#i was trying to stand up and push him away when aayla stepped in to correct him

[theadventurek9]

Paragliders are the worst dog owners. They just let their dogs our on launch/landing zones and then take off and fly away for 20-60 minutes. Are their dogs friendly? Most are, but not all. Will they get into your stuff? Likely. Will some chase other paraglider pilots when they are launching and landing? Likely. Will they harass other dogs? Probably. 60% are well behaved dogs that just hang out. Yet its the 40% that is just obnoxious.

There are always a handful of dogs just wandering around on launch when it’s flyable. Always one that will chase and bark at people when they launch and land. A handful of those will nip at people as they are launching and landing. Its just obnoxious and terrible etiquette. 

[glimmerglanger]

Sooo, I got this prompt from @anstarwar

Hi! I just stayed up til o’dark thirty finishing MYB and just had to hop over and say WOW. Love your writing! If you’re still taking prompts for supplemental stories I’m super curious what happened to Bly when he “woke up?” I just can’t help but think it’d be so devastating for him....I wanna give him a hug....anyways thank you!

AND OOOOF. Well, it’s not going to be a...happy time? For anyone? You’re probably going to want to give him more of a hug after this?

This snippet deals a lot with mind-control related trauma, being forced to kill someone against your will, suicidal ideation/a suicide attempt, and survivor’s guilt. People don’t always handle trauma in a neat and tidy way. This is… NOT neat and tidy, anger is one stage of grief, and something people who are hurt lash out, so lots of warnings for all of that. Past Blyla. A lot of hurt.

~~~~

Bly had some information to work with, by the time the thing in his head just stopped working, between one breath and the next. The thing had controlled his body for a timeless stretch, piloting him around the ship, to his quarters and to the bridge.

It read all the reports issued by the Imperial Command, and so Bly saw them, too.

He’d read that the Vigilance had been taken, taken by traitors in a mutiny, and he’d wanted to cheer, because of course Cody had found a way out, a way around the things in their head. 

He’d read that the Emperor wanted the heads of CC-2224 and the traitor Kenobi and so he’d known, too, that General Kenobi had somehow survived. That Cody had been strong enough to - to not pull the trigger on the Jedi he loved.

Not like Bly, who had leveled his blaster on Aayla’s back and squeezed the trigger and--

He wished he could grab his blaster again, but his body fought him, over and over again, until it just stopped. 

Bly was standing on the bridge when the thing in his head just...went away. There was no warning, no way for him to prepare. One moment, there were restraints around every piece of him and the next they were just gone.

Someone whimpered, across the bridge as Bly stared forward, breathing raggedly, swaying on his feet. His hand moved, automatically, towards the blaster at his hip. His fingers curled around the grip and he had it in hand before Ambler hit him around the chest and bore him to the floor, panting, “Don’t - don’t - please.”

“Get off of me,” Bly rasped out and they were poor first words, ragged and wet. He couldn’t breathe properly. His eyes stung and burned. The entire world had gone blurry. He reached for the blaster again - he’d shot Aayla in the back, his General, his everything, he’d shot her in the back and--

“I can’t,” Ambler said, knee on Bly’s wrist, the weight making his fingers spasm open. “I can’t, sir, I’m sorry.”

And Bly tried to say something, anything, else, but the words wouldn’t come, not for a long time.

#

Ambler refused to give Bly his blaster back, even after Bly got his breathing under control. Bly stared at him, the initial surge of emotion that had come with freedom fading away. He could control it. He had to control it.

Ambler had done the right thing, Bly decided, behind his helmet. He had things he needed to do, before he-- 

Made up for things.

He shook that thought aside. His brothers needed him. They didn’t have a General anymore - he’d seen to that - which meant--which meant they needed Bly to keep them safe. To help them figure out what to do.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the tears drying all over his cheeks under his helmet, and ordered the nat-borns on the ship restrained. And then he started looking for the Vigilance. Cody had gotten them free, he had no doubt. Somehow, the crazy son of a bantha had freed them all, and--

And he was wanted by the Empire. Kriff, they were probably all about to be wanted by the Empire.

Which meant they needed to be together. They’d be safer in greater numbers. “We had a message about some kind of attack on Kamino,” Burr said, from across the bridge, as they tried to figure out where to go. “But the message got cut off.”

“Head there,” Bly said, his voice a ragged mess. It was as good a place to go as any.

#

They found ruination on Kamino, but no sign of Cody or the Vigilance. No sign of any of their little brothers. Whatever had happened on the planet was long over by the time they dropped out of hyperspace.

But there was a buoy, tiny and transmitting on a strange frequency. Circuitboard decoded it while Bly sat in his quarters, staring at the wall, trying not to think of anything, definitely not the way Aayla had looked in his bunk, blue skin peeking out from beneath drab gray blankets, lekku curling softly with pleasure, and--

The buoy was transmitting coordinates, Circuitboard said, when he commed Bly. Bly looked down to find that he’d torn his sheets into long strips. He’d been twisting them, winding them into a long rope.

He stared down at his shaking hands, just for a moment, and gave the order to head to the coordinates, rising to his feet. He felt he should be on the bridge, at least for the start of their journey.

By the time he got back to his quarters, someone had taken away the damaged sheets. They’d taken away a lot of things. The room looked almost bare. Prickle - his new medic - was waiting inside the room, arms crossed, and said, “I can stay in here with you, or you can come to the medbay with me, the choice is yours.”

“Do what you want,” Bly told him, hollow inside, and curled up on the bare bed, not thinking about Aayla’s fingers stroking over his brow or the marks on his cheeks or--

Or anything else.

#

Cody left them a trail of breadcrumbs to follow, like they were playing one of the hunt-and-find games they’d indulged in back on Kamino, years ago. Cody’d always been better at hunting than hiding.

Maybe that was still true, because Bly found the Vigilance in orbit around an ugly gas giant on the borders of Wild Space, a small little flotilla around it. There were two other Venator-class ships by the Vigilance, and for a beat Bly wondered if the entire thing was an Imperial trap, his he and his brothers were about to be shot out of the sky.

He didn’t raise their shields. 

And a moment later familiar voices came over the comms, shouting words of welcome and relief.

#

Cody insisted that Bly come over to the Vigilance. Bly wasn’t sure he technically had to obey Cody’s orders, anymore, but if anyone was in charge of all of them, it had to be Cody, and so he went. 

He stared at the wall of the shuttle, even after it landed. He managed to get to his feet when Cody opened the rear hatch, turning to look at his brother - his batchmate - opening his mouth and then closing it again, before asking, “How the kriff did you do it?”

Cody looked back at him, expression tightly controlled, and said, “It’s a long story.”

Bly just stared at him. He felt...hollow inside. Cody winced, a little, and then exhaled. “Come on,” Cody said, reaching out and gripping his shoulder, “I’ll tell you.” 

#

Bly listened to all of it. He had a feeling, deep in his head, that Cody wasn’t going into the details, but it didn’t really matter. Bly got the gist of it. Cody really had saved his Jedi. Nearly blown up his head to do it, but he had, while Bly had drawn his blaster and--

“Where is he?” Bly asked, sitting in General Kenobi’s quarters - the ones Cody had been living in for years - and staring forward, eyes burning.

“On the bridge,” Cody said, with a little shrug. 

Bly nodded. He remembered what Aayla had looked like, last time she’d been on the bridge, her eyes tired as she looked over holos, one hand bandaged from a fall, lovely and alive and--

“I should get back,” Bly said, standing, because his men were in Cody’s care, now, and, obviously, Cody would take better care of them. Cody’d almost killed himself, proving that, while Bly had just raised his blaster and pulled the trigger and--

“You’re going to stay here,” Cody said, like it wasn’t even a question, in the same tone that had led to them fighting more than once when they were shinies on Kamino, Cody always thinking everyone should just listen to him-- “Catch me up on everything. Get some rest, for a day or two.”

“With all due respect,” Bly said, tone too flat to be sharp, “I’m rested plenty.”

“I talked to Prickle,” Cody said, and Bly wondered why, staring forward, not looking at Cody, even when Cody tried to step into his field of view. 

“That so?” Bly asked, trying to muster the energy to care and failing. He should have cared about them whispering about him behind his back, but he just--

Didn’t.

“That’s so,” Cody said. “And so you’re staying here.”

“Fine,” Bly said, gaze flicking momentarily towards the blaster at Cody’s hip. “Whatever you say, sir.”

He caught Cody’s wince out of the corner of his eyes, and a part of him wanted to apologize immediately but-- He’d done so much worse. Things he’d never be able to apologize for, he’d lifted his blaster and--

“Good,” Cody said, firm. “Let’s get some dinner.”

#

Bly pushed mush around his plate. He ate a bite, maybe two. His appetite had died with everything else that mattered, systems and systems away from where he currently was. 

Cody made noises about him needing to eat more, but he’d just have to live with what Bly could manage, unless he planned to bring in a tube and force it down Bly’s throat. Maybe he would. Bly considered the idea dispassionately.

In the end, Cody just frowned over him and took Bly back to his quarters. Cody brought along an extra meal, and something in Bly’s gut twisted hard, just looking at it. He felt like there was something inside him, a dam, perhaps, and that it was starting to crack, all down the middle.

He didn’t want to know what was on the other side of it.

“Why don’t you get in the fresher,” Cody said, and Bly shrugged. The fresher looked the same as the one he’d used for years. There was even a Jedi robe hanging on one of the hooks along the wall and for a moment he could imagine--

But it wasn’t Aayla’s. The weave was too heavy. And she’d preferred darker, richer colors. Earth tones. He stared at his fingers, clenched in the fabric, and made himself release it with a shudder. He took off his armor. Set it aside. Stepped under the water.

Aayla had loved the decadence of a water shower. She’d insisted he join her in one, more than once, the two of them wedged in together, laughing as they jostled for space and it always ended with her in his arms, hands sliding on the slippery walls, her fingers clenching at his shoulders, and--

He’d shot her. In the back. Hadn’t even hesitated. Ordered her body pushed into a shallow grave and she’d probably been ravaged by scavengers and--

Bly jerked out from under the water. He dried off, pulled back on a set of blacks that looked clean. Cody’s, he assumed. They mostly fitted; after years of different experiences, their bodies were no longer exactly the same. They’d built muscle differently. Some of them were stronger than others.

Cody had managed to fight the thing in his head.

And Bly had--

He tried to hold together the splintering dam inside his head, stepping back out into the main room. He wondered where Cody expected him to sleep, and the consideration fell out of his head when he realized they weren’t alone anymore.

Cody was sitting on the end of the bunk, talking to General Kenobi, low and earnestly. And Kenobi--

Was alive. Standing there in his tunic, his hair with more white in it around the temples than Bly recalled, a lightsaber on his belt. And seeing him split the widening cracks in Bly’s chest even further. He felt his jaw grinding as Kenobi looked up and over at him, inclining his head a little as he said, “Commander, I’m...so sorry, I--”

Kenobi cut off at a sharp, ragged-edged sound. Bly realized after a moment that it was coming from him. Laughter. 

Kenobi shifted his weight back, just a little, as Bly rasped out, “You’re sorry?”

He was distantly aware of Cody standing up, reaching out and putting a hand on Kenobi’s stomach. But that seemed like it was happening somewhere else. Everything, the entire world, was Kenobi’s expression, his too-wide eyes and the way all the color had washed out of his face. 

“Bly,” Cody started, and Bly felt his mouth twist up, felt the last little pieces of resistance in his chest wash away. 

“You’re sorry?” Bly repeated, taking a step forward. “She’s dead and--you’re sorry? You?”

Kenobi took a step back. “I--”  

“It isn’t fair,” Bly snapped, moving closer, and oh, it wasn’t, nothing about this was fair, it was brutal and wrong and -- “She’s dead, and you’re still here. Still just fine, aren’t you? Just like always? And you’re sorry?”

Cody stepped between them, one hand extended out towards Bly, mouth moving when he said, “That’s--”

“Why did you get to live?” Bly demanded, trying to bat Cody’s hand out of the way. Cody grunted and reached to grab him. “When she died? Why couldn’t it have been her? Just -- it should have been her, not you, she was--”

His words cut off when his shoulders hit the wall, both Cody’s hands in the front of his blacks, something dark and snapping in Cody’s eyes when he snarled, “That’s enough. Not another kriffing word, do you hear me?”

Bly opened his mouth, and never got a chance to say anything, because Cody jerked back from him at the sound of retching from the fresher. Cody swore, viciously, and pushed him against the wall again. “You stay right there,” Cody snapped, heading for the fresher, reaching for his comm and spitting something into it that Bly didn’t hear.

When Bones showed up, a few moments later, to collect him, Bly went along willingly enough. Whatever anger had moved through him had dissipated as quickly as it had come. He just felt… empty again. Completely empty.

[complementaryhalves]

#Obikintober: Day 13

Oct. 13: Knighting ceremony

A few years after the war, Ahsoka becomes a Jedi Knight, and Rex throws her a surprise party to celebrate. Of course, Anakin has a lot of feelings about it.

Anakin/Obi-Wan; Anakin & Ahsoka; Ahsoka & Rex

Recreational drinking, Partying, Fluff, Good feels

Word count: 2371

Read under the cut or on ao3!

It was Rex’s idea, of course.

Anakin would have gone for something simpler, probably nothing more than a dinner in a nice restaurant in the upper levels of the city, but Rex insisted that the GAR had its traditions, and that it was bad luck not to celebrate a promotion in the right way.

Anakin didn’t even try to argue. Although Ahsoka wasn’t technically part of the army anymore, since the war ended and the GAR was reformed to become a voluntary-based peacekeeping corps under Senate jurisdiction, he knew that the men of the 501st would never stop seeing her and Anakin as their superior officers.

So, he let him organize the whole thing, promising to bring Ahsoka to 79’s at a set time and trying to make her believe it would have been just a couple of drinks with two or three people.

He doesn’t know if he managed the second part, but when she walks into the bar, it doesn’t really matter if she suspected anything. The room erupts in cheers and applause as Anakin pushes her forward, and the surprise on her face is entirely genuine as she gapes around the main room. The bar is packed with troopers from all the battalions she ever worked with, as well as some of her friends from the Order, including, of course, Barriss, Plo, Obi-Wan, Aayla and Luminara.

Rex is standing in front of everyone with a smug grin and sparkling eyes. As soon as they lock eyes, Ahsoka seems to spring forward, leap almost, throwing herself into Rex’s outstretched arms, her happiness blasting through the Force with enough strength that all the Force-sensitive beings in the room took a step backwards.

Anakin pointedly avoided looking at them to see if anyone would disapprove of such public displays of affection from a newly knighted Jedi. He could not care less. The pure, uncomplicated affection rippling from the two of them should be enough to shut up any possible criticism.

He’s ripped from his bitter musings by a trooper he doesn’t recognize pushing a flute of golden sparkling wine in his hand. He’s got a few Ryl words tattooed on the side of his head, so Anakin guesses he must be from the 327th, the corps Aayla used to lead during the war. Looking away from him, Anakin notices that a few evidently designated clones are spreading the same glasses to everyone around the room.

“General,” the trooper addresses Anakin, who doesn’t bother to correct him. “Do you want to do the honors?”

He must have said it quite loud, for the entire room now turns to look at him, including Ahsoka and Rex, who are still locked in a half-hug in the middle of the floor.

“With pleasure,” Anakin responds, taking a step forward and holding his glass in front of him with his flesh hand.

“If ten years ago, on Christophsis, someone had told me about this,” he gestures around the room with his mechno hand. “I would have told them to go see a mind healer.”

Some scattered laughter ripples through the room, mainly from the men of the old 501st, and Ahsoka rolls her eyes.

“I never thought I could be a good person, or a good Jedi, let alone a good enough Master to train someone to knighthood. I won’t lie, training you has been the greatest challenge of my life,” he pauses, staring into Ahsoka’s eyes and feeling his throat close up as he notices that they’re shining wetly with emotion. “But also the greatest honor and joy.”

“I thank the Force for giving me the chance to be your Master and you, Snips, for being good enough to make the best out of my shoddy teachings. You’ve grown into a fantastic person and an amazing Jedi, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Anakin smiles at his former Padawan across the room, knowing his own teary expression to be a perfect match of hers. It takes him another deep breath before he’s sure that his voice won’t crack, and then he raises his glass.

“To Ahsoka Tano, Jedi Knight!” he calls out loudly, immediately followed by the entire room, joint in a deafening chorus.

In the moment of silence that follows, as everyone takes a sip of wine, Ahsoka points her own glass at Anakin, and though she doesn’t say anything, she lets out a wave of gratitude and love and pride in the Force, which he welcomes like a balm to soothe the subtle melancholy lapping at the back of his mind.

The moment is broken as people resume talking and Rex grabs Ahsoka’s attention again to lead her towards the bar, and Anakin is left to watch her go, observing the back of her head and feeling his chest tighten uncomfortably at the lack of the two strings of silka beads usually swinging between her montrals.

