here to pick you up!" Jesse shouts from across the apartment.

Rex's cheeks turn hot from embarrassment. "Shut up! He's--he's not my boyfriend!"

"Well, yeah, if you don't sack up and make a move he sure won't be," Jesse says, moving to the doorway. "You've shared a bed with him like twice and still haven't even kissed him? I'm getting blueballed just by watching you. I'm serious, Rex. Secondhand blue balls."

Rex doesn’t get why Jesse’s blue balls have to be his problem. It’s not his fault Jesse can’t mind his own damn business. "He doesn't--Jesse, Obi-Wan doesn't do that kind of thing, just lay off already.”

"I don't know about that, he seemed to like Fox well enough," Jesse replies.

Rex flushes harder, if that's even possible. Even if Jesse hadn't told him about it directly, it would have been completely impossible to miss the most recent hot gossip that Obi-Wan had gone on a dinner date with Fox and kissed him. There was holo proof and everything, and...

There was Fox’s expression, shocked and also so...unguarded. Like he hadn’t expected it, but not in a bad way. Just like he’d discovered something he hadn’t known existed. Rex has never seen Fox look so relaxed, and apparently neither has anyone else. It’s no wonder everyone’s talking about it.

Rex knows whatever feelings Obi-Wan has for Fox, it doesn’t negate anything Obi-Wan feels for him--and it’s not like Obi-Wan has ever stayed over with Fox or shared a bed with him overnight. But still, Rex can’t help but feel a little...jealous. What does Fox have that he doesn’t? Besides being a CC and a bad attitude, neither of which are exactly selling points.

Well, Obi-Wan previously had some kind of thing with Jango--maybe he’s into people who are assholes.

Jesse crosses his arms. “Hey, Mission Control to Rex, your boyfriend’s still waiting. If you keep moping around, I’m gonna put on a blond wig and go on your date myself. He’ll be surprised when he sees how much more handsome you got since the last time you went on a date.”

“Yeah? And how are you going to explain the huge tattoo on your face?” Rex asks.

“Well, obviously you were so impressed by your favorite brother Jesse who’s such a big inspiration that you just had to emulate his impeccable--”

Rex throws a pillow at Jesse. “Piss off, Jesse.”

Jesse catches the pillow and rolls his eyes. “All right. I’ll tell him you’ll be out in a few minutes. But seriously, make a move, Rex. All your pining makes me embarrassed I’m related to you.” He sets the pillow on Rex’s dresser, then goes to talk to Obi-Wan.

“I’m not pining,” Rex mutters under his breath as he pulls on his jacket. He hurries to get out, because the longer he leaves Jesse out there alone with Obi-Wan, the more likely it is Jesse will say something completely mortifying.

Two and a half minutes later, Rex goes to the door. Sure enough, Obi-Wan is there, not dressed up dressed up but still in a crisp shirt and a long embroidered jacket. His hair is twisted up and secured with a pair of shining brass pins with colored glass drops dangling from the ends. Rex still doesn’t know why Obi-Wan started wearing nicer clothes more often, but he’s not complaining.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Rex,” he says. “It’s good to see you. Jesse was just telling me about how your studies were going.”

“And that’s all he said, right?” Rex asks, glaring at Jesse.

“Rex! I’d never say anything bad about you,” Jesse says, looking perfectly angelic like the wonderful supportive brother he isn't. “You shouldn’t be so hostile to your brothers, sir.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to tell Kix what happened to his favorite caf steeper,” Rex hisses.

Jesse’s eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”

Rex wouldn’t, but Jesse doesn’t have to know that. “Get out of here, soldier. Don’t destroy the apartment before I get back--you know how Kix is about the deposit.”

Jesse salutes. “Yes, sir. Have a good time!” He makes some kissy faces for emphasis, then closes the door.

Obi-Wan hums. “Should I be concerned about that?”

Rex sighs. “No, it’s just...sibling things,” he says as he starts walking. It’s nearly sunset and cooled down because of it, and he’ll enjoy the weather better the sooner he’s away from any of Jesse’s potential ‘assistance’. “I love Jesse, but sometimes he drives me up the damn wall.”

“Ah. I had some siblings like that. Truly, nobody can annoy you like family can,” Obi-Wan replies.

“I thought you didn’t remember your family,” Rex says. “The Jedi took you in when you were one or something.”

Obi-Wan glances over at Rex. “No, I never really knew my birth family. But I was adopted into the Jedi Temple. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Oh,” Rex says. He knows the Jedi are...close to each other, especially between Masters and Padawans, but all the Jedi? He's not sure how he feels about that. “I don’t...I don’t know.”

“I don’t think it’s so difficult to understand. We grew up together, we learned together and supported each other. We spoke each other’s languages and ate each other’s foods and found comfort in each other’s company,” Obi-Wan says. “If you and all your brothers are a family, I don’t see why the Jedi wouldn’t be.”

“But you’re natborns,” Rex says. “It’s different. Your birth family is supposed to be...important, right?”

“I don’t think it’s unimportant,” Obi-Wan says. “But blood relation isn’t in of itself that big of a deal--it’s not as if you feel much connection to Jango, do you?”

Rex’s stomach twists. “That’s hardly the same thing. Jango sold us so we could be part of some insane genocide plan. Of course I don’t want to be associated with that bastard. Your family...they’d never do anything like that. Right?”

“No. In that regard, Jango was a very special type of deplorable,” Obi-Wan says. “My birth family gave me to the Jedi because they believed I would have a better life in the Temple. I’m sure it was a difficult choice for them--I sincerely believe they cared deeply about me, as most parents care about their child. I’m glad for what they did, but all the same, I don’t feel much connection to them, certainly not just because I share genetic material. The Jedi are the only family I ever truly had, and it’s a good family. I grew up loved and cared for and happy--I’ve never felt the absence of my birth relations.”

Rex considers that. He and his brothers never had what Obi-Wan or the Jedi had--nurturing figures and teachers who actually gave a damn about them as individuals. More than anything, Rex feels his bonds with his brothers are forged not because of some inherent connection between clones of the same template but because it was Kamino and the trainers against them, so they had to cling together because that was all they had--brothers watching out for brothers because nobody else would. In some hypothetical world where the clones could exist without the context of the war and the training they endured and the people they lost, Rex can’t imagine they ever would have grabbed so tight to each other.

The Jedi aren’t like that. They had peace and safety and built connections from food and stories and lessons that didn't have to hurt so bad they’d crack a tooth trying to keep the screams from coming out. Perhaps that's a family, too--one that isn’t forged from having to fight just to survive. Rex can’t even imagine what that’s like.

“Did you love them?” Rex asks. “The Jedi.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says. “In many ways, I still do.”

“But...” Rex hesitates. It’s not like he and Obi-Wan haven’t talked about heavy topics before, but it seems...not right to be so frank about these kinds of things.

“If you have a question, you can just ask,” Obi-Wan says. “I assure you, whatever it is you have to say, I have heard much worse.”

Rex takes a deep breath. “If the Jedi were your family and you loved them so much, then...why did you leave?”

“Hm. I wonder that myself all the time,” Obi-Wan says distantly. “I've already told you about the choice I made at Melida/Daan. If I were in that place again, knowing what I do now, I don’t think I would choose differently.”

