Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two days before the anniversary
Office of the Supreme Chancellor, Coruscant

After twenty years of war, Marshal Commander Fox was still being pushed around by Senatorial aides.

This one, a short and balding human man with a portly belly stretching his shirt, literally pushed past him as they both clambered into the Chancellor’s Suite. Fox was here for a scheduled meeting with the chancellor. This aide, apparently, did not give a flying kriff. Fox wanted to snarl at him, but it wouldn’t have done any good. The aide didn’t look up at him as he elbowed his way past and jogged to the Chancellor’s desk, datapad in hand. Chancellor Vellour, a dark-skinned human man from Kuat, looked up from his own datapad as the aide reached the edge of his desk.

“What’s this?” Vellour asked, taking the datapad from the aide with a frown.

“Your speech, for the Twentieth Anniversary Address,” the aide answered. Fox stayed by the door, dutiful and silent, and resigned himself to waiting and watching.

Chancellor Vellour sat back in his chair and smoothed the velvet ceremonial tabard that he wore over a distinctly militant outfit, complete with a cape and shiny boots. HoloNet news during Vellour’s initial campaign said he ran on a pro-war platform: rallying the Galaxy’s people together under the theory that victory would once again unify the Republic. Fox supposed Vellour’s fancy military outfit supported his pro-war attitude, but he knew the man only supported the war for as long as it filled his account with credits. Several glittering rings sparkled on his fingers as he gestured for the aide to sit in the chairs in front of his ornate and carefully organized desk.

The Supreme Chancellor’s formal suite was in the same rooms it had always been for the nearly twenty years that Fox served the Office of the Supreme Chancellor, even though the interior décor had changed, as well as the person who occupied the Chancellor’s seat. The red carpet that stretched across the floor at the beginning of the war had been removed, and the original white and gold marble tile beneath was restored. The change at first was played off as an attempt to restore the original beauty of the Senate building, but Fox knew it was because they never were able to get the blood and scorch marks out of the old carpet.

“Do you really think I should say we’re maintaining peace?” Vellour asked, arching one dark eyebrow at the aide. “There’s a lot of uneasy talk about the recent bombings on Saleucami.”

“That’s the official wording from The Party,” the aide said. He ran a hand through his tousled thinning hair and pulled on his pale face.

Fox pursed his lips to refrain from grimacing. He would like to tell Vellour’s Party what official wording they should be using. There was more than bombing on Saleucami. The droid armies were razing whole cities and gunning down fleeing survivors. The reports Fox had read from the battalions there made him sick. But the official wording of the chancellor’s political allies was apparently that the Republic was “maintaining peace,” and, in the end, what did the opinion of one grumpy old clone matter to the “Unity Party”?

“What’s this part at the bottom?” Vellour asked. He tilted the datapad so the aide could see. The aide didn’t look, but his cheeks flushed as he pulled at his tunic.

“They want the hra—the clone to make a statement about the state of the war.”

Fox knew they were talking about him as “the clone.” The aide had nearly slipped and called him hraladar, a slur for clones that had only recently been strongly discouraged in the Senate building. Fox wasn’t sure why the aide stopped himself from saying the whole word. Maybe because he knew Fox was in the room, even though neither he nor the chancellor looked in his direction or acknowledged his presence. Maybe he was worried Fox was recording them with his helmet, and saying the word could cost him his job. Or, maybe he knew about what Fox had done to the last Chancellor he disliked and was genuinely afraid of the blaster strapped to Fox’s hip. Fox smirked at the thought.

Fox had now served under three different Chancellors, with three wildly different leadership styles, and three distinct attitudes toward Fox and the clones in general. He supposed Palpatine was the worst of the three. He was, as they discovered, a literal Sith Lord. When Fox had finally put all the pieces together and made the decision to remove him from the Chancellor’s Office with one precise aim of his blaster, he thought the next chancellor would end the war and free his brothers. But the war continued. And his brothers remained enslaved.

Not enslaved. In service.

Without rights.

Chancellor Organa had treated Fox and the clones with at least a modicum of respect. Not enough, of course, to free them or give them a seat in the Senate or pay them. But smiles in the corridors and calling his men by their ranks and names instead of hraladar or clone was better than nothing, right?

“Alright, let me know if anything changes,” Vellour sighed, dismissing his aide with a wave of his hand. The aide stood and shuffled out of the room, tapping on a second datapad that he pulled from inside his jacket. Vellour’s eyes slid over the datapad in his hands, and he whispered to himself as he read through the speech again. Fox waited, jaw clenched, fists tight, impatience and anger tapping insistently at the base of his spine.

He needed to update Vellour on security at the anniversary address in two days. He was genuinely concerned that something might happen while the entire Republic was watching the chancellor’s speech. Or, Force forbid, while Fox gave his own speech. There had been a rise in terrorist attacks across Coruscant in the last year. They bombed industrial complexes and schools and refugee towers across the planet, each time leaving nothing behind except a strange symbol tagged onto nearby buildings. He’d had reports from the other Marshal Commanders that the rise in terrorism was not limited to Coruscant, and similar attacks were taking place across the Galaxy. While they were close to uncovering the source, Fox was afraid the terrorists would strike the Senate in one massive demonstration during the anniversary celebration. It would make sense for them to take the opportunity to attack then. Every HoloNet station would be broadcasting the address, and everyone in the Republic would be watching. If there was ever a time to make a statement, during the address was the time to do it.

“How can I help you, Commander?” Chancellor Vellour asked, not looking up from his datapad. Fox stepped forward to stand between the chairs in front of the chancellor’s desk, but was not invited to sit down as the aide had been.

“It’s about new security measures for the address, sir,” Fox informed him. The chancellor looked up at this, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’ve increased perimeter security and I’m requiring all entrants to the building to be searched by security probe.”

“Do you think a probe is necessary?” the chancellor asked warily.

“Absolutely. We’ll also do a sweep of the entire complex prior to the event. The terrorists might attempt a demonstration or violent attack during the address. We’re not taking any chances.” Fox remained at attention as Vellour sighed and rubbed at his face. Fox never understood why natborns were so resistant to increased security. Fox’s purpose was to protect the people of Coruscant, and especially the Senate. Even if he secretly thought most of them didn’t deserve to be protected. Why should they? What had they given him and his brothers? Not respect, nor commendations, nor representation. Certainly not salaries or benefits or days off. Fox was their ever-present Marshal Commander of the Guard. Forever protecting them from the evils in the galaxy. Forever protecting them from themselves.

Sometimes Fox wondered why he had bothered to stop his accelerated aging. It had only delayed the death he wished for every kriffing day.

“I thought the threat was gone. I thought you eliminated their leader,” Vellour argued, his brow furrowing deeper.

“We did eliminate the leader of the terrorists here on Coruscant, sir,” Fox answered. The chancellor raised his eyebrows and spread fingers with palms up.

“So, what’s the problem?” he asked derisively. Fox worked his jaw and resisted the urge to growl.

“I have reason to believe that was a single cell that is connected to a larger group currently being investigated by General Kenobi and the 7^th Sky Corps,” Fox explained. Vellour rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

“You clones are so…” Vellour waved his hand around as he tried to think of an appropriate insult. His eye caught Fox’s and he let out an impatient sigh. “Well. I suppose safety is the best protocol. An incident like this wouldn’t help my re-election chances, would it?”

Fox was silent as he stared at Vellour. He really didn’t give a flying kriff if Vellour was reelected. It didn’t matter to Fox at all. No matter who was in charge, he would still be here as Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard, wishing only for the end of the war or else the sweet release of death.

“You’ll have to speak at the address,” Chancellor Vellour continued when Fox didn’t reply. “It’s just a few lines. I’ll send them to you. Make sure you practice, so you sound at least a little eloquent. The entire Galaxy will be watching.”

“Yes, sir,” Fox said, barely concealing the grumble in his voice.

“And maybe you could wear something dressier? Or maybe just some cleaner armor? Your appearance reflects on me and this Office, and that armor you wear every day is…” Vellour’s eyes trailed down Fox’s body, and he raised one sardonic eyebrow before looking back into Fox’s face with a sneer. “Well, I suppose it’s fitting for a clone. But try to look presentable for the address, will you? Like I said, the whole Galaxy will be watching.”

Fox pursed his lips to keep from snarling. The armor he wore had protected him for years. It was scorched and dented and cracked and resealed. He was proud of every blemish, every scuff, every burn mark. Just like the scars on his skin, his imperfect armor displayed every battle he had survived. Every blaster burn was a shot meant to kill him. Every dent and scratch were from shrapnel that had been thwarted by the plastoid alloy. Every repaired crack was a fight he had not only survived but had won. Chancellor Vellour could never understand. No civilian could ever understand.

The chancellor dismissed Fox with a wave of his hand and Fox saluted quickly before leaving. As he pushed his helmet back on in the corridor, he wondered: if he stopped saluting, would the chancellor notice? Fox passed through the wide, curved corridor that encircled the perimeter of the Senate Rotunda outside the chancellor’s office, nodding politely to anyone who made the mistake of looking into his faceplate as he passed by. He was a clone, and despite the bright white and red of his armor, he was supposed to be invisible. He kept his eyes open and his head on a swivel as he passed through the crowd, but he neither expected nor wanted the attention of the crowd itself.

Fox’s stomach swooped pleasantly as a pair of golden eyes met his among a sea of senators and aides in the crowded corridor. Fox dared to let his gaze linger on her familiar blue skin, the elaborate headpiece she wore like a crown on her lavender hair, and the tattoos on her cheeks that matched her liquid gold irises. His fingers twitched involuntarily as he remembered touching those tattoos, running his fingers through her hair, dragging his lips across that rosy-tinted blue skin.

The memories faded quickly when the Pantoran senator turned away from him toward a tall and slender Pantoran man who leaned in to whisper into her ear. The pleasant swooping in Fox’s gut turned into a solid punch as Riyo Chuchi, who Fox had at one time thought could be his and his alone, laughed brightly at whatever her husband whispered to her. Fox gritted his teeth and turned a corner, pointedly not looking back.

A message from one of Vellour's aides pinged his comm as he descended in a lift from the upper levels of the Senate Rotunda to the dungeon-like warehouse where the Coruscant Guard offices were set up. He dismissed the message, not really interested in whatever drivel the Unity Party wanted him to say in his speech during the Twentieth Anniversary Address. Instead, he looked out the transparisteel of the lift, the warm late afternoon sun gleaming off the tall buildings of the federal district and let pleasant memories of years long gone wash over him. It was in this elevator he met Riyo over seventeen years ago. He wished he could go back to those easy days. The days before the chips were removed, before Palpatine was discovered and the war changed, before his and Riyo’s lives and duties wrenched them apart. He sighed bitterly as the lift paused before descending below the surface, and watched the last sliver of sunlight disappear as he was swallowed up by the dark.

The Senate Guard, before their replacement by the Coruscant Guard in the early years of the war, had beautiful offices on the ground floor of the Senate building. With windows that let in sunlight and bantha leather chairs and good, fresh caf and warm pastries delivered twice a day. Fox had thought when the Senate Guard was dissolved for corruption that the Coruscant Guard would be allowed to take over their old offices. Instead, they had been converted into storage, and the Senate Security Division of the Coruscant Guard was forced into the abandoned warehouse and docks below the building, where the ventilation hadn’t worked in years and the only caf was GAR standard prepared next to a box of tasteless ration bars.

Fox pulled his helmet off as he stepped out of the lift into the dimly lit offices. A smattering of Guardsmen were left at the desks set as far away as possible from the makeshift hangar near the docking bay doors, talking quietly and reading through datapads and watching security footage on holoprojectors. Despite the bleak appearance of the “offices,” Fox always had a sense of comfort in the permacrete-walled dungeon. This was where he and his men were free to be themselves, away from the prying eyes of Senators and aides and lobbyists and visiting dignitaries. He inhaled the smell of freshly brewed caf and ozone and sweat that always reminded him of brotherhood and duty.

He spotted Commander Fist and Captain Garret at the commander’s desk. They had their helmets off and their heads put together over a datapad, tapping at the screen with a stylus as they argue-whispered with each other. Captain Garret looked up when Fox rapped his knuckles on the desk. Kriff, Garret was young. Fox wished some days he was still young like that. Fist smirked as he looked up at Fox, the expression pulling at old scars on his jaw.

“Did you talk to the chancellor?” Fist asked lowly.

“I have to give a speech at the address,” Fox said as an answer.

“Excellent,” Garret grinned. His smile made him look even younger, with bright eyes and smooth, scarless skin.

“Did you tell him about the increased Guard presence?” Fist asked.

“I informed him of increased perimeter security and probe droids, yes,” Fox said, barely containing his own grin. He was worried about terrorist activity. But he and the rest of the Guard had their own plan for the broadcast of the address, and so far, everything was settling into place exactly as they planned.

“Was he suspicious?” Garret asked.

Fox pursed his lips to keep his mischievous grin from spreading across his face. Fist and Garret did not hold back their own smiles, however. Fox took the datapad from Fist’s hand and scrolled through the plans so their glee wouldn’t crack his stoic exterior.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Fox replied breezily.

Four months before the anniversary
Jedi Council Meeting Chamber, Coruscant

Sunlight, rich with orange and pink hues of sunset, filtered through the windows that encircled the Jedi Council chamber and bathed the room in warm, golden light. The Jedi Masters sat in their chairs in a circle, the ones off-planet on battle fronts appearing via holocomm in various shades of static blue. Behind the Jedi, clone soldiers stood sentinel, wearing painted armor, their identical faces scarred and tattooed. Obi-Wan looked around at the Masters and clones alike. The Council had started allowing Clone Commanders into meetings when topics of the war were being discussed about six years into the war. Too many decisions during the early days had been made without the clones’ input, and too many mistakes were made because of it. Obi-Wan could hear Cody shifting behind him. It was always comforting to have his long-time friend and Commander at his side during meetings, but he wished the clones were at least offered chairs to sit if they needed.

“There’s been some talk of uprisings on the southern continent,” Master Rahmbdi said, his voice wavering through the holocomm transmission. He had one hand on his lightsaber as he spoke and sat on the edge of his seat as if he may need to leap up into battle at any moment. “We’re confident we can find a peaceful situation before any fighting breaks out.”

“I have extra troops being sent to the cities where there is the most unrest,” Commander Billit added.

“Careful, you must be,” Master Yoda mused, pointing his staff at the Clone Commander. “Sense more than unrest, I do. Danger, there may be.”

Commander Billit bobbed his head in understanding. “Yes, General.”

“I’ve heard reports that some of these uprisings are being funded by political extremist groups,” Master Mundi added. The war had not been kind to the Cerean. Exhaustion and stress had aged him, and a deep scar on his scalp stood out dark against his pale skin in the fading light. There were very few Jedi who did not have scars after nearly twenty years of war. The clones wore their scars proudly, but there were many Jedi who still saw them as a shameful failure to remain peacekeepers. “There have been several terrorist attacks here on Coruscant in the past few months, and across the galaxy as well. I would not dismiss the idea that these uprisings are connected in some way, Master Rahmbdi.”

“It may be wise to investigate,” Master Windu said. He sat cross-legged in his chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. His fingers were steepled in front of his chin, and he looked around the room with intense dark eyes. “Commander Fox here on Coruscant has a lot of experience chasing down extremists, we could utilize his expertise.”

“Speak with him, we should,” Master Yoda agreed. “Master Kenobi will lead the investigation with Commander Cody. Expert investigators, they are.”

Obi-Wan nodded and stroked his beard. Behind him, Cody shifted uncomfortably again. As much as Obi-Wan would tell himself they were chosen for this investigation because of Master Yoda’s faith in their detective skills, he and Cody both knew it was because they could not return to the active battle fronts after Cody’s injury, and were therefore grounded, for the most part, on Coruscant. It would, however, be nice to have something meaningful to do.

“Are there any other war reports?” Master Windu asked, his eyes falling on each of the Jedi Masters around the circular chamber. When no one spoke, he dismissed the Clone Commanders. Their meeting was about to shift to Jedi business, and as much as the clones’ insights were valuable on matters of war, the Council was firm that only Jedi should be allowed to hear Jedi business.