“That was a very nice toast,” a low, familiar voice startles Anakin out of his feelings.

He turns to see Obi-Wan smile at him, warm and gentle and understanding. He’s not afraid to show him his teary eyes, nor the flurry of complicated emotions wreaking havoc inside of his mind and heart. If anyone in that bar can understand exactly how he’s feeling, that’s Obi-Wan.

“Should we get more wine?” the older Master proposes then, his compassionate smile turning slightly sly, and Anakin finds himself nodding before even formulating the thought to do it.

A couple of hours later, the party doesn’t seem to be slowing down in the slightest. The Clones’ tradition, it turns out, consists of a series of increasingly complex games whose purpose is, quite simply, to make the guest of honor drink their own weight in alcohol, whether they win or lose.

Anakin has lost count of how many shots Jesse has pushed into Ahsoka’s hand around fifteen. He knows that she can handle herself, but still, he can’t help feeling a little concerned about what state she’ll be in at the end of the night.

To be fair, however, the rest of the room doesn’t seem much different. Jedi and clones are mixing easily, helped by drinks and food and a wealth of interesting stories to share. Some of them are even dancing more or less together to the sparkle-bop music playing loudly through the speakers.

He’s had his fair share of catching up to do with all of his former subordinates who refused the offer to join the new peacekeeping corps and went to travel the galaxy. Fireball, who became a rather successful professional race pilot, offered him free tickets to any of his races, whenever and wherever he wants. Fives and Echo are very happy in the repair shop they bought on Womrik, a peaceful, verdant planet in the Mid Rim, and made him promise to come to visit whenever he’s on missions nearby.

Once he finishes talking to Flashpoint, a former member of his Gold Squadron, now employed as a pilot for a private escorting company, Anakin moves towards the side of the room to put some distance between himself and the bulk of the people.

From there, he sees Ahsoka dancing with Barriss, both of them leaning into the other’s space, almost too close for comfort, all smiles and giggles and little touches. A little away from them, he finds Aayla in a very similar dynamic with Bly, his hand firmly pinned on the bare skin at her waist and her arm loosely draped on his shoulder.

Chuckling with himself, Anakin looks away to look for Obi-Wan, finding him sitting around a table with Plo and a couple of clones. He watches him for a bit, considering how rude it would be to interrupt him, before he remembers he can use their mental bond to subtly nudge at his consciousness from a distance. It’s more or less the telepathic equivalent of a tooka asking for cuddles by nudging at someone’s hand. When Obi-Wan turns to find him across the room, his smile also looks a lot like the one he makes at any stray animal trying he tries to approach.

He watches him as he excuses himself from the conversation and walks around the crowded dancefloor to reach the spot where Anakin is leaning against the wall.

“Hey,” he greets him softly once he’s within earshot, placing a hand on Anakin’s hip. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Anakin shrugs. “I just need some air. Come outside with me?”

Obi-Wan responds by nodding and turning his hand with his palm up towards the doors, inviting Anakin to lead the way. Once they’re outside, Anakin slides down one of the large transparisteel windows to sit on the pavement, with his knees folded up to his chest, and Obi-Wan quickly follows him, sitting next to him in the same position.

Anakin rests his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and exhales heavily. He feels Obi-Wan turn slightly and press a kiss on the top of his head, and he closes his eyes, relishing in the tenderness of the touch. Passersby must assume they’re drunk or something, given the way they walk around them, but Anakin couldn’t care less.

Slowly, thanks to Obi-Wan’s comforting closeness, and the soothing suggestions he can feel him attempt to infuse into him, Anakin manages to release some of the tension he’s been accumulating in his back and relax a little.

“It’s been a long day,” he mutters after a while, as a half-hearted justification. As if he needed one, as if Obi-Wan couldn’t read his true feelings perfectly, through the Force and by merely knowing him too well.

Because of that, he only makes a little noise of assent, without pushing for more, while his hand finds Anakin’s flesh one to lace their fingers together and hold it against his leg. They just sit there together, breathing slowly, ignoring the stares people give them as they walk or fly past, until Anakin feels strong enough to speak his mind.

“What happens now?” he asks, barely louder than a whisper, to which Obi-Wan chuckles softly in response.

“What do your instincts tell you?”

Anakin opens his mouth to answer, but Obi-Wan catches the scent of his negativity before it even touched his lips and clicks his tongue in amused disapproval.

“Your instincts, Anakin, not your mind.”

Anakin sighs heavily, turning his face downwards so that his forehead presses against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and his voice comes out muffled by his arm.

“I guess… No, okay, I know we’ll still be friends, and go on missions together, and that I’ll be around to annoy her immensely once she gets a Padawan of her own. We’ve been through too much for that not to happen. But…”

Obi-Wan gracefully ignores the not-very-subtle jab at his intromission into Ahsoka’s training in favor of pushing Anakin to open up more.

“What are you afraid of?”

Anakin sighs, pressing closer into Obi-Wan’s body and squeezing his hand. “I think, mainly, that she won’t bother with me now that she doesn’t need me anymore. Not that she ever did, to be fair, but you know what I mean.” He sighs again.

“Think about it this way: the less she needs you, the better you did your job as a Master. And, personally, I believe you did a fantastic job. I never doubted you could train her to be such a fine knight, despite all the horror we’ve been through.”

Taking in his words, Anakin raises his head slowly to face Obi-Wan. Part of him would want to laugh, because if he judged Obi-Wan’s training by how much he needs him now, that would make him the worst Master in the history of the Jedi Order. Now is not the time to say that, though.

Now he looks into Obi-Wan eyes, their crystalline blue shimmering with emotion under the glow of the streetlights, and his fond smile, reflecting the affection pouring out of him in the Force, and he’s got something more important to say.

“I would have never made it without you. Not without everything you taught me, not without your love and support, and the way you’ve also been a Master to her, just as much as I have.”

Obi-Wan inhales sharply, but Anakin squeezes his hand before he can start to argue.

“You know it’s true, and Ahsoka knows it as well. I’ve caught her calling you her Master more than once before, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually went around bragging about having had two Masters instead of just one,” he says, and he can tell from the way Obi-Wan blushes and lowers his eyes that he’s thinking about all the times he slipped and called her ‘our Padawan’.

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, his breath comes out slightly unsteady through his parted lips, to then transform into soft laughter, which makes his shoulders shake against the window. “I guess it’s only fair. Yours wasn’t exactly the most conventional of apprenticeships, so your Padawan’s couldn’t be too normal either.”

As he says that, he glances at the window behind Anakin’s head, and laughs again, although it’s laced with a bit of concern.

“I have to wonder, though, which one of us taught her it’s appropriate for a Jedi Knight to drink alcohol out of a trooper’s helmet.”

Anakin snaps around to check out the scene as well and laughs as he watches her tilt what looks like Jesse’s old helmet, the one painted with her face markings, to get the last few drops into her open mouth.

“I think she learned that all by herself,” he says with no small amount of pride. “And,” he drags out the last letter, turning back towards Obi-Wan with a grin. “I think I’ll ask her to teach me, if you don’t mind?”

“Amazing how quickly the apprentice can become the master,” Obi-Wan laughs as he lets Anakin pull him to his feet.

Anakin stops in front of the door to leave a quick kiss on Obi-Wan’s cheek and whisper a ‘thank you’ in his ear, and then he tightens the grip on his hand and drags him back into the bar, loudly demanding for a refill.

[passable-talent]

what about,,, modern au,,, punk mucisian au,,,, anakin with tattoos pLEASE

may I introduce u to my new favorite gif...

also. plot twist! what if,, and hear me out,, you’re the musician, and he’s the fan?

i made an entire setlist for this fuckn au of my taste in punk-ish rock-ish music to base certain lines, moods, and lighting off of. it exists. i’ll hand it over if you ask.

stumbled over this headcanon as i wrote but,,,, modern au anakin absolutely grew up in nevada. desert. middle of nowhere. close to vegas and the racing. automobile industry. thank u for ur time  

This whole ‘music’ thing was actually working out. Imagine that. 

You were gaining fame slowly- your record company still didn’t get you big gigs, but you got something. 

Something like this, in fact. A small, dingy laser tag place, but it was perfect nonetheless. Perfect for you. You felt right at home- it was too hot, and the audience was still loud, since the music hadn’t started. The stage was small, but the lights were bright, and you were standing behind the curtains that had been hung barely a foot from the wall. 

“Ready?” you heard Padme ask- Padme, the lead guitarist, your best friend. She was on stage, currently, hidden from the crowd by a blanket of black. On the other side of the stage, you knew, was Ahsoka, the drummer, a little tiny teenager you’d picked up last summer when your original drummer quit, and beside her was undoubtedly Aayla, your bassist. You were lucky- you were surrounded by such great friends that you could pull your weight without having to play the guitar. Which was good for everyone- you were an awful guitar player. 

“Anytime, loves,” you said, a smile lighting your lips. You’d almost overdosed on the anti-anxiety pills this morning- the feeling of playing a gig still unfamiliar and nerve wracking. 

But you heard the music start, and started to sing. 

Only when this particular song really kicked into gear did you toss open the curtain, and the cheer went up, almost drowning out the music. You were certainly the fan favorite of the band, only because you were the most expressive. You didn’t have an instrument, so you got to run around on stage, and kneel down to reach out, brushing your fingers to the crowd’s as you sang, like God to Adam. 

It really wasn’t a looks thing- for some, it might be, but not to most. Hey, if there was anyone that should really get the attention, it was Padme. She was unfairly beautiful. 

The great thing about being a punk artist was that most of your fans were, too. They came with their tattoos and snuck in their weed, their ripped jeans always leaving with a few more holes than they arrived with. A band like yours, so dominated by women, had really caught on with a female crowd, but there were always guys here, too. You never really cared to know if it was their dicks or their ears that brought them.

There was a little bit of a problem, though. You were well known for trying to make connections with as many fans as you could- not for your sake, but for theirs. You loved taking selfies, touching their fingers, winking at them during a particularly suggestive lyric, guys and girls alike. Which lead to a little problem, one that Ahsoka loved to refer to as your ‘wattpad fantasy’. 

Growing up when you had, you’d all been all over the internet, into each of its corners. You knew the common trope that teenaged fans had with their favorite artists- that they’d catch the eye of the main singer, and get dragged backstage after the show.

You had the opposite fantasy. Too many times did one or another audience member catch your eye, and yeah, sometimes you did consider catching them before they left after the show. It never worked- either you lost track of them, or you didn’t have the guts to go through with it. 

When you laid eyes on him, though, you wanted so desperately to go through with it tonight. 

You tried not to be obvious, you really did try to be subtle- but whenever the multicolored lights caught his hair, your gaze was pulled back to him, no matter how much you wanted to give equal attention to every audience member brave enough to wrestle their way to the front row. 

But you also wanted to make sure he knew. That you’d noticed him.

With one or two lyrics, lines like “tell me that you love me, even if it’s only for tonight”, you let your eyes catch his, hoping to whatever powers there might’ve been that he’d be looking back at you. 

The halftime break, the intermission, came faster than expected, and you dropped into the one room the laser tag place set aside for you, and tried to clean as much sweat from your scalp and hair as you could. 

“Alright, what is it?” Padme asked from behind you.

“What to you mean?” you asked, glancing at her through the mirror you were using to try to artfully smudge your eyeliner. 

“You’re favoring the left side of the audience. What, find a wattpad boy?”

“Another one?” Ahsoka called from the other side of the room, rubbing sore callouses on her palms.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved them off with a laugh, “let me dream.” 

Act II came around, and back to the stage you went, trying to be even more subtle this time around. Still, you kept track of him- he hadn’t moved far. Maybe, if you watched him carefully enough, you’d get to meet him before he left. 

It was hard to do, and you hadn’t yet been successful. You really weren’t supposed to offer fans any ‘free’ attention, or at least, that was the way your manager had put it. If you let everybody take a picture with you, then no one will buy backstage passes. 

A sentiment that your anarchist side absolutely resented. Fuck capitalism, you wanted to chill with your fans. 

But hey, back on topic! It was amazing how you could totally tune out during a song, and tune back in, still strutting around the state, still singing perfectly. Luckily, you’d brought yourself back to reality, right when the second to last song was about to end. 

When it faded away, you stepped to the center of the stage, readjusting your mic quickly and letting a real smile come over your face. 

And this- this was it. No matter how fantastic any show was, it would never top this. You always went out with the same song, way back from your first album, one of the first you’d ever written. You heard Padme start to strum.

“And with that, we’re coming to the end,” you said over the guitar, speaking to the audience like you knew every person there. “So I want you to all sing along with this one. Every damn word. Because tonight- this is a night none of us are going to forget.” You’d said it a hundred times, and yet, you meant it every time. When you stopped speaking, you started singing, abandoning your strutting and stomping for just standing at the front of the stage, looking at them all. 

“It was a fall night, late night-” There was a reason you always ended with this song. It was so beautiful, and so sensual. It was a promise, between you, and your band, and your fans, a promise that it was all for them, not for whatever rode in their wallets. A promise that you would keep looking out for them. 

And when you began the chorus, you dropped to your knees, getting that much closer to them, your smile so genuine, because you could hear them, every single one of them, like they were performing for you. It was their night as much as yours, it was their music more than it was yours. 

A hundred voices welling up around yours was always what kept you awake at night, kept you coming back, pushing through the looks that people gave you when you said you were trying to make it in the music industry, pushing through the late nights where you couldn’t make it through that lyric. This song, right here, this was what brought you back, kept reminding you what mattered. 

You stopped singing, and they continued without you. They always did- they would see how you just looked at them all, with the realest smile they’d ever seen, and they sang for you. 

You couldn’t help it. You watched him- and he was singing, too. 

This time, you knew for sure. You knew he was watching you, too, and when your eyes locked, the voices around you all swelled to a crescendo, like a soundtrack to the scene you were living through. 

You had to snap yourself back into the world to pick up the second verse. It stayed just as intimate, just as amazing, all the way to the end of the song, when you sang the final note, and just stood there, basking in it, in a world made just for you. 

The stage lights flickered out, and you disappeared into the dark. 

Over your earpiece, one of the roadies informed you that your mics were off, and that’s exactly the way you liked them. You dropped onto the stage, hanging your legs over the front of it. You were still a few feet from the closest little fence, but it was closer than you’d been to them yet. 

“Hey, guys,” you hissed toward anyone within earshot. That alone, in the dim light, gathered a crowd of twenty or so who had noticed you. You always did this at the end of the show- just to let them hear their name on your tongue. 

And maybe, today, to find him. 

You looked to a girl who had her hand outstretched to you, and you took it briefly.

“Hey, what’s your name?” you asked, and she shouted back “Oran!”

“Oran, almost like the color, huh?” You were so much more at ease now than you were, before the show. “I bet you hear that all the time.” You turned to someone else, always trying to make it through as many people as possible. 

How many could you touch base with before turning to him, so that it wouldn’t be suspicious? Was three enough, or should you do one more?

No, when you caught his eyes, there was no turning back. 

“Hey, what’s up,” you said, fighting to keep your heartbeat under control. 

“Anakin,” he said, then pulling a bright yellow card out of his jacket. That, you’d recognize anywhere- that was a backstage pass. 

Like the universe was aligning for you. 

“Well, Anakin, if you’ve got a pass, I’ll see you later, yeah?” As you usually did from a person who had a pass, you moved on quickly, giving this time to others who wouldn’t get more. You heard six or seven more names before Ahsoka was tugging on your shoulder. 

“Alright, alright,” you groaned, throwing your legs over the stage again and standing up, but not before blowing one last kiss toward the small crowd you’d gathered. 

As soon as you made it back, into where the speakers cluttered up all of the space, you collapsed against Ahsoka, laughing as she struggled to hold you up.

“What, thinking about your wattpad boy?” she said, throwing you to your feet.

“Oh, not again,”  Aayla whined, “he’ll be no different than every other one that you dream of finding at next week’s show, and then never see again.”

“No, no, this one’s different!” you insisted, grabbing onto Padme’s shirt. She brushed you off with a laugh.

“Oh yeah? How?” 

“His name is Anakin,” you said, rubbing your lower lip between your teeth. “And he’s got a backstage pass.” 

“What??” Came the collective cry, and you shushed them all before your manager appeared. 

It was showtime, baby. 

There were two or three of them, in total. The passes tended not to sell too well, and there were only a few available, anyway. The band just wasn’t quite big enough to pull that kind of fandom, save for a few die-hards who would one day get to pull out a photo and say ‘see? I was there at the beginning.’ 

Anakin was the last of the bunch. 

“Great to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand for real this time. His eyes were damn intense- no wonder you’d been mesmerized by them. 

“You too,” he said, and introductions went just as seamlessly with the others. Padme hugged him, and Ahsoka, little firecracker, gave him a playful punch for telling her that she looked taller when she was on stage. 

Now- there’s a reason Padme’s your best friend in the world. 