Rex bites his lip. He can’t imagine leaving his brothers for anything, much less to...to walk away like Obi-Wan did, and never come back. He can’t understand why Obi-Wan would ever give up that safety of the Temple and walk face-first into war and bloodshed and death. And for what--a missing hand, a lifelong banishment, and decades drifting the galaxy?

“I admit, sometimes I wish it didn’t happen,” Obi-Wan says. “It's impossible not to, after everything I lost there. If I could be in a kinder universe where that did not happen to me, I would wish to be there in a time and place where I still had my faith and my family and my entire soul. Of course I would. But if all that hadn't happened, I wouldn't be who I am now.”

“I...I see,” Rex says. He can understand that, sort of. He knows what it's like to resent the war and Kamino for everything it's done to him, but feel irrevocably indebted to it for making him who he is. If he took a knife and ripped the war out of his soul...there would hardly be anything left.

But it doesn’t have to be like that. He’s learning--slowly, but surely--how to be someone in a world without the war. He’s building himself outside those lines, defining himself in new terms and relationships and maybe one day he won’t need the war at all anymore.

Obi-Wan’s been indelibly marked by his ordeals in similar ways, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost everything forever.

“Obi-Wan,” Rex says. “If you still love the Jedi...why don't you go back? They missed you, and there's so many people who remember you. They would love if you returned. If you want your family still, there’s a place for you there.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says softly. “I’ve changed too much since I left the Temple--it’s not my home anymore, and it never will be again.”

“Why not? Just because you’ve lost the Force? I don’t think they’d care that much--you’re the one who says it takes a lot more than the Force to make a Jedi,” Rex presses. “If you just asked, they’d welcome you back with open arms.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t respond straight away. He guides them down to the Coruscant promenade, which is swarming with people shuttling between shops and taking evening walks of their own. The setting sun casts long heavy shadows across the square, and Obi-Wan stops next to a large fountain, looking down into the softly lit basin.

“The place reserved in the Temple isn’t for me,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s for the ghost of a thirteen-year-old boy that they will never find in me because I killed him twenty years ago.”

Rex tries to respond to that, but finds himself bereft of words.

“I lost a lot more than the Force at Melida/Daan, Rex,” Obi-Wan continues. “I lost my faith, I broke my vows, I knowingly and willingly killed innocents. I’m a betrayer through and through, and I’ve committed crimes I’ll never be able to make up for. If someone like that can be a Jedi, then what is the point of being a Jedi?”

Rex takes a deep breath. “So, what, you feel like because you did horrific things when you were young and in a terrible situation, you have to...suffer to make up for it? Denying yourself your family because you think they won’t forgive you?”

“You misunderstand me, dear. I’m not trying to repent and I’m not trying to get forgiveness--and it’s not as if the Jedi could forgive me anyways, because they’re not the ones I wronged,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m just trying to be a better person and find some kind of inner peace, and I don’t think I can do that in a place that reminds me of all the things I’m not. When I go to the Temple and the Jedi look at me, they don’t want me, they want that murdered thirteen-year-old boy. They want to see the shape of his faith and love and kindness and not the walking coffin he’s buried in.”

“I--I think you’re not giving the Jedi enough credit,” Rex says. “I don’t think they only want who you were back then--they understand you’ve been through a lot, and they want to know who you are now.”

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan allows. “But no matter what, they’re still looking for that ghost, and I can’t stand that--being compared against everything I could have been. It’s why I like Coruscant. I could be anyone and nobody would give a damn where I came from or who I was. Nobody can judge me for anything except who I am now.” He glances over at Rex. “Aren’t you ever the same way? Don’t you ever wish people would look at you and not see Jango’s shadow?”

“Yeah, I do,” Rex admits. “Sometimes, I wish I could be out there and just be a person without all the baggage of being a clone or the things Jango did to us. But at the end of the day, I am a clone, and you did come from the Jedi Temple. Neither of us can escape that.”

“I’m not trying to run away,” Obi-Wan says. “I loved the Temple and the Order and I still do, but its time in my life has passed. It’s not a safe place for me anymore--and not just because I have a medical condition that makes it difficult to visit. There’s only bad memories there now, and I don’t think it’ll do any good to my health to expose myself to that if I don’t have to.

“I know the Jedi would accept me if I asked it,” Obi-Wan continues, leaning down against the edge of the fountain and gazing somewhere far into the distance. “If I asked, they would forgive me and do everything they could to help me and let me have the family I lost so many years ago. They would do that in a heartbeat, but I don’t want that. I don’t want them to make exceptions for me--I don’t want to have the title of Jedi, I want to be a Jedi, and I’m not...not capable of that anymore. I can’t swear those vows or uphold those duties, and I won’t insult the Order by pretending I can. I respect them too much for that.”

On some level, Rex can understand that. He’s spent plenty of late nights thinking about his rank and if he really deserved it or if he was just there because someone thought he would be someone to fill the ranks. There’s a lot of responsibility and expectations with being a Jedi, and having the rank without the qualification is a slap in the face for everyone involved. Rex doesn’t think he’d want that either.

“So you’re giving up on your family because you can’t be a Jedi?” Rex asks. “Because you have bad memories of the Temple and you’re scared of being compared to who you were?”

Obi-Wan turns to face Rex, and there’s a deep sorrow in his eyes that’s hard to look at. “Rex. The Jedi Order hasn’t been my family for a very long time. I spent twenty years believing they did not want me, and they spent twenty years believing I was dead. The Jedi are important to me and they always will be, but they’re my past and not my present. I have a life now--one that I built for myself with my own two hands. I won’t drop everything to chase old ghosts.”

Rex doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't. He won’t kid himself and say he completely understands, because he still can’t imagine a circumstance where he wouldn’t want to come back to his family, no matter how long it’d been, but...twenty years is an unimaginably long time--his entire life twice over. In that time, Obi-Wan has found duties and people he can’t abandon--Organa, Boba, Feral and Savage. It wouldn’t be fair to them if he were to uproot everything to try and chase old dreams of Knighthood.

Obi-Wan stares up into the sky, letting the silence stretch. The two of them stay leaning against the fountain and watch the red sky turn purple and gray as the sun dips below the horizon. It’s a heavy silence, but not an uncomfortable one.

“I'm sorry,” Obi-Wan says eventually. “It feels like this happens every time we spend time together.”

“What do you mean?”

“We talk, and I say something that makes you uncomfortable. We were supposed to have fun today, and I've killed the mood. I'm sorry,” Obi-Wan says.

“No, it's fine,” Rex says. “I like talking to you, Obi-Wan, I just...didn't know what to say. It’s a lot to think about, that’s all.”

“Sometimes, silence says a lot all on its own,” Obi-Wan says. He scrubs a hand over his face, then stands up properly. “It’s getting late. Are you hungry?”

“I wouldn’t say no to some dinner,” Rex says. “Did you have some place in mind?”

“Well, we’re already in the promenade. I’m sure we can figure something out,” Obi-Wan says, setting off in some random direction.

Rex follows after him. “Do you eat here often?”

Obi-Wan nods. “Coruscant street food is pretty good if you know what to look out for. Convenient for cases where you don’t have a lot of time to stop and eat. Here’s a stand I visit a lot--the owner usually gives me extra dumplings.”