There was only the sound of shuffling feet and soft tapping of armor as the clones walked around the perimeter of the room and exited the chamber into the corridor. The Clone Commanders attending through holocomm stepped out of view, while the Masters stayed seated. Obi-Wan watched Cody limp his way around the chamber and out the doors into the corridor beyond. Fear and sadness gripped his chest. Cody’s injury had not healed correctly. Obi-Wan knew he was in a lot of pain. It was Obi-Wan’s fault he was hurt at all. He wished there was more he could do to help his friend. He could only stay by his side and hope he didn’t do anything foolish for a quick relief of the pain he was in.

“Master Yoda, how are you able to sense danger among the uprisings here on Scilla?” Master Rahmbdi asked curiously.

Yoda hummed darkly, closing his eyes. “Meditate for many hours, I have,” he answered, running a withered hand through what was left of his wispy hair. “Difficult, it is, to find patterns in the Force recently.”

There was an uncomfortable silence among the Jedi Masters. It had been several years since they were able to reach out and commune with the Force, although most of the Masters would never admit their lost connection out loud. Obi-Wan only ever felt the Force in small amounts, like seeing what was coming during battle, or a twinge of a feeling that something would happen, or the echo of a strong emotional feeling from someone close to him.

Aayla Secura crossed her arms and frowned. She and Obi-Wan made eye contact through the holocomm, sharing a silent knowing look. She also had trouble feeling the Force. She had expressed a suspicion to him that any Jedi who claimed they could feel the Force the same as before was outright lying. As Obi-Wan scanned the circle of masters, he saw a lot of posturing and uncomfortable shifting that suggested Aayla was probably right.

“Have any of you sensed malicious intent in any uprisings that is more than just war weariness?” Master Windu asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked around. Silence followed his question.

“If there is a new Sith supplying the insurgents, they are staying hidden from the Force,” Master Fralle said. Obi-Wan could practically feel Aayla roll her eyes. Maybe, through their friendship, he could feel the Force after all.

“Vigilant, you must stay,” Yoda mused. “Be mindful of the Force around you. Listen closer, we must.”

When Master Yoda finally dismissed them all after another several tense minutes of skirting around their lost connections to the Force, he beckoned Obi-Wan to him.

“Spoken with your former padawans recently, have you?” Yoda asked with raised eyebrows. Windu frowned slightly as he looked from Yoda to Kenobi expectantly.

“I haven’t spoken with Anakin since he left the Republic,” Obi-Wan replied. Sorrow tightened in his throat as he realized it had been twelve years since Anakin left.

“Involved in these extremist groups, could he be?” Yoda asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No, I don’t think so,” Obi-Wan frowned. If Yoda was truly reaching out through the Force, he should be able to sense Anakin’s presence. “He has a family to protect. I doubt he would risk that for political clout.”

“And what about Ahsoka? Have you talked to her?” Windu asked.

“The last time I spoke with Ahsoka, she was lying low on a moon in a neutral system.” Windu and Yoda exchanged a surprised look and he winced. He hadn’t meant to make Ahsoka’s decision not to return to the Jedi temple suspicious. “I also doubt she would be part of these extremist groups. Harming innocents is not something Ahsoka would do.”

“Investigate these uprisings, you shall,” Yoda nodded. “To the bottom of this, we will get.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said with a small bow. “Do you have an idea where to start? Other than Commander Fox’s intelligence?”

Master Yoda nearly slumped in his seat as he shut his eyes tight and hummed. Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at the elderly Jedi.

“Difficult to see this problem is,” Yoda said wearily.

“Are you alright, Master Yoda?” Obi-Wan asked. Master Windu flinched next to Obi-Wan. No one questioned Yoda. No one.

“Tired, I am. Rest, I must.” Yoda slid off his chair and leaned heavily on his staff as he moved to leave the chamber. Windu and Obi-Wan followed. Yoda stopped before opening the door and looked over his shoulder at his two companions.

“Afraid, I am, that the end of the Order is near.” he sighed and shook his head. He looked older and more exhausted than Obi-Wan had ever seen him. “If with the Force we lose touch, Jedi, how can we be, hm?”

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Rex woke with a jolt, pulled by a familiar rush of adrenaline from a nightmare. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to find he was not staring down the barrel of a blaster, but instead staring at soft sunlight streaming through the exposed joists of a wooden ceiling above him. He blinked and remembered where he was, letting his heartbeat slow and his muscles relax as he reminded himself that he was safe, it was just a nightmare, he wasn’t facing death.

He closed his eyes again and focused on relaxing his body. His shoulders ached. But they ached in a good way. The ache reminded him that he was alive, his body was capable, and he was using it well. He stretched his arms up over his head, arching his back off the soft mattress. He let out a long, satisfying breath as he settled his hands down, reaching one over to the side of the bed where a familiar body should have been lying next to him. But his hand landed on empty linen sheets, warmed by the sun. He didn’t worry, though. Judging by the sunlight already streaming through the windows, he’d slept late.

Rex got up slowly. There was no need to rush. He could smell caf, the rich scent wafting through the open bedroom door from the kitchen. The little cottage was quiet. Peacefully quiet. Rex sat up in bed and stretched his neck and shoulders again. His armor hung on the wall in front of him, still dirty from his last mission. He needed to clean and repair it. He didn’t have the luxury of a GAR quartermaster anymore, and if anything happened to this set, it would be gone forever.

He rubbed his lower back and lifted his toes to stretch his calves as he walked to the little refresher off the tiny hallway that led from the bedroom to the kitchen. Their cottage wasn’t very big, made up only of the three rooms, but they had built it themselves, and of that Rex was incredibly proud. He didn’t bother to look at himself in the mirror above the sink while he washed his hands. He knew his face needed to be shaved. He knew his skin was dark from the sun and the short blonde hair on his head was peppered with gray.

His bedfellow wasn’t in the kitchen, but the caf was still steaming when Rex poured himself a mug. It was well-made. Rich and smooth. Better than the burnt and stale and bitter caf they had on GAR ships. Rex cooked breakfast using ingredients they had either grown in the garden outside or bought from the nearby town. He sipped his caf and hummed to himself, a catchy tune that had been on the HoloNet a lot recently. He wondered for a moment if it was being hummed absentmindedly by other clones across the galaxy as they went through their daily tasks. He remembered singing often with his men in the ‘freshers and while setting up camps and during downtime. The memory sent a pang of bittersweet nostalgia through his chest. As much as he was glad not to be fighting on the front lines anymore, he missed the closeness, the camaraderie of being centimeters from death on any given day, the fraternal bond of sharing the same face, the same trauma, the same life.

Not that Rex was out of the fight completely, it was just… different now. His missions weren’t GAR-approved, but they were just as important as any other mission he had ever run before, when he was still Captain Rex of the 501^st battalion. If anything, he felt his missions now were more important. They were certainly more personal.

The door opened behind Rex as he scooped the breakfast he had made onto two plates. Eight years ago the sound would have had him jumping for his blaster, which he used to keep strapped to his hip at all times. But now he knew who it was. There was only one other person who had ever been inside the tiny cottage. He didn’t need to look up from plating their breakfasts to know her every curve and line and shade. He had known those details for nearly two-thirds of his life. And he had been intimately familiar with them for the last eight years.

Ahsoka hummed as Rex topped her mug with caf when she sat down at their little table. She was still wearing her bedclothes (an old GAR PT shirt of Rex’s that she had stolen) and a pair of black tights. She smelled like fresh outside air when he placed a soft kiss on her lips.

“Were you meditating?” Rex asked. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. Warmth bloomed in his chest as he stared into her deep blue eyes. In the war, they never could have touched like this. Even as Ahsoka got older and something more than professionalism began to grow between them, they never could have been together this way.

Ahsoka nodded to answer Rex’s question, and Rex settled into his chair across from her at the little kitchen table. He groaned as his lower back tensed in protest. He would need to stretch later. He’d overexerted himself on his last mission, and even though it had been several days since he returned, his body still ached from the strain.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Ahsoka said as she speared a couple of vegetables onto her fork. Rex shook his head.

“No. But I wouldn’t have minded anyway.”

Ahsoka smiled while she chewed. Her look was far away. Rex knew that look. He’d seen it many times over the twenty years he had known her. Something was on her mind. Something she couldn’t decide was worth sharing. Rex tapped her knee with his under the table.

“What is it?” he asked. As many times as he had seen that faraway frown, Rex always insisted she tell him what was on her mind. He felt closer to her after she shared her thoughts with him. She had grown into a thoughtful and private person, and it made Rex’s insides warm to know that he was the one she preferred to share her thoughts with. It still amazed him that she wanted to spend her life with him at all.

Ahsoka’s eyes focused on Rex again and she wrapped both hands around her mug as she thought about how to answer his question. Rex could wait. He had his whole life to wait. And he would do so willingly.

He wasn’t sure at what point he started to have these feelings for Ahsoka. When they were young, she was like a little sister to him. She was General Kenobi’s Padawan and an unofficial Commander of the 212^th (though she spent plenty of time with Anakin and Rex and the 501^st). She and Anakin used to get in all kinds of trouble, much to Cody and General Kenobi’s chagrin. Usually, Rex was there getting into trouble with them. Back when they were all young and carefree, at least.

His less professional feelings for her may have started when she was knighted, and she stood tall in front of Obi-Wan and the Jedi Council and—although it was not technically allowed—half of the 212^th and 501^st, with whom she had served for eight years. His chest had swelled with pride as she took her oaths to the Jedi Order. She wasn’t the little kid she was when he met her at the beginning of the war. Her montrals had grown taller and her body had grown stronger and whenever her gaze landed on Rex, he thought his heart might burst with happiness and love and friendship.

His feelings for her definitely grew after one of their harder battles as they held each other to grieve and decompress in Rex’s quarters so the men wouldn’t see her fall apart. He never minded holding her in his arms, even when she grew tall and he couldn’t hold her as securely as he could when she was small. He never minded. He would rather hold her for his entire life than let her think for one moment that she wasn’t worth comforting.

But what really solidified their growing attachment to each other was the two years they spent cooped up in the T-6 Jedi shuttle, bouncing from planet to planet, searching for Balance in the Force. After being knighted and fighting in the war for two years as the Commander of the 501^st, Ahsoka realized she needed to find her own path. She needed to find Balance. And she couldn’t do it while fighting a war. She had asked Rex to come with her, to protect her. If she hadn’t asked, Rex would have insisted anyway. And if Rex hadn’t insisted, Obi-Wan would have.

If there was a specific time that Rex could point at and say, “that’s when things changed,” it was when they landed on this rock eight years ago. Ahsoka was tired. She couldn’t feel the Force anymore. She reached out and it wasn’t there. What she didn’t know was whether it was the Force that was gone, or if she was broken. She sobbed in Rex’s arms as they camped at the base of the long-forgotten Jedi temple. Rex comforted her the only way he knew how, by wrapping her in his arms and letting her sob and scream into his chest.

For three days they camped at the temple while Ahsoka mourned her lost connection. Rex had never felt so helpless as he had those three days. They set out to find a better campsite, and after fourteen days of flying and camping on windswept cliff sides and waterlogged forest floors, they finally found a suitable place to stay. And in that time, it had become apparent they were no longer just friends.

Ahsoka always claimed they would stay only until she could reconnect with the Force. They would stay until she could figure out how to open the temple. But it had been eight years since they landed on the moon. And in those eight years they had built a home, and a garden, and a kitchen filled with the smell of hot caf and soft kisses and a million unspoken feelings. Despite the lingering guilt that they should be with the rest of the clones and Jedi fighting the war, Rex liked his life here. He liked the peace and quiet. He liked the new missions they ran and the work they were doing. And most of all he liked falling asleep with Ahsoka in his arms, knowing she was safe.

Ahsoka sipped on her caf and looked at Rex. He smiled under her gaze, warm contentment settling over him. He ran his fingers along her arm, settling his hand just below her wrist so he could rub circles over her wrist bone with his thumb. She took his hand in hers and entwined their fingers together. Her palms were calloused not just from blasters and lightsabers, but also from gardening and housework and speeder maintenance. The little frown line appeared again on her brow.

“What is it?” he asked again, softer this time. When she looked at him, her eyes had an intensity that made his gut flip, a warning and a fresh wave of excitement all at once, like hearing blaster fire in the distance after a long night of restless waiting. He squeezed her fingers to encourage her, fear and curiosity wound tight in his chest.

“I think…” she began carefully, squeezing Rex’s fingers back, “I think I connected with the Force.”

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Sesid orbital space

The only place Anakin had ever felt comfortable, in all the phases of his life, was in the pilot’s chair of something, anything, that flew. As a child on Tatooine, flying a pod racer was the closest he ever felt to freedom. He would soar across the rocky sands, focused only on the track in front of him, and dream. He dreamed of flying far away, of taking his mother and their few possessions, and escaping the people who had enslaved them. After he left Tatooine, he kept those feelings of freedom and possibility and hope embedded in his chest so that every time he flew, he would remember. Now, thirty years after Qui-Gon walked into Watto’s shop, thirty years after Padmé first smiled at him, thirty years after he left his mother, he still held that feeling of freedom in his chest whenever he flew.

He’d failed to save his mother, to fly her away from the sands of Tatooine. But he was able to share his love of flying with his son, which was a concept he had never thought possible in any other phase of his life.

Anakin stood behind the pilot’s chair and watched as Luke navigated their starship through the docking yards, inbound and outbound traffic, and satellites in the orbital space above Sesid. He looked at the top of Luke’s head, at the blonde hair barely curled at his shoulders, at the easy way he held himself behind the yoke, and felt only beaming pride. It seemed like yesterday he was small enough that Anakin could cradle him in one hand and Leia in the other. And now Luke was almost as tall as Anakin and growing taller every day.

“Dad, you’re doing it again,” Luke said quietly, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. Anakin almost laughed, but reigned in the flow of pride and happiness he sent out through the Force without thinking about it. He apologized (without really meaning it) and patted Luke on the shoulder.

Behind the maze of ships, docking stations, satellite stations, and maintenance barges, Sesid hung in the velvety black sky like an orb of pale blue oceans dotted with green and white islands. In the southern hemisphere, a mass of clouds swirled, menacingly beautiful, where a hurricane slowly travelled west. Luckily, their destination was on the other side of the planet.

In the co-pilot’s seat next to Luke, Echo prepared the ship for surface landing. It was still odd to see him out of his plastoid alloy armor, and instead wearing an official Liannan pilot’s uniform: a black jacket and pants with purple panels, the same uniform Anakin wore. His black helmet had the standard yellow eye shield that could be raised and lowered, and Anakin had added plates that covered the face from nose to jaw, which helped conceal the identity of the wearer. With the yellow eye shield down and the faceplate attached, it was almost impossible to tell Echo was a clone or recognize Anakin as the former GAR Commander and Jedi he was. In addition to the jacket, the uniform also included black synth-leather gloves, which were ideal for both Anakin and Echo, to cover their matching prosthetic hands. The joint of Echo’s prosthetic elbow squeaked as he extended his right arm to turn on the forward shields for their descent into the atmosphere. Anakin would have to help him fix it once they landed.

“Unidentified ship, state your designation, destination, and purpose,” A protocol droid’s voice demanded through the comm. Anakin saw Echo wince out of the corner of his eye. Luke looked back at Anakin, his eyebrows raised, his blue eyes wide with concern and anticipation. Anakin leaned forward to press the comm button and answer the droid space traffic controller.

“This is Liannan royal transport vessel F187A requesting surface docking at the Halibour spaceport for a diplomatic meeting with the Sesid Interplanetary Affairs Committee,” Anakin replied.

There was a short pause as the droid checked its database for the permissions that should have already been filed by the Liannan Embassy and approved by the Sesid government. Planet-to-planet protocols were something Anakin had to get used to when he took the job in the Liannan government to be Padmé’s personal pilot. In the Republic, protocols were standardized by the Senate Intragalactic Transportation Committee (and its lobbyists). But in the CIS, planets were allowed to have their own protocols. It made sense to Anakin, in a way. Not every planet wanted to be forced into a set protocol, especially if they had specialty import or export laws. He knew the lack of uniformity made Echo want to die inside, which was only one of many reasons why Anakin didn’t usually bring Echo along on Padmé’s diplomatic missions. But this was a special mission, and one where having Echo’s help would be invaluable.