“Hey, it’s getting late,” she informed you, as though she were telling you to wrap it up. But she was smarter than that, and had set up the perfect trap.

“Oh,” Anakin said, looking slightly guilty and quite disappointed. “Well, I-” 

“Nah,” you cut him off, smacking the back of your hand against his chest, “You paid for fifteen minutes, you’ll get them. We’ve just got to start packing up. You can chill with us, if you want.” No matter the fame difference between the five of you, he was just another guy in his early 20′s, the same as the rest of you, save for eighteen year old Ahsoka. He meshed well with the lot of you, and even helped load ‘Soka’s drums into the truck. 

And, hey- he knew what he was getting into when he climbed into the back of the van with the four of you.

And what he was getting into was a bumpy-ass ride to one of the shittiest hotels the area could offer. It wasn’t even midnight, and you didn’t feel like climbing into bed just yet, so you let him follow the four of you upstairs so you could grab your phone and room key before leaving them to entertain themselves for the evening. 

“Come home alive!” Aayla called as a farewell, and Ahsoka snorted from where she was laying on her bed. 

“Come home capable of walking,” she said, and Padme saved you by slamming the door shut. 

“So what’s there to do around here?” you asked him, shoving your hands into your pockets. You walked close to him, shoulders almost brushing with each step, and his smile was just for you.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely nothing. You’re lucky you found the laser tag place.” You looked toward him with a laugh, the ugly carpeting of the hotel hallway stretching on forever in front of you.

“Seriously? How could you survive?”

“Hey, not every town is downtown LA.” 

“I’m flattered you think I’m famous enough to live in LA.” You stopped at the elevator, punching the down button. He nudged your shoulder playfully, those piercing blue eyes flicking over your face. 

“You’re gonna be. You guys are really good.”

“Good to know I have your blessing for my career.” 

“I’m serious!” he said with a laugh, and when the elevator door opened, he let you inside first. 

“Yeah, yeah. So if there’s nothing to do around here...” You tilted your head at him, watching as he rested his shoulders back against the buffed metal wall. “What do you do?”

“Find a friend’s basement to smoke in,” he said with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but join him. “Mostly we go see movies, or sneak onto a roof, if we’re lucky.” You narrowed your eyes, letting your gaze slide to the elevator buttons. 

“A roof, you say?” 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble-”

“Anakin, answer me this-” You pulled out your phone to check the time. “Do you think the lobby security agent of this Comfort Inn is going to be dedicated enough to check the roof at 12:23 AM?” The world outside this elevator didn’t exist as his lips turned up into a smirk.

“No, I don’t think they will.”

“In that case-” You slipped your second knuckle against the highest number on the wall- 6. Not very impressive, but it would do.

Once the elevator went down to the lobby, and back up again, you stumbled your way to the stairwell and up, finding the door that said ‘roof access- do not enter’. Since when do you ever listen?

If you listened to some red sign on a door, you wouldn’t have your head on Anakin’s shoulder, looking up at more stars than you’d ever seen in your entire life. 

You’d grown up in California, too close to some of the largest cities in the country to ever see the night sky like this. He’d grown up here, where there were warehouses for shipping to Reno, or Vegas, or Salt Lake City, but none of those cities were close enough to steal the sky.

“See those two, right on top of each other?” He asked, pointing to an area a few degrees up from the horizon.

“Yeah, I think,” you said, and he lifted his left arm, where he had a constellation pattern tattooed between his elbow and wrist. 

“It’s this one. The phoenix. The first constellation I actually saw in the sky.” You reached out, taking hold of his elbow, and positioning his arm, from your perspective, just next to the constellation. “My mom took me out to a field and showed me the stars,” he said, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the fondness in his voice. “For a long time, I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Me too,” you said with a laugh, “but I wasn’t good enough in math.” 

“My mom’s friend Watto says I’m too good with cars to fly a ship.”

“Wouldn’t that make you better?” You asked, readjusting so that your shoulder pressed to his. It was a little cold.

“You’d think so, right?” You were such a loud person, that all too often you fought against silence- not tonight. You let it envelope you, bringing with it peace. You could hear Anakin breathing, and it was so calming, your eyes slipped closed.

“You’re going to fall asleep up here,” he said, a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

“Shut up,” you groaned, “I had a long day, and you’re warm.” 

“You should go back to the room, then.” You rolled over onto your stomach, then, taking a good look at him. 

“But that would mean that this night has to end.” He lifted his chest up by planting his elbows down, bringing himself closer to you. 

“You said it yourself,” he said, voice smooth and quiet, “this is a night we’re not going to forget.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want it to end,” you breathed, unable to look away from him. You barely noticed it when he begun to lean forward, but then his lips were on yours, and that you certainly took notice of. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, thanks to the shock and the welcome nature of it, and you leaned into it. He brought his furthest hand up and let it slide to the back of your neck, as though he could keep you from pulling away. You wouldn’t.

Your lips were still parted when he pulled away, your mind struggling to catch up. He’d- he’d just-

Calloused fingers brushed your hair back, and you opened your eyes to their touch, being drawn right back to his gaze. 

“Then it doesn’t have to.” 

-🦌 Roe

part 2

[detroitbydark]

Chp 13

Characters: Commander Fox x Mouse (reader), and more Jedi/clones/politicians than you can shake a stick at.

Summary: that one time Padme throws a big party, Bly cracks jokes, fox hates himself some more, mouse wears matching underwear, and Anakin has a heart to heart.

A/N: Snuggle up Fox Fanciers this boy is stupid long and full of yearning on a level I didn’t know I could yearn. You’ve been warned!

Special thanks as always to @skdubbs and @crimson-dxwn for being my sounding boards and supporters in all this. Love you ladies! 😘

————

“For the love of the Force…” Mouse curses quietly. Padmé was never going to let her live this one down. She turns, admiring herself in the floor length mirror. The kriffing dress was perfect. Like, absolutely perfect. Had she not lost a few kilos since Coruscant she may not have even fit it to begin with but she had and it did and it was all that mattered at the moment.

It was easier to admire the stunning red dress clinging to each curve, cutting off just below her knees than it was to think about him. Yeah, knowing Fox was going to be there and seeing him were two entirely different things. Seeing him had felt… complicated. 

There had been a split second when she’d first laid eyes on him in that door, bucket slung under his arm, that she would have done anything he asked just to be near him. The loss she’d felt the first few days on Naboo was nothing in comparison to what she felt when he’d entered the Senator’s office. It was a blessing to be holding Leia, to have Luke as an excuse to leave as soon as she could. 

She couldn’t think with him there. Her first instinct had always been to radiate to him, even before she’d really understood that was what she was doing. Fighting that instinct was hard and it hurt, but she didn’t think she had it in her to be that girl anymore. She didn’t know if she could give all of herself again and again to be pushed away when he got scared. 

Padmé had said all the activity would be just a few days and then they’d be back to normal. Mouse just had to survive. She’d gotten good at that.

On the way out the door she questions retrieving a shawl. She’d be eating with warriors, battle hardened soldiers. She doubts their delicate sensibilities would be thrown into a tizzy by the sight of her scars. Maybe the more delicate socialites and their wives, but she doesn’t much care for their opinions.

She reaches up to touch the skin of her shoulder as an afterthought. It wasn’t the appearance so much as the feel of it she didn’t like. She hated rubbing the lotion into it, the almost rubbery feeling of the proliferative tissue there, but the doctors had said it was important to keep it softened to prevent it from tightening and contracting over the joint. So, two to three times a day, Mouse let go of her own uneasiness and pressed the special lotion into the skin, rubbed and massaged until the skin was pink with irritation.

The walk to the grand dining room is short and Mouse's heels echo softly down the large hallway. She can hear the conversation before the doors are even opened for her, punctuated by deep, masculine laughter. She’s fashionably late and Padmé raises a brow from her spot across the room. Mouse offers an apologetic smile and the senator returns it. Anakin stands a foot behind his wife. His attention is split between watching her and conversing with his former master. 

It’s odd seeing the Jedi, both men, in formal wear. Tuxes just don’t look quite right on them. That’s not to say they don’t cut striking figures - General Kenobi would have his choice of Coruscanti society girls if he marched around the capitol like that. It's just a little wrong to see the Jedi not in their robes.

“Sweetling!” The deep rumble drags her attention from the senator who returns to speaking with the men in front of her, neither of whom Mouse recognizes.

“Marshall Commander,” she greets, turning and accepting a soft kiss on the cheek as Cody draws near.

“Mous’ika,” he chides, using the name he’d obviously heard somewhere.

“Yes, Cody?” she asks sweetly, managing to hold in her giggle until he laughs.

“That’s more like it! How have you been?” 

Mouse falls into conversation with the Commander of the 212th. They’d met a handful of times now since she’d arrived in Naboo. The Commander had accompanied his Jedi on more than a few visits and while General Kenobi was spending time with his former Padawan, Cody had taken to having tea with Mouse and Padmé. He was a steady man who loved to gossip over holodramas and sip herbal tea. In another life maybe, Mouse could picture him as a professor, or maybe the owner of a bookshop. Something quiet, studious.

A server makes the rounds as they chat and Cody plucks a flute from a tray and hands it to her. She takes it with thanks. The bubbles tickle her tongue as she takes a drink. Something prickles at the periphery of her senses and she glances around, trying to figure it out what it might be. She shakes off the feeling and gives her full attention to the Marshall Commander in front of her.

“This isn’t either of our particular scenes, I believe. We’ve got to blend in somehow.” He holds up his own tumbler in show, amber liquid and round cubes of ice rolling around in its confines.

“That’s very true. I was afraid I’d get here and be relegated to a wallflower.”

“As if Padme would allow that,” he scoffs.

Mouse laughs again. “Are you always right, Cody?”

“Ask General Kenobi.”

Music plays quietly, a string quartet from Coruscant flown in for just the night, as Mouse falls in at Cody’s side. A few troopers  in dress greys stop to chat for a moment here and there and Mouse dutifully smiles and offers polite conversation, laughs at the appropriate times. She recognizes some here and there, a scar or tattoo sticking out in her memory, all Commanders with the occasional Lieutenant thrown in for color. She feels the sensation again and can finally place it. It’s as if someone is watching her. Cody offers her a questioning look as she glances around again. She flashes a smile and shrugs. She was being silly. No one was watching her.

“Are you still sponsoring the little girl on Coruscant?” Cody asks, making polite conversation.

“Me’kar? Yes, I actually just received a comm from her guardian the other day. She’s doing well, picking up basic incredibly fast.” Mouse had started sponsoring the child shortly after her arrival, not able to get her bright smile and sweet eyes out of her mind. It wasn’t uncommon for the children’s home to accept sponsorships to supplement the small stipends they received from the Republic. It cost money to keep the children dressed and fed and extras could be more than the budget allotted for. Mouse was more than happy to do it and the updates and occasional holo from the little girl were bright notes in her week.

“Have you given more thought to adopting her?” Cody asks knowingly, as if it was a forgone conclusion.

“I’m still thinking.” Mouse shrugs. It wasn’t a decision to take lightly, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl and what it would be like to come home to her everyday, to be a mother to a child that needed one. She’d once harbored a silly dream of a family with one clone commander and little Me’kar playing a starring role. Now she still thought of a family, but maybe just of two and not three. Cody glances over her shoulder, a smile splitting his features. Mouse turns and sees, arguably, the most beautiful Twi’lek woman in the galaxy wrapped in a body contouring dress that looks nearly painted on. 

“Have you met General Secura? Let me introduce you. She may be able to answer some of the questions you have.”

———

Aayla Secura was wonderful. Mouse found herself completely enthralled with the twi’lek woman as she spoke of Ryloth, customs, and traditions. The Jedi didn’t think her idea of adopting Me’kar to be improper and encouraged her. Family was important for her people and she didn’t believe any child should grow up without the opportunity to have one.

“I would encourage you to fill out whatever application needs to be started immediately. Bring the little one here or raise her on Coruscant, either way it sounds like you’ve been thinking a great deal on it. You’ve asked such important questions. The rest is all just figuring things out as you go.”

Mouse can’t help the bright smile she flashes. Aayla glances over her shoulder as Mouse takes a swallow of her second glass of bubbly. It’s sweet on her tongue and reminds her of Fall orchard fruits, crisp and delightful. She’s just a little bit more relaxed than she’d been an hour ago as the alcohol works to relax her nerves when she thinks she feels eyes again. She’s quick to laugh it off as nerves - she hadn’t been around so many people in ages.

“Have you met my Commander Bly yet?”

Mouse wonders on “my” for a moment, but as soon as the Commander is at the Jedi’s side she wonders no more. He stands close, closer than to be expected and his hand rests along the cutout in the Jedi’s dress for just a moment longer than is proper as he greets her. 

“I’m rounding up stragglers, sir,” he says with a half smile, turning and offering Mouse a nod. She holds out a hand and Aayla introduces her. Bly has a moment when his brows twitch up in unison before he takes her hand and shakes it gently. “If you ladies would care to, I believe we're supposed to take our seats for dinner.”

Bly offers his arm to his general and she slips hers through it, allowing him to guide her. Mouse follows a half a step behind as they move to the grand hall. Large round tables are set up under sparkling chandeliers. Mouse tries to break off to a smaller one, out of the way and to the side of the room, but it seems Cody has taken up the rear behind the trio. He takes her arm gently as she tries to veer off.

“I believe you were assigned a seat of importance, Sweetling.”

Mouse shakes her head. She really was only here because Padmé wouldn’t hear of her not being there. She tries to explain to Cody as Bly glances over his shoulder. A look passes between the two troopers.

“I’m sure there’s at least one seat left at the head table.” 

Mouse watches as Aayla gives her Commander a questioning look. She swears she sees him wink.

She’s not watching where he guides her, still gently trying to plead her case. She looks to her left and sees Padmé smiling brightly and knows she won’t back her up in her decision to hide in the shadows. Cody pulls the chair out for her as she offers him a grumpy look. He chuckles and captures her hand, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. Mouse feels her cheeks flame, too flustered to come up with anything in response. She doesn’t pay attention to the set of greys next to her as Cody nods and she slides into her seat. Not until he walks to his own seat beside General Kenobi does Mouse turn to introduce herself.

And comes face to face with the Commander of the Coruscant Guard.

Fox is leaned back in his seat, brow raised in her direction. He radiates slow simmering irritation.

“I- I’m sorry” she doesn’t know why she’s apologizing. She had nothing to do with this. Her eyes dart around frantically trying to find any other option, an escape, but all the other seats are full and the last of the guests are taking their places at the other tables. If she got up now she’d only draw more attention to herself.

Fox says nothing as he turns back to his drink and Bly on his other side. Mouse stares down at her plate, her stomach already twisting into knots. She throws back her drink, downing the rest in one swallow. A passing waiter offers her another and she readily accepts. Maybe if she’s just a little bit drunk this wouldn’t be so bad. 

Padmé clears her throat and all eyes fall to where she stands at the head of their table. She’s resplendent, of course, in a loose cream gown that drapes her in the most eye pleasing of ways. Even if she didn’t have an air about her that demanded attention, her wardrobe choice alone would have done the job.

“I’d like to begin by thanking everyone for their company on this lovely evening. As I’m sure you’ve heard,” she says as if she’s letting the room in on a grand secret, “we’ve recently welcomed our first children into the world.” The small gathered crowd laughs as if on cue. Mouse glances to the other tables. She didn’t know faces, but she’d dutifully typed all the names into the guest list Padmé had dictated. They were some of the most influential individuals in the outer rim. Padmé has thought to treat this evening as a soft unveiling of the plan she’d eventually propose to the senate. It was a test crowd of her peers. She’d use their reaction to modify and gauge where to go from here.

“Now,I find being a mother is much like being a senator. There is always something that needs doing and a mother’s work, much like a senators, is never done.” She offers a smile as she glances from one side of the room to the other. 

“The men and women I have invited here today,” she gestures to the clones and Jedi around her “are very familiar, also, with work that never seems to be done. These are the Marshall Commander and Commanders who keep the Grand Army of the Republic afloat. They and their men risk their lives for a Republic which has given them nothing in return, and for that,” Padmé gives a gentle smile around the table, “I want to be the first to openly admit that we have done them a grave disservice.” 

Mouse glances to see the wait staff lining up along the walls with the first course. She really does try to pay attention to what the senator has to say, but Fox is so close. She can imagine she wouldn’t have to move far to be back against his chest, feel his hot breath against her skin. Maybe he’d wrap his arm around her, hold her tight, whisper sweet things in her ear-

Maker, she was pathetic. Her stomach turns in agreement.

“Throughout this evening I hope each and every one of you enjoy yourselves, and I also hope that you take a moment to give these brave men some of the gratitude that we, as a Republic, have denied them for far too long. Something I hope we will begin to change in the not so distant future.”

Polite clapping erupts as staff circles the tables and places the first course in one impressively synchronized movement. As Padmé sits, her husband leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. Mouse looks away.