This is how, ten minutes later, the two of them are on a park bench sharing a large box of fried dumplings.

“These are good,” Rex says, chewing on one. The meat filling is tangy and not too salty while the dough outside is crisp without being hard. “You said these are called dumplings?”

Obi-Wan nods. “Most cultures have some form of dumpling because filling wrapped in dough is a very straightforward blueprint. I’ve always had a soft spot for them--at the Temple, making dumplings was a common get-together activity. I usually helped making the dough for the wrappers and rolling them out. Bant liked to fill dumplings for me that were full of seafood. Honestly, with all the different fillings we worked with, it’s a miracle we didn’t have more cross-species poisoning incidents.” He helps himself to another dumpling, looking wistful. “I never have the time to make dumplings by hand anymore. It’s a lot of hassle if you’re by yourself.“

“Um,” Rex says. He’s got the opportunity, so he has to take the shot. “Well, if you--I mean. I could help, if you wanted. I’ve never made dumplings before.”

“What, just the two of us?” Obi-Wan asks, raising a brow.

Rex flushes. “I, I mean, it doesn’t have to be, we could invite Ahsoka and some other people too, or--”

Obi-Wan sets a hand on Rex’s shoulder and grins. “I’m just teasing, dear. If you want to visit sometime and make dumplings together, I’m certainly not going to say no. Nothing would make me happier.”

Rex’s heart flutters. “Yeah, we--we should do that sometime. I think I’d like that.”

Obi-Wan smiles softly. It occurs to Rex that this Obi-Wan is one that not a lot of people ever get to see--out of the aloof and all-knowing private investigator guise, reminiscing about a brighter past and trying to find small joy in a tumultuous present. Obi-Wan always seems so strong and capable and self-assured that it’s hard to believe even he feels things like doubt and personal conflict--in moments like this, Rex remembers that Obi-Wan is only a person just like anyone else. Sitting here so close, Obi-Wan feels so huantingly human, and Rex wants to reach out and touch him, just to be sure it’s real. He wants to put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders and press close enough to feel his warmth. He wants to keep this moment and--

“Is everything okay, Rex?” Obi-Wan asks, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“I...” Rex looks away. “I think so.” Now that he’s thought about it, he can’t stop thinking about it, and unbidden, the image of Obi-Wan pressing lips to Fox’s cheek drifts back to his mind.

It’s so inconsequential. It doesn’t mean anything at all, but stars if Rex doesn’t want it.

But Obi-Wan makes no move even now to kiss him, and Rex doesn’t understand why--if it was just how much he cared, surely Obi-Wan likes him more than he likes Fox.

“Are you sure? You seem upset, Rex,” Obi-Wan says.

“Why did you kiss him?” Rex blurts out.

Obi-Wan blinks. “Pardon? Who am I kissing?”

“Fox,” Rex says. “Why did you kiss Fox?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says. “Well, he asked me to.”

Rex’s mind grinds to a screeching halt. “Wh-what? You--He--” Rex takes a deep breath. “He asked you? That’s it?”

“Well, not in so many words. There was something about his brothers giving him a hard time so he made a bet with them without thinking about it,” Obi-Wan says. “So I gave him a kiss. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

“So you mean this whole time I could have just asked you to kiss me?” Rex asks. “You--you’re not--”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “I don’t really see the appeal of kissing. So it’s not something I think to do on my own.” He glances at Rex. “Is this your way of asking?”

“Yes--no. Yes?” Rex says. “If that’s--if it’s okay with you. I mean.”

“I don’t mind. It’s just a kiss,” Obi-Wan says.

Rex nods. “Yes, please, I want to--if you can--that’s...”

Obi-Wan laughs. “It’s okay, Rex. I think I get the idea.” He sets the dumplings down on the bench, then gently holds the sides of Rex’s face. “Don’t think too hard about it, okay?”

And then he kisses Rex directly on the mouth.

Everything in Rex’s mind stops working all at once. He can feel firm fingers on the edge of his jaw, the press of lips beneath his, the soft sigh of breath in his mouth. Without thought, Rex makes a noise from the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering closed as he tries to lean into the sensation. There’s scratchiness of hair against his lip and chin, a mass of warmth against his side, and Rex reaches out to hold that warmth close almost on animal instinct.

And then, as suddenly as it started, it’s over. Warmth recedes and cool evening air rushes in, and Rex nearly collapses against the bench, gasping for breath. He feels like he’s seeing stars. “What--” he says. “I--Obi-Wan--What was that?”

“A kiss?” Obi-Wan says.

“But you--on the lips? What--”

“I’m sorry, did I misread your intentions?” Obi-Wan asks. “When you said you wanted me to kiss you, I thought you meant...”

Rex shakes his head. “No. I mean yes. That’s--” He swallows and tries to reboot his mind into something resembling function. “I liked that.”

Rex feels like he’s been hit with a bolt of lightning, and his lips are still tingling just thinking of it. His heart is pounding--he’s not sure if it’ll ever calm back down.

“Is kissing always--always like this?” Rex asks

Obi-Wan shrugs. “I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t see the appeal of kissing. I don’t really enjoy it--it’s tedious more than anything.”

Rex blinks and looks at Obi-Wan. He’s not smiling now. Cold realization washes through Rex that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. “Obi-Wan...did I pressure you into something you didn’t want to do?”

“No, I genuinely don’t mind,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s just a kiss. It doesn’t mean anything. As long as you enjoyed it, that’s what matters.”

He says that, but Rex can see it plain as day--best case scenario, Obi-Wan is indifferent to kissing, and worst case scenario, Obi-Wan is actively uncomfortable with it. Maybe he doesn’t mind, but Rex has found there’s a lot of things Obi-Wan doesn’t mind that he probably should.

Rex wants it again, but...in the end, it’s just a kiss. The two of them have shared a bed and food. They’ve bared their hearts to each other and chosen, again and again, to make time for each other because it makes them happy. Compared to that, what’s a kiss worth?

Nothing at all.

“I did enjoy it. Thanks, Obi-Wan,” Rex says. “I won’t ask again.”

Obi-Wan glances at him in surprise, then his expression softens. “Thank you, Rex.”

The two of them lapse into silence, making their way through the no longer hot box of dumplings. Rex settles himself against Obi-Wan’s side, and Obi-Wan sets an arm over his shoulder and pulls him in so they’re butted against each other. It’s a peaceful silence, together in the coolness of night, and Rex thinks to himself that he wouldn’t trade a million kisses for this moment.

Still, he has to ask.

“Was I a good kisser?” Rex asks.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Well, you were better than Jango.”

Rex sputters. “Obi-Wan, what--why would you say--that’s completely--”

Obi-Wan laughs and sticks the last dumpling in Rex’s open mouth.

#star wars #fanfic #fic: asynchronous circuit #rex #obi-wan kenobi #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 3 years ago

Note

Hey so if you’re still taking prompts for sequential logic how about some Jedi/clone interactions (not involving anakin bc while I love seeing him actually experience consequences I despise the dude) something like plo and the Wolfpack or luminara and her clones maybe?

okay I fixed it now

Sometimes, Mace wonders what he ever did to deserve being the Head of the Order during a war. He looks over his stacks upon stacks of datapads that seem to be reproducing now that Dooku has signed the ceasefire agreement, then sighs deeply. He's not getting anywhere with these tonight, and besides, there are more pressing matters at hand.