“You are approved for docking at Halibour spaceport,” The droid confirmed. “Please proceed to the coordinates provided, and land in Docking Bay 14.”

“Thank you,” Anakin said before disconnecting the comm.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Echo said lowly, shaking his head.

“At least it was a protocol droid,” Anakin shrugged. “I just pretend they’re all C3PO. It helps a little.”

Echo frowned but didn’t respond. Anakin couldn’t blame him. He’d fought for sixteen years against battle droids. That was a trauma not easily resolved.

“Aren’t all traffic controllers droids?” Luke asked innocently.

“Most of my life, the voice at the other end of any comm was another clone,” Echo said. Anakin could hear the sadness and longing in his voice. “Friends and brothers everywhere I went. Now, whenever I leave home, it’s all tinnies and clankers.”

There was silence between the three of them as Luke guided the starship through the traffic and into the atmosphere. Anakin only needed to give Luke little directions, like reminders to watch the temperature gauge and advice on turbulent air as they passed into the lower atmosphere.

At fourteen, Luke was a skilled pilot, as Anakin had been at his age. He felt the ship as he guided it through space and air and softly into the docking bay. Anakin knew it was his Force sensitivity that helped him. They talked about it often, that sort of second sight, a sixth sense that helped them both see things before they happened. Anakin helped train his son how to use the Force to guide his hands as he flew. He remembered Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s teachings, to feel the Force and let it guide him, and he taught Luke everything he knew. He taught Leia, too, but Leia was impatient and passionate, and would rather focus the Force on action than sit and learn how to fly starships.

Once they had touched down, he left Luke and Echo to finish their post-flight checklist while he sought out the two passengers on their royal transport vessel. Padmé and Leia were already standing near the exit ramp, waiting for Anakin.

Leia’s dark eyes landed on Anakin as he approached, and she smiled. He couldn’t help but smile back. She looked very grown up in her dress and makeup and her hair pulled back. She reminded him of Padmé when she was the same age, wearing those elaborate gowns and wigs and headpieces. But Anakin would always remember Padmé as she was when they met: her curly hair pulled back into a simple tie, wearing an unassuming blue tunic and boots that clearly had never seen rough terrain or a day of hard work. She had smiled at him, and he thought he had just met an angel. Padmé turned to look at him now, and his heart soared as she smiled at him. She was still beautiful. Even more beautiful now than ever, in his opinion. Her eyes were framed with smile lines, her hair was threaded with silvery gray strands, and her cheeks were dotted with freckles from the sun and one shiny scar from a battle long ago. Anakin reached out to take her hand in his, and she leaned into the kiss he placed on her lips. She hummed as he pulled away and smiled warmly at him.

“How do we look?” Padmé asked, gesturing to Leia, who was smoothing down the front of her tabard nervously.

They wore matching dresses of white, and they both had their dark hair pulled up onto the top of their heads, braided and pinned into place in a style that made Anakin think of a flower. Leia had a knee-length black velvet tabard over her white dress, tied at the waist with a beaded purple belt while Padmé had a black waistcoat over her dress, with purple beads sewn into the velvet. Silver thread flashed at the cuffs of their fitted sleeves with every movement. The effect was dazzling, Leia a perfect miniature of her mother, both standing tall and poised and powerful.

“Wow! You look beautiful!” Luke said as he bounded down the corridor toward them. Leia frowned and squinted suspiciously at him, crossing her arms across her chest. “I guess you are learning something at that fancy school on Raxus. Even if it is just how to wear pretty dresses.”

“If I wasn’t wearing such a pretty dress, I’d hurt you for that,” Leia retorted.

“Ooh, I’m so scared—ow!” Luke pouted up at Echo when he punched Luke’s arm. Echo grinned at him.

“Thanks, Echo,” Leia said. “See? I’m his favorite.” Luke rolled his eyes and rubbed his upper arm as he followed Echo to the holotable.

“Are you ready?” Anakin asked Padmé. She sighed and stepped away from him, setting her face into a familiar mask of duty and determination and just the hint of compassion: the Senator’s Face. Leia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she opened them, her jaw was set, and her eyes were hard. Anakin could feel her power in the Force ripple through their Bond as she steeled her mind for the meeting ahead. She still had the sharp edge of anxiety in her Force Signature.

“Remember, Leia,” Anakin said, his voice soft but firm, “control from within. Listen to the Force. Let it guide you.”

“I know, I know,” Leia sighed impatiently and nodded, looking at her mother with an obviously exasperated expression. “Are we ready?”

Padmé and Leia were greeted by a protocol droid in the docking bay, and they followed it through the space port to their meeting at the government building in the center of the city. Anakin watched them until they disappeared into the crowd completely. He could still feel Leia’s Force signature, pulsing brightly with nervous anticipation among the sea of apathy and mundaneness of the citizens of Halibour. He felt no misgivings about them leaving, no bad feeling from the Force about their meeting. He took a deep, calming breath and climbed the exit ramp to join Luke and Echo in the ship. Padmé and Leia would be fine. Even if there was trouble, they both had blasters hidden cleverly in secret pockets in their dresses, and Anakin was only a comm call away.

Luke and Echo already had the holotable turned on and were displaying the layout of the Sesidian Senator’s private residence that they had downloaded from the Public Archives on Raxus. Since the Senator’s home and adjoining complex were a historical site, the grounds, buildings, and subterranean structures were all catalogued and archived for public viewing. What wasn’t published were any new structures or security fortifications the Senator had put into place since he purchased the residence from the architect’s family fifteen years ago. And these were all things that Anakin, Echo, and Luke were keenly interested in, since they were scouting out a way to break in.

Echo’s elbow joint squeaked again as he reached for the control to turn the holomap so he could better see the complex of subterranean structures on the north side of the residence. He didn’t seem to notice, fully engrossed as he was in the holomap, but Luke and Anakin made eye contact, and Luke’s eyebrows raised as a little gleeful smirk perched on his lips. Echo’s elbow squeaked again when he bent his arm, and Luke suppressed a giggle.

“Echo, is your arm squeaking?” Anakin asked.

“Yeah, I got banged up in the last mission and now the plunger squeaks,” Echo said nonchalantly. “I need to replace it but haven’t had the time.”

“I might have a replacement,” Anakin said. “That way you won’t squeak when we’re scouting this place.”

Echo’s face lit up with surprise. “Really? I would appreciate that, sir,” he said.

“Take your arm off and I’ll go find it,” Anakin said, already making his way to the storage closet where he had a box of parts for mechno-prosthetics. He heard Luke tease Echo about his ability to simply remove his arm, and Echo laughed, claiming Luke was jealous. Their banter and laughter wrapped Anakin in a warm embrace of friendship and family as he sifted through the partitions and drawers of his prosthesis maintenance kit.

Something else nudged at the edge of his consciousness as he lifted out a box of coiled wire. Just a little nudge. He reached out to it in the Force, curious what might be signaling him to listen. It was familiar, a creeping sensation of someone he cared about. For a moment, panic overwhelmed him as he thought of Padmé and Leia. Something might have happened to them. His commlink beeped, and he answered it quickly, almost frantically.

But it was not Leia or Padmé on the other end of the comm. It was Ahsoka.

“Hey, Skyguy,” she said, her usual smirk apparent in her voice. Anakin let out a relieved breath.

“Hey, Snips, how are you?”

Ahsoka sighed and went silent. A frown crept onto Anakin’s face. He had that feeling again, not a bad feeling, per se, but the insistent nudging at the edge of his mind to listen.

“Everything okay?” Anakin asked slowly.

“I… I don’t know,” Ahsoka said. She sounded timid, almost afraid. Anakin waited. In all the years he had known her, he had only heard her voice carry fear a few times. “Do you think you could come out to our moon sometime soon?”

“I’m on a scouting mission right now, then we’re taking Leia back to Raxus next week for the start of term, but I could come by after that. Maybe ten days, Standard Raxus Time?”

Ahsoka snorted. The CIS hadn’t come to a unified consensus on time and date yet and still tended to default to Standard Coruscant Time for interplanetary travel. The government urged citizens to call it “Standard Raxus Time,” but the name change wasn’t fooling anyone.

“That could work. I think Rex will be getting back from the extraction mission around then,” Ahsoka replied. The fear in her voice faded to something like weariness.

“What’s going on, Ahsoka?” Anakin asked lowly, turning over his shoulder to make sure Luke and Echo weren’t listening in.

“I… well… a couple mornings ago I woke up feeling… restless, I guess,” Ahsoka began. “So, I went outside to meditate, and… well… I think I connected with the Force.”

“You think?” Anakin asked skeptically. Connecting with the Force was not something he ever had to think about. It was always present, always available. Ahsoka had admitted to Anakin that she lost her connection to the Force years ago, and even though he encouraged her to meditate to find it again, everything she had gone through since the war began had made her unwilling to even try.

“It’s been eight years, Anakin,” Ahsoka reminded him admonishingly. “I’m more than a little rusty.”

“So, why do you need me?” Anakin asked. “I mean, I’m flattered, but why not send a commlink to Master Obi-Wan?”

Ahsoka hesitated. Understanding dawned on him. She had called their old Master. She just didn’t want to tell him.

“I’ll be there, Snips,” Anakin said without an answer from Ahsoka. “Ten days.”

“Thanks, Anakin,” Ahsoka said, relief heavy in her voice. “Bring Padmé and Luke, if you’d like.”

“They’d like that,” Anakin said, turning over his shoulder to look at Luke, who was examining the robotics on Echo’s now-detached arm.

“Okay, I’ll see you in ten days.”

Anakin said goodbye before disconnecting the commlink. He let their conversation ruminate in his head as he stared at the little metal piece. Eight years without a connection to the Force. He wasn’t sure how Ahsoka had managed. After living her whole life with the connection, losing it must have felt like losing a limb. He looked down at his mechanical hand, which was gripping the replacement plunger for Echo’s own prosthetic arm. He chuckled humorlessly. They were in the middle of a Galactic civil war. Clones and planetary militiamen lost limbs every day. There would always be a way to adapt. That had to be what happened with Ahsoka. She had finally figured out how to adapt and reconnect with the Force.

He smiled to himself and put away his maintenance box before rejoining his son and friend at the holotable to continue with their mission.

Four months before the anniversary
Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Cody was in pain.

It was an old pain, two years old, now. But he could still remember the explosion, the searing heat, the ripping and tearing of his skin and muscle, every bone cracking and breaking as they were crushed and ground under massive debris. He had been lucky for seventeen years. And then, in the blink of an eye and the flash of a bomb, he was not so lucky. The injury took a long time to heal, and even longer to recover. The medics and healers did the best they could, but Cody was told he might never run again. For the last two years he had been kept on Coruscant, far away from battle, coordinating his battalions from the safety of the Jedi Temple and the GAR base. And that stagnation hurt worse than any injury he could have ever sustained.

He sat on the floor of the corridor outside the Jedi Council chamber, gritting his teeth and attempting to stretch his leg out. His hip and knee joints were beyond stiff, as if they had been welded shut. He knew keeping his joints moving would make him feel better, but the pain of extending his leg from bent to straight was making him sweat. The thermo regulators kicked on in his armor from the moisture, which only made him cold and sweaty and in pain.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was a kriffing Marshal Commander. He had survived almost twenty years of war. He could push through this. He had brothers stretched across the galaxy who were in worse pain than this. He made a loud, involuntary cry as his knee finally straightened out. Tears welled in his eyes, and he gasped as the stabbing pain radiated up and down his leg from his knee like a million tiny blades stabbing and slicing at his muscles from the inside.

The other commanders gathered in the corridor waiting for their Jedi Generals stared at him, but he didn’t care. He was used to eyes being on him. He’d lived thirty years without a care for privacy, why start now?

Ponds nudged Cody’s hip with the toe of his boot and Cody glanced up. His old friend looked at him with concern in his brown eyes. Cody bit back irritation. He didn't want anyone's pity. He just needed to work through the pain, keep his leg moving, and continue his work.

“It’s bothering you again today?” Ponds asked, jutting his chin at Cody’s knee.

“Bothering is an understatement,” Cody grunted. He clenched his jaw and began to bend his knee. It had welded itself again in the extended position. He was too karking old for this osik.

“You should go to the hospital,” Ponds suggested.

Cody scowled at him. “I’m not dying, Ponds. It’s just pain. I’ll survive.”

“I heard Kix is on-planet,” Ponds continued. “Maybe he’ll give you the good drugs. We can party like we’re twelve again.”

Cody barked a laugh and looked up to see Ponds grinning down at him, pulling the long scar across his cheek so it stood out dark against his skin and warped his smile a little.

“And get arrested by Fox, like old times?” Cody asked. Ponds laughed as well, throwing his head back. When the war was fresh and every day might be their last, Cody could recall plenty of drug-fueled nights that ended in a GAR holding cell. Fox would always snarl at Cody and his fellow Commanders or friends from the 212^th or even Rex and his Jedi from behind the ray-shielded door and lecture them about respect and representation. Over time Cody understood Fox's anger. But when he was young and reckless, before the chips were removed, before the bids for Sentiency, he couldn’t care less about how his actions affected the GAR.

“I’d give anything to see Fox’s face when he arrests us for drunk and disorderly at our age,” Ponds said with a smile and a faraway look.

“You’re Marshal Commanders,” Cody said, imitating Fox’s gruff tone with an exaggerated frown, “you can’t run around high, causing trouble. You have to set a good example.” Ponds continued to laugh. His laughter made Cody forget about the pain in his leg for a moment as he, too, chuckled.

The door to the Council Chamber slid open and the Jedi filtered out, those with Clone Commanders stopping to collect them before moving away through the hallways. Cody clambered up from his spot on the floor. Ponds helped, pulling him up by the crook of his elbow. Cody resisted the urge to yank his arm out of Pond's hand, but his hip screamed in protest at the movement, shooting pain through his leg and abdomen. He managed to stand upright, almost at attention, panting a little, a thin layer of sweat beading on the back of his neck again by the time Obi-Wan exited the chamber.

If Cody felt bad about the state of his life—injured, Coruscant-bound, old, and tired—Obi-Wan felt worse. He had never explicitly told Cody, but Cody could see the signs of depression slowly consuming his friend. They hadn't traveled in almost a year, something Obi-Wan had always loved. He hadn't heard from Ahsoka in months, and Anakin in years. All his friends in the Jedi Order were spread thin across the Galaxy, or else long dead in the unceasingly violent war. Cody understood all these things completely and felt the same. He, too, missed his brothers and friends, and being forced to stay on Coruscant made him restless.

But Obi-Wan had also suffered his lost connection with the Force, something Cody couldn’t understand. He saw how it wore away at his friend and General over the years. And now that they were planet-bound on Coruscant, everything Obi-Wan loved was gone.

Cody knew he was the reason Obi-Wan stayed on Coruscant, and he knew why. If Cody was left alone, the GAR might find him expensive and useless, and require that he go back to Kamino to be decommissioned and recycled. Obi-Wan refused to let Kamino take Cody. He was grateful that Obi-Wan cared so much about him, but Cody would gladly allow himself to be given over to the Kaminoans if it meant Obi-Wan would be happy again.

When Obi-Wan passed through the Council chamber door, he looked about as distraught and depressed as Cody had ever seen him. He ran a hand through his graying hair, his blue eyes unfocused, looking into nothing as he moved forward on instinct to the spot where Cody stood with Ponds.

Cody thought his heart might just break.

Ponds stepped forward first, and Obi-Wan’s eyes slid over to the bald Commander, his expression unchanging. He frowned as Ponds spoke quietly to him, a small crease in his brow. Anxiety flared in Cody's chest. What was Ponds telling him? That he was too injured to be kept alive? That Obi-Wan's insistence they stay on Coruscant forever was foolish, and he was only hurting himself? Even if those things were true, Obi-Wan didn’t need to hear them. And certainly not from Ponds.