The food looks good. Or at least it should. Mouse had helped pick out the menu herself. Crudité, a small salad of exotic fruit, a light dressing. It should be perfect. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it if the sound of silver clinking against china meant anything. She takes a bite and chews carefully - it has all the depth and flavor of sawdust.

“I didn’t realize you had a type.” 

Mouse glances at Fox who is firmly staring at his own plate, chewing as if nothing is amiss. He’d always looked good in his greys but he looks utterly delicious now. His hair is longer and his face is shaved clean of its usual five-o’clock shadow. 

“Excuse me?” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t take you for a trooper chaser.”

The food very nearly gets stuck in her throat as she attempts to swallow. She takes a pull of wine from her glass, coughing lightly.

“Everything ok, Mous’ika?” Cody asks from across the table, concern evident.

Retrieving her napkin from her lap, Mouse covers her next cough. “I’m fine, Cody.” She tries to give him a reassuring look from behind the fabric. “Must have forgotten to chew,” she jokes awkwardly. At her side Fox makes a low sound. Cody glances between the pair of them for a moment before turning back to General Kenobi at his side.

“Cody,” Fox says, and Mouse catches the quick flash of brown eyes. “I seem to remember it took nearly a year for you to say my name. You’re moving faster.”

“Why are you saying this?” she questions. Why would he think such a thing? She hadn’t done anything that deserved such an accusation. He shrugs before turning to Bly and asking him a question about field munitions.

It leaves Mouse's head spinning. No one else seems to notice as they all speak quietly to one another.

“Commander Bly? General Secura?” Bail looks to the other side of the table and the pair. “What are your feelings on Senator Amidala’s personhood bill I sent you?”

 “Far be it from me to dislike a law that makes me human,” Bly cracks. A round of laughter rises among the other troopers present. Aayla rolls her eyes at her Commander in an unmistakably fond way.

“What I believe the Commander is trying to say Chancellor, is that it is a more than welcome change to the status quo.”

“I was trying to say that?”

“Yeah, the vocabulary seems a bit past him,” Fox cracks dryly. 

Aayla looks from one to the other. “Force I wish General Koon and Commander Wolffe could have been here. Maybe than you’d remember how to behave.”

“The ori’vod is the one who taught us,” Bly offers with faux indignation.

Obi-wan manages to smother a chuckle, though a smile still tugs at his lips. “Master Plo Koon sends his deepest apologies. The Wolffe pack is still firmly entrenched on their mission and he didn’t feel it appropriate to leave them.”

There’s a general consensus of agreement among the group. Mouse catches General Kenobi's occasional glances around the table, the majority of them falling between Commander Bly and his General.

“Senator Amidala,” he begins, his voice pensive, “How do you propose to introduce your personhood bill?”

Padmé gives a warm smile. She’d been waiting for this; Mouse can tell by the way her eyes sharpen and the slight quickening of her voice. “I think we need to show the public that it’s not only the GAR that stands behind the Clones, but also the Jedi Order as well.”

Mouse makes a small sound of dissent, feeling Fox adjust next to her.

“Mous’ika?” Cody questions, “Do you not agree with the senator?” Mouse looks embarrassed as she glances Padmé’s way, but the senator looks more curious than anything. Mouse gathers her thoughts while she finishes her glass of wine. A passing server goes to refill the glass but, at her side, Fox waves him off. She wants to glare at him, but all eyes are on her, waiting.

“I’m no politician, so I’m not sure my opinion should amount to anything,” she begins, “but general public opinion about the Jedi Order is not…” She looks apologetically at the few Jedi at the table “Well, it’s not good right now.”

There’s some concerned looks flying her way. Bless. It was easy to miss what was happening at home when one was in a war zone the majority of the time. 

She reaches for where her wine should be and grabs a glass of water that hadn't been there a moment ago. She takes a sip before speaking again.

“It would be a poor decision to align solely with the Order on this one, I feel. Just a look at the holonews and you’ll see articles and op-eds questioning the Jedi’s involvement in the war.”

Fox clears his throat.

“She’s right” How sweet it was to hear those words. “We’re dealing with domestic terrorism on an unprecedented level. Nothing that we can’t handle but it’s something to take into consideration. The public feels like the Order has overstepped its bounds. It lacks policing of its own.” Fox holds up his hand when Obi-wan goes to speak. “While that may not be the case, in the court of public opinion the Order is guilty more than it is not.”

Mouse can feel him looking at her, handing the reins back over. “The average Coruscanti already is apprehensive of such a large military force within their presence. It’s going to take some doing to convince them to see the troopers as anything but soldiers awaiting orders” she finishes diplomatically.

There are speculative looks and nods around the table. “Much to think about,” Bail agrees, taking a slow sip of wine. His eyes linger between her and Fox for far longer than she likes. “Thank you.”

Mouse nods, her cheeks glowing hot from the attention. Her hand brushes against Fox’s as she sets it back down on the table. Her fool’s heart skips a beat when he doesn’t pull away immediately. She fights the urge to lace her little finger with his. Luckily, the next course comes and they both have to adjust to the changing of plates.

Her stomach is still turning in loops and food is still not something that sounds appealing in the slightest as the main course comes out. She doesn’t even remember what it’s supposed to be. It looks like it was probably delicious, roasted meat and delicate fresh vegetables sautéed to perfection. She takes a few testing bites but her plate remains mostly untouched.

“Quit pushing your food around and eat”. Of course she hasn’t forgotten Fox is sitting next to her. It must have been too much to hope he had forgotten about her. 

Again, when she glances his direction he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her. She doesn’t acknowledge he’s said anything and listens in quietly as the others at the table chat. 

She takes another bite and chews slowly before swallowing.

“Come on, another,” he says. This time something is softer about his voice. When Mouse looks she sees him glancing at her. 

Her chest tightens uncomfortably. Why did she give him the power to do this?

“Mouse.” 

She thinks for a moment that she just might be imagining things. Under the table Fox’s booted foot knocks softly against hers letting her know she wasn’t. This wasn’t fair. 

“Eat.” It’s a soft plea. He didn’t get to be soft with her anymore. He didn’t get to give orders. He’d lost those privileges.

“I’m not hungry.” 

Fox’s head turns slowly at her words. “You could have fooled me. You look like a strong wind could blow you away.”

“Let it go, Commander. You're being ridiculous,” she manages to whisper under her breath. She doesn’t realize the table has gone quiet, that half a dozen or more pairs of eyes are watching them. Fox hasn’t either.

“There are faster ways to kill yourself than starvation. I’m sure you remember at least one other way.” The sudden acid in his voice hides the sound of frustration and strikes a direct hit.

Mouse has never considered herself a dramatic person, far from it really. So the rapidly rising urge to turn and punch him in the eye comes as a surprise. The anger behind it is soon replaced by mortification when she realizes that everyone has gone quiet.

Cody’s jaw is set into a tight line, the antithesis of Bly’s slackened one. Both Aayla and Bail are staring down at their plates. Mouse doesn’t look at the others.

Fox is frozen at her side, unmoving and unspeaking. Horror is dawning in his eyes as she pulls the napkin off her lap and places it in her still full plate.

His hand fumbles reaching for hers under the table but she skitters out of his reach.

“If you’ll excuse me?” She addresses the gathered group, “I’ll be back shortly.” Hot angry tears are already starting to swell in her eyes as she pushes away from the table and makes her way from the great room. She manages to keep it together until she’s in the guest wing. She doesn’t slide to the floor in a heap til she’s in her room.

She doesn’t return to dinner.

————

 “You know I remember it all.”

The words catch Fox by surprise. He picks up the tumblr resting along the stone terrace wall and takes a drink as he looks at the Jedi - former Jedi- he didn’t even know what Anakin Skywalker was anymore.

“Congratulations?” Bitterness is already brewing in his gut. First Mouse and now this? Could it get any worse? Could a man not drink away his self-loathing in peace?

“The first time I met the Chancellor I was a child, but I remember it like it was just this morning. He smiled at me. It was like having someone see me for the first time. Like my Mother. Like Qui-Gon-“

Fox isn’t in the mood for this. 

“-as I got older his attention focused on me. He honed me. Groomed me for something-“

“That’s great, sir, really.” He’d failed to hold back his acidic comments when Mouse had been near. Now that it was Skywalker he doesn’t even care to try.

“Shift it Fox and listen to what the kriff I’ve got to say.”

Fox brings the glass to his lips and finishes it in one long, slow pull before taking it and throwing it out into the placid lake below. It would have felt better had it smashed. The urge to break something has been simmering on the back burner all night. Skywalker was bringing it to a rapid boil. 

“And what are you trying to say Jetii? Your life story means to me about as much as sith spit.”

Something dangerous flares in the other man’s eyes. “We’re the same, you and I.”

Fox barks a laugh, a bitter stagnant sound as he feigns turning away for just a moment only to spin right back. “You and I are nothing alike. Are you one of millions? Does your order see you as interchangeable battle fodder? Tell me your serial number, sir.”

“Your loyalty is unquestionable. You would do anything for the people you care about.” Anakin seems undeterred by Fox’s growing ire. “We both love women who are far stronger than we gave them credit for-“

“Shut up.” Fox’s voice is low, a warning growl from a wounded animal. He’d already hurt someone he’d claimed to love, said something ugly and cruel. It wouldn’t take much effort to get him to throw a swing against the man in front of him.

“-we think we know best. Sometimes we do. Then we let our own ego get in the way and we hurt the ones we love with our good intentions.”

“What about shut up don’t you understand?” Fox takes a step forward, chest out. He wants this to escalate. 

“What I don’t understand is how you can take a girl like her and purposefully hurt her. I watched her put a blaster to her-“

“ENOUGH!” Any cool Fox had left vanishes as he closes the space between them. His finger jabs into the other man’s chest, punctuating his point. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to talk about that night.” 

How dare he. In the end, who was he but Sidious’s favorite lap dog? Rage boils over as Anakin steps into the jabbing finger, making Fox take an unwanted step back.

“Yeah? You want to go there? Pretty sure I remember being there just as much as you were. I was also there when your blaster killed Fives.”

Fox can’t hide the way he flinches at the name. 

Anakin takes a slow even breath before he speaks again. “Fox, I’m not going to say I didn’t want to turn the damn thing on you and put two through your composite -Jedi way be damned- but I can look back and remember what your face looked like. When you stepped in the corner where you didn’t think anyone could see? You didn’t want to shoot Fives. You didn’t want to kill your brother.”

Fox closes his eyes, tipping his head up toward the night sky.

“She knew that too-“

“You think I don’t realize what she was doing? You think I don’t realize she was ready to sacrifice herself so I didn’t have to kill someone else I - “ He opens his eyes focusing back on the Jedi. 

“But you didn’t feel her in the Force like I did. I was as much of a mess as any of us but you know what I felt coming from her?”

Fox shakes his head. He doesn’t want to know.

“Resolve. Love and resolve. She would have done anything to keep you safe. She was the only steady one of us all.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” He’d seen it in Mouse’s eyes, that decision she’d made and would have followed through with. For him. The nightmares where she had to follow through still found him, the ones with her wide eyes staring up blank and glassy while smoke rose in tendrils from her head.

“Because we're the same. Our love was used as fuel for manipulation. It was a tool to gain our compliance. I saw a future where Padmé died. Over and over and Palp- Sidious made me think I could stop it. If I did what he said I could stop it all. Then he was dead and I still had the dream. But you know what? She would have died at my hands because of me, because of my blind, fumbling attempt to prevent it in the first place and my children -” Emotion swells in his voice.

“When I watched you tonight, when I heard what you said, I saw those very blind steps I had been taking all over again. Stop it, Fox. She doesn’t deserve it.” Anakin stops and takes a deep breath, 

“You don’t deserve it. Let the pain stop.”

Fox drags himself away from the Jedi, turning his back to stare out at the expanse of water below. “There’s no fixing what I’ve done”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“And I think you’re a fool.”

———-

Fox feels spent. Physically and emotionally exhausted, riding the fallout of an adrenaline surge down to rock bottom after his confrontation with Skywalker.

He’s ready for bed. He needs a solid six hours of sleep. Maybe a coma? 

He wasn’t pleased with the continued attempts by others to force something with Mouse that was obviously not meant to be. He wasn’t pleased with his own behavior in response to it. He wasn’t a Hutuun, but he had certainly acted like one. Honestly, he'd rather take the butt of a blaster to his head as opposed to thinking about it anymore. 

He tried to think of something else. Personhood. Not in a million lifetimes did Fox think someone as powerful as the Chancellor of the Republic or one of its most brilliant senators would take up the torch for him and his brothers. It was bound to be a controversial bill but after listening to Bail and Padmé speak, it didn’t seem so overwhelming. It was a real possibility that the end of the war wasn’t going to mean the proverbial scrap heap. The end of the war could mean citizenship, recognition, lives outside of battle and the GAR. 

The thought left him a little lightheaded - or maybe that was the Alderaanian wine that had been flowing. 

He tries to rein in his excitement at the thought. If Fox had learned one thing in his time in Coruscant and among politics it was that politicians were exceptionally good at dragging their shebs when it came to anything good. It would require finesse and more than a little debate for the good Senator to see her plans to fruition. If anyone could do it, it was Padmé. The time frame in which she could do it was up for debate. Fox raises a brow as he looks down the hall. If the sound coming from General Secura’s room meant anything, there was some very brisk debating going on between the General and her Commander. 

Fox tries not to look at Mouse’s door as he goes to his own. He tries not to think about what personhood would mean for his vode that had broken regs and found something to fight for outside of the GAR.

 Fox is  barely in his door, already bending to remove his boots when he hears it, a soft plaintive voice in the hall. It’s instantly familiar. He’s already cursing himself. He’d done enough to her tonight. Obviously, he’d proven that he couldn’t be in the same room without hurting her. He hears her voice again and he’s pulling the door open without a second thought. 

Mouse is leaning half in the hallway. “Hello?”

The disaster that had been dinner flashes in his mind's eye as do Skywalker’s words from a short time ago.

Let the pain stop.

Clearing his throat, he steps into the hall.

“Oh Maker...” it’s not the exact thing he was hoping to hear as she laid eyes on him, but he’s sure it’s no less than he deserves. “It had to be you, didn’t it?”

Fox gives her an appraising look. Her cheeks were hot and flushed even before she’d seen him and the gown she’d worn to dinner is still firmly in place. Her gentle eyes are rimmed in red. She looks just as stunning as she had a few hours ago. 

The foundation his resolve has been built upon continues to crumble.

He chides himself. That foundation had never been strong, not when he’d asked Bail to transfer her, not when he’d seen her in her hospital room, certainly not when she’d given him the cold shoulder earlier when they’d arrived. It seemed everything about Mouse worked to destroy the barrier he’s tried to erect between them.

“What’s wrong?” He asks gruffly. He’s tired from travel and of the mental gymnastics he’d been putting himself through. Mostly though he was tired of feeling like he was fighting with both her and himself.

Mouse's eyes dart each way down the hallway as if looking for someone else to save the day. She isn’t that lucky. A particularly loud moan coming from Secura’s room emphasizes that point.

“My dress-“ a new wave of red blooms in her cheeks, “the zipper is stuck. I’ve been trying for nearly an hour and…” She glances down at the floor and her bare feet. He hates that she won’t look at him but he’s done nothing to earn that honor now has he?

He huffs taking a breath and a leap. “If you don’t hate the idea of my help, I’m willing to offer it.”

Mouse's eyes slowly rise back to his. “I-“ she’s making a decision as well. He can see it written across her face. Maker, he thinks, please give me this one chance.

“Yes. Please.” She stutters out her answer, pulling away from the door frame and moving into the suite. She glances over her shoulder as she moves as if she’s afraid he wouldn’t actually follow.

Mouse stops near a small dressing table with brushes and makeup laid out on its top. A full size mirror is immediately to its side. She watches him in the reflection. It’s the first time since the hospital on Coruscant that Fox has been alone with her. That feels like so long ago, another life and time. They’re two different people now.

He steps carefully into her space as if one off movement would spook her and this would all end. This close he can smell the soft floral perfume she’s dabbed on. He can feel the heat radiating from her. Equal parts comfort and temptation rolled in one. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says suddenly. Skywalker’s words haunt him. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” Mouse’s head cocks to the side as she watches him.

“Why did you then? I’m certainly not Cody’s type and-“

“And what?”

She steals herself. Fox can see the deep breath she takes before she speaks again, “even if I was, my interest will always lie elsewhere.”

The meaning of her words strike home. “Me? After everything?”

“It was always you.” She admits softly.

She still- she still cared for him? After everything?  After he’d nearly killed her. After he left her maimed. After he pushed her away over and over. 

More of the wall crumbles. All he’d have to do now is take one big step and he could be over it.

“So, this zipper you were talking about?” He deflects, needs another minute to think because there's too much to sort through and he can’t make more mistakes. Not with Mouse. Not with them.

She nods softly toward her left side, pulling her arm forward to show the jammed apparatus. Fox closes his eyes. Her scars stand proudly from under the thin straps of her dress. When he opens them he catches Mouse watching him in the reflection, her look is sad. 