He finds Ponds in the cockpit, looking over the navigation console and looking uncharacteristically restless.

"Is everything okay, Commander?" Mace asks.

Ponds doesn't respond immediately. He flips through another couple screens as he gathers his words, then says, "Yes, sir. Just nerves, that's all."

Mace pulls up a seat. "Is Kamino so frightening?" he asks.

Ponds grimaces. "It's not that. It's just...so many terrible things happened to us there. To me. The kind of terrible things I didn't even know were terrible until I was deployed into the real world and met you, sir--I wouldn't wish Kamino's training on anyone, not even my worst enemies," Ponds says. "But at the same time, Kamino is my home, and in all honesty, I miss it sometimes. Things were simpler then. At least I knew what to expect, and at least my brothers were always there by my side."

"Your brothers will still be with you now that the war is over," Mace says. "You're safe, now."

Ponds is quiet for a few moments longer, then says, "None of us expected to survive beyond the end of the war, sir. For a lot of us, the war ending is a lot scarier than the war itself--the prospect of dying without fulfilling the purpose we were made for."

"There's no shame in living a life without war," Mace replies.

"I...I think you misunderstand me, sir," Ponds says. "I don't mean we're scared to live without fighting. I mean the understanding for many of us growing up was that, once the war was over, we would no longer be necessary, and would be disposed of accordingly."

Mace goes cold all at once. He had known on some level that the clones feared obsolescence--it was obvious in the way they operated, the way they felt it was necessary to be useful at all times, but he had hoped, perhaps naively, that those fears would be resolved with the end of the war.

"We would never do that to you," Mace says. "You know that, Ponds, right? No matter what, we wouldn't...execute all of your brothers."

"I know that. Everyone who's met you knows that," Ponds says. "But all those millions of clones who were never deployed? Kamino is all they've ever known. After doesn't exist for them, and that's...it's terrifying, sir."

Mace feels heavy, like the very air is dragging him down. The hum of the hyperdrive, taking them to Kamino, feels more foreboding than ever. The task that looms ahead will be more complicated than Mace ever anticipated.

Ponds clears his throat. "I just wanted you to know what to expect, sir."

---

It is not raining when they land--it's such a drastic change from when Mace had first discovered the clones six months ago that it makes Kamino seem like a different planet entirely.

"No rain is a good omen," Ponds says.

"Let's hope so," Mace replies.

The two of them go in. Today, they have one simple objective--to officially announce the ceasefire to the clones and begin the process of moving them properly from Kamino into Jedi custody so they can begin new lives as civilians out in the galaxy. A monumental undertaking, considering clones are not yet considered citizens of the Republic, and, as Mace is becoming increasingly aware, their background has in no way prepared them for civilian life.

"How do you want to approach this, sir?" Ponds asks, settling in parade rest. "If you like, we can speak to the Kaminoans first to negotiate the logistics of transporting brothers and transferring the relevant personnel data. Alternately, I can give you a tour of the facilities--I know you've visited once before, but I understand you had been a bit short on time then."

"That's one way to say it."

"Or, if you prefer, I can message the battalions to assemble so you can speak to them," Ponds says. "Any of these will be appropriate actions, sir."

Mace considers the choice before him. It doesn't make that much difference in the end, because they are all things he needs to get done, but still. He's the Head of the Order. The first impressions he makes now will reflect on all the Jedi.

"Would it be possible for me to speak to some of your brothers without the assembly?" Mace asks. "There will be time for formal arrangements later, but I want to meet the men on level ground, first. I'll get a better idea of who we're working with, that way."

"Yes, sir," Ponds says. "I can message them ahead so nobody's caught unawares. Surprises make the shinies nervous."

So the two of them begin visiting the undeployed troops. Ponds leads the way because he knows his brothers more than Mace does. It's...enlightening. There's over two million clones in Kamino, an incomprehensibly large number of people to begin with, but they're not just the older clones Mace has become accustomed to--they're a wide range of ages, down to the youngest batches who are about six years old and look...well, like younglings. It's impossible to think of them as anything else, when they're so small with wide eyes and baby fat on their cheeks, looking barely as old as the youngest Padawans.

"The Kaminoans anticipated the war would last three to five years," Ponds says. "So they generated batches accordingly, so that the last batches would reach fighting maturity by the third year of the war to replete our numbers."

"This is horrifying," Mace says, looking out over a live fire training exercise being run by younglings. Shaak would have assuredly stopped this if she’d known they were still running these exercises after the ceasefire, but two million men is simply too many for one Jedi to manage. "They're too young for this."

Ponds is silent for a moment, then says, "We all went through this, sir. We begin with live weapons when we're three."

Mace's stomach sinks. He'd known things were bad--it was impossible not to, after everything he’s heard and seen from his troops--but this is even worse than he could have imagined. "You shouldn't have. They--that never should have happened to you."

Ponds doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. He looks out over the cadets for a few seconds longer, then says, "Perhaps we should move on."

Ponds continues the tour in this way, showing Mace the facilities and letting him speak to some of the clones. A lot of them are nervous to see him, a nervousness that Mace can't entirely dispel.

"Please don't hold it against them. A lot of brothers find the Jedi frightening," Ponds says. "The cadets hear stories about all the things the Jedi can do. You can't really sort out the lies from the truth when the truth is already so strange."

It's not hard to imagine how that could come to pass. For these young clones, the world beyond the walls of Kamino may as well not exist. Something like the Jedi and their powers in the Force could easily seem monstrous.

"Do I frighten you?" Mace asks. "Or the men?"

"No, sir," Ponds says. "You've proven yourself nothing to be afraid of. I would trust you with my life, and the lives of my men without hesitation."

That was true enough--Ponds had already shown so much trust and loyalty that Mace would never doubt it. But... "There's something else, isn't there? That's not all."

Ponds pauses. "Well...sometimes the things you do are terrifying, sir. Sometimes when you use the Force, we can feel it like a wave across the battlefield. And then you lift up tanks and break droids apart with your bare hands and it feels...it's like there's some kind of invisible monster on the field." He looks aside. "I trust you without question, sir. But sometimes it's hard to trust your Force the same way.

"It's not the same for everyone," Ponds continues. "Some brothers think it's really cool, and for the record I'm glad that if there's a force like that on the battlefield, it's you using it to protect us. I'm just too much of a pessimist to not think about if it were the other way around. Even if I know you'd never use it...it doesn't change the fact that you could kill any one of us with your mind, sir."

It's not the answer Mace had wanted to hear, but it's the truth. Mace can't change the abilities that he has, nor can he control how his men feel or really have them experience for themselves the Force the way he and the rest of the Jedi understand it. The clones will learn to not fear the Force over time, or they won't. That will be another struggle to deal with down the line. "Thank you for telling me, Ponds."

"Anytime, sir," Ponds replies.

Ponds' tour lasts until late afternoon, and Mace feels exhausted just from everything he's seen. The clones are good people in such deplorable circumstances that it makes his heart hurt to think of how much they'd suffered to come to this point. He wonders if he'll really be able to give these people the fulfilling lives they deserve, but at this point...anything would be better than this.