Then Obi-Wan’s eyes flitted over to Cody, and his hand reached up to stroke at his beard. When he and Cody made eye contact, Obi-Wan’s face lit just a little, and a small smile perched on his lips and in his eyes. Relief smoothed over the flare of anxiety. Cody couldn’t help but return the small smile, even as his leg disobediently buckled under his weight. He had to turn away from Obi-Wan and lean against the wall to catch himself from toppling over as his hip finally decided to give away completely. He should really excuse himself, take a painkiller, and then go the kriff to sleep. Really, he should be on a ship to Kamino to be decommissioned so his body could be useful to someone, but Obi-Wan would object vehemently if he suggested it.

Maybe he could slip out at night so Obi-Wan wouldn’t know. It would be good to finally rest. To be useful one last time. That’s all any clone ever wanted: to be useful. He could be on Kamino and slipping away peacefully before Obi-Wan had even tried to comm him.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by the pressure of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder. His eyes were warm as he looked at Cody, and without saying anything, draped Cody’s arm over his shoulder and helped him limp away from the Council chambers. In his younger years, Cody would have felt embarrassed and vulnerable. Today, he just felt grateful.

“I need to stop by my room before we go,” Obi-Wan said lightly as they walked away from the group.

For a moment Cody wondered if Obi-Wan had read his mind and had finally agreed it would be best for them both if Cody went to Kamino. But Obi-Wan could never read Cody’s mind. Even when he could use the Force effectively, he couldn’t actually hear Cody’s thoughts, only feel his emotions.

“Go where, sir?” Cody asked, trying not to let Obi-Wan hear the pain in his voice.

“To see Kix, of course.”

Cody chuckled and shook his head. “I’m fine, sir.”

“You’re not really in any position to argue, Cody,” Obi-Wan chuckled back.

Cody couldn’t disagree with that. His grip tightened on Obi-Wan’s shoulder as they limped slowly together down the stairs and turned toward the residential corridors.

Obi-Wan’s room was small, only large enough for a low bed, a meditation pillow, and a chest of drawers. But Obi-Wan was generally sentimental, and he had the walls lined with hanging trinkets that he had accumulated from their travels around the Galaxy. As Cody lowered himself onto the meditation pillow, he focused on a familiar piece of plastoid hanging on the wall in front of him to distract from the screaming pain in his hip. The fin from his Phase I helmet. It had been damaged in a battle about a year into the war.  When the phase II armor was distributed, Cody went to turn in his helmet and the damaged fin finally broke off. Cody jokingly offered it to Obi-Wan as a good luck charm. He had no idea Obi-Wan had kept it until he saw it sitting on Obi-Wan’s shelf on their ship, months later. Now it hung here, on his wall, among all the other trinkets and memories he had collected from their time sailing through space, facing Sith and droids and monsters and death itself.

Obi-Wan pulled his holocomm from its drawer, which had a flashing light that indicated a received message. Cody’s eyebrows raised as Ahsoka's face bloomed on the hologram display. Ahsoka hadn’t contacted Obi-Wan in nearly a year. Ever since she had left with Rex ten years ago, her messages to her former master had grown more and more infrequent. Obi-Wan gasped softly before playing the pre-recorded message.

“Hi, Master Obi-Wan. I know it’s been a while since we last spoke. Something… happened. I can’t tell what. I… I need your guidance. Let me know when you’re available, and if we can talk.” Ahsoka sighed and scratched under her headdress, a simple leather thing that sat around her face and between her montrals. She looked older than Cody remembered. Her face was mature and her montrals were tall like a striped crown. He felt pride flutter in his chest. “I hope you and Cody are doing well. Talk to you soon.”

Obi-Wan smiled to himself as he typed a message into his datapad. Cody leaned back against the wall, watching Obi-Wan’s face as he messaged Ahsoka. There was that little hint of happiness Cody had missed seeing in his friend’s face. He just needed to be needed and loved and feel useful and wanted by others. That’s all Cody wanted, too.

When Obi-Wan looked down at Cody, there was a renewed happiness in his gentle smile. Cody smiled back and reached his hand out to ask for Obi-Wan’s help off the ground.

. . .

“Sithspit, Cody,” Kix whispered, frowning as he carefully moved Cody’s leg to bend and unbend his knee while he scanned the joint.

“Is it bad?” Cody asked through gritted teeth.

Kix looked at Cody, his familiar scowl etched in deep lines on his tan face. “You tell me, di’kut, does it feel bad?”

“Doesn’t feel good,” Cody said, trying to chuckle through the pain. He hadn’t been called a di'kut, an idiot, in a long time. It was nice to be candid with a brother of equal rank.

Kix sighed as he put Cody’s leg back down on the hard medtable. Twenty years after they built this hospital, and they still hadn’t made the examination rooms any more comfortable. Obi-Wan sat in the corner, looking between Kix and Cody with concern.

“How long have you had this injury?” Kix asked.

“Almost two years,” Cody replied.

“Did you do any physical therapy?”

Cody scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Kix frowned and looked at Obi-Wan.

“I tried to get him to stick with it,” Obi-Wan said defensively, “but he kept telling me he was fine.”

“Well, I’m telling you that you are not fine,” Kix growled at Cody. He turned toward the data console next to the medtable and shook his head as he entered Cody’s information. A notification popped up in the corner of the screen. Cody saw the name ‘Jesse’ before Kix closed it and returned to Cody’s chart. Jesse was one of Cody's division commanders, and even though Kix had been part of the Medic Corps for ten years, and not under Cody's command anymore, he knew the two had retained their friendship over the years.

Cody groaned as he sat up, kneading his fingers into his knee. It was hot and swollen under his body glove. He thought of his own long-time friend, Ponds, and his suggestion that Kix supply them with “the good drugs.” He wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, even if the medicine only relieved his pain, rather than fixed the cause.

“Can you give me some new pain meds?” Cody asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Kix looked at Cody sideways as a wicked grin spread on his lips. “Ponds already called to ask,” Kix said, his voice deceptively light. “You’ll need supervision for those from your favorite medic.”

“But Helix died eight years ago,” Cody quipped back, also grinning at Kix.

Kix pretended to look offended. “No drugs for you, then,” he shrugged. “Besides. Can you imagine Fox’s face when he arrests us all?”

Cody laughed with Kix, and he heard Obi-Wan chuckle from the corner as well. Obi-Wan’s comm beeped, and he excused himself to answer it. Once the door closed behind him, Cody sighed and felt himself deflate.

“They wanted to decommission me,” Cody said quietly. “They said I’d never be battle-ready again. They want to send me back to Kamino so they can recycle me.”

“Kriffing Hells, Cody. That's twisted,” Kix whispered, putting a hand over his mouth. His face settled into worry frown lines, which were just as deep as his scowl lines.

“Obi-Wan wouldn’t have it. Didn’t want to sacrifice me like that.” Cody shook his head. “But he’s unhappy here, stuck on Coruscant. I know he wishes we were out traveling again. Or fighting, or something. I’m thinking about going to Kamino myself without him knowing. Just end it, you know? It would be better for him.”

Kix put a hand on Cody’s shoulder and squeezed. “You can’t do that, Cody. He needs you. He chose to stay here for you because he loves you, in his own way.”

“I don’t know,” Cody sighed, glancing up at the door. “I think he would be happier without me dragging him down.” Kix also glanced at the door before turning back to Cody and chewing on his lip, as if deciding something.

“Listen. I’m going to prescribe some pain medication and a round of physical therapy. But today what I think you need is something for your emotional pain.”

Cody looked up at Kix, confused.

“I only do this with older clones, because we’re the only ones who ever did this.”

“Do what, Kix?”

Kix climbed up onto the medtable, settling himself between Cody’s knees and folding his legs in front of him, a maneuver that was easy to do in the soft black fabric Medic Corps scrubs he wore. He folded Cody’s good leg in front of him as well, so their legs touched from knee to toe. Cody watched him, amused. He looked like he was preparing to play a drumming game, something they played as cadets to learn how to memorize patterns and repeat complicated nonverbal orders.

But instead of slapping his hands on his thighs, Kix reached forward to clasp the back of Cody's head and leaned Cody forward to touch their foreheads together. Cody instinctively placed his hand on the back of Kix's shaved and tattooed head. Kix was right, only the older clones, the ones who had left Kamino still chipped, had ever done this. He never saw the young ones do it, the ones who grew up chipless with the Jedi watching over them. They learned how to meditate properly. How to breathe in peace and tranquility. The older clones had to figure it out for themselves, and they figured it out together.

Kix and Cody breathed in deeply at the same time. As they breathed out, Kix whispered to him that he was safe, he was loved, he was strong. Cody grasped Kix’s upper arm as emotion swept over him. Kix didn’t let up his pressure on the back of Cody’s neck or his forehead as Cody began to fall apart. It had been so long since anyone held him like this. Like a brother. Breathing together. Healing together. It was safe and comforting. Kix kept telling Cody he was safe and loved and strong as Cody’s tears turned to sobs and he pulled Kix into a proper embrace, pressing his face onto his old friend’s shoulder and letting go of all the pent-up fear and anger and despair. Just like they did when they were young, and the chips were newly removed, and they had no idea how to handle the emotions newly brewing deep beneath the surface.

Kix ran one hand through Cody’s curls and maintained a firm hold around Cody’s middle to keep him grounded until he had calmed back down.

“Thanks, Kix,” Cody whispered as he pulled away from Kix’s shoulder. “I needed that.”

“I know,” Kix whispered. He, too, had tears running tracks down his cheeks, and Cody wiped them away clumsily. Kix giggled and returned the gesture. The smile made his face look ten years younger.

Kix showed Cody some exercises he needed to do every night, and set up a series of appointments with him for physical therapy to work out all the old scar tissue and also breathe together. A painkiller, muscle relaxer, and shot in the hip Kix called the “scar dissolver” later, and Cody was feeling much better when he and Kix left the exam room.

“If you ever just need to talk to another old man, feel free to reach out,” Kix said, clapping Cody on the shoulder. “It’s good to catch up with old friends. Those of us still left.”

“Speaking of old friends,” Obi-Wan began as he straightened from where he was lounging against the wall, “That was Ahsoka who commed me just now.”

Kix’s face brightened. “Ahsoka Tano? How is she?”

“She’s doing fine. Better than fine if my suspicions are correct,” Obi-Wan mused, stroking his beard.

Kix looked at Obi-Wan suspiciously. “Is she… pregnant?” he asked slowly.

“Force, no,” Obi-Wan laughed. A little blush spread on his cheeks. “But I think she rediscovered something I had thought was lost forever.”

Cody studied Obi-Wan’s face. Something about him was different. He had a sort of… glow. Like he had when they were young, and he was happy and powerful and one with the Force. Or, Cody considered, maybe it was the drugs finally kicking in. It didn’t matter. Cody grinned anyway and leaned onto Kix’s shoulder. He felt happy. Or maybe high. Kix handed Cody over to Obi-Wan with a chuckle and Cody leaned into his friend. His General. His solid rock amongst a sea of uncertainty.

“Can I have what he’s having?” Obi-Wan chuckled. Kix grinned. His grin swam in Cody’s vision.

“I gave him the good stuff. He should sleep like a tooka kit. I’ll see you both tomorrow for his PT appointment. 1100.”

“He’s gonna hurt me,” Cody grinned, looking up at Obi-Wan’s jawline from his shoulder. Obi-Wan patted Cody’s cheek, and they limped away toward the GAR barracks.

“Obi-Wan?” Cody asked as they sat in the back of a droid-driven speeder across the GAR base. Cody had his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Normally he would be worried a subordinate might see him in such a vulnerable state, but the drugs had kicked in and he was slipping fast.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For saving me.”

Obi-Wan hummed and uncrossed his arms to pat Cody’s hand as he said, “I think it was you who saved me.”

Chapter Text

Four months before the Anniversary
Mess hall, GAR base of operations, Coruscant

Obi-Wan Kenobi had a spring in his step. Cody watched him curiously as they walked—or in Cody’s case, limped—to breakfast in the GAR mess hall. Cody’s leg was stiff again after his initial appointment with Kix, and he was dreading the first day of physical therapy. But Obi-Wan had looked practically giddy when he arrived at Cody’s bunkroom.

They maneuvered through the sea of clones to a pair of empty seats. Cody clenched his jaw to refrain from groaning as his hip refused to bend when he sat down. Obi-Wan looked away quickly when Cody glanced at him after settling on the seat, but Cody caught the concerned expression he was attempting to hide. Irritation flashed through him. He didn’t need Obi-Wan’s concern or his pity, or his help. But Obi-Wan offered none of those things, only a soft smile as he sipped his caf and turned on his datapad. Cody sighed. He shouldn’t be irritated with Obi-Wan. He should simply be grateful for his friendship. He remembered what Kix had said: Obi-Wan loved him in his own way, and that was why he adjusted his whole life to stay on Coruscant with Cody. Cody was grateful, but he wished Obi-Wan didn’t also have to suffer for him.

“We have our meeting with Commander Fox this morning,” Cody said, thumbing through his datapad and attempting to ignore the throbbing pain in his knee. “He left me a comm last night that he only has maybe 30 minutes, but that’s enough to brief him, I think.”

“I agree, that should be plenty of time,” Obi-Wan said, nodding. Cody had woken to a slew of messages he routinely checked before his normal, albeit late, bedtime. Thankfully, Kix’s treatments had thoroughly knocked him out, and he hadn’t responded to any while high on pain meds. He could only imagine Fox’s disapproving expression if he showed up to their meeting after sending him a late-night drug-induced message. Cody nearly cracked a smile at the thought.

Cody looked up from his datapad to study Obi-Wan’s face. He was scanning through his own datapad and… smiling. He hadn’t seen Obi-Wan smile absentmindedly like that in a long time. Over a year, at least. Cody tried to remember what had put Obi-Wan in such a good mood. He’d taken Cody to see Kix but stepped away during the appointment to answer a commlink.

Cody remembered like a wave of warmth crashing over him. Ahsoka. He had talked to Ahsoka. By the time Cody left Kix’s medbay, he could barely walk straight much less think straight enough to ask Obi-Wan how his chat with his former padawan had gone. It must have gone well, if he was smiling and bouncing on the balls of his feet during breakfast, the dreariest of all GAR meals.

“How was your talk with Ahsoka yesterday?” Cody asked. Obi-Wan looked up at him with his eyebrows raised in surprise. Cody continued to watch him earnestly. Obi-Wan’s surprise settled into something more like gentle teasing.

“You don’t remember talking about it last night, do you?” Obi-Wan asked. Cody shook his head. Obi-Wan’s smile didn’t wane as he nodded and put down his datapad. “She’s doing well. She gave me some very surprising news.”

Cody vaguely remembered Obi-Wan saying something similar in the hallway outside Kix’s examination room, and Kix asked if Ahsoka was pregnant. Cody’s mind had wandered a bit, wondering what baby Togruta looked like, but either didn’t hear or didn’t remember Obi-Wan’s answer.

“What news?” Cody asked. Obi-Wan’s blue eyes met his, narrowed slightly, and for a moment Cody thought he had overstepped. There was an uncertainty in his expression, and in the uncertainty lay the broad divide between them. The ever-present difference between the way they were made, raised, and brought together. Cody a clone soldier and Obi-Wan a Jedi. And there were things that Jedi knew that were not for soldiers to understand.

Over the last few years Cody had felt that divide shrink between them until there were times when he forgot that Obi-Wan was not a clone and Cody was not a Jedi, or that there ever was a distinction between the two. Obi-Wan shared everything from Council meetings with him. Cody briefed him on every meeting he had with his men. They shared elements of each other’s cultures. They ate every meal together. They meditated together, worked together, and occasionally fell asleep next to each other, especially when they were travelling and it was easier to sleep where they worked. It had been a long time since the mysteries of the Force separated them in such an intangible way.

Just as Cody was beginning to feel the creeping worry that he had overstepped his bounds or asked Obi-Wan a question he could not—or would not—answer, Obi-Wan’s eyes softened, and he smiled. Relief began to soothe the anxiety building along his spine. Obi-Wan’s next words, however, shocked him.