“I can find someone else-“ 

His hand immediately drops to her hip as she tries to walk away, pulling her back and erasing the laughable space in between them. The shock shows on both of their faces.

“Easy,” he manages, and after a moment she settles against him. His thumb rubs small circles over her waist and he’s not sure if he’s trying to soothe her or himself. “I’m just coming up with a plan of action.” That draws a small smile from her but it’s all the encouragement he needs. “You need help taking your hair down?” He turns his head, the tip of his nose brushing against the soft strands still secured in their up-do.

 It’s an absolute sithshit question, she had two working arms she could remove all the pins and clips herself, they both know this. Fox just wants- he wants more time. He wants to be ready to look at the damage he’s done and not feel repulsed by it. To maybe, just maybe, not hate himself when he looks at it.

“I- yeah, that would be helpful.” She says quietly after a moment. She sits on the stool in front of the mirror, her eyes following his actions with apprehension and curiosity. Fox takes a steadying breath and begins. 

He’s never done this before, that is to say done anything more than held hairpins passed to him by senators like Padme and Chuchi on a transport after an event when they complained of the intricate styles giving them headaches or had simply needed to feel free of the bindings of senate formality. He’s seen enough though, and begins to work slowly from the base of her skull working up to the crown of her head. Mouse holds out her hand and he drops the thin pins in as he goes. As her hair begins to spill down, he watches her transform before his eyes back into the mouse he’d always known. Loose waves frame her face, still painted to perfection. Her red lips part and a soft breath escapes her as he massages his fingers along her scalp. Tension melts from her shoulders and she begins to lean back into him as his fingers rake through her hair, untangling strands until they slip smoothly through her fingers.

“You're going to make me fall asleep if you keep that up,” she says finally. The ghost of a smile crosses his face.

“Come on then. Stand up. Let’s get this thing undone before you have to sleep in it.” The stool is pushed to the side as she stands, and Fox moves a half a step back so he can see what he’s doing.

“The chain,” she says softly, catching his attention. “Unclasp it first, before the zipper. I can’t reach that at all.”

The thin gold chain hangs low on her bare back, spanning the distance between the straps of her dress. It glitters temptingly in the light, just like it had when he’d seen it earlier at dinner, when his mouth had gone dry at the mere sight of her.

Fox meets her eyes in the mirror as his hand moves softly from her right hip, up and over her back. His fingers drag feather-light over the bare skin they find. Mouse's eyes flutter shut and he can see her inhale deeply. Her skin was still as soft as he remembered. He gently scoops her hair to one side, over her right shoulder. Her eyes are still closed.

“Breathe, precious girl,” he orders softly, fighting a wince at the pet name that slips out. If Mouse cares, she doesn’t let on. She exhales slowly, opening her eyes at the end. Her pupils take a moment to adjust back to the light. “Am I ok?” he asks quietly.

“Are you?” There’s no heat or snark in her words. She’s staring at him, genuinely curious.

“I think so.” His fingers find the tiny gold catch holding the chain in place and it opens with ease.

“Can you- do you think you can do the zipper. If it’s too much to look at I-“

Fox stops her with a low sound. She hadn’t looked unsure or self conscious in the gown she wore all night. He wasn’t going to be the one to make her question it now. He’d already done enough. 

“I’m good.” 

He gently presses her left arm forward to gain access. He takes a steading breath as he looks down. The scarring spills across her shoulder, two shades lighter than her normal skin tone. He’s seen plenty of burns in his career and this wasn’t the worst but it feels like it is because he was the cause of it. A few centimeters more and he would have missed her entirely. A few centimeters the other way and-

His fingers move to the gown, easily plucking open the hook and loop closure at the top of the zipper. Mouse sucks in a sharp breath as the tips of his finger skim along the bare skin there.

“Is this ok?” he asks. She nods mutely. “I need words, Mouse,” he urges as gently as he can muster.

“It’s good.” Her voice wavers slightly as she speaks, “Go- go ahead.”

Fox can hear his heart beating in his skull. He can hear the rush of air through his lungs. Everything feels loud as his fingers slowly work at the jammed zipper. Mouse’s breathing is shallow as his fingers press into her, as they pull and twist until whatever has been keeping the closure jammed comes loose and it slides down. His fingers trail behind the zipper as it falls open.

He looks up to find her eyes on him again in the mirror's reflection. Her pupils are blown wide and her lips are parted. Fox feels the beginning wave of blood rush to his groin, the surge only becoming stronger as Mouse slowly - carefully - reaches up and slides the right strap of her gown down. She doesn’t look away from his reflection as her hand trails across her collarbone to the left strap. She pauses as if waiting for him to tell her to stop.

Fox puts the tips of his fingers over hers and together they lower the strap. He can see the rest of the scar now, can really get a feel for the size and the shape of it. It’s glossy compared to the surrounding area, as if her skin had been pulled too tight and frozen that way. She slides her fingers from the strap - laying flat against her lower arm - up, bringing his fingers along with it.

“Does it hurt?” The question slips out as her fingers glide over the surface.

“Not usually. It pulls sometimes,” she says softly, “They both do. I use lotion, try to get it massaged a couple times a day.” Fox’s eyes lock on hers. “The other option was worse.”

That’s right. She could be dead. He’s tried not to think of that the last few months, so trapped in his own guilt about hurting her that each time the psych droid brought it up he immediately countered with how she wasn’t and she had to live with what he’d done to her.

“Can I…?” He glances down and then back up. Mouse gives him a tense smile and a nod.

It feels different from how skin is supposed to feel. It feels thicker, less textured missing the fine hair that covered the rest of her arm. He traces the outline of it. It had only been glancing, the distal part of her shoulder taking the brunt of the burn from the bolt. His fingers map out the boundaries twice before he comes to a stand still.

He doesn’t want to stop touching her. 

“Where’s your lotion?”

She doesn’t question him. He can see it in her eyes, in the split second of hesitation. She doesn’t want this to stop either. 

One arm moves across her chest to hold her gown in place while the other reaches to the dressing table and wraps around a bottle. Fox takes it when offered and squeezes a small amount into his hand. 

He’s taking that step over his wall, he realizes.  It doesn’t feel like much of an obstacle anymore anyway as it lays in crumbles at his feet.

Her skin is warm under his touch, no real difference between the good tissue and the scarred as far as temperature is concerned. He works the lotion into her skin pressing his thumb in firm circles from the edges to the center. Mouse lets out a tiny sigh and it’s becoming more difficult to ignore the desire roiling in his belly. 

“Fox…”  he hums in response to the soft moan of his name, “it feels so good.”

“I missed you, Cyar’ika.” He offers tentatively as he presses in close, aligning her back against his chest. His free arm wraps around her waist holding her lightly against him. His hand falls away from her skin and his mouth descends to pepper soft kisses. She was warm. She was alive. she could be dead but she wasn’t and in the end it was because of his actions that he could still hold her, still hear the soft hitch in her breath as he sucks gently at the juncture where her shoulder and neck meet. 

Mouse’s head tips, offering him more room. Her arm falls away from her dress and reaches back behind her, cradling the back of Fox’s while he sucks a mark into her skin. A sea of red flutters to the floor as the dress falls. Fox growls as he looks up and sees the pair of them, him still in his greys and her naked except for a small lacy pair of red panties. His red. From there his eyes travel up, finding the other shot he fired. 

The scarring to her right flank is worse than the shoulder; he can see the puckered skin and the patterned appearance of healed grafting but he doesn’t feel the wave of guilt he’s felt earlier. She was alive and hot in his arms.

“Tell me to stop.” He demands quietly against her skin, “make me stop.”

Mouse’s hips press back against the hard line of his erection straining in his greys. Another low growl spills from his lips as he spins her around. Her lips are on his in an instant, messy and desperate as she presses up and into him. Her teeth pull at his lower lip. “Fox…”

His hands cradle her face as he slots his mouth over hers, breathing in the air she gives him like a gift from Fett himself. He can feel the press of her breasts against his chest, the way her hands wrapped around him and gripped at his back. 

It was a dream. It had got to be. If it was, it was  the first good one he’d had in months. Mouse whines quietly as his hands slide down and grips her hips as if they were the only thing tethering him to this reality. It’s too much and he should stop but he can’t because what he should do and what he wants to do are too wildly incompatible.  His fingers graze over the pebbled skin of her right flank. Mouse inhales sharply.

“Stop.” The word leaves her mouth with sudden desperation, like it had been pulled from her body unwillingly.  It’s like a bucket of cold water thrown over Fox as he jerks away.

Mouse turns from him, shaking her head as she snatched up a robe and quickly wraps it around herself. They’re both panting quietly.

He’d done something wrong, misread her signals. He was scum. He was an idiot. He should-

“I can’t do this again” She’s still breathless when she speaks, ruby lipstick smeared over swollen lips. “Fox look at me.” She demands quietly when he tries to turn away. “You can’t do this to me again.”

“Do what?” He can hear the desperation in his voice, he sounds pathetic.

She looks at him for a moment before she moves closer to him. He wants to turn away. He doesn’t want to hear how he’s ruined everything, how everything has become clear but it was now too late. 

Her hand comes up softly to his cheek as she looks at him through dark lashes. Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“You can’t make me want you again, not if you're going to push me away when things get hard.” She has her free arm crossed over her chest. Her tone isn’t as strong as her words. They waiver as they fall from her lips. 

He wants to make her every promise in the book before he even knows if he can keep them and it’s not about getting his dick wet.

He misses her. Has missed her every single day since the horrible event in the Chancellor’s office.

He misses her smile - the soft one she saved just for him. He misses the way she viewed the world  from a different but similar way he did. He misses planning for a future with her even if he hadn’t told her any of it. Most of all he misses the quiet moments, the times when they would just lay together and enjoy being near one another.

“It was all for you Cyar’ika.” He says with force, as if he said it sure enough he’d convince her that every action he’d ever made in regards to her was completely selfless.

“Kriff” she curses, shaking her head. Her hand falls away and he misses the warm feeling of her skin against his, “you of all people-“ she mutters under her breath before speaking clearly.

 “I get to make choices Fox. When it comes to my life, I get to weigh the risks and benefits and I get to make choices. You took that away from me. Have I loved being here?” she asks, gesturing around at the sumptuous suite, “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t, but would I have rather been with you? Do you know that answer.”

Fox shakes his head.

“That’s right! Because you never asked. The truth is I would have rather been with you every minute of every day of the last three months. Doing paperwork, writing schedules, reviewing supply requisitions, it wouldn’t have mattered because I’d have been with you.”

“Cyar’ika, I didn’t-“

“No Fox, you didn’t think.” She sniffs lightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life and you pushed me away. You turned your back on me when I needed you and now? Now you’re here and we fall into our old patterns? Not again. Not unless you can promise me you are in this 100% because I can’t do it again. My heart just can’t.” 

Fox reaches out and swipes a trailing tear with his thumb “I-“ She leans into his touch, her cheek resting against his palm as her eyes drift shut. Just one second. she allows herself that. She straightens and steps away before his eyes can memorize the image of her.

“No, don’t say anything right now. Leave. Think. Decide what it is you really want. If it’s me you can find me and let me know.” There’s a finality to her words that has him biting back any response he may have made. She steps into him, rising up on her toes and gently bumping her forehead against his own.

“I do love you,” he says quietly.

 Mouse blows out a ragged breath. “I know. You just need to decide if that’s going to be enough.” She moves toward the door, opening it. “Goodnight Fox.”

[meridiansdominoes]

Showers of Starlight

Incoming blyla incoming blyla incoming blyla

This issssss the sequel to ‘Catch the Rain’ that was posted a few weeks ago! @thatfunkyopossum HAPPY BIRTHDAY UR MY FAVORITE <3

(this is like, 6k words?? Is that okay to post in this weird tumblr format?? It’s gonna be mad long... well idk,,, but here it is anyway on ao3 too in case you don’t want to destroy ur dash with a long post heh

ao3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758554

Aayla finds her Commander standing out on the little balcony, dressed in civilian clothes and staring out into the city. Night turns Coruscant into an endless sea of luminescence. Air lanes become lines of shooting stars pressing onward in the darkness. Skyscrapers around them glow with the light of thousands of residents inside, creating trails of brilliance that ascend up towards the black sky. 

By the time Aayla arrives at the complex that serves as the temporary housing for her officers while they’re on leave, the sun has disappeared from the sky, and she’s mentally exhausted. A full report to the Jedi Council takes effort and energy that she has to fight to produce, but she is required to give her debriefing before she can get some rest herself. She’s relieved that it’s over now, but there are still a few things to take care of. Her men need to be fully settled, otherwise Aayla won’t be able to sleep well tonight. She knows that Bly will take care of things, but she needs to verify their wellbeing for herself for her own peace of mind. Here on Coruscant they’re finally safe, and she has to remind herself of that somehow.   

Though visiting Bly to check on the men isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If anything the thought makes some of her exhaustion leave her as she steps into the lift that will take her up to her Commander’s quarters. The journey upwards is smooth and quick. When the doors open on the correct floor, Aayla steps out and immediately finds one of her officers in the hallway, clad only in his blacks.  

“General!” Captain Brine says in surprise, blue eyes widening. He snaps off a quick salute automatically. The effect is dampened slightly by the pillow he has tucked under his other arm. “What are you—oh. Looking for the Commander?”

Aayla nods. “Are you well, Captain?”

Brine shrugs.

“Well enough, sir. It’s a bit odd to not be on the ship, but the rooms are nice. Though the pillows leave a lot to be desired. I had to go find myself a new one.”

Aayla huffs out a tiny laugh. 

“I’ll take your word for it, Brine. Could you direct me to Bly’s room?”

“The last one on the left, sir,” Brine answers without hesitation. He meets her gaze carefully, something unreadable flashing across his face. “He’ll try to keep working instead of getting some rest like he should. Maybe you can help him where I can’t.”

Aayla blinks at her Captain, but before she can fully make sense of the words Brine is already retreating towards his own room. He closes his door behind him, leaving Aayla alone in the hallway. She sighs and makes her way to the end of the hall until she stands in front of the very last door on the left. 

It isn’t locked. The door slides open when she knocks lightly on the durasteel. She steps inside. The rooms that Brine had described as ‘nice’ are small and spartan in design. Nice is not the word Aayla would have used, but they’re a step up from the barracks to her men. There are three tiny spaces all hooked together—a small reception area, a tiny unused kitchen, and an even tinier bedroom. Aayla can see through the entire apartment.

Bly is nowhere in sight, although his armor is neatly stacked on the table in the little kitchen. Aayla hesitates for a moment, confused, until she notices the transperisteel door flung open against the far wall. Cream colored floor-length curtains hide the actual doorway from view. She makes her way through the apartment and pushes the curtains aside. 

Aayla finds her Commander standing out on the little balcony, dressed in civilian clothes and staring out into the city. Night turns Coruscant into an endless sea of luminescence. Air lanes become lines of shooting stars pressing onward in the darkness. Skyscrapers around them glow with the light of thousands of residents inside, creating trails of brilliance that ascend up towards the black sky. 

Coruscant is far too polluted for its inhabitants to see the stars that stretch above them through the smog. For some residents, the brilliant night is the closest they will ever get to seeing space around them. It is beautiful, in its own way. From the balcony of Bly’s window it seems as if he is poised on the edge of a glittering nebula, watching the colors swirl in hypnotic patterns and glitter quietly in the dark. 

Bly is framed by the ambient light of the city. Aayla allows herself to just watch him for a nanosecond. She can’t see his face, but the light plays off of his tan skin in such a flattering way that she can’t avert her gaze. There’s a datapad in one of his hands. She raps lightly on the wall to alert him to her presence. He turns a little too fast, free hand jerking down to his side for a weapon that isn’t there right now. Once he’s seen her, he stiffens a little bit into a loose attention. One eyebrow raises slowly.

“General?”

Aayla doesn’t respond immediately, mostly because her brain stalls as she finally takes full stock of what he’s wearing. 

He’s dressed in a loose white shirt with a low neckline that reveals his collarbone and the hint of a gold tattoo over his chest that disappears under the fabric. Her eyes pause on the smooth skin of his neck before she forces herself to drop her gaze—but that just makes things worse, because without the usual armor smoothing out the lines of his body she can see every muscle in his arms. His biceps are... impressive. She spends a moment just... drinking it in, because who knows if she’ll ever get to see this ever again. The tight black pants completing his outfit certainly don’t help her concentration.

Bly coughs suddenly. She glances back up to look him in the eyes. Now that she’s already thinking about such details, it’s hard to stop. The splashes of gold against the slant of his cheekbones is distinctly alluring. Aayla struggles to pull her thoughts out of the downward spiral and grimaces inwardly. She’s left him standing there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. She quirks one lek in a hasty greeting.

“At ease, Commander. I just wanted to ask you if the last of the reports have come in yet.” Aayla steps out onto the balcony to join him. She does, in fact, have the self-control necessary to keep her gaze from roving across his exposed skin this time, as tempting as it is. 