"I think that's everything, sir," Ponds says. Mace can feel his exhaustion in waves, though he's hiding it admirably. It must be an ordeal of an entirely different nature for Ponds, to see his home and the things he had experienced with fresh eyes.

"We haven't visited the medical wing yet," Mace says. "Shouldn't I talk to them, too?"

Ponds doesn't respond right away. "I don't know if that's the best idea, General."

Mace's brow furrows. "Why not?"

Ponds grimaces. "Medical is...they're different from the rest of us. They keep to themselves, and what happens back here isn't really..." he trails off. "They're pulled out of most combat modules and get trained directly by the Kaminoans. They don't talk about what goes on there with outsiders."

Mace isn't sure he likes that. He doesn't think the medical clones would do anything to harm their brothers, but the secrecy and the disconnect between medical and the rest of the clones makes him uneasy. "I'd like to try all the same, Commander."

Ponds nods. "If you say so, sir. I'll show you to the central medbay."

With that, he takes Mace down the corridors in grim silence. It seems that not only do the medical track clones not interact much with other clones, the central medbay is completely separate from the rest of the training areas.

"This is the Kaminoans' part of the facility. They grow the tubies here and do whatever research it is they do when they aren't breathing down our necks," Ponds explains. "Most clones aren't authorized to be here outside of medics and brothers needing urgent medical attention. If I weren't escorting you, I wouldn't be allowed to be here."

Mace finds there's a haunting feeling about walking through Kamino--not just the impersonal white walls but the feeling of nothingness wherever they go. In the Temple, there were always people no matter where you went, though less since the beginning of the war. There were marks of life, of art adorning the walls and an impression of comfort and safety sunk into the very stones like the Temple was a living creature protecting its wards. For all the people living in Kamino, it feels cold and empty, and Mace tries not to shiver from it.

The central medbay looks familiar the way all medbays look vaguely familiar. It's set up similar to the medbays on the flagships, though with much more space and equipment for complex medical operations like intensive care and surgery. It's busier than Mace thought it would be, with clones in medical uniforms moving between rooms and checking monitors and speaking with patients. Many--Mace might even venture to say most--of these clones, too, are alarmingly young.

"Why is there so much activity? The ceasefire was a week ago. People shouldn't be getting injured now," Mace says.

"Training hasn't stopped," Ponds says, as if training injuries bad enough to warrant this kind of care is commonplace and perfectly reasonable. "And they're probably handling long-term cases, too. Physical therapy and rehab for brothers who can get back to fighting condition. I don't really know all the specifics of what goes on in Medical--you would have to ask someone in medical track."

"Can we talk to anyone here?" Mace asks.

Ponds shakes his head. "They're pretty busy, so we won't bother them. Come this way--there's a workroom around the corner. There might be some people in there."

Mace follows Ponds out of the main medbay atrium into what looks like a small office. There's a number of holoscreens with patient monitoring information, as well as a few data terminals. Sure enough, there's two clones working on some kind of reports--not the youngest clones Mace has seen today, but unquestionably prepubescent.

"Medics," Ponds says. "Do you have a moment?"

The two medics startle, looking up at Ponds, then over at Mace. Immediately, the both of them scramble to their feet and salute. "Sir!" says one of them, with curly shoulder-length hair that's pinned back and a yellow tattoo of some kind of molecule under his eye. "We didn't know you were coming, Commander. General."

"At ease," Mace says. The two medics physically relax but Mace can still feel their anxiety clear through the Force. He thinks he understands more what Ponds means when he said surprises made the younger clones nervous.

"What do you--How can we help? Sirs?" asks the other medic, whose appearance is almost painfully regulation except that his uniform looks like it’s been slept in once or twice.

"General Windu wanted to see the medical wing and talk to some of the troopers," Ponds says.

"Is it--was there an issue? With the medbay operations? Sir?" the medic replies.

Mace shakes his head. "I'm not here to discipline anyone. I wanted to learn more about you and your brothers, that's all," he says. "What are your names?"

The medic with the tattoo speaks up first. "I'm Freeze, sir. My designation is CT-7721. My specialization is anesthesiology and pain management."

The medic without the tattoo says, much quieter, "CT-3122, sir. Advanced surgical operations and informatics. Sir."

"CT-3122 is your preferred form of address?" Mace asks.

CT-3122 nods. "Yes, sir."

This, too, makes Mace uncomfortable, but he makes no further comment. The clones are intelligent--CT-3122 is undoubtedly aware that many of his brothers have chosen names and that it is acceptable to do so, and has, for whatever reason, not picked a new name. That is itself a valid choice and it's not Mace's place to tell a clone how to express themself when they already have so little personal autonomy.

"Very well," Mace says. "Can you tell me about your work as a medic?"

Freeze nods and begins to explain the role of medical units.

"There is a finite number of combat units," Freeze says, posture stiff and formal. "A large number, but a limited supply nonetheless. Clones are expensive to manufacture and train, and the time from decantation to being ready for deployment is prohibitively long. Medical staff is necessary to reduce personnel waste and preserve unit function for as long as possible, both through medical care and analytics to determine efficient resource management." He glances at CT-3122. "'22 compiles a lot of the casualty reports that come back through Kamino. Sir."

CT-3122 nods.

The explanation continues in this way, deeply entrenched in the terms of manufacture and design and function--some of it sounds like it's recited, but not all of it. Mace has heard clones speak of themselves as units and expendable before, but never so frankly and matter-of-fact like this--it's not so hard to see where the disconnect between medical and the other clones comes from. Ponds looks mildly ill just listening to it.

"When do you start training as medics?" Mace asks.

"We get--um. We're assigned to different tracks at the same time as all other units. Sir," CT-3122 says.

"It's usually between the ages of three and four," Ponds supplies. "Clones are evaluated after exposure to live fire exercises and sorted to specializations that best suit their aptitudes and temperament."

"I see," Mace says. Even if going by physical age, six years old is much, much too early to make that kind of judgement. "So you two were selected for medical track because you had an aptitude for healing and helping your brothers?"

CT-3122 glances nervously at Freeze, then back at Mace. "I, um. I was selected for medical track because--um. I was insensitive to the sight of violent injury, and because I am--I don't get upset when I see my brothers die. Sir."

An awkward silence falls between the four of them. Ponds is very resolutely not looking anyone in the face, and CT-3122 has his fists clenched in the hem of his uniform. His posture stays steady, but his presence is curled into itself, like he expects to be struck and is bracing himself for the blow.

Somehow, Mace had thought things would be kinder in the medical wing, away from the sharp edge of the war. He is having many things disproven today.

"The trainers put me in medical track because I have a good memory and I wasn't scared of needles," Freeze says, subtly stepping in between Mace and CT-3122. "At least, that's what they told me, sir. I think sometimes they just pulled random units and made up reasons--I don't think the trainers spent that much time thinking about where we went."

"There's a lot of clones and not so many of the trainers," Ponds agrees. "Sometimes they just need to fill the numbers. When you're that young you can learn anything."

Objectively, this is a true statement, but Mace hates to hear it applied like this to the art of war.

"Is there anything else you wanted to know, sir?" Freeze asks.

"Yes," Mace says. "In light of the recent ceasefire, Ponds and I are arranging to transfer all the clones stationed at Kamino to other places. We have some options available already for you and your brothers--living in the Jedi Temple or in the new settlements in Alderaan or at one of our many Service Corps outposts, among other choices. But I wanted to know if there was anything you or your brothers wanted to do, now that the war is over. We can't promise anything, but we will do whatever we can to help you all achieve the lives you wish to live."