“She says she connected with the Force,” Obi-Wan said softly.

Cody felt his mouth drop open. Obi-Wan stroked his beard as his blue eyes unfocused and he stared past Cody’s ear into nothing. Obi-Wan had lost his connection with the Force several years ago. Cody remembered when he finally had to admit his lost connection. He was beyond devastated. He didn’t know who he was without it. He didn’t know what he would do. Cody had assured him he was not any less of a man, any less of a soldier or leader or friend. But Obi-Wan’s connection to the Force was what made him a Jedi, what had shaped his life since the day he was born. He had never considered a day where he would not be able to feel it. He told Cody the Force was like a candle in the dark, like a warm fire after freezing rain. Years of trying and failing to connect to the Force left Obi-Wan feeling like he was groping in the dark with an unlit candlestick in his hand, wondering if maybe he had instead gone permanently blind.

Hearing that Ahsoka connected to the Force must have been like finally finding a match.

“The Force?” Cody asked, his voice nearly a whisper. “She’s sure?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “She’s not sure. It’s been a long time. She wants me to visit her so we can explore it together.”

Cody chewed on his bottom lip and watched Obi-Wan’s face. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were bright. Obviously, he needed to go. He needed to explore the possibility that he could reconnect with the Force. Cody also understood that this was Jedi business, which meant that the expanse between them, the divide between Jedi and clone, would open again. He wanted Obi-Wan to be happy. He wanted his friend to reconnect with the Force. Maybe if he could feel the Force again then he could travel again, return to the front lines, make a difference in the Galaxy and the war. Even if that meant leaving Cody behind.

“Have you connected with the Force?” Cody asked. Obi-Wan’s face fell slightly. Hope lifted in Cody's chest, a small and fleeting thing, as he realized that Obi-Wan had not. He looked down at his plate, disgusted at himself. Obi-Wan should be able to feel the Force. He was a Jedi, had always been a Jedi. The Force was what completed him, just as blasters and strategies and brothers completed Cody. And Cody, as Obi-Wan’s friend and closest confidant for the past nineteen years, should want him to connect with the Force again. But for some reason, Cody dreaded the possibility.

“No,” Obi-Wan answered. “Not yet.”

“Do you think visiting Ahsoka will help?” Cody asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It can’t hurt,” he said. “Maybe it has something to do with her location. She mentioned there’s an ancient Jedi Temple near her. Perhaps being close to a wellspring of the Force, in nature, near a Temple, is what allowed her to connect.”

Cody sighed. He knew Obi-Wan’s tone. He had made up his mind, and there was no changing it.

“Or,” Obi-Wan said slowly, sheepishly, “maybe what we really need is to get away from Coruscant.”

Cody blinked up at Obi-Wan, at his sheepish smile and twinkling blue eyes. He could have sworn he’d just heard Obi-Wan say “we,” but there had been no mention of anyone else going to Ahsoka’s hideout.

“Who is going with you, sir?” Cody asked carefully.

Obi-Wan looked confused as he chuckled. “You are.”

Cody stared, bewildered. Obi-Wan said it so nonchalantly, as if it was obvious that Cody would come along on a Jedi’s errand to see his estranged padawan and rediscover the Force. He shook his head. He couldn’t go. He couldn’t leave Coruscant. He had… duties. He was injured. He was stuck here, permanently, until he died or the Kaminoans finally took him away. Going with Obi-Wan would put unnecessary stress on them both.

“You want me to come with you?” Cody asked, his voice betraying the sheer incredulity he felt in his entire body.

“Well, I wouldn’t leave you behind,” Obi-Wan said, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms and chuckled.

“Isn’t this… I don’t know, Jedi business?” Cody thought of all the times the clones were dismissed during Jedi Council meetings and the Council had been silent until every piece of plastoid armor had crossed the threshold and the doors sealed tightly behind them before continuing their discussions. “Isn’t something like this not… suitable for clones?”

“It may be Jedi business, but there is little Jedi business unsuitable for clones, in my opinion. Especially for you.”

“What about my… physical therapy?” Cody asked, trying not to think about how grateful he was that Obi-Wan trusted him with Jedi business. “What about my men? I’m still Marshal Commander, I can’t abandon them.”

“We can let them know you’ll be traveling during our briefing today,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “And I can have Kix show me how to help you. You don’t have to be on Coruscant to get treatment.”

Cody frowned, his jaw working. He couldn’t find any reason to say no. He didn’t want to say no, necessarily, but he had this nagging suspicion that Obi-Wan was only offering to take him along because he felt obligated to keep Cody by his side. Besides, Obi-Wan would be much happier without Cody tethering him.

Obi-Wan leaned forward and touched his fingers to the back of Cody’s hand softly. Cody looked down at his weathered hand, at their weathered hands. Emotion tightened his throat, and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Why was he fighting this? It was a chance to finally get off this planet, see trees again, see Ahsoka again. Be a free man again.

“I won’t force you to go, Cody,” Obi-Wan said gently. Cody swallowed down the frustration and fear and anger. Why did Obi-Wan always have to be so kind and gentle when all Cody wanted to do was fall apart? “But I would very much like for you to come with me.”

Cody looked up at Obi-Wan. The lines around his eyes were deep as he smiled. His hair was going white around his face and through his beard. Cody remembered when Obi-Wan was young, vibrant, desperate to save lives and keep peace. Cody could still see a glimmer of that young man in his face, and now it shined back at him in his gentle smile and bright eyes. He sighed, knowing this was not a battle he would win.

“I’ll come with you,” Cody conceded. “But I need to be able to stay in contact with my men.”

“No problem, we’ll bring a long-range communicator with encryption,” Obi-Wan said with a smile. “And I’ll be sure to stay on you about the physical therapy.”

“That’s one thing I wouldn’t mind leaving here,” Cody grumbled before taking a bite of his now cold breakfast. Obi-Wan laughed, and the sound lifted Cody’s spirits slightly. Maybe a trip to the outer rim wouldn’t be so bad. He would get to see Ahsoka. And Rex, although he had mixed feelings about seeing Rex again after all these years. Obi-Wan needed to travel again. Getting to join him was an unexpected bonus.

After breakfast they made their way to the Coruscant Guard Offices on the GAR base. Thankfully, they were able to take the same speeder bike Obi-Wan had used to travel from the Jedi temple to the GAR base, because Cody’s knee had welded itself shut again. As they weaved slowly through the traffic of clones and speeders and anti-grav cargo beds, Cody felt apprehension build in his chest. Not about meeting with Fox—he and Fox had known each other for twenty-five years and there was very little the two couldn’t talk to each other about. Cody couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was making him feel apprehensive. He was excited to travel. He was excited to see Ahsoka. He was ready to begin the investigation into the terrorism bombings on Coruscant. He supposed it was apprehension for his physical therapy appointment. Kix probably wouldn’t give him the same dose of pain killers he had the night before, and the treatment was bound to be painful.

He took a deep breath as Obi-Wan glided the bike into a spot in front of the Guard building, preparing for the pain of standing and walking on his leg. Obi-Wan let Cody lean on his shoulder as he pulled himself up from the bike. Cody gritted his teeth against both the pain and the embarrassment of needing help at all. How was he supposed to travel across the Galaxy? He could barely stand up without help. What if they were ambushed by separatists? How could Cody fight for himself? He forced his knee and hip to bend and straighten as Obi-Wan secured the bike and hoped that Kix’s physical therapy sessions would help him gain more mobility in the next few days. Because if he left still feeling like this, it might be the last trip he ever made.

The Coruscant Guard, over the last twenty years, had grown from one understaffed and overworked unit to an entire Corps of men that worked out of a single bustling building on the GAR base. Obi-Wan and Cody navigated through the crowded hallways past briefing rooms and meeting rooms and surveillance rooms to the lifts, where they crammed into one suffocatingly small lift with three clones in red talking about a report on a datapad and two clones escorting a weequay prisoner in cuffs.

“Are you a Jedi?” the prisoner asked, raising one leathery eyebrow at Obi-Wan.

“Stow it,” one of the Guardsmen barked, giving the prisoner’s arm a rough tug. The prisoner snarled, but his eyes never left Obi-Wan’s face.

“And if I am?” Obi-Wan asked carefully. Cody felt every clone in the lift, including himself, tense. Six helmeted faces all turned to the weequay, waiting for his answer.

“I heard you lot lost your magic powers,” the weequay sneered. “Hard to fight and win a war when you can’t see the bolts coming for you, eh?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. Cody’s heart dropped into his stomach. The Jedi’s inability to feel the Force was a closely guarded secret of both the Jedi and the GAR. But prisoners, especially weequay prisoners, who had too many cousins and not enough comprehension of the law, always seemed to find out the GAR’s closest-kept secrets.

“Wielding the Force is not magic,” Obi-Wan stated matter-of-factly. The weequay snorted. “And one does not need to wield the Force to win a war.” One of the clones crowded around the datapad nodded.

“Right. Well, so long as the war keeps going, I don’t give a nuna’s tit how it’s fought,” The weequay chuckled, rolling his shoulders back and facing the lift doors again.

“Your war profiteering days are over,” one of his escorts said. He pushed the prisoner out of the lift as the doors opened. Obi-Wan stared after him, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“Nuna’s tit?” asked one of the three other guardsmen left in the lift with Cody and Obi-Wan. His voice sounded very young. Cody picked up on a fresh South Tipoca City accent from the way his “u” was slightly too long. “That’s a new one.”

His two companions laughed and began to make up cheeky curses using random animals and anatomical parts they may or may not have. By the time they left the lift, laughing raucously, they had an assortment of new curses. Cody would never say it in dignified company, but he chuckled to himself at the thought of calling Fox a “rancor’s nut sack” during their meeting.

The commanders’ offices were on the top floor and were quieter than the rest of the building. Cody could hear someone talking down the corridor to their left when they stepped out of the lift, but otherwise the entire floor was quiet. It only meant that Cody’s uneven gait was not only visually noticeable, but also audible as his lopsided steps clicked loudly in the quiet corridor. He cringed, but the pain in his knee and hip crested, and he continued to limp.

Fox had a corner office with not one, but two windows. They looked out the south and west side of the building, toward the Guard barracks and the airfield in front of the main hangar, where rows of gunships, LAAT/i, speeders, and starfighters sat waiting for use or maintenance. Fox’s desk was positioned so that when he sat behind it, he faced the western window and could look out the southern window and still see his doorway. Not because he enjoyed the view from the windows, but because he hated the security risk they posed, and preferred not to have his back to them.

Fox was standing at his western-facing window, holding a mug of caf when Obi-Wan and Cody approached his office. He waved them in without looking at them, his attention focused on the airfield. Cody settled into a chair in the center of the office, in front of Fox’s desk, and Obi-Wan pulled another chair from the corner next to his while Cody removed his helmet.

“Do you ever watch the airfield, Cody? The orderly precision of it? The organized chaos?”

“Can’t say I ever have,” Cody answered, pretending to reach for his datapad while he rubbed his hip. He stole a glance back at Fox, who sipped from his mug as he stared out the window.

“What about you, General?” Fox asked.

“I am constantly in awe of the clones’ ability to adhere to standard protocol,” Obi-Wan said lightly. Cody looked sideways at him and stifled a smirk. Fox hummed, unaware, and Obi-Wan pursed his lips as his blue eyes danced mischievously.

“Oh, alright, you’re making fun of me, I get it,” Fox grumbled. He moved away from the window, squeezing between Obi-Wan and the cabinets that lined the wall in the cramped office. Cody and Obi-Wan both made feeble protests of denial, and Fox rolled his eyes. “I’d be willing to bet those standard protocols saved your asses more than once.”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here today without them,” Cody said. He may have said it sarcastically as part of the jest, but it was partially true. Following standard protocol was what had caused Cody to be caught in the explosion that had injured him. And without his injury, he wouldn’t be stuck here on Coruscant, having an in-person meeting with Fox about terrorism and political extremism.

Fox groaned as he settled into his chair. Not a groan of pain like Cody was in, necessarily, but one of deep, aching weariness. Cody could see it on his brother’s face. It was etched into the deep lines between his brows and around his mouth. He had two striking scars on his face: one bisecting the right side of his lips and chin, and the other across the bridge of his nose and along his cheeks. His hair was going gray—it had turned faster than any of the other first-generation clones—and the silvery strands at his temples and streaked along his crown made him look far older than he was.

“Is anyone else joining us?” Obi-Wan asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Commander Fist,” Fox replied. “He’s head of Intelligence. If there’s anything we already know, he and his men have the intel.” Cody had met Fist when he was newly promoted to Commander. He remembered Fist to be serious, fiercely passionate, and sharp as a blade.

“And what do you already know?” Obi-Wan asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“I know that whoever this is, they’re well organized, and well hidden,” Fox replied. “We’ve had three attacks this year. I thought they were random until Fist and his team started pulling together all the data.”

As if he was summoned by the sound of his name, Commander Fist appeared in Fox’s doorway. He had his helmet clipped to his belt, and his face was grim as his dark eyes swept the company in Fox’s office. He picked his way through the crowded office with smooth confidence, unfolding a thin chair with a flick of his wrist and sitting down next to Fox behind his desk.

“At first glance, there's no connection between the three attacks. But after some investigation, we've found some connections we think are important,” Fist began, pulling a small holoprojector from his belt and setting it on the desk. The hologram sizzled to life in the air, showing a surveillance vid of what looked at first to be a pile of refuse. But as the surveillance vid zoomed in, the destruction became clear. Two damaged but erect buildings framed the hologram. Their walls had an assortment of graffiti, odd words and names painted onto the permacrete. Black smoke poured from the shattered windows on upper floors. Between them, in an unnatural gap in the façade, lay a blackened, burning pile of permacrete. Broken transparisteel glittered orange and red in the light of the fires. Metal rebar and struts stuck out unnaturally from the rubble. And, as the vid zoomed in closer, Cody could just barely see the occasional hand or leg or lekku, burned and blackened and stuck at odd angles between massive boulders of permacrete and buried under a thick layer of dust.

Cody had seen horrors before. He had lived through twenty years of war. He had seen clone deaths and civilian deaths alike. There was nothing in the vid that shocked him. He was desensitized to the carnage, the blood stains, the dismembered appendages, torn clothes, lost personal items, buildings made to hold and keep their inhabitants safe reduced to gravel and dust.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. He, too, was used to twenty years of war. But empathy came easier to Obi-Wan than it did to Cody. Obi-Wan was raised on compassion and care. And Cody was raised on war.

“That was a communications center for a logistics company,” Fist said. He clicked a button to switch to a different surveillance vid. The footprint of this destruction was much larger, a wide swath of billowing black smoke and fires across several buildings. Cody recognized this attack.

“The chemical refinery?” Cody asked, looking up from the vid to Fist’s face. Fist nodded. “That facility made an ingredient in pain killer hypos. When that refinery shut down, I was forced to take pills for, what, two months?”

“Hmm, yes, I remember,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. “A terrible two months. But the remaining supply of hypos was needed for the front lines until the refinery could be repaired or a suitable replacement found.”

“Right, and do you know who supplied the replacement?” Fist asked, leaning forward. His eyes were intense. They bored into Cody like dark knives. “The logistics company whose communication center I just showed you.”

“Before they were attacked?” Cody asked, frowning.

“After,” Fist said. “The company contracted out a full staff from various smaller communications centers across the planet.”

“That… is an amazing coincidence,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

“I’m in intelligence, General,” Fist said, “I don’t deal in coincidences.” Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as he and Cody shared a glance but said nothing in return.

“And the third attack?” Cody prompted.

“A primary school in district eight,” Fox said. Fist clicked the button to show the surveillance vid. Obi-Wan looked away. Cody swallowed hard as his eyes landed on the bodies of children, all crowded together in one central room, their tiny bodies burned almost beyond recognition except for the fact that their arms were all reaching for the doors in a last desperate attempt to escape. Cody may be desensitized to a lot of the carnage of war, but this was far from war. This was terrorism.