Bly’s body language loosens. He leans against the railing again and taps at his datapad, scrolling through a list of reports. She can see tiny pinpricks of light reflected from the city skyline in his eyes. Aayla settles herself against the railing next to him as well, content to wait as he runs through his mental checklists. 

She reaches out with the Force and grounds herself against his presence. It’s always bright and soothing and mellow to her in a way that she’s never felt before, not even among Jedi. She’s drawn to it. Today his mind is smooth, pulsing gently with peace and relief to finally be on leave. It’s rare that she gets to feel him in that state of mind. Bly is always concerned about something—about the men, about a campaign, about hyperspace routes, about shipping documents… about her. 

Perhaps he thinks he is subtle, but Aayla sees far more than he realizes. 

She notices when his gaze lingers on her, when he hesitates with his mouth hanging open as if he wants to speak before closing it and marching stiffly away. She notices when he bristles with anger and places himself between her and the foolish males that do not see the lightsaber in favor of inspecting her curves. She notices the fleeting smiles that cross his face when he thinks that she isn’t looking. 

She wonders if he’s ever noticed the similar expressions that cross her own face.

There has been an odd tension in the Force lately. It’s a steady buzz, just present enough to nag at her as if ordering her to pay attention to something. It doubles whenever she speaks with her commander. Aayla thinks that she understands why now. Perhaps. Tonight is as good a night as any to either confirm or dispute her theory… if she is brave enough. If she is wise about how she approaches the subject.

It’s a risk, but it’s one that she’s willing to take. Determination floods her veins. 

Bly sighs and looks up from the datapad with a nod of approval.

“I’ve got every report, sir. We’re good to go. I’ve even got the ship’s maintenance schedule here.” He grins wryly. “If only it were like this every time. The crew have sent all the records to me quicker than usual so that they can be off duty faster.”

Aayla chuckles.

“It would spare you a large amount of stress, at the very least,” she comments in amusement. Bly rolls his eyes.

“Force forbid,” he mutters. There’s something so easy about standing next to him, about the civilian clothing, about the casual conversation. Aayla feels a strange pang of jealousy. How easy would all of this be if they weren’t soldiers, if she were not a Jedi? She’s never doubted her purpose before, but Bly is the catalyst for many such thoughts.

Bly lifts his free hand to rub at his face. She glimpses a line of gold curling up his arm, disappearing into his sleeve. She reaches out to touch it without even thinking, brushing her fingers along the line and marvelling at how his something that should feel metallic and cold under her hand is warm and soft instead. She traces the tattoo higher, stopping just before she reaches the barrier of his sleeve. Part of her wants to follow it further. The thought abruptly makes her mouth go dry. 

“It suits you,” Aayla tells him honestly. He freezes up. For an instant, she feels muscles bunching under his skin. She pulls her hand away quickly, afraid that she’s crossed a line, and reaches out with the Force to check if she’s offended him in any way. Perhaps the tattoo is in memory of a lost brother, or a hard battle that he hadn’t wanted to remember right now—

When she brushes Bly’s mind she finds it full of static. His thoughts are racing almost too fast for her to make sense of them. After a moment he seizes them and wrestles them into submission. He swallows once and nods at her politely. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says. Calm, controlled. If she hadn’t glimpsed his thoughts she wouldn’t have known any better. But she does know, and the realization makes amusement and perhaps a hint of mischief course through her. If this is how he reacts to a simple compliment, she can’t imagine how he would be if she were to—

Force. Enough of that. 

“Have the men gotten settled?” she asks quietly, retreating away from his mind for the time being. He straightens at the question, shoulders drawing back.

“Yes, sir. They’re alright.” Then he winces. “They’re… excited. We haven’t gotten a good amount of leave in a while. I was thinking of drafting an apology letter to Fox tonight, just in case.”

Aayla laughs. 

“They deserve to have their fun,” she comments, leaning against the railing and staring out at the skyline in front of them. “We’ve had a busy few months.”

Bly drags in a deep breath and exhales slowly. 

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “They were getting tired. This will be good for them.”

“And for us,” Aayla adds. He hesitates, unsure of how to respond. She takes the opportunity to lean over him and pluck the datapad from his hand. A protest rises on his lips, but she shoots him a look, and he bites his tongue. “You deserve rest just as much as the rest of your men do, Commander.”

He nods in reluctant agreement, resting one elbow against the railing and slumping a little. He isn’t completely relaxed, but it’s more than he had been a few moments ago. Improvement.  

Silence settles over them. It isn’t uncomfortable—on the contrary, it’s peaceful. A light breeze stirs through the air. Aayla glances up at her Commander, squaring her shoulders a bit. There is an opportunity here, a chance to act. She takes it.

“What would you like to do after the war, Bly?”

He blinks at her, taken aback. To be fair, she’s never asked him something like this before. During the heat and smoke and fire of a campaign she’d never felt as if it were an appropriate question to solicit. She watches him consider it. He glances down, picking at the loose white shirt as if suddenly unsure of himself. 

“I’m not sure, sir,” he answers slowly. “I was created to be a soldier. I can’t really imagine myself doing anything else with my life. What… what would you like to do?”

Aayla hums. 

“I suppose I will continue to be a Jedi. Though it will undoubtedly be strange. We’ve taken the roles of Generals so easily. Many will struggle to leave it behind.”

His expression flickers as something unreadable passes across his face. 

“Will you?”

She falters.

Aayla will struggle. She already knows that, as surely as she knows that the sun will rise in the morning. Perhaps a few years ago that would have concerned her, but today she accepts it and wonders, not for the first time, if she even will want to leave it behind. Not for the power, not for the thrill of command, but for the men. For Bly.  

The Council would be appalled to hear that. Quinlan Vos would be thrilled. 

“I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me,” she tells Bly firmly. It’s so easy to be honest with him. It’s part of the reason why they work so well together. She sees something in Bly ease a little at her words. 

“That’s good, sir,” he says. Without warning he tenses again, taking a shallow breath. “I don’t necessarily know what I want to do after the war, but I do know that it wouldn’t be worth my time if you weren’t there as well.”

Her heart stutters in her chest. He turns his face back to the skyline, as if immediately berating himself for the comment. Aayla resists the urge to reach out with the Force and find the true meaning of those words, to understand everything left unspoken there. 

“In that case, I would welcome your company,” she responds quietly. Bly shifts his weight just a little. Some of the strain eases from his shoulders at her acceptance. His words hadn’t been an offer, not exactly, but it had been a bold statement—especially for Bly, who understands his priorities and selflessly resists the feelings that he so clearly wants to act upon. Aayla senses conflict in him, a constant battle between remaining stoic and throwing all caution to the wind. 

It would be a lie to say that she did not feel the same thing. 

There is a chain of command. There is a Jedi Code. There are rules, both dictated and not, that must be followed. In all her life she has never found herself wishing that it were not so until now.

Bly pulls away from the railing of the balcony, taking a step back. His tattoos gleam like liquid gold across his arms as he moves into a different light.  

“I… I’ll get some rest then, General. You should too,” he suggests carefully. Too carefully. She is consistently impressed by his restraint. If it weren’t for his careful self-control she would have fallen a long time ago, but he balances her out perfectly in that as well as everything else. She doesn’t want him to leave yet. 

She catches his arm as he tries to turn away with her own hand. Both of them freeze. Aayla looks down at her hand and is suddenly fascinated by the way the blue of her skin contrasts with the warm brown of his. 

“Bly. Stay with me?”

She doesn’t have much right to ask that of him. It’s his room, after all. But Aayla doesn’t imagine the little tremor that runs through his body as he pulls his arm away. She lifts her head to meet his gaze and is stunned by the storm of conflict in his eyes.

“General… I don’t think…”

“Stay,” Aayla repeats softly. She ever-so-gently brushes at the edge of his mind again to make sure she isn’t pressuring him. She won’t force him into something he genuinely doesn’t want to do. 

Bly’s mind is always so welcoming to her. She doesn’t even think that he’s aware of how readily it opens to her, of how easily it shares its secrets with her. For that reason she chooses to keep her distance for the most part, because she refuses to take advantage of him in that way. If she must reach for his thoughts, she keeps the connection as shallow as possible.

On occasions she’s seen his mind flare brilliantly when she’s nearby until he stuffs the light away under a grey shield of professionalism. She catches glimpses of it when he’s not being careful—when they’ve won a campaign and the men are celebrating in a fever, adrenaline and relief and the thrill of success spinning through the air. When she tells him that her recklessness had indeed been part of the plan and he only responds with an eye-roll and a fond chuckle. When he changes an entire battle strategy because she makes a single offhand comment about how she’s worried about destroying a beautiful forest. 

Never once has she felt his mind grow heavy and dark with the sick lust that so many other men succumb to when she approaches. When desire does escape from the deeper recesses of Bly’s mind it is only visible for an instant as a bright flash of heat before he shuts it down without mercy. His respect for her is tangible even without a glance at his thoughts. 

Right now, his mind is hesitant. She can sense that he wants to stay, but he is afraid as well. He’s worried for what he might do if he does remain, for what she might think, for what the men might say. 

If only he could see into her mind. Aayla thinks a bit wryly that he wouldn’t be as afraid if he could feel her own thoughts on the matter.

“I would like it if you stayed,” she reiterates, just so that he understands that this isn’t an order, isn’t something that he’s required to accept. “Though you are welcome to get some rest if you wish.”

It’s a dangerous game that they’re playing. The attraction, the want, is mutual, otherwise it wouldn’t be as potent as it is. Aayla is tired of ignoring the bantha in the room. War takes and razes and tears down everything in its path. For once she wants to take something for herself.

Bly clenches his jaw and nods once.

“I’ll stay,” he acquiesces quietly. In the distance, faint police sirens become audible. Aayla can’t help a tiny smirk at the way Bly’s expression turns pained. 

“There are millions of life-forms living nearby, Bly, I’m sure the men are fine. They probably don’t have anything to do with it,” she teases. He rolls his eyes. 

“If I don’t get some sort of complaint in the morning I’ll be extremely surprised,” he grumbles. The grumpy amusement on his face is so utterly endearing that she steps forward without even thinking about it. 

“Bly��”

His name comes out of her mouth with more warmth than she’d intended. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Aayla.” 

She shivers. Her name rolls off of his tongue in the most delightful way. She draws a little closer to him, just enough to be intruding in his personal space. When he finally opens his eyes to look at her again she can see his defenses crashing down, crumbling as she reaches out to trace her fingers along the gold across his cheek. 

He swallows hard as if bracing himself and reaches out a hand. His fingers brush against one of her lekku tentatively. She makes a soft noise of encouragement, and his touch grows a little more firm, sliding up to rest just at the junction of her skull. Aayla sighs. She leans forward and rests her forehead against his. 

That makes him pause. His eyes go wide, as if he’s only just realizing what he’s doing. He jerks away from her so fast that she briefly loses her balance. The absence of his touch, as fleeting as it had been, makes her chest ache.

“Aayla, I—General. General, Force, this isn’t—I can’t. You have your—the Code, and the regs—”

Aayla exhales. 

“And what if I wanted to choose, just for a moment, that they did not exist, Commander?” she asks him. “The time for hesitation is over. I will not sit in silence and wait until the war takes even you from me.”

Bly’s expression contorts. The edges of his Force presence go jagged. 

“It isn’t that simple,” he forces out. “We could pretend all we want, but that wouldn’t change the rules.”

“Some would say that the rules are outdated,” Aayla counters. She feels a sharp flash of frustration. It’s tempting to let it stew and grow, but she does her best to let it go. 

“That doesn’t matter, sir. We couldn’t ever… if anyone ever noticed, you would be stripped of both your rank and your title as a Jedi Master. I won’t be responsible for that.”

She mulls over his determined words with a sad fondness. He would give up everything he ever wanted just to keep her safe.

“Fortunately, you are not responsible for that,” she replies smoothly. “I am quite capable of making my own decisions. If I were to be expelled from the Jedi Order it would be because I chose that path.”

He stares her down, horrified. Then he narrows his eyes and sets his jaw.

“I would rather have you with me—with us, with the battalion—as a General and nothing more, than not have you at all.”

Aayla’s frustration comes back, stronger this time. She frowns at him.

“As I told you before, I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me. Nor will I leave my men behind if the title of Jedi is stripped from me. This is a risk that I am willing to take.” 

Bly grimaces and tips his head back, sighing at the sky.

“Sir, regardless, I’m not—I’m not worth that risk. I’m a clone. This isn’t just inappropriate, it’s unfair to you, and I can’t—”

“That is not what I believe,” Aayla interrupts sharply. She feels just a jolt of anger, of outrage that he’s been conditioned to think like that. The emotion is difficult to banish. “You are worth far more to me than you could ever realize.”

He twitches and looks away fast. The rise and fall of his chest comes quicker now. His mind undulates with uncertainty and fear. The uncertainty is understandable, but the fear—that, she doesn’t understand. She steps close to him again and watches him tense, glancing at her as if worried of what she’ll do. 

“What are you afraid of?” she asks in genuine surprise. She is just as new to this as he is, after all, and she wants answers. Bly lets out a stuttering breath. 

“I don’t know,” he rasps. The words ring with honesty. An idea flits on the edge of Aayla’s mind. She reaches up to touch his temple. Despite everything, he leans into the touch.

“Let me see,” she requests. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares into her eyes. Ever so slowly, he dips his head in a small nod. Aayla closes her eyes.

When she reaches for his mind, his thoughts all but pull her inside. In an instant she’s deeper into his psyche than she’d originally meant to go. All of his emotions roll over her like a wave. She tries to pull away from them, but it’s too late, and she gets thrown into a whirlwind of sensation—

It’s overwhelming. The first thing to hit her is a tide of devotion so fierce that it feels like a firestorm against her own mind. A distinct longing is next, waxing and waning in strength as he struggles to keep it in check. Then there is a devastating clash of loyalty and restraint and desire and helplessness that makes her head spin. 

In the center of it all, she sees herself. 

It isn’t what she expects at all; isn’t even close to how she imagines herself in her own mind. She stands against an infinite stretch of darkness, lighting the way with her lightsaber outstretched as a brilliant blue beacon. She can sense Bly’s instinctual inclination to follow regardless of where she will lead—even if it means death, even if it means something worse. Through Bly’s eyes she is glorious and powerful and ethereal. Except then there is a sharp contrast, because she fights with all the vigor of a warrior but then she turns to look at him and everything goes soft and suddenly he is overcome by admiration and fondness and a hesitant, tentative love—

Aayla reels back. She struggles to stay above the sea of affection and desire and passion that follows after her doggedly, as if it can’t continue to exist without showing her everything now that she’s stumbled across it. She is jolted to reality. Both of her hands are curled tenderly around Bly’s skull. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

She trails her gaze over his face. Aayla is flustered and panting. She had known that he feels something for her, but she’d never realized to what extent. His self-control is even more impressive now that she’s caught a glimpse of what he truly thinks. 

“Bly—you—?”

He blinks his eyes open and immediately lowers them in shame. 

That won’t do at all. Determination swells in her heart along with a strange sensation of desperation, because she’d known, but she’d never truly understood. He’d kept the full extent of his feelings carefully locked away, and when parts of it had escaped they had only implied a mere fraction of what was really going on inside his head. 

She wants—needs—him to understand that it goes both ways.

When she enters his mind again, she lets Bly’s emotions wash around her instead of hitting her full force. She sinks deep, catching glimpses of memories and snippets of sound—

A battlefield shouldn’t be alluring, but with fire swirling around her and sparks drifting past them, she’s more glorious than anything else he could ever imagine.

He wishes that he could express the sensation that he feels whenever she looks at him like that, how his heart seems to swell three sizes and continue expanding until it’s all but bursting out of his chest. 

Blue. Blue. Blue. He can’t get the color out of his head, can’t stop his eyes from trailing over her skin and noting all of her visible scars, can’t focus right even though he knows that he needs to concentrate.

She makes a bad call. Not even the best Generals are without fault. Brothers die. For all that he admires her she is still flawed, but somehow that doesn’t detract from how badly he wants her, from how much he cares. She is imperfect and scarred but he loves her all the more for it, for how she fights to become better with every breath she takes.

It’s raining. She looks happy. She looks at peace. Her eyes are bright. She’s beautiful. He wants to reach out and touch her. He aches because he can’t. 

Nothing will ever come out of his feelings but he will content himself with the fleeting sensations of joy he finds when she presses her spine to his in the middle of a battle and fights with absolute certainty that he’ll be there to guard her back. 

Jedi aren’t immortal and that has never been more obvious now. She is sick and miserable and tired. He convinces her to leave the bridge under his command for the day and go get some rest. When he drops by her room to update her on the Separatist’s movements she is sprawled out on her bunk, mouth hanging open and drooling. It is possible the most unflattering view of her that he’s ever seen. He hardly cares. He sits next to her anyway, a grin springing to his lips as she stirs and blinks up at him, surprised at his presence. There’s nowhere else that he’d rather be. 