Panic strikes sharp through CT-3122's psyche, so much so that Mace has to force himself to not react. "We-We're getting reassigned? Sir?" he stammers. "But sir, we--these units still need us, if you assign us away, they'll--"

Freeze puts a hand on CT-3122's shoulder and makes a rapid set of signs with his opposite hand. CT-3122 watches, takes a deep breath, then replies with a string of his own signs.

It's not a sign language system for any language Mace knows--the best he can tell is that it's somewhat derived from standard military sign, but after that...he can't make heads or tails of it.

The silent conversation goes for about fifteen seconds longer, the two medics going through a whole rainbow of emotions, and then...

Ponds joins in, signing just as rapidly as the medics. Mace almost does a double-take. He had no idea Ponds knew whatever sign language system this is, much less that he was this fluent in it.

It takes about two minutes for the three clones to come to some kind of agreement, where Ponds pulls CT-3122 aside and tells Mace, "I need to talk to him in private for a little bit. We'll be right back."

CT-3122 still feels intensely upset, but it doesn't seem like he's scared of Ponds at all, just something about the situation.

"Of course," Mace says. "Take all the time you need."

Ponds nods and takes CT-3122 out of the room, still signing as he goes. Hopefully, Ponds can help whatever needs to be helped.

"General Windu, sir?" Freeze says.

"Yes, Freeze?"

"What you said about reassigning everyone in Kamino, is that true?"

Mace nods. "Now that the war is over, we want to help transition you and all your brothers into civilian life. Since you were commissioned by the Jedi, we feel it's our responsibility to help you the best ways we can."

"So this isn't...punishment?" Freeze asks tentatively.

"No," Mace says. "No, you're not being punished. None of you will be punished."

"Not even '22?" Freeze asks.

"No, I'm not punishing him--why would you think that?" Mace replies.

Freeze fidgets with the edge of his sleeve, then says, "You looked really upset earlier. When he told you why he became a medic. It's not his fault he's like that, sir. He's one of our best surgeons--he never panics no matter how bad it looks. He’s got the steadiest hands out of all of us."

"He said he wasn't affected by seeing his brothers die," Mace says, because he’s still not over the fact that CT-3122 had apparently seen at least one of his brothers die before the age of 4. If that’s any indication of how clones grow up in Kamino, then by any sane metric, every single clone must be horrifically traumatized.

Freeze swallows. "He's not--that's what the trainers said, not him. He doesn't show it, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. He cares about us a lot, he really does."

Freeze is trying to protect CT-3122 from him, Mace realizes. Not just now, but earlier, too, trying to stand between him and CT-3122 as if that would make any kind of difference against a Jedi who, as Ponds had helpfully pointed out, could kill any of them with his mind.

Mace takes a deep breath. He hates to be treated like the kind of person who would abuse the men under his command, but these clones here in Kamino have never known anything else. Discipline was frequent and harsh, and every clone had to learn to stay in line or look like it well enough to pass the checks. He shudders to think what kind of damage that sort of upbringing would do to such young ones.

He supposes he will find out soon enough.

"I'm not going to hurt CT-3122, Freeze. I swear it on my own life, I'm not here to hurt any of you. None of this is your fault, and we just want to help," Mace says. "I know it's not easy to believe, and you've got no reason to take my word for it, with how you have been treated before, but we the Jedi want you and all your brothers to be happy."

Freeze looks at him with big amber eyes, as if sizing him up, then nods decisively. "Okay. General Ti kept her promises to let us grow our hair out and get tattoos without getting disciplined, so I'll believe you'll keep your promises too, sir."

"Thank you," Mace says. "I won't let you down."

Just then, the door slides open behind them and Ponds returns with CT-3122 pressed against his side. He's much more settled now--whatever Ponds said to him must have helped.

CT-3122 returns to Freeze's side, signing something that makes Freeze relax a bit more.

"I think we've stayed long enough," Ponds says. "We'll let you get back to your work, medics."

"Yes, C-Commander," CT-3122 says. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, General Windu, sir," Freeze says.

Without further ado, Ponds ushers Mace out of the workroom and out of the medbay.

"Was everything okay with CT-3122?" Mace asks.

Ponds sighs. "He was scared you were here to discipline him. He's never left Kamino--sending him away is about the scariest thing that can happen to him when he's still at least a year and a half out from deployment age."

"Were you able to explain things to him?"

"Not really," Ponds says. "There's...well, he's got reasons to be scared of disciplinary action--more than usual, I mean. It seems like some of the things medics do behind closed doors is behind closed doors for a reason."

Mace glances at him. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

Ponds rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry. I'm trying to explain it in a way that won't implicate anyone. It's not anything bad--it's good, what they're doing, it's just completely against regs, and if the people involved get caught, they could be decommissioned. Or executed by firing squad."

"The war is over now," Mace says. "Nobody's executing anyone."

"I know. I wouldn't have said this much if the war were still going, just..." Ponds shakes his head. "Never mind. Forget I said all that. The medics are saving lives in a way that would make some important people in the GAR upset, and 3122 was scared that someone had reported him. That's all you need to know, sir."

"I see," Mace says, though he doesn't really understand. He can't imagine why saving clone lives would make military officials unhappy--clones are, after all, a limited and valuable resource. "How did you get him to calm down?"

"I didn't," Ponds says. "I had to comm someone to explain things to him a bit better--CT-4444, or Carrion is his name. He's the chief medical officer of the 212th, and apparently he's 3122's big brother...sort of. Carrion’s older, so he got deployed way ahead of 3122, and 3122's been worried sick about it. Knowing Carrion's safe went a long way to making 3122 calm down about the end of the war. Carrion says he'll comm back later now that they're not on communications blackout, and that should help, too."

"Yes, I agree," Mace says. Hopefully CT-3122 and other similarly anxious clones can get some comfort in the coming days. He wishes he could offer some comfort himself, but the clones have only ever had the support of each other for so long that it would be the height of arrogance to think he could butt in on that. The sooner they can recall troops and reunite clones with the ones they care about, the better.

Speaking of CT-3122... Mace slips his hands into his sleeves. "I didn't know you knew sign language, Ponds."

Ponds nearly trips.

"It's very impressive," Mace continues. "I didn't recognize the sign from any major systems."

"It's...not from a major system, sir," Ponds says.

"I saw some similarities to military sign, but I couldn't tell more than that."

Ponds' presence is prickly and on-guard as he considers his next words. "There are some similarities, sir."

Mace takes a deep breath. "Ponds. I'm not going to punish you for knowing sign language. I was just surprised to see it, that's all. If I may ask, what system was it?"

"It's...it's our own, sir," Ponds says. "Clone sign. We developed it ourselves growing up here."

"You developed your own system of sign language?" Mace asks.

"Kamino has a lot of situations that require noise discipline," Ponds replies. "And the trainers were always listening in. The Kaminoans don't know the difference from military sign and the trainers didn't look closely enough to care. It's easier to conceal line of sight than earshot. Sign language was the natural solution."

"I've never seen any of the men use this sign language."

Ponds hesitates, then says, "We try not to use it in front of natborns, sir."