“We’re still investigating this one,” Fist said. “The children had been locked in that room and burned alive—” Obi-Wan let out a soft, pained noise, “—and all of the staff were killed trying to rescue the children when the roof caved in.”

“All of the staff?” Cody asked, surprised.

“All who were present, yes.”

“There were no survivors at all? I would think at least some of the adult staff should have survived.”

Fist frowned. His eyes scanned the holovid as it swept over the wreckage. The school was not very tall, only two floors high, and although everything was coated in a layer of debris, there wasn’t nearly as much as the communications center.

“Like I said, we’re still investigating,” Fist said.

“Any connections between the school and the other two attacks?” Obi-Wan asked, still not looking at the vid.

“Two of the students’ parents work for two separate communications agencies that were contracted by the logistics company. And one teacher was married to a manager at the chemical refinery,” Fist answered.

“Again, these sound like coincidences, not motive,” Obi-Wan said. Cody had to agree. The chemical refinery, logistics company, and communications agencies employed thousands of workers, most of whom had spouses and children. The connection was weak, and there wasn’t any reason to attack the school in connection with the other two companies.

Fist shrugged and finally turned off the holographic display. “Sometimes connections are more than coincidence, and we’re not discounting any potential motives, connected or not.”

Obi-Wan sat back in his chair and stroked his beard. His eyes met Cody’s, and Cody saw the mingled concern and uncertainty in his face.

“We’ve been informed that these attacks are organized by political extremists,” Cody said. “There’s suggestion within the Jedi Council that these and other uprisings and terrorism attacks throughout the Galaxy are related.”

“Did you remind them that there’s a war going on?” Fox said bluntly. Cody nearly laughed but pursed his lips.

“We’re well aware of the war, I can assure you,” Obi-Wan said wearily.

“We can add political affiliation into our investigation criteria,” Fist said before Fox could retort. “Unfortunately, in situations like this, more data leads to better connections. And as much as I don’t want there to be another attack, it may be enlightening.”

“I think collaboration will be sufficient,” Obi-Wan pressed, clearly uncomfortable with the idea that more attacks would be beneficial.

“I can send data and analysis of other attacks from around the Galaxy, if you need them,” Cody suggested.

“No need,” Fist shrugged. “I’ll gather it from the GAR servers.”

“Is there any way to prevent attacks like these from happening?” Obi-Wan asked, gesturing at Fist’s holoprojector.

“I’ve requested more resources to increase security across the planet, but so far haven’t heard anything,” Fox answered. “We need to find the root cause and neutralize it.”

“And to do that, we need more information, no matter how unsavory,” Fist added. Obi-Wan cringed. It was that compassion again. Obi-Wan had always pushed for fewer lives lost, even if it meant the end goal would take longer to achieve.

Commander Fist copied his vids and the corresponding reports to a datachip for them before they adjourned the meeting. In the lift, Obi-Wan hefted a deep sigh as he scrubbed his hands over his face. Cody leaned against the wall and watched him, concerned. When Obi-Wan turned to him, he looked older than Cody had ever seen him.

“I’m tired of this war, Cody,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I’m tired of watching innocent people die.”

“I know,” Cody said. He placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and squeezed. Obi-Wan smiled wearily at him. Cody was tired of the war, too. Tired of hearing about his brothers dying, tired of seeing how it affected Obi-Wan, tired of feeling obligated to push through his own exhaustion and pain to fight a war with no foreseeable end except death.

As Obi-Wan navigated the speeder bike from the Coruscant Guard building to the Medical Facility on the other side of the GAR base, Cody thought about those fateful days fifteen years ago when the nature of the war changed. It had been Fox who put all the pieces together. He worked closest to Palpatine. The Sith Lord had either underestimated Fox’s intelligence or overestimated the influence of the “inhibitor chips.” Fox discovered all the lies, the manipulations. He saw the way Palpatine was grooming Anakin to distrust and even actively dislike the Jedi Council. And when the Council went to confront Palpatine, it was Fox who killed the Supreme Chancellor with one deadly accurate blaster bolt to the head. Fox told Cody afterward that he had been so afraid after pulling the trigger and watching Palpatine’s skull explode that he dropped his blaster and fell to his knees with his hands on his head. He thought High General Windu would kill him on the spot, for stunning Anakin and killing the Chancellor. But instead, Windu sat on the floor in stunned silence and thanked him.

It was generally thought among the clones and the Jedi that once Palpatine and Dooku were exposed, the war would end. The Separatists, however, claimed that even though the war had been hastened and manipulated into fruition by the Sith, the grievances the Separatist systems had against the Republic were not fabricated.

And so, the war continued.

One good thing that came of it all was an increase in resources for the GAR, including expanding the GAR base and doubling the size of the GAR Medical Facility. The “new” medical building (new only in name, since it had been annexed by the Medic Corps almost a decade ago) held physical therapy gyms, a pool, training centers, conference rooms, and permanent offices for Medic Corps officers.

Because the Medic Corps was made of both clone and non-clone medical personnel, it was easily the strangest building on the GAR base, in Cody’s opinion. They were greeted by a Tholothian at the front desk and escorted to a small examination room by a clone medic. They passed a gym with clones and natborn medics in full armor kit running and carrying human-sized sandbags. A Kaminoan doctor passed them in the hallway as she talked with a clone lieutenant. The clone nodded to Cody and Obi-Wan as they passed, but the Kaminoan didn’t spare them a second glance.

“Here we are,” their clone escort said, opening the door to a small examination room a lot like the one they had been in the night before. Cody grimaced as he settled on the hard examination table and his hip refused to bend. The medic’s brow furrowed slightly as he watched, but he didn’t comment. Obi-Wan sat in a soft chair in the corner and crossed his leg over his knee as if this was a normal part of his daily routine. “Take off your armor and wait here. Commander Kix will be with you soon.”

Cody thanked the kid—and he was just a kid, probably fresh from Kamino—and began to pull off his armor. Obi-Wan pulled out his datapad and inserted the data chip that Fist had given him with the vids and reports from the attacks. He frowned and propped his jaw on his fingers as he leaned against the arm of the chair. The position did not look comfortable to Cody. Obi-Wan would have an easier time analyzing the data at the Jedi Temple. And Cody didn’t need him here for Kix’s torture session.

“You don’t have to stay,” Cody said to him.

“I know,” Obi-Wan responded without looking up from his datapad.

“It’ll be easier to watch those vids on a holoprojector at the Temple. I can join you after,” Cody pressed. Obi-Wan looked at Cody over the top of the datapad.

“I want to be here, Cody,” Obi-Wan argued gently. “Besides, so long as the reports are read, I don’t give a nuna’s tit how or where.”

Cody chuckled and his cheeks warmed as he caught Obi-Wan’s eye. Obi-Wan smirked and looked back down at his datapad. A weird mingle of shame and gratitude swirled somewhere behind Cody’s sternum. He hoped Obi-Wan wouldn’t see how much his patience affected him. He had always been this way. For as long as Cody had known Obi-Wan—which was nearly twenty years, now—he had been patient and kind and considerate. It used to bother Cody. He was a clone. He didn’t deserve kindness and compassion. Cody’s attitude bothered Obi-Wan more, and he spent the next twenty years unrelentingly proving to Cody that he did, indeed, deserve kindness and compassion and friendship and love. Cody still wasn’t convinced. But he understood that Obi-Wan deserved all those things, and he spent those same twenty years attempting to reciprocate in the only ways he knew how.

Kix arrived after a few moments of mildly awkward silence, rubbing at his tattooed scalp and reading a datapad. Cody was surprised Kix hadn’t delegated his appointment to one of the other medics. Being Marshal Commander of the Medic Corps had to be a busy job and taking time out of his busy schedule to help Cody with PT was probably bothersome. Cody should have requested a junior medic, rather than have Kix take time out of his day. He didn’t need special treatment. Kix probably regretted setting up the appointment. No doubt he wished someone else could have taken Cody off his hands so he could do more important work.

Kix grinned when he looked up at Cody, his characteristically lopsided smile warm and genuine, and Cody’s worries dropped away. He pulled Cody into an embrace, tapping their foreheads together softly in greeting. Cody was reminded of the way they had breathed together the day before, and the weight that had settled over his heart during their meeting with Fox lifted.

“Ready for some pain?” Kix asked, his grin slipping somewhere toward wicked. Cody huffed a humorless laugh. “I put us in here rather than one of the gyms so that no one will hear you scream.”

“You really are going to torture me, aren’t you?” Cody asked. Kix chuckled as he rubbed antibacterial gel into his hands. “Maybe I should put my armor back on.”

“No, you’re better off in your second skin,” Kix said, shaking his head.

Kix stretched out Cody’s hip and knee past the point of comfort in several directions. He felt like his muscles were tearing apart every time Kix pushed on his leg. There were some positions that made Cody cry out involuntarily. He could hear Obi-Wan shuffling uncomfortably in his seat in the corner. Cody wished he would leave. He was shaking and sweating and sick from the pain. Kix gave him plenty of water and little breaks between stretches, but what Cody really wanted was to just die.

“You did really well,” Kix said after one particularly tough stretch had Cody screaming and gripping Kix’s bicep as if it would save him from the pain. Waves of nausea rolled up from his stomach through his head and little white lights popped into his darkened vision. He was vaguely aware of someone groaning, and only mildly surprised to discover that it was him. Kix squeezed Cody’s shoulder and offered him a cup of water. His hand shook as he reached for it.

“I feel terrible,” Cody said weakly.

“It’s over now,” Kix said softly. He helped Cody sit up, his hands like warm anchors on his arm and upper back. Kix, like other clones genetically bred to be medics, was broad and bulky and strong. It often surprised Cody how soft Kix’s voice was, because Kix was strong enough to hoist two fully kitted unconscious clones onto his shoulders and sprint through a battlefield. In fact, Cody had watched him do exactly that on multiple occasions.

Kix handed Cody a cup of water, and Cody sipped on it, careful not to drink too much lest the nausea he could feel building in his throat decided to rise further. Kix scanned Cody’s leg with a handheld scanner before giving him another “scar dissolver” hypo and an anti-inflammatory painkiller. Cody smiled weakly at him in thanks.

“Kix, did the Medic Corps respond to any of the most recent terrorist attacks here on Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You’re talking about the school in district eight?” Kix asked darkly as he rubbed antibacterial gel into his hands again.

“That and the bombings of the communications center and the chemical refinery plant.”

Kix nodded and typed something into his datapad. “Sure, we send squads out anywhere people need our help. On Coruscant or anywhere in the Galaxy. I don’t remember those other two incidents, but the school I responded to myself, and I definitely remember that.”

“How could you forget it?” Cody asked darkly. Kix hummed in agreement.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the victims or the site in general?”

“Other than the six-hundred-and-fifty-three children and five adults burned alive in the mess hall?” Kix said darkly. Cody shuddered. Hearing the number so plain made his stomach roll in disgust. “I did think it was odd there were no survivors.”

“I did, too,” Cody said. “Did you analyze their bodies?”

“Yes. They were all either crushed or impaled by falling debris. No signs of weapons at all.”

Cody glanced at Obi-Wan, who frowned at his datapad and stroked his beard.

“I thought Commander Fist had this investigation covered. Why are you two involved?” Kix asked.

“The Jedi Council believes these attacks are related to other uprisings in the Galaxy,” Obi-Wan stated simply. Kix snorted and crossed his arms.

“Did you tell them there’s a war going on?” Kix asked with the same level of snark that Fox had in his voice when he had asked the question not two hours ago. Cody smirked at Obi-Wan, who smiled dryly. “We respond to attacks like this all the time, all over the Galaxy. If there is a connection to be found, I wish you luck finding it. And don’t hesitate to let me know how I can help.”

“Thanks, Kix,” Cody said sincerely. He slid off the end of the examination table onto unsteady feet, his hip and knee blazing with fresh pain. Obi-Wan stood and reached out to help him, and aborted the movement when Cody steadied himself. That same mix of gratitude and irritation flashed though his chest but was gone within the span of a heartbeat.

Obi-wan and Kix helped Cody retrieve his armor from the floor, and he snapped each piece on with practiced hands. Their armor had changed several times over the course of the war. Cody couldn’t say he liked this phase, phase seven, any better than the others, but it did have advantages, like lighter material and clasps that were easier to remove and snap together. He knew there were some clones his age who had always preferred their original phase one armor to all others. Of course, there weren’t many clones his age left.

Cody found it was slightly easier to move his joints as they walked through the med center. The “scar dissolver" hypo that Kix had given him was developed to replace surgery so that soldiers, both clone and natborn, wouldn’t need to be taken completely out of service, and space in the medbay could be reserved for those who were recovering from near fatal casualties. Normally it took a few days of recovery, but Cody had two years of extensive scar tissue built up and a lot of muscle loss. Kix had said it may take a week or more to have full mobility, and he would need to continue physical therapy for weeks to get back to full fighting strength, provided there was no other damage beneath the scar tissue. But the little improvement after one day was enough for Cody to notice how much further he could extend his leg, how much easier it was to bend his knee. He thought, as he moved his hip in small circles while they took the lift back down to the ground floor, that if it only required an hour of horrific pain to feel marked improvement every day, he could suffer through it.

“You’re feeling better?” Obi-Wan commented when Cody kicked out his leg a little to test his mobility. He still had pain, and it was still stiff, but a little mobility was better than none at all.

“Yeah, I think it’s working,” Cody said through clenched teeth. He still couldn’t put his full weight on the leg. “I might be feeling better by the time we visit Ahsoka.”

“That would be excellent,” Obi-Wan said warmly. “I know you were hesitant about the trip, Cody, but I think it will be good for both of us. Give us both purpose again. I have a good feeling about it.”

Cody’s mouth went dry. Obi-Wan was putting a lot of stock in this trip. A cold shiver of anxiety ran down his spine. If Obi-Wan couldn’t connect with the Force when they visited Ahsoka's hideout, he would feel that he had nothing left. No purpose, nothing to look forward to. The depression would creep back over him and consume him. And seeing his friend go through that would tear Cody apart. He needed to make sure his leg healed, so they could at least start traveling again, as a safeguard against the possibility that Ahsoka had not actually connected with the Force. He needed his leg to heal so that if Obi-Wan did connect with the Force, he wouldn’t feel obligated to stay behind on Coruscant with him any longer.

And if his leg couldn’t be healed? He would have to take that final step and remove himself as Obi-Wan's last burden.

Chapter Text

Weeks after the battle of Geonosis
Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Ahsoka’s soft-soled shoes thudded too loudly on the stone tile of the silent Temple corridor. The noise made her cringe, but there were few Jedi around to hear her. She had been told to meet her new master in the grand courtyard at sunrise. And, evidenced by the soft light coming through the Temple windows, she was late.

She had been surprised when Master Obi-Wan Kenobi picked her to be his padawan. The Obi-Wan Kenobi. The one who had allegedly defeated the Sith. The first Jedi to do so in a millennium. It was an honor to become his padawan. An honor she never conceived would be bestowed on her. She and the other Initiates her age had discounted him as a potential master because he already had a padawan. The equally legendary Anakin Skywalker. They had no idea Skywalker and the other older padawans were knighted so quickly. Everything was happening quickly in the days since the battle on Geonosis.

“Padawan.”

Master Kenobi’s voice sent a jolt through Ahsoka’s chest as it rang out clearly from her commlink. She stopped running and took a deep breath to calm the thudding of her heart and the nervous energy pulsing in her veins before responding.

“I apologize, but there’s been a change of plans,” Master Kenobi said, his voice weary. “Meet me in the Archives.”

“Yes, Master, I’m on my way,” Ahsoka said. In the Archives? She silently hoped that Master Kenobi was not one of those stuffy, studious types who liked to spend most of his time in the Archives researching. If so, it was going to be a very long and very boring apprenticeship.

Ahsoka stopped running as she approached the doorway to the Archives, and tried to wipe the sweat from her face and lekku as she controlled her heavy breathing. She saw her new Master sitting at a console, reading through something, stroking his copper-colored beard as he frowned. It was still mostly dark, and the Archives were quiet. The faint light of the sunrise was only just beginning to gleam off the bronze busts of the Lost that lined the Archive stacks.