He hadn’t been created to love. Sometimes he wishes that he had been.

There. Hidden in that thought Aayla finds hints of darkness. She catches a hold of the trail of insecurity she had originally intended to follow and chases after it. 

Chain of command aside, Jedi code aside, anything he feels for her is foolish. Bly is not unique, not special despite his rank. Even if there were no restrictions he has millions of brothers who all look the same, so why would she pay any attention to him at all?

He is Kaminoan property. There is no place for love in his purpose. He barely even understands the concept even though he knows the word. He couldn’t possibly offer her what she wants, isn’t worthy to even try. He’s just a clone, nothing more.

It hurts her to feel how deeply those thoughts are woven into his mind. She tugs at them carefully and feels him lurch. Somewhere in the real world she feels hands clutching at her shoulders, but she can’t focus on that right now.    

She won’t be able to replace the thoughts, can’t destroy them as much as she would like to. Instead she presses her own thoughts over his, carefully so that he can sense every detail.

Gold is enthralling to her now. Her eyes get stuck on it automatically. She can only think of armor and tattoos and eyes and tan skin—and a steady presence beside her that she wouldn’t trade for the galaxy. 

They are alone and desperate and fighting. Aayla pushes herself to move faster, to fight harder, to continue even though her limbs are shaking because she won’t let him die, not today. It would hurt more than anything to replace a battalion but it would tear her into pieces and leave her incapacitated to lose Bly.

It’s raining. She coaxes him to step into the open and tilt his head upwards. His Force presence goes still and calm as he stares up into the clouds above them. Raindrops settle in his hair like tiny glass orbs and scatter across the tattoos on his cheeks. She wants to reach out, she wants, she wants. She senses that he does too, but then he pulls away and she marvels at his control even though her chest contracts in disappointment. 

He stands against a hailfire of blaster bolts, unshaken, grounding her along with the rest of his brothers, pistols blazing. She draws strength from his courage and pushes forward. She trusts him with her life. She knows with unshakable certainty that Bly will have her back.

It’s late. The hangar is empty except for them, seated on top of a LAAT with the hangar bay doors thrown wide open to show wide-open space above them. When she turns her head over to look at Bly she sees a wide-eyed awe on his face. He marvels at how different the stars look from here than on Kamino. His joy is tangible. Aayla only has eyes for him. She feels warm and happy and light in a way that she’s never felt before. 

He smiles at her fondly and she feels faint suddenly, as if the single breathtaking, handsome, devoted expression is enough to stop her heart.

Love is dangerous because she is a Jedi. But she looks at him and decides that she doesn’t care.

Aayla lets him feel and see and understand every inch of her yearning, every ounce of her awe. His entire mind quakes under her touch. She feels the knot of darkness shiver and unravel a bit. She can’t get rid of it just yet. That will take time. She dares to hope that she’ll get the chance to try soon. 

She comes back to herself. Bly’s hands are trembling on her shoulders. When she makes a soft noise of concern he wrenches them off of her and presses his fists against his sides. 

“Aayla,” he groans, and he sounds absolutely wrecked. Like he’s seconds from falling apart. His eyes are bright and wide. They’re practically glowing in the dim lighting.    

“I want you,” she tells him firmly, forcing every bit of blunt honesty into her voice as she can. She brushes her thumbs across his cheekbones and then lets her hands drop. “This is worth the risk to me, Bly. But it is up to you.”

She puts the choice in his hands and half expects him to turn away, to mull over everything he’s felt, to hesitate again. 

He does not. 

Instead, he makes a strangled sound, leans in, and presses his lips to hers.

It’s the last thing she’s expecting. She nearly stumbles as a result. His panic spikes into the Force until she grabs his shoulders and kisses him back. 

The Force surges in a flare of heat and electricity around them. Bly exhales shakily against her. The brush of their lips is light and tentative. Aayla gathers herself, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and deepening the kiss. Their mouths slant together. One of Bly’s hands finds her lekku again and strokes it gently. Her knees go weak underneath her at the pleasant sensation, at the feel of his mouth against hers. 

When they break apart, Bly is gasping like he’s dying and can hardly believe his own audacity. Aayla feels heat crawling up her neck. She can’t stop panting either, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. 

She’d hoped to get this far, to help him see that he’s worth it, that this is a risk that she’s willing to take, but she hadn’t expected any of that. This is unfamiliar to both of them.

 “I—I didn’t—I—” Bly stammers out, and Aayla just blinks at him, because she isn’t doing much better. 

Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Aayla can’t tear her gaze away from his face. He’s still so afraid, but she can see his mind weighing all of the options, struggling to make a final decision. 

The pinprick of cold on her forearm makes her jerk. It’s followed by another on her lek, and then another on her forehead. 

It’s raining. 

Bly sucks in a sharp breath. 

It rains once in a blue moon on Coruscant. It isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t common either. Aayla remembers a memory from a forest planet months ago, etched into both of their minds with striking clarity and sentiment. Slowly, Bly tilts his head back until he’s looking up into the sky. 

She had shown him that. It sends a thrill down her spine to watch him remember, to feel his Force presence go from raging indecision to solidifying into careful determination.  

The raindrops are growing bigger. She can hear them clattering against the balcony around her. A droplet splatters against her nose. She reaches out to brush the water away and goes still when Bly reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together as if he’s afraid that she’s going to change her mind.

“It’s worth the risk,” he whispers, like a prayer. She smiles at him. After a heartbeat, he returns it. “I want... I want you too.”

His words make Aayla feel giddy, like she’s soaring, light as a feather and free as the wind. The rain comes down around them. It would only take a few steps to enter the room and dry off but neither of them move.

She wants to kiss him again. The relief and elation she feels as she realizes that she actually can now is heady. His lips are still parted ever so slightly. When she leans in again, he meets her halfway. 

It doesn’t matter that they’re going to get drenched. It doesn’t matter that there’s a chain of command or a Jedi code. It doesn’t matter that there’s a war going on and sometimes it’s safer to not get attached. 

She focuses on Bly and finds peace in the rhythm of the rain. It’s worth the risk.

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: It was tradition for Initiates to challenge a Knight or a Master to debate them to pass their Introduction to Diplomacy I course. Anakin didn't mind it, but he’d prefer it if all these kids would stop running up to Obi-Wan he’s practicing ‘sabers with his Master.

AN: The idea came up in a talk with @alabasterswriting I hope you like it!

If Anakin didn’t know better, he’d say that Obi-Wan was attempting to dissuade him from using two lightsabers. His Master’s attacks were downright brutal and savage, the sixteen-year-old hadn’t really known that Obi-Wan was capable of such aggressive attacks. Anakin had been aware that Obi-Wan could fight like it, he had seen the recordings from his battle against the Sith on Naboo and studied them relentlessly, but it was very different to experience Obi-Wan fighting seriously. None of that harshness in his moves translated to his mind, of course. Obi-Wan was the perfect picture of serenity and even amusement in the Force. Anakin could feel his joy every time he managed to block one of his strikes, happy that his student was learning, yet his strikes didn’t lessen in power.

“Right arm up!” Obi-Wan ordered as he attempted to strike Anakin from the right, where before he had left himself defenseless.

Anakin parried his blade successfully, even if his grip on the training ‘saber he was using slipped. He, therefore, wasn’t fast enough to twirl the blade around when Obi-Wan initiated the next attack. The low-level blade halted right in front of Anakin’s throat.

“Solah,” Anakin called and watched as Obi-Wan stepped back into the ready-stance.

He wiped the sweat off his brow and adjusted his grip on his lightsaber. His own sat perfectly in his hand. He had tinkered with it relentlessly, still sometimes found a way to change or improve it. Obi-Wan had commented on it a few times since it apparently wasn’t so usual for a Jedi to work as continuously on their ‘saber as Anakin, but he couldn’t deny the results. Anakin just felt like his weapon needed to reflect every lesson he had learned, the path of the Force was always easier to follow when it rang harmoniously.

“I still think practice would be more fruitful if I actually had a blade that fit me,” Anakin said as he fell back into the first stance of Jar’kai.

He had trouble sticking to the very basic form and not immediately try to work in the stances he knew from other forms. Obi-Wan insisted that the groundwork had to be there first before he could branch out, but to Anakin it was all instinct.

And his instinct said that he needed two blades that both fit the hands they were meant to be wielded with.

“You’re not building a second lightsaber, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, faking an exhausted sigh.

“Yet,” Anakin added and attacked Obi-Wan once more. He held himself against his Master a little longer this time but was soon pushed to the defensive again. Anakin definitely wasn’t a fan of staying passive, but Obi-Wan cared more about having a good defense than a good offense.

If you could counter your opponent’s every strike and had more endurance than them, a passable offense could defeat them. If your defense sucked, you died.

Obi-Wan had cited old Jedi philosophy when he had begun instructing Anakin in combat, but that was what his lecture had boiled down to.

The next thing he had told Anakin was that if you could fight dirty, you should. Anakin had been taught that lesson years ago on Tatooine. Survival was never about pride or honor, but about enduring and not losing yourself.

Anakin blocked another strike, then feigned an attack towards the right. Obi-Wan adjusted his steps only minimally, but Anakin knew that he had fallen for it so he threw himself to his right faster than Obi-Wan could react and managed to reach his side to a far closer degree than he had expected. Obi-Wan jumped back again before he could connect, but Anakin had succeeded in breaking his offense regardless.

He spun his ‘sabers around with a victorious grin. “How was that, Master?”

Obi-Wan smiled and turned off his blade. “Well done, Padawan. Or what do you think?”

Confused, Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, needing a moment to realize he wasn’t speaking to Anakin at all. Instead, he had turned to a group of Initiates standing at the entrance of the training hall. There were about seven of them, all around the same age, staring at Anakin and Obi-Wan with big eyes.

“Super cool!” The first Initiate cheered and soon after the rest of the group joined in.

Taking Obi-Wan’s acknowledgment of them as an invitation, the children entered the training hall, all babbling and asking questions. Anakin felt his cheeks heat under all that praise. He was good, he knew that or Obi-Wan wouldn’t have moved up his training or he wouldn’t score so high in his classes, but Anakin always felt like he wasn’t good enough yet. There was something he had the strange feeling that there was something he had to be prepared for and his current level wouldn’t be enough.

He had to get stronger.

“What can Padawan Skywalker and I help you with?” Obi-Wan asked the children kindly.

Anakin could still go a couple more rounds before he needed a break, but he figured he might as well use the time to grab a drink. He deactivated his blades, clipped them onto his belt and then walked over to the benches where he had stashed his water.

The Initiates all looked amongst themselves, suddenly shy. After a few seconds, they seemed to have agreed on a speaker as a young Nautolan Initiate stepped forward.

“Master Kenobi, we are here to ask whether you would do us the honor to debate us for our Introduction to Diplomacy I final exam.”

Anakin couldn’t help himself, he snorted, earning himself an annoyed look from Obi-Wan. This was the third group of Initiates to approach Obi-Wan about their final exam. Obi-Wan’s reputation as a genius negotiator had started to make the rounds – praise his Master more than deserved in Anakin’s opinion – and many had decided that challenging him and having him accept that challenge was a great honor. Anakin himself had debated Quinlan for his final exam. He wasn’t a particularly good speaker, likely also never would be as he got too invested too quickly and tended to bulldoze through arguments. However, no amount of Jedi Shadow training and secret undercover missions Anakin wasn’t supposed to be aware of but knew about anyway because Quinlan tended to leave Aayla in their care when he was gone, could defeat first-hand knowledge of how the Hutt’s reign in the Outer Rim worked. Anakin had won that debate based on personal experience, but he had won it.

Anakin didn’t mind that all these Initiates were now crowding around Obi-Wan so often, honestly, he thought it was pretty adorable actually, but he would prefer it if they chose to approach Obi-Wan when he wasn’t training with Anakin.

Resigning himself to the fact that the rest of the afternoon would be spent watching Obi-Wan trying to talk himself out of being one of the examiners for the Initiates, Anakin began to put his water bottle away and collected the tunics he had thrown on the floor while sparring.

“Padawan Skywalker?”

Anakin looked up to see that one Initiate had separated from the group. She was a little shorter than the other children her age, but she looked twice as determined.

“Can I help you?”

The girl nodded seriously. “I’m Initiate Shallan Rom and I request your aid in preparing for my Introduction to Diplomacy I final exam.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and bowed once formally before resuming her previous position. Anakin smiled apologetically at Shallan.

“I’m sorry, I’d love to help, but I’m really not good at all that diplomacy stuff,” Anakin explained. He shrugged and then ran his hand through his grease hair. “I’m better at fighting.”

“My rhetoric marks are excellent,” Shallan continued, proving her point as she spoke with carefully selected words. “I’d like your help when it comes to finding arguments.”

“Arguments?” Anakin repeated. “What topic do you want to debate?”

Now the girl blushed slightly, though the dark color of her skin and the green tattoos on her cheeks almost hid it completely.

“You’re the only Padawan who has been granted early access to the upper-level greenhouses by Master Windu. I want to go there as well and have decided to debate Master Windu for that right. My crèchemaster told me you might be able to help me.”

Anakin’s face split into a grin as he heard her words. He had pretty much bullied Master Windu for the right to get access to that greenhouse when he had been eleven so he could keep taking care of one of the flowers he had inherited from Qui-Gon and didn’t have to hand it over to somebody else. The plants in those greenhouses were extremely delicate, hence not wanting any children in them without supervision. Most of them only wanted in there to prove they could sneak in and not to actually care for the greenery in there.

“And why do you want in there?” Anakin asked.

“We keep a couple of plants from Kiffu up there,” Shallan slowly. “It’s my homeworld. I’d like to see something real from it.”

That was a sentiment Anakin could relate to. He glanced at Obi-Wan, but his Master was still busy fending off the other Initiates.

“Alright, sit down,” Anakin said. Shallan smiled at him, practically vibrating with happiness and excitement. “First things first, the plants up there are very sensitive and/or dangerous, so you will want to show you can be responsible and know how to deal with poisons…”

[songbird-wings]

for the fic prompts: anakin and aayla are about the same age and I like to think they grew up together as their masters, obi-wan and quinlan, were close so I'd love to maybe read something with them being friends and teasing each other as adults. so idk if you want to write something like this but if you do I think it could be cool. love you!!

i LOVE this prompt Maddie! I had so much fun with this one, I really hope you enjoy! (Also read it on Ao3)

Racing Through Memories

Anakin hated library duty. It was boring, quiet, and he hated the stuffy Masters that paid no attention to him when he asked if they needed assistance. This job made him feel invisible. But Master Kenobi always told him it was an important duty given to Padawans his age, and that it would teach him the importance of tranquility, knowledge and practice. That didn’t make it any less boring. 

He sat now in a far corner of the library, eyeing the stacks of papers and holo-disks he needed to organize. They towered above him on his desk, some coated in a thin layer of dust. He wondered if they really needed to be sorted or if Jocasta Nu just ran out of other tasks for him to do. 

“Anakin… psst!” A whisper came from behind him. He spun around maybe a little too quickly, his padawan braid smacking him in the face. His eyes scanned the shelves but he saw nothing. Surely he wasn’t hearing things. Anakin got to his feet and approached the area the noise came from. When he reached the bookshelf he paused, he quickly jumped into the aisle. Empty. That can’t be right, he was sure he heard something. Anakin shook his head and turned back to his desk.

“Hi Anakin!” Aayla greeted quietly. Anakin's shriek however was not as muffled. 

“Aayla!” He lowered his voice, once he calmed down. “Stop scaring me like that. It’s not funny.” Aayla just snorted and skipped over to his desk as he sat back in his chair. 

“I think it’s pretty funny. Besides, it’s probably the most excitement you’ve had after being assigned library duty.” She jokes, running a finger over a holo-disk and scrunching her nose at the dust left on her fingers. 

“What are you doing here? Come to gloat at my misery?” Anakin says with a smirk, using the force to take the top hoploads off their pile and set them in front of him. Aayla chuckled. 

“Not exactly.” He watched as Aayla reached into her robes and pulled out two slips of paper. Tickets. She held them up to her and he recognized them instantly; Podracing.

“Woah!” Anakin gasped, snatching the tickets from her hand. “How did you get these? I thought Podracing wasn’t popular on Coruscant.” Aayla grabs them back, holding them to her chest now. 

“It’s not, at least on top. There's an underground course that you can only get into with a ticket. Master Vos took me to one last year but there was a big crash and he never brought me again, although he kept going without me.” The Twi’lek explained leaning onto the side of the desk. 

“So these are Master Vos’s tickets.” Asks Anakin. She nodded. 

“They are, but he was called away on an assignment and he’ll be out of the system so I thought, why let these go to waste. And then I thought, who else loves podracing?” She takes one ticket  extending it to Anakin. He grabs it and stares at it intently, and then reality set back in.

“I can’t go.” He mumbled, holding the ticket back at her. 

“Why?” Aayla’s brows furrowed looking at the ticket then to him. 