Mace supposes he can understand that. If the clones had come up with this sign language to communicate without the Kaminoans or their trainers listening in, it wouldn't make much sense to use sign right in front of them. "Could you teach me this sign language?" Mace asks.

Immediately, Ponds goes rigid. "Sir," he says tightly. "Sir, I can't do that."

"Ponds..."

"General, you...I trust you with my life, sir, but you have to understand. Growing up here in Kamino, we don't have anything to ourselves. The trainers are always watching, we don't choose our numbers or our clothes or our specializations or our bunks. We don't own our weapons or our uniforms or even ourselves. Sign language is the only form of privacy we have. Teaching anyone--even you--would be a massive breach of trust for all my brothers. I can't do it. Please don't--don’t ask me again, sir."

Ponds is practically shaking, and Mace sets a hand on his shoulder. He’s rarely ever seen Ponds get this...emotional. "Ponds. I'm sorry," Mace says. "I didn't mean to overstep like that. I won't ask again."

Ponds looks away. "Thank you, sir."

Mace starts walking again, heading towards the mess, and Ponds falls into step right by his side. The atmosphere is still awkward, but it eases with the silence.

"I think I have a better idea of how to handle your brothers, now. There's a lot of work we'll need to do to make sure we aren't just throwing all the men to the wolves out there," Mace says. He thinks for a bit, then says, "Maybe I should introduce Master Che to Freeze. I think she would like him."

"Freeze is a girl, sir," Ponds says.

Mace blinks. "Pardon?"

"You just called Freeze 'him'. She's a girl."

"Oh, my sincerest apologies," Mace says. He knows there are several clones who don't identify as male like their progenitor did, especially because the clones seem to have a foggy grasp on the concept of gender in the first place. With his battalion, though, someone had generally informed him beforehand. He tries to remember if anyone ever mentioned Freeze's gender, but he's pretty sure nobody had, and Ponds had already admitted he barely ever interacted with medics. "If it isn't rude to ask, how could you tell she’s a girl?"

"She notched her ID tag," Ponds replies. "Two notches in the left side to say she's a girl and wants to use those pronouns."

Mace can't even remember what Freeze's ID tag looked like. "And for CT-3122?"

"He's undecided, or doesn't care to say," Ponds says. "A lot of brothers are like that."

"Is there a system to...notching the ID tags?" Mace asks.

Ponds answers in the affirmative. "It's subtle enough the trainers don't notice. There's some similar kinds of markings for armor. If you're interested, that's something I can teach you. We don't really expect to get correctly gendered by natborns, but I don't think anyone would mind it if you did."

"I'd be honored, Commander," Mace says.

The two of them settle in for an especially bland dinner in the clones' mess and Ponds begins to explain the finer points of how he and his brothers express themselves. There's a lot more to it than Mace realized, even after six months of fighting by their side--a depth of surreptitious signals and markings meant to make themselves known to each other but anonymous to the overseers constantly looking over their shoulders.

If there's anything today has taught Mace, it's that there's so much he needs to learn when it comes to the clones, their background, and their culture--and he will. He’ll do whatever he can to make sure he does right by them.

He promised, after all.

#star wars #fanfic #fic: asynchronous circuit #mace windu #ponds #jessepinwrites

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jessepinwheel · 3 years ago

Text

yeah okay it’s the new year why not have a little jedi obi-wan and detective obi-wan dimension travel. as a treat

Obi-Wan stands before the door to a small office in Coruscant’s undercity. There’s nothing especially notable about it--the building is reasonably clean, and the door itself is not very flashy. The only important thing is the text painted in clean script across the frosted glass: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Private Investigations.

There’s a small plaque under the name, saying that the office is open from 0900 to 1800, with a comm frequency that can be contacted if the owner is out on business. It’s objectively underwhelming, though that does nothing to calm Obi-Wan’s racing heartbeat. This whole situation feels...wrong. Maybe it’s just a coincidence or a misunderstanding, but...

He has to see for himself.

Obi-Wan knocks on the door and enters the office. It is a simple office, with a few shelves and cupboards, a couch, a large desk, and some chairs. At the desk, there is a man in civilian clothing and reading glasses with his long reddish hair tied up into a bun. The man looks up from the datapad he’s working on, revealing gray eyes and a face that is unmistakably the mirror to Obi-Wan’s own.

“Master Kenobi, I presume?” the man asks. It’s strange to hear his voice--identical to Obi-Wan’s except for the accent, which is somewhere around the Mid-Rim. He sighs and puts his datapad down. “Well, if you’re here, you may as well sit down.”

Obi-Wan sits down. The whole situation feels a little surreal, though that’s been the case ever since he landed in this universe. He clasps his hands. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I do,” the man says. “An alternate universe version of me pops out of a magic portal in the Jedi Temple, of course they told me about it. It’d be ridiculous if they didn’t.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows. This is news to him--when he had arrived in the Jedi Temple three weeks ago, everything had indicated this universe’s version of him was dead. His name was even in the Jedi’s memorial, killed at a tender fourteen years old. “The Temple knows you’re here? They didn’t...say anything to me about you.”

“I asked them not to,” the man--Detective Kenobi, as Obi-Wan supposes he ought to properly call him--says. “I don’t do Jedi business. Whatever is going on with you is between you and them. I don’t want any part of it.”

“I thought you were dead,” Obi-Wan says.

Detective Kenobi shrugs. “You and everyone else. Would be simpler if I was, but then things aren’t always so simple, are they, Master Jedi?” There’s something bitter about the way the words come out, though his expression stays neutral as ever. He shakes his head. “But never mind that. How did you find me? Who sold me out?”

“Nobody,” Obi-Wan replies. “I looked you up on the HoloNet. Your private practice came up.”

Detective Kenobi raises a brow. “You arrived in a new universe, found out you were dead, then decided to look yourself up? Bit morbid, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan sighs. “It wasn’t like that. I talked to Qui-Gon yesterday.” It had been an...interesting conversation, as speaking to the dead could only ever be. The disbelief had been expected, but the distrust hadn’t. Qui-Gon had been uneasy through the entire conversation, like he’d expected Obi-Wan to resent him, and there had been no sense of relief. That...didn’t seem right, for a man who had lost his Padawan so many years ago. “He didn’t act like someone who hadn’t seen me in twenty years.”

“Well, Master Jinn in this universe is hardly the same as yours,” Detective Kenobi replies. “In your universe, he raised you into a Jedi Master. In mine, he left me for dead in the middle of a civil war and never came back.”

Obi-Wan frowns. This universe’s Obi-Wan had allegedly died when he was fourteen. There aren’t many wars he could have been involved with at that age, except... “Melida/Daan?”

“Oh, you too?” Detective Kenobi asks. “So the Jedi would take back a murderer. Good to know. I never got the chance to ask.”

Obi-Wan clenches his fists in his lap. He remembers the war there, and what he lost. He doesn’t appreciate having it thrown in his face. “I’m not a murderer. And neither were you.”

Detective Kenobi rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat. Obi-Wan notices, for the first time, the heavy black glove over Detective Kenobi’s right hand, and wonders the reason for it. “Well, I don’t know how things went for you, but I certainly killed many people,” he says. “Not all of them deserved it. Most of them didn’t.”