“Master Kenobi?” Ahsoka asked as she approached. She stood straight, with her feet shoulder-width apart and her hands folded together within the sleeves of her tunic, like she had been trained to stand when respectfully addressing an elder member of the Order. Master Kenobi turned to her, tearing his eyes away from the report he was reading on the console, and raised his eyebrows at her.

“Good morning, Ahsoka,” Master Kenobi said kindly.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Master,” Ahsoka said.

Master Kenobi smiled and shook his head. “You aren’t late, Ahsoka. You’re right on time. Please, have a seat.”

Ahsoka sat in the chair next to him and peered curiously at the report on the screen, and then to the face of her new Master. Aside from the exhaustion in his eyes, Master Kenobi looked young. In his mid-thirties at the absolute oldest. She was surprised. She’d heard a lot about Obi-Wan Kenobi. That he had killed a Sith. That he had discovered an unknown world on his own. That he had saved the Duchess of Mandalore from assassination. She figured that kind of experience only comes with age. But here was Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking very young and very tired.

“I apologize again,” Master Kenobi said with a kind and apologetic smile. His mind was weary, a tumultuous tangle of determination and exhaustion. “I know we were supposed to begin with meditation this morning, and to get to know each other, but something dire has come up.”

“What is it, Master?” Ahsoka asked.

“The capital city of Cato Neimoidia was bombed, and both the Republic and the Separatists are being blamed.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened. The city was bombed? Cato Neimoidian cities hung from magnificent architectural buttresses between the mountains over the foggy surface of the planet. If the city was bombed, it may very well have fallen to the surface. Thousands of people could have been killed. And not to mention that if the Republic was blamed for this attack, then Cato Neimoidia—the center of the Trade Federation—may choose to side with the Separatists. And that would make life very difficult for the people of the Republic.

“What can we do?” Ahsoka asked.

“I’ve been tasked with investigating the true culprit and negotiating peace,” Kenobi said, stroking his beard again. “Unfortunately, there’s very little I know about Neimoidian culture. Which is why I’m here.”

“I can help,” Ahsoka said eagerly. Master Kenobi smiled.

“I hoped you would,” he said. “I’ve requested I be allowed to bring you with me to Cato Neimoidia, but there’s a chance I will need to leave you behind. Any help you can offer is appreciated, and our training will have to wait until I return, unfortunately.”

“That’s okay,” Ahsoka said truthfully. She understood. This war was disrupting every part of their lives, but they had a duty to find the truth and maintain peace. She settled into her seat and listened to the research her master had already completed overnight. She pulled up one of the files he hadn’t gotten to yet and began to read.

“I know this isn’t exactly what you would have expected from your first day as a padawan,” Master Kenobi said after a few moments of silence. “I chose you because your combat scores were impeccable, and I had heard from the masters that you have an adventurous spirit.”

Ahsoka felt her cheeks and lekku heat, and she tried to hide a small, pleased smile as she stared at the console in front of her. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment,” she said.

“I was the same way, as a padawan. And my master only ever wanted me to do research on prophesies for him in the Archive.”

“Prophesies?” Ahsoka asked, surprised. Master Kenobi hummed an affirmative and stroked his beard.

“He was fascinated by them. They were the reason he wanted to train Anakin to be a Jedi. Of course, I ended up being the one to train him.” His voice was weary, and that exhausted expression passed over his young features again.

“Because of the Sith?” Ahsoka asked, lowering her voice. Master Kenobi nodded. Ahsoka’s eyes widened. So, the stories told among the Initiates were true about Master Kenobi. The first Jedi to kill a Sith Lord in over one thousand years. “Did you really kill the Sith?”

“I certainly hope so,” Master Kenobi chuckled. “I cut him in half. If he survived, I’m sure he would not be very happy with me.”

Ahsoka covered her mouth as she giggled, and Master Kenobi laughed softly as well. His face fell, and he sighed. Ahsoka watched him, her body tense. That sense of exhaustion had returned in him.

“I’m afraid I don’t think all this reading will do me much good,” he said wearily. “I think I’ll have to get some help from an old friend. Do you like nerf bacon? We can eat while we’re there.”

Ahsoka blinked at him, bewildered. “I like bacon,” she shrugged. Obi-Wan smiled at her and they swiftly and silently left the Archives.

A calm peace settled on Ahsoka’s shoulders as they walked through the Temple, talking quietly. She could feel how warm and open her new master was. How patient and understanding. Even though they were already thrown into their duties and didn’t have the proper time yet to get to know one another, she didn’t think it would be difficult to find that she liked her new master. And that no matter what this war brought, no matter what missions they would be sent on, she and Master Kenobi would be able to work well together.

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Ahsoka left their little cottage early in the morning, just as the sun was rising. She stood outside the front door, looking east, admiring the glow of dawn over the forest. Above the trees, the waxing crescent of the gas giant they orbited was bright in the lightening sky. She took a sip of her freshly brewed caf and stood still, listening. The breeze rustled through the leaves on the trees. Water rushed smoothly over a rocky riverbed nearby. Birds sang their morning song, a sweet melody that whistled high then swung low.

Their cottage sat on the edge of a clearing in the forest. She swept her eyes across it, over the lush vegetable garden and their dried clothes swinging lazily on the line. The clearing felt larger today than normal in the absence of their ship. But Rex wouldn’t return with it for another few days. She hoped he was safe on his mission. It wasn’t a battle, but it was dangerous all the same. At least he had Echo with him. He had sent her a long-range communication before they landed on Sesid, but she hadn’t heard from them since. She expected not to hear anything for a day or two. Extraction missions could be complicated, and she didn’t want to jeopardize the mission by sending him a commlink at the wrong time.

She walked through the garden, sipping her caf and letting the Force flow through her. She felt the shift and change of life, its texture, its pulse. She dragged her fingers over the wide leaves of the gourd vines, admiring the flowers on the citrus fruit bushes, letting the soft branches of the stone fruit tree dance over her montrals in the morning breeze. Here, at the roots of the fruit tree, was where she decided to sit. She set her mug of caf on the ground beside her, tucked her feet under her knees, and did something she had not done in eight years: connected with the Force.

Before, she had always been able to feel the Force. Her earliest memories were filled with it. It was a warm light that encircled her and flowed through her and through everything around her. Through it she could see the Galaxy around her, feel its shape, its texture. It connected her to everything around her in ways she couldn’t fathom not understanding. She was part of the Force, and the Force was part of her.  

About eight years ago, however, she stopped being able to feel the Force. She sat here on this moon, reached out and felt… nothing. The light that she knew thrummed in every living thing, flowed through the galaxy like a ceaseless current, ran through her veins and pulsed in time with her heart was simply gone. She sat for hours, and then days, reaching out. But there was nothing.

At first, she blamed herself. She and Rex had left the war to find Balance in the Force. She thought her abandonment of the Jedi and her rejection of their dogma was what caused her to be cut completely off from the Force. She thought it was her attempt to find Balance that damaged her ability to feel it in some way. Rex suggested that she stop trying to reach out, to let herself heal and rest and wait. But for eight years, she could not connect with that vital light she had grown to depend on her entire life. And without it, she was lost.

She decided, after a while, that finding Balance was still the right thing to do. It had been the will of the Force, back when she could still feel and interpret its will. After eight years of apprenticeship and two years of knighthood, she believed the ways of the Jedi were broken, and the Force was guiding her toward something new, something better. She certainly found something new, but whether it was better she had yet, even now, to discover. After nearly a year of floating aimlessly through space, spending hours and sometimes days in a meditative trance, the Force led her to a planet in a Separatist-controlled system, to a range of low mountains far from civilization, and into a series of caverns in which Count Dooku lived.

She could still remember the driving fear that clutched at her throat as she stepped underground, a lingering panic from a battle that ended with her and half her men trapped underground in the dark with predatory monsters behind enemy lines. She had breathed through her fear, inhaled the stale subterranean air and breathed out the memories of men screaming and bones crunching and blaster bolts streaking aimlessly in the dark. She was taught all her life to control her fear, to breathe it away, for fear led to anger, anger led to hate, and hate led to suffering.

When she saw Count Dooku in the cave, her fear indeed turned to anger and hate. Anger that she had stepped into this Sith’s trap. Hate for the man who had killed so many of her friends. Again, she breathed it all away as she lit her lightsabers, ready for the inevitable fight.

“So, it is you who is to be my newest apprentice.”

His words were like ice in her veins. Fear, anger, and hatred all flooded back into her body and mind, the power of it buzzing through her limbs like electricity. His apprentice? Absolutely not.

He surprised her, then, when he explained that he, too, had been brought here by the Force. He knew she was searching for Balance. Her search was incomplete without a lesson on the dark side. And who could teach her except him? He had been trained by Jedi, had been a Jedi. He had taught her master’s master. He was as much a part of her as Yoda or Qui-Gon. And he knew how to wield the Dark Side.

He had warned her, however, before she stepped into the shadows: “When learning the ways of the Dark Side, it is very easy to Fall. And once Fallen, it is impossible to come back to the Light.”

She did not Fall, although she came very close during her apprenticeship with Dooku. She learned how to harness her anger, her hate, and her fear, pulling the Force from within her and using her own strength and power to control the galaxy around her. She never knew she had such power within her. When she was a child at the Temple, they stressed the importance of using only the power of the Force from without, rather than within. Now, she understood why. Using such strong, raw emotions was a power that could easily consume.

The power of the Dark Side came easily to her once she knew how to draw on it from within her. It was easy to draw too much, to become consumed with power. And in this, Dooku also showed his worth. He taught her how to cool the burning passion, to stem the flow of raw power from within, and mix it with the Light Side of the Force from without. With practice, it was possible to create Balance. A swirling pool of light and dark around and inside and through her. She was not a conduit of the Force, nor its controller. She was, truly, one with the Force, as it was with her.

She thought of that moment when she first achieved Balance. She was everywhere and nowhere at once. She was the Galaxy and simultaneously a single cell within its vastness. The sheer unfathomable expanse of her power overwhelmed her senses, and she remembered crying out—in pain or jubilation she could not tell—before the weight and exhaustion of maintaining her connection to the Force in that way caused her to collapse.

“Like all things, it will take practice,” Dooku had said. “In time you will wonder why you ever connected differently.”

Sitting now beneath the swaying branches of the stone fruit tree in her garden, Ahsoka placed her fingers in the dirt by her hips. The soil was cool to the touch, loamy and soft. If she reached out, she could feel the insects in the soil, hundreds of millions of them, working steadily, involuntarily, only ever knowing how to survive. Life thrummed under her fingertips. As she breathed in, she felt the Force flowing around her. It weaved through the plants as they pulled water and nutrients from the soil and sunlight and carbon dioxide from the air and created energy to keep growing, keep flowering, keep fruiting. The cycle of life crunched and slithered and wilted and bloomed all around her and she could feel it. Finally, after eight years of being blind, she could see.

She exhaled her worries, and in the next inhale looked inward. The Force flowed through her, too. That had never faded. It couldn’t have faded, because it was the same Living Force that flowed through all living things, and always had since the creation of the universe. It was only her ability to feel it that had been muted.

“Muted” is what she called it, rather than outright loss, because it was not gone completely. She could still feel it in small amounts, usually when she was with Rex. He was like a beacon to her, a light in the dark. She could feel the Force pulsing between them, like the Force Bond she used to share with Master Obi-Wan when she was his padawan. It was one of so many reasons why she liked Rex. Even without the Force, he was her strength. Her light in the dark. Her rock.

Bringing Rex along with her on her search for Balance had only been partly practical. She was a Jedi Knight and was competent enough to defend herself. She didn’t need Rex to protect her. What she needed was companionship. Someone to care for her when she meditated too long, to talk to during the long weeks of solitude. There was no one in the Galaxy Ahsoka could think of to fill that role than Rex. She hadn’t realized the reason was less than professional until they were already gone.

It had been after one of her meditations, she woke to find Rex kneeling at her side. He was only wearing his body glove, and in her exhausted haze all she could see were the curves of his muscles, the slight flush on his cheeks, the bright golden streaks in his amber eyes. He lifted her in his arms gently. The fuzz of his hair brushed against her skin and chills ran down her spine.

“What do you need?” he had asked softly, oh, so softly. She wanted to tell him she wanted him. All of him. She wanted him to kiss her, to pull their bodies together, to abandon this push and pull she felt between them and give in to the attraction she felt. But she refrained. He hadn’t given her any indication he wanted her the same way she wanted him, so she let him take care of her, and didn’t mention her growing attachment to him.

After they landed on the moon, her attraction to him became harder to hide. She could feel the Force when he was with her, could feel their Bond growing stronger despite the Force around her growing dimmer. She craved closeness with him. She found herself leaning into his side for comfort, making excuses to touch his hands and arms, insisting they curl up together for warmth and comfort. She didn’t want to admit her love for him. She didn’t want him to feel that he had to reciprocate.

To her surprise, it was Rex who broke their barrier between friends and lovers. He had swiped his knuckles over her cheek, his eyes soft in the low light of their campfire and told her he would stay on this moon with her forever if she asked. He would go anywhere, do anything that she wanted.

“I would leave and never come back, if that’s what you want,” he had said. Although the way his palm cupped her jaw and his fingers slid along her neck suggested that was the opposite of what he wanted. She shook her head, not wanting to tear her eyes away from the soft and lustful look on his face, from the firelight dancing in his eyes.

“I know you would do what I want,” Ahsoka had said quietly, hoping the way her voice shook was lost among the crackling of the flames and the gentle breeze blowing through the trees. “But what do you want?”

Rex’s eyes never left hers as he said, “I want to hold you and never let go.”

That night he kissed her passionately, had held her in his arms and touched her reverently, lovingly, the way she had only ever seen him touch his armor. Wrapped in his arms, she could feel his love for her flowing through the Force. She let herself be consumed by it, and had never been the same after. Until a few mornings ago, his love had been her only source of the Force, and it comforted her to know that Rex, who she had known and trusted and loved for years, could be that source for her.

They spent the last eight glorious years together on this moon. They built the cottage together. They tended the gardens together. Fixed the ship and speeders together. Cooked together. Sparred together. Ran missions together. Stayed in bed for hours, holding each other close, worshiping each other’s bodies, and then sat together in the forest behind the cottage talking for hours more to worship each other’s minds. It was safe to say that Ahsoka loved Rex more than anyone else in the Galaxy.

It was her love for Rex that she thought of as she reached for the Force within. It was the strongest emotion she had, stronger than fear or hatred or anger. And, Maker, it was powerful when she connected to it. The Force sang in her veins and her muscles, a tight vibrato that resonated through her bones from the top of her montrals to the soles of her feet.

She breathed in, dug her shaking fingers into the dirt, and pulled the Force from the creatures and plants that surrounded her. It whispered around her body, like the breeze swirling among the plants in her garden, and she pulled it in. The two sources of the Force swirled around her, through her, within her. They pulsed in time with her heart, crashing and cascading, rising and falling like waves clashing in a rocky whirlpool.

There was a moment, as she pulled both sources in and up and around, that she thought she might lose control completely. It had been a long time since she had even connected with the Force, and now she was attempting to both control and be controlled by it. The Force thrashed within her, lashing her on the inside, jerking at her chest and knocking out her breath. It was too much. She wasn’t strong enough. She would lose control and it would destroy her. She choked on the sudden fear welling up in her chest, and the Force from within turned dark, pushing out her love, filling her with the powerful electricity of fear.

As soon as she felt the fear fill her up, she also felt the Force flowing around her again. She reached out and pulled it in, let it swirl with the dark somewhere in her belly, letting it expand so that it tangled and entwined like vines twisting in the wind. She breathed out her fear and breathed in her love for Rex. The dark was replaced with burning passion, and it blazed within her.

And then, with a shift and click that was not sound nor physical force but rather a jolt at the end of her spine, she achieved Balance. Behind her eyes, the Galaxy opened. She left her body; she had no body. She was the Force, and the Force was her. Light filled her, spilling from her eyes and nose and mouth, dripping from her pores, surrounding her, filling her, becoming her. She exhaled her corporeal life, and inhaled enlightenment.