“If Master Kenobi found out I left library duty, and snuck away from the temple to go to an underground podracing match, he might send me back to Tatooine.” Anakin slouched in his chair. 

“Oh come on!” Aayla whined. “It’ll only be for a few hours. No one will know you’re gone. Please, it’ll be fun!” She pleaded, nearly bouncing up and down. Anakin so wanted to say yes. He hadn't been to a podrace in forever. He missed the excitement and adrenaline that came along with the sport. Aayla did say they would only be gone a few hours. Master Kenobi wouldn’t suspect anything. 

“Okay fine, I’m in!” He exclaims. Aayla squealed and then checked the time on the clock above them. 

“Meet me by the statues on the south exit of the Temple in four hours.” She instructed him as she began walking away. “Don’t be late!” 

Slipping out of the library was much easier than Anakin originally anticipated. The librarian was nowhere to be seen and it was late so the isles were pretty much empty. He quickly made his way to the south exit and outside near the statues was Aayla was waiting for him. “You still have your ticket?” She asks, holding up her own. 

“Yes.” Anakin responds fishing it out of his robes. “But how are we getting there? You didn’t forget about that little detail did you?” Aayla scoffed. 

“You think so little of me, Anakin. Follow me.” She said and she led him down the steps of the temple where a speeder bike was parked and waiting. 

“Where did you get this?” Anakin awes, he makes his way over to it admiring the design. 

“My Master gave it to me as a gift. I’m not supposed to use it without his supervision, but, he’s not in the system so he’ll never know.” She shrugged, getting on the vehicle and starting the engine. “Get on and hold on.” Anakin climbed on behind her and gripped the sides of the bike as she drove it into a lane. The bike shook and chugged beneath them and there was a faint smell of burning metal emitting from the engine. 

“You know, if you opened the couplets and tightened the bolts near the exhaust, it would run a lot smoother.” He shouted over the sounds of traffic. 

“Okay, you can do that once you're done with library duty if you care so much about it!” Aayla teased back, steering them down below the surface. They descended further and further, until Anakin began feeling a little anxious. But he pushed that feeling away, and replaced it with his excitement over the podrace. It was darker on this level, the only light coming from the lamps on the streets. Finally, Aayla parked their bike and the padawans climbed off. 

“You didn’t get us lost did you?” Anakin chides, pulling his hood over his face, watching Aayla do the same. She just rolls her eyes. 

“Come on, it’s about to start!” She says and takes off down the road. Anakin chases after her until she stops in front of a building. It definitely doesn’t look like an entire podracing course could be inside it’s small frame. But below his feet, Anakin could feel the ground rumble, just slightly. 

“Tickets!” A raspy voice shouted out from the ticket booth in the front of the building. Aayla nudged Anakin, prompting him to show the ticket. The woman in the booth scanned the tickets and then the padawans. “Watch yourselves in there, kids.” She says nodding in the direction of the door. 

“Thank you!” Aayla told her, as Anakin pushed her way past eager to be the first in the door. On the other side was a staircase that led them down into a large chasm of a room. They seemed to be on a balcony that overlooked the circular podracing course. The room was packed, dimly lit, and smelled of drinks and something Anakin could’t place, but it wasn’t pleasant. He didn’t care though, the familiar hum of the repulsorcrafts racing in the course called to him. He ran to the edge to watch, ignoring Aayla as she told him to wait. 

He found a spot he could squeeze into and looked over the edge at the race. The course was huge, built in segments with different terrain, one sector being desert and another a dense forest. He watched as the repulsorcrafts dodged and weaved at dangerous speeds through the trees and he even cheered with the rest of the crowd once the last racer cleared the forest. He sensed Aayla coming up behind him and he moved over a few inches to give her space.

“You see that one?” She pointed at one of the podracers near the front. Their repulsorcraft was small, and painted in purples and light greens. The vehicle was driven by a Rodian woman and she was picking up speed quickly. “That’s Alvee Chunteff, she’s won so many races down here. My Master is a huge fan.” Aayla explains, shouting over the noise. She and Anakin stand on their tiptoes as the racers round the curve of the course, trying to get a better look. 

“Here she comes!” Anakin says as she passes the racer already in first place, taking the lead. The podracers zoom past them sending a plume of dirt in the air but the padawans cheer anyway. The excitement distracts them, and Anakin didn’t sense the figures coming up behind them before it was too late. Hands grab at their shoulders and pull them from the crowd to the back of the room, cornering them against the wall. They were pirates, drunk pirates by the smell of it. Anakin reached for his lightsaber but Aayla grabbed his arm, shaking her head, no. 

“Hey kiddos.” One of them coughed out. He reached down and ran his finger along Aayla's padawan beads. She flinched away and Anakin stepped in front of her. “Long way from the Temple isn't ya!” 

“Leave us alone!” Anakin shouted to the pirates, there were three of them, blocking any direction he could run.

“Ah, see, that’s just not gonna happen.” The one in front of him laughed. “I’ve noticed ya don’t seem to have any Masters with ya. What a shame.” He shook his head stepping closer. “Do you know how valuable you are to the Jedi, hm? Do ya? How much would the council pay for two padawans to be returned to home safely?” Almost like an alarm going off in his mind, Anakin sensed the one on his left lunging forward and grabbing Aayla, before his hand could even touch her, Anakin reached out and sent the pirate sailing across the room, slamming him against the wall. The room stood still for only a moment until the noises and the movement started again. 

“Run!” Anakin yelled, grabbing Aayla’s arm, taking the new opening he’s created. 

“After those kids!” The pirate shouted behind them. Anakin and Aayla made their way through the crowd, back towards the way they came in, but it seemed more pirates were in the crowd than chasing behind them. Hands were grabbing at them, slowing them down. One grip was a little too strong and the pirate yanked Anakin back making him fall to the sticky floor. He opened his eyes and the pirate's cruel smile was above him. 

“Ay, boss I’ve got-” Anakin didn’t let him finish as he used the force to send him crashing into the ceiling and falling back down to the floor. Aayla came out from the crowd next to him and pulled him to his feet. 

“Let’s go-” Anakin started saying once he was upright again, but he was cut short when he sensed it. Then he saw him. The sound of a lightsaber activating quieted the room.

“Those padawans are more trouble than they’re worth. I’d leave them alone if I were you.” Obi-Wan's voice filtered over the crowd. Anakin was torn between running into his Master's arms, or running away back to the Temple. He wasn’t given a choice. “Anakin, Aayla, you’re leaving. Now!” Anakin could feel the disappointment seeping off of Obi-Wan and it made every step towards his Master even more difficult. The pirates ran past them and the Jedi Knight, back towards the staircase. Obi-Wan pointed in that direction. “The speeder is waiting for you outside.” Aayla and Anakin shared a solemn look before following his orders and exiting the podracing rink. 

On the way back to the Temple, it was Aayla who apologizes first, admitting that it was her idea and that she was sorry. “It is not my place to tell you your punishment, young one.” Obi-Wan said to her. “That will be your Masters decision once he returns, as for you, Anakin.” 

“I’m sorry, Master. It won’t happen again.” He mumbles to Obi-Wan.

“Oh, I hope not.” The Knight replies.

“How did you find us anyways, Master?” Anakin questions him as they pull into the Temple hanger bay. 

“Maybe next time you decide to slip out on your Jedi duties, you do it in a place that doesn’t have so many cameras.” Obi-Wan smirked, stepping out of the speeder. He winked at his apprentice and then pulled Anakins robes tighter around his shoulders. 

“I’ll take that into consideration, Master.” 

<<<>>>

“It’s Starork taking the lead now as he passes Ikti around the bend, this is a close one folks, it’s too early to say…” The announcer is drowned out by the shouts of the crowd around them. Anakin cheers and gives a high-five to his padawan as the racers continue. 

“So, how’s your first podrace going, snips?” He asks her as they settle into their seats, Aayla emerges from the crowd and sets the overpriced snacks onto their table. 

“It’s amazing! I can’t believe you did this when you were a kid, Master!” She exclaimed over the noise. “I didn’t know you were such a fan, Master Secura?” 

“Oh, your Master and I would always sneak away to races growing up. One time, we ran into pirates while we were down here. Alone. We were very lucky Master Kenobi found us in time.” She explained. 

“Alright, you don’t need to give her any ideas, Aayla.” Anakin rolls his eyes. 

“Pirates?” Ahsoka sat up in her seat. “I want to hear about that!” Anakin shakes his head.

“Like I said, you don’t need any more reckless ideas in that head of yours.” He says sternly, taking a sip of his drink. “Now c’mon, we’re missing the race.” He motions them over towards the edge of the course. 

Ahsoka eyes Aayla once her Master is away from the table, pleading with her eyes. Master Secura laughs at her eagerness. “I’ll tell you the story later, young one. When your Master isn’t around to add in his own version.”

[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

"It's fine, it's just a flesh wound, I'll be okay." - Ani and Obi (brotp) or maybe them w/ Rex and Cody? Or maybe "You're my friend, of course I fucking care." Pre-blyla Bly and Aayla?

Hehehe I’ll do both, Blyla on the next post. For now here’s the Ani and Obi brotp:

-

An abandonedtemple wasn’t the most comfortable setting for a mortal duel against a skilled Sithwarrior, but it wasn’t like Anakin and Obi-Wan had a choice. Anakin avoidedVentress’ attack with a backflip, landing on his feet and looking back to her.The sith was now attacking Obi-Wan on a series of sharp, heavy blows. Obi-Wan,as usual, couldn’t help his charming wit.

“Oh, aren’tyou as pleasant as ever, Ventress?”

“And youare annoying as usual, my dear Obi-Wan.”

Anakinlunged towards her. He was done with the talking. It was time to end this onceand for all. He drew his lightsaber up and jumped, ready to land with a deadlyblow from behind her back…

Ventressturned around, defending herself with one of her red blades. Obi-Wan attackedher from her side, using Anakin’s distraction; Ventress deflected his attack,raising up a leg and kicking him on the stomach to then block another strikefrom Anakin’s; Obi-Wan staggered, Anakin tried to get her on a frontal strokebut she blocked it with her sabers placed in an “X” shape in front of her,forcing Anakin’s saber up. Anakin could see Obi-Wan approaching her frombehind. All he needed was to hold her there.

ButVentress smiled.

“Well, thishas been lovely, but I have to go now.”

She pushed against Anakin, hard,kicking him too, this time on his chest. She dodged Obi-Wan’s swift attack onan elegant move, turning her upper body to grab Obi-Wan’s shoulder and use itto support herself as she got her feet off the ground; she wrapped a leg on hisright thigh, throwing herself over his back and kissing his left cheek rightbefore she hit her lightsaber sideways in a quick blow against his ribs.Obi-Wan screamed, turning to attack her but she kicked his lower back, usingthe impulse to jump away from him, landing on her feet. She turned herlightsabers off, waving to Anakin over her shoulder and laughing as she climbedto the top of the pyramidal room, disappearing in the shadows.

“After her!”Obi-Wan placed a hand over the wound, but he collapsed after two tentative steps,dropping to his knees, his voice sounding more annoyed than pained “Ah, c’monnow.”

Anakinrushed to his master, clipping his lightsaber back to his belt.

“Lie down.”He pushed Obi-Wan gently to a lying position, pressing the comlink on hiw wrist“Rex, are you still close to our position?”

Rex’s voicecame in his ear under loud gunfire.

“Yessir,still surrounded by these blasted clankers too.”

“I need amedic! Obi-Wan is injured!”

Obi-Wangroaned from the ground.

“I’m notinjured. It’s fine, it’s just a flesh wound, I’ll be okay. Go get Ventress!”

Anakinglanced over the scorched fabric of Obi-Wan’s robes and what looked like abadly scarred patch of skin. Blood was seeping from the injury, half-coagulatedfrom the lightsaber’s heat.

“Just getus a medic.” Anakin turned off the comm. “Obi-Wan, are you alright? You lookpale.”

Obi-Wanrolled his eyes, wincing as Anakin pressed his hands over his wound.

“I’m paleat the thought of my apprentice standing here like a fool instead of keepingpursuit. We almost had her.”

“We can getVentress some other time. You’re bleeding bad. I think that hit broke one of yourribs.”

Obi-Wantried to shrug but all he could manage was to wince again.

“Well, it’snot like the situation could get any worse.”

At that,under Ventress shrill laughter, one of the large conducting metal columns thathelped distributing the weight of the diagonal walls collapsed, landing on theground with a loud thud.

“Well, Iwill be blasted.” Obi-Wan’s eyes grew wide at the sight of four other columnscoming down; Ventress was up there, jumping from one wall to the other and slicing the columns of carved stone with her lightsaber, trying to crush them. Anakin changed their trajectorywith the force, stopping them from landing on the two of them and collapsingaround them instead. But the destruction was too much for the walls to handletheir own weight, and the whole place came crashing down, drowning them indarkness Ventress’ laughter died away.

-

There was aflicker as Anakin switched on his lightsaber, shining a blue light in the dark. His arm hurt terribly – something heavy must’ve had landed on hisshoulder, probably some larger bit of debris.

“Obi-Wan?!”

There wassilence. And then…

“…Here.”

He wasn’t far, and Anakinfollowed his voice, crawling over to his master. The smell of dust and rubblewas everywhere, and as Anakin cast the light of his weapon over his master, hiseyes went wide.

“Obi-Wan…!”

One of Obi-Wan’slegs had been completely covered by large pieces of jagged stone. He gave hisapprentice a pained smile.

“Yes, it’sstuck. Can’t move out of here.” Anakin gestured towards the rocks “No, don’tbother and keep your strength. Even if you get these off of me, I won’t be able towalk.”

Anakinlooked at Obi-Wan. He had pulled his robe to the side and stuck his hand on itso that he could apply pressure on his wound. The jedi seemed calm, despite howgrave his wounds were.

“Look up.” hesaid; Anakin did “See that patch of light? That’s the exit. Climb these rocks,get there, find your way out and try to reach for Rex or Cody.”

Anakinlooked back at his master, wide-eyed.

“Don’t bestupid, I won’t leave you here on your own.”

“You won’tdo me any good down here with me.” Obi-Wan had beads of sweat rolling down hisforehead and infiltrating on his eyebrows “Get up, get out, get help. Go.”

Anakinknelt down by his master, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Master,you could die. I can’t leave you alone.”

Obi-Wanrose his eyes to Anakin, and he was very serious.

“You haveto learn to let go, Anakin. You can’t keep clinging on to everything andeveryone who matters to you. I thought you had learned, attachment isforbidden, it…”

“Leads tothe dark side, I know.” Anakin sighed, his nostrils flaring “But you can’texpect me to turn my back on you and leave you for dead.”

Obi-Wanwinced, his breath hitching as he pressed harder on his bleeding wound.

“If you don’tgo, they won’t be able to find us. You have to go. I trust you, Anakin, morethan anyone else.” Anakin opened his mouth to argue, but Obi-Wan raised hisfree hand that trembled to grab onto his shoulder. His clear eyes were calmdespite his face that was twisted in pain. “And you have to trust the Force.”

Anakinclicked his tongue to then nod.

“Fine. I’llgo, and I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Obi-Wanrose his eyebrows, letting go of Anakin as he got up with his lightsaber inhand.

“Tell meyou’re joking.”

Anakin lookedpuzzle for less than a second before he snickered.

“Oh. Sorry.”he turned his back on his master, powering down his lightsaber and jumping onone of the rocks that towered up towards the light above “Be right back.”

Rex did seeAnakin waving his lightsaber under the pale moonlight on what was left of thetemple. Kix managed to give Obi-Wan first aid and Cody helped his injuredgeneral out of the unstable terrain until they could get him on a stretcher andback into the ship for a medical droid to take a look.

Anakinscratched the back of his head as he watched Obi-Wan’s battalion’s ship takeflight and Rex stood in attention beside his general.

“GeneralSkywalker, what of Ventress?”

“Sheescaped.” Anakin said in defeat

“I see. Weare ready for departure when you are, sir.”

Anakinnodded, following Rex on his way to the ship.

“Rex, haveyou ever had to choose between leaving a man behind and your mission?”

Rex lookedat Anakin  and then back ahead, nodding.

“Yes. Morethan once.”

“What isthe right choice?”

“There isn’tone. Once I risked the mission going back for a man. We won, he lived, allturned out fine, but I could’ve jeopardized everything. ”

“So youthink you should’ve abandoned him to die without looking back?”

Rexgrimaced.

“We shouldn’t…We don’t have the luxury of looking back, sir. If we do, we start questioningeverything we do. I protect the ones I can, and I accept that I can’t save themall. That’s how it works for me.”

Anakinnoticed that Rex’s hand ran over the tally marks on his armguard as he said so.The Jedi frowned to then scoff.

“Well, itdoesn’t work for me. I refuse to leave anyone behind, and I will protecteveryone who fights by my side until the war is over.”

Rex smiled,placing his helmet over his head.

“And it’llbe an honor to fight by your side, sir.”