Obi-Wan can believe that. If Detective Kenobi was at Melida/Daan until his alleged death, he was there for at least a year--longer than Obi-Wan ever was. It’s not hard to imagine how bad things could have gone, in a world where the Jedi had not intervened and finally brought them to peace. “You were a youngling in a horrible situation. You didn’t have any other choice,” Obi-Wan says.

“Maybe I didn’t,” Detective Kenobi says airily. “But that doesn’t make those people any less dead, or me, any less the one who made them that way.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. There’s something deeply...grating about Detective Kenobi--the irreverence, the candid method of talking, the casual dismissal. He finds he doesn’t like this look through the mirror very much at all.

“But we’re not here to talk morals or philosophy,” Detective Kenobi continues. “Do you actually need anything from me? Or did you just want to see how far you could have fallen, one universe over?” He gestures broadly to himself. “Well, here you are. An angry and impulsive failure of a Jedi who couldn’t even make it as a Padawan. Look at this wretch in all its glory.”

Obi-Wan does. Detective Kenobi looks...tired. His face looks younger--there are fewer lines than Obi-Wan has--but there’s a deep weariness in his eyes, and some stiffness in the way he moves. He’s clean and reasonably neat, enough to have combed his hair and pulled it up but not enough to bother with any kind of hair product or decorative pins or ornaments. His clothes are sensible and plain and well-worn--chosen for comfort over appearance, and thrifty, besides.

In the Force, he is...inscrutable. There is no sense of light in him, the way it should be for any living creature. There is no sense of dark, either--just nothingness, like his soul has been carved out entirely. His presence is ghost-like, as untouchable as smoke where it doesn’t simply feel like Coruscant’s harsh noise. Obi-Wan has no doubt that he can only sense that much presence because Detective Kenobi allows him to. He can’t even imagine how this happened to him, except that it must have been something horrible.

"So?” Detective Kenobi asks. “Tell me, Master Jedi. What do you see?”

“I see someone who’s been through hard times,” Obi-Wan says. “And survived.”

Detective Kenobi considers that a few moments, then says, “Well. I suppose that’s correct enough.”

He stands and goes to put on an electric kettle. He rifles through his cupboards and pulls out a tin of leaves, and a single mug. He does not offer to make tea for Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan waits and watches. There’s practice to the way Detective Kenobi makes his tea--he does it a lot, here in this little undercity office. This alien space, a room Obi-Wan has never seen in his life and never would have if it weren’t for the address listed on a small HoloNet page, is a home for Detective Kenobi. This is a space marked by his presence, from the worn-out cabinets to the little decorative trinkets along the windowsill to the coat draped over the back of his chair.

For the first time since coming to this universe, Obi-Wan feels horribly out of place. The Temple and the city had been familiar and not so different from where he had come from, but this...this is a space for Detective Kenobi alone. There is no place for a Jedi Master here, and most certainly not Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Detective Kenobi brews a mug of tea. It smells like a high-quality Alderaan blend--it seems even Detective Kenobi indulges in nice things from time to time--and he takes it with one piece of rock sugar. He looks back at his datapad and makes no attempt at conversation. Obi-Wan may as well not be here.

After a long and awkward silence, Obi-Wan speaks. “Why didn’t you want the Temple to tell me about you?”

“I already answered that. I know your memory works fine,” Detective Kenobi replies. “If you have something you want to know, just ask it directly.”

Obi-Wan frowns. He’s spoken with hostile dignitaries with more tact than this. Well, if Detective Kenobi insists on blunt force, Obi-Wan has no choice but to respond in turn. “Why didn’t you want to see me?”

Detective Kenobi sips his tea. “Why should I? Just because you’re someone I could have been? The people I’m not don’t interest me.”

“And you expect me to believe you have no opinion on having a Jedi version of yourself in the Jedi Temple, interacting with people you once knew?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Should I? It’s their lives, not mine. If they like you and you like them, why should I interfere?” Detective Kenobi replies. “I’m sure they much prefer you to me anyways--better a Jedi Master from another universe than a heretic like me. Maybe you can have an actual conversation with them, and they can pretend I never left and the last twenty years never happened.”

There it is again. That bitterness.

Obi-Wan sighs. “Don’t say that. It’s your home. Your family.”

“It was my home. And it was my family,” Detective Kenobi corrects. “What, do you want me to be angry about you? About the fact that you have a family and home in the Jedi Temple and that you’ve been able to find a home there again in my universe?"

“Are you angry?” Obi-Wan asks.

“No,” Detective Kenobi says. “I don’t care what you do in the Temple or in this universe. If you get comfort from the people here who knew me, that’s good for you. I’ve got no quarrel with you, except for that you’re here in my office when I don’t want you to be, and that you’re still here even though you know I want you to leave.”

Detective Kenobi doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t feel angry, either, but Obi-Wan can’t exactly discern his emotions through the Force, either.

“If you wanted me to leave, you could have said so,” Obi-Wan points out.

“Oh,” Detective Kenobi replies. “I’m sorry. I thought you were smart enough to realize you were unwanted when I told the Jedi to not say anything about me. But if you can’t make basic inferences and you need me to say it in plain language, that’s fine.” He leans forward over the desk. “I don’t want to talk to you, Master Kenobi. I want you to leave my office and not come back. There’s nothing for you here.”

The Force grows heavy in that moment, and Obi-Wan has to brace himself to not shrink under it. “That’s not true,” he says softly. “There is a reason to be here--you’re here.”

“No. I don’t want anything from you,” Detective Kenobi says. “You’ve got no obligation to me just because we share the same face. There’s nothing you can do to change what’s happened to me. If you’re a kind man, you’ll leave and forget me entirely. Go be happy in the Temple and figure out whatever you need to figure out to go back to your universe. Leave me to my life and I’ll leave you to yours.”

Obi-Wan lets out a long breath. He likes to think he’s a kind person, but he doesn’t think he can do all that--he doesn’t think could ever forget Detective Kenobi, now that he knows about him. This bitter, abrasive man with the tact of a blaster bolt to the gut, the person he might have been if things had shaken out just a little bit differently. He can’t help but wonder what happened--what Detective Kenobi had to go through to end up here, now.

But Obi-Wan knows he’s unwanted, and he is not about to dig into a past that isn’t freely shared--it is, as Detective Kenobi says, none of his business, and there is nothing he can do to fix the past anyways. Detective Kenobi doesn’t need or want to know how things went one universe over, a perhaps kinder universe where someone would have gone back for him.

Obi-Wan stands up. “I see. I’ll take my leave, then.”

“Good. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Detective Kenobi replies.

Obi-Wan goes to the door, then hesitates. “Detective Kenobi. I’m sorry.”

There are a lot of apologies in there--for coming here when he wasn’t supposed to, for the hardships of the past that he could not change, for taking a place in the Temple that was never supposed to be his...

Detective Kenobi waves him off. “Go,” he says. “Do what you need to. Take care of yourself. Don’t come back unless you’ve got a real reason to.”

Obi-Wan nods. “May the Force be with you,” he says.

Detective Kenobi pauses, then sighs. His expression softens, just a bit. “May the Force be with you, too, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan leaves. The door closes behind him, and he doesn’t look back.

#fanfic #star wars #fic: asynchronous circuit #obi-wan kenobi #jessepinwrites

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