It was as magnificent as she remembered it. She floated, weightless, bodiless, through space and time. She was in her garden and also a child on Shili and also an old woman standing on a rocky outcrop. She could feel the war pressing in on her from all sides, slashing at her periphery like a thousand cuts from a thousand blades. All around her was life growing, dying, being born. The Force flowed through all things, through her, around her, within her. Bliss, pure and unadulterated, lifted her consciousness up and away from any temporal life and into the realm of everything, everywhere, simultaneously.

But the bliss couldn’t last forever. Ahsoka heard her own voice screaming. Felt the tears on her cheeks as her consciousness settled back into her skin. She had the vaguest feeling of weightlessness, that she was floating above the ground. She felt the sudden jolt behind her navel of falling, a wave of disorientation, flailed her arms and legs out, and landed heavily and awkwardly onto her backside on the ground.

She blinked and gasped. Her vision was blurry with tears and her breath came in short gasps. Her skin was damp with sweat and flushed from exertion. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, sharp and electric. As she looked around her garden with wild, frantic eyes, she felt a grin stretch across her face and she laughed. She connected with the Force. It was still there, flowing through life around her as it had done for millions of years.

She took a break, to refill her spilled caf and tend to the garden. The morning was quiet. Peaceful. Like all mornings on this moon. They never worried about attackers, or intruders, or even nosy neighbors. Their closest neighbor was thirty kilometers away, the town another hundred.

A hundred kilometers in the other direction was an ancient Jedi Temple. It was for the temple that they had originally landed on this moon eight years ago. She thought about those days after they landed, when she had sat at the entrance to the ancient temple, desperately reaching out for the Force and finding nothing.

After her apprenticeship with Dooku, she’d had another vision, not dissimilar to the ones that had prompted her to leave her life behind to search for Balance. There was an ancient temple where the Balance in the Force had once been worshipped. Within it contained the ability she needed to spread this knowledge of Balance to all the Jedi in the Galaxy.

She and Rex had searched for a year for a Temple old enough to be the one from her visions. She’d had a good feeling about this moon. But a good feeling was all she had. It had gradually become harder to connect to the Force, even more difficult to achieve Balance. And finally, as she knelt at the worn and decaying entrance to this final temple, she lost her connection completely.

They stayed on the moon after Ahsoka had accepted she could no longer commune with the Force, with the supposition that it would be temporary. Ahsoka wanted to stay close to the temple in case she felt the Force again. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into years. Ahsoka gained so much more than a reconnection to the Force. She gained Rex’s love, a new—and arguably more important—mission, a home, a life of her own making. She had gained happiness, true and simple happiness, over the last eight years.

Which was perhaps why the return of the Force unsettled her as much as it excited her. With the return of her connection to the Force, all the old promises she made to herself, to Rex, to Master Obi-Wan and the Jedi Council were now possible again. And those promises meant leaving this happiness she had built for herself behind.

Ahsoka shook the trepidation of the future from her mind and focused on the here and now. She could hear Master Obi-Wan’s voice in her head, admonishing her to stay in the present moment. There was nothing to be gained from conjecture. She only needed to trust in the Force.

She wondered, as she pulled weeds in her garden, what would have happened if she had landed on this moon and had been able to connect to the Force. Would she have opened the Temple? Would she have returned to the Order to spread her knowledge? Would the Order have even listened to her? Would she and Rex have been thrust back into the war? Would she and Rex have ever admitted to being in love?

She was raised and trained her whole life to be a Jedi, an unattached, dogmatic, righteous keeper of the peace. When the war broke out, she was suddenly forced to be a warrior. She and Master Obi-Wan led troops into battle to conquer foreign worlds in the distant Galaxy. It was not the apprenticeship she thought she would have. Through the years she felt like the whole Galaxy was pushing her to be a Commander of troops, to fight and lead a war, to protect a Republic she knew to be corrupt. It wasn’t until she was knighted that she realized she had to leave the Order, the war, and Master Obi-Wan behind to finally be free.

But she had invited Master Obi-Wan here. Here to her sanctuary, her place of peace and serenity, the one place she carved out among the stars, her home. At the time, she thought he could help her figure out if what she was feeling when she meditated was the Force. Now, she knew it was the Force. It thrummed in her and around her, bright and vibrant as ever. And Master Obi-Wan was still coming.

She hadn’t talked to him in over a year. She hadn’t seen him in person in ten years. What would she say to him? That she had stayed on the moon because she couldn’t feel the Force? That she didn’t want to go back to the Temple? That she and Rex had fallen in love, which was forbidden for both Jedi and clones?

And on top of all of it, as if she had forgotten the last twenty years of disagreements, betrayals, and hurt feelings, she had also invited Anakin, Padmé, and Luke.

But it was the return of her connection to the Force that had prompted her to contact them.

She had been so shocked and confused. After eight years, why could she now feel it? Anakin had never lost his connection, and it sounded like Master Obi-Wan had not felt a reconnection on his own yet. Why, after eight years, was she now suddenly able to feel the Force? And why had it disappeared in the first place?

She pondered these questions as she finished tending the garden, feeling the warmth of the Force flow through her from all around. Why, after millennia, would Jedi stop being able to feel the Force? What was it about Anakin that made him so special that he could keep his connection? Was it because he was “the chosen one”? Was he supposed to save the Galaxy from a horrible fate? Had he already done it, and none of them knew? Had their lost connection to the Force been that horrible fate everyone was so worried about?

And why now? What had happened that now allowed her to reconnect with the Force?

She sighed impatiently, huffing at a pair of bean stalks she was watering. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed Master Obi-Wan. That was why she had sent him a commlink. That was why she had asked him to meet her. No matter how thorny and uncomfortable their reunion might be. After all these years, she still needed her master’s wisdom.

She could only hope that his wisdom did not come at the price of her home, her love, and her freedom.

Four months before the Anniversary
500 Republica residential building, Federal District, Coruscant

The late afternoon sun streamed through the transparisteel windows of the penthouse suite of one of Coruscant’s elite apartment buildings, warm and bright. It filtered through the sheer white curtains that adorned the windows of the primary bedroom and landed on dark wood floors and white upholstery. It gleamed off recently polished armor strewn across the floor, reflected off the shimmering fabric of a dress pulled off in haste and draped haphazardly on the corner of a dark wooden chest of drawers. And in the center of the room, the sunlight danced across the dewy skin of Commander Fox and Riyo Chuchi where they were entwined together on soft white sheets.

Fox’s lips dragged across the Senator’s jaw, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair as he rolled his hips into hers slowly, unhurriedly. Her fingers danced over his back, tracing the raised skin of his tattoos and scars, familiar with each one. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him in closer with a gasp. Fox pressed his forehead to hers and looked into her golden eyes to watch her come apart in his arms, their bodies undulating in a rhythm he’d known for nearly seventeen years. He kissed her lips slowly, sweetly, even as their passion rose to a fever pitch and she was gasping against his lips and there was nothing he could think about except the pleasure coursing through his own body.

After, they lay still on the sheets, Riyo tracing Fox’s scars and tattoos as he trailed kisses down her throat, careful not to leave marks. He wanted to savor every second of their time together, every taste of her skin, every sound she made, every touch she gave him. They rarely got to indulge in each other like this anymore. When they were young, it was easy. A fifteen minute recess between Senate sessions could easily be put to better use. Four hours Fox reserved for “sleeping” could be spent at Riyo’s apartment not sleeping a wink. But now their lives were complicated, and they were restricted to stolen hours every few weeks.

“What time is it?” Riyo asked. Fox grunted noncommittally into the divot above her collarbone. He ran his hands down her sides until they landed on her hips. “Palo will be home at the seventeenth hour. I don’t want him to catch you here.”

“I don’t want to talk about Palo,” Fox said. He pulled her hips up as he ground himself onto her again, hoping maybe his body would allow him to go for a second round.

“He could have you decommissioned,” Riyo said matter-of-factly, even though her hands trailed down his back, sending shivers through his body. He kissed her sternum, his cheeks fitting between her breasts like he was made to fit against her before looking up into her golden eyes. She was right, he knew. Palo Demoni, her husband of nearly thirteen years, would be more than excited to provide evidence of their affair and send Fox back to Kamino for decommissioning without a second thought. If it meant he got to spend another ten minutes in bed with Riyo, however, Fox would go without a fight.

“Worth it,” he smirked. Riyo rolled her eyes affectionately and indulged another kiss from him before insisting she needed to get up and use the fresher. Fox lay on her soft sheets, watching her naked form retreat into the en suite fresher. She had aged so beautifully. Her hips had widened, her skin mottled with stretch marks from bearing three beautiful children. Her face had aged gracefully, maturity making her cheeks and jaw sharper. Silver hairs streaked her lavender tresses, shining in the light like glitter.

She turned back to look at him at the doorway, and the soft light danced off her eyes and tattoos. Fox smiled. After seventeen years, he still found the shape of her face and the color of her eyes the most beautiful things in the galaxy.

“Do you want to take a shower with me?” she asked. “We have time.”

“I don’t know, I’d like to smell you on my skin the rest of the day,” Fox replied, swiping a hand over his chest, which was slick with their mingled sweat. If he had to go back to work, he at least would like a reminder of their time together. There was never a guarantee they would have the time again.

“You could smell like my shampoo instead,” Riyo shrugged. Fox launched himself off her bed, slipping a little on the slick wooden floors in his haste. Riyo laughed, a soft melodic sound that made Fox’s stomach flutter pleasantly. He crowded her into the shower, catching her laughter with his lips as his hands caressed her skin and his body did, indeed, indulge him in one more round with her pressed against the slate tile wall of the shower and warm water cascading down his back.

He wondered, as he watched Riyo lather her skin with fragrant soap and he massaged shampoo into his hair, if this was what it would feel like to be free. Having sex in the middle of the day, taking real water showers with fancy scented soaps and shampoos, getting to be with the woman he loved. He wouldn’t mind the challenges of his job if he could live like Riyo Chuchi. If he could live with Riyo Chuchi.

Fox almost felt bad pulling his body glove back on after their shower. It needed to be washed after a double shift and was starting to stink. His skin, however, still had the light fragrance of Riyo’s body soap and he would much rather smell like her. Riyo pulled her silk dress back on, wrapping the shimmering fabric around her curves with practiced ease.

“Will you be in the Senate session tomorrow?” Fox asked as he pulled his cuirass over his head.

Riyo sighed tersely as she pulled her hair up. “Yes, there are a few critical bills I need to vote on,” she said, bitterness tainting her voice. Fox raised his eyebrows at her.

“Trouble in the Senate?” he asked, smirking. Riyo chuckled darkly.

“Always,” she said wistfully, and with a twirl of her hand secured her hair in a bun with a jeweled pin. “We’re voting on increasing security here on Coruscant. If it passes, you’ll be afforded more resources.”

“And more work,” Fox noted. He had read the bill. It would increase the funds allocated to the Guard, allowing them to purchase new equipment and weapons and armor. But they would also need to bring in more clones, an unfunded resource, and it would increase the amount of work Fox’s men would have to do, stretched thin across the planet as they were already. He was still in favor of the bill. The more people felt they were protected, the more favorable they were of the clones and GAR in general. And that always made his life easier.

“We all make sacrifices,” Riyo sighed. Fox snapped his cod and skid plates together and silently agreed, although he wasn’t entirely sure Riyo understood the immense sacrifice his brothers made for the Galaxy and the Republic and had been making for the past twenty years. “There’s another bill, an amendment to the Economic Security Act, that I’m not excited about voting on.”

“Why not?”

“Corporate Lobbyists have managed to get language on the bill that would make their shipments first priority for Safe-Travel protection through active warzones,” Riyo explained, her distaste clear in her voice and on her face. “Meaning they would be afforded Naval escorts and GAR protection troops before all other ships, including civilian transports, refugee transports, and humanitarian aid.”

“Civilian transports aren’t allowed through active war zones anyway,” Fox countered. “And refugee and humanitarian transports are GAR-supplied.”

“That’s the argument they’re making, yes,” Riyo sighed. “But if this bill passes, corporate ships will be able to pull GAR troops and ships for escort as a priority, leaving refugees and humanitarian aid either defenseless or stranded at the point of origin. Which they will absolutely take advantage of. Palo’s company is publicly supporting this amendment and I’ve already gotten pressure from them to vote in the affirmative for it.”

Fox was silent as he snapped on his rerebraces and chewed on her words. Corporations usually had contracted mercenaries on their ships and as armed escorts. It was rare they ever needed Republic Navy or Army support. Larger corporations were actively neutral in the galactic conflict, refusing to take sides or acknowledge allegiance to either the Galactic Republic or the Confederacy of Independent Systems. For the Senate to enact a bill allowing corporations to take advantage of them in that way seemed like a long shot in forcing corporations to pick a side and potentially starve out the CIS.

“What I’m really worried about,” Riyo continued, putting on her earrings, “is that Senator Filray of Abregado stepped down from his post this week, and his spot has not yet been filled. He was a fellow opponent of the amendment, and without his influence we may lose fringe voters.”

“The Senator from Abregado stepped down?” Fox asked. This was news to him. He wondered if Commander Fist knew.

“Yes, he said he wanted to spend more time with his family,” Riyo shrugged. “I can’t blame him. He’s been looking pretty stressed the last few weeks. I think that attack on the school in district eight really affected him. I considered pulling my boys from school here and sending them back to Pantora, but I’d miss them too much.”

“Me, too,” Fox said sincerely. Riyo smiled at him.

“I trust you and the Guard to keep us safe,” Riyo purred, stepping between his knees, and placing her hands on his jaw. Fox ran his hands up her thighs beneath her dress as she leaned in to kiss his lips sweetly. He thought maybe he could use his fingers or his mouth on her one more time, but she pulled away from his reach before he could try. He licked his lips as he watched her retreat to the refresher again. He wished he could stay. He wished this was their apartment, their kids, their life.

He finished pulling on his armor and conceded to the fact that this was just a stolen moment, a fantasy they indulged in less frequently than he hoped, a lie they deluded themselves into thinking was sustainable. Riyo couldn’t leave her husband. Not while they were both such public figures. She had explained that only something truly devastating would be cause enough to leave him. And besides, they had three children together who needed a stable family. Fox gritted his teeth and pretended he understood.

Fox walked through Riyo’s apartment with easy familiarity as the time ticked closer to 1700. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to stay here and keep pretending this was his life. He wanted to eat dinner in her dining room and watch the holonet with her sons and fall asleep warm and comfortable in her bed with her tucked safely into his arms. But he couldn’t do any of those things. Instead, he gave her one last passionate kiss goodbye and pulled on his helmet as he stepped into the corridor.

He figured while he was in the building, he might as well check their security system. Two other public officials lived in this building in addition to Riyo, and the GAR helped the third-party security company maintain and monitor their security systems in buildings in which government officials lived. It wasn’t the work he and his men were designed to do, but it offered an interesting career path for those who preferred working with computers to blasters.

As he plugged his datapad into the hidden security panel in the wall of the residents’ entrance foyer, he heard the door swish open. He didn’t bother to look up from his work. He was in armor, and therefore invisible. What he didn’t expect was to hear his name shouted from the doorway by a familiar child’s voice. He turned to see Riyo’s three sons running toward him across the small foyer, followed by their father, Palo. Fox smiled and braced himself for the tackle-hug Riyo’s middle son, Thisen, gave him. Thisen grinned up at him from where he had his arms wrapped around Fox’s middle and Fox couldn’t help but swipe his soft lavender hair out of his golden eyes affectionately.

“Commander Fox! Look, I drew you!” Fox looked up from Thisen to see Riyo’s youngest son, Lettix, holding out a datapad (protected with a thick orange case). Fox took the datapad with one hand, the other still resting on Thisen’s head, and turned the screen toward him. It was a crude drawing, the proportions were all wrong and the shapes were not colored within the lines, but honestly Fox doubted he could do any better, not having been given the opportunity to learn to draw as a cadet.

“You drew this?” Fox asked. Lettix grinned and nodded. He was missing two teeth. “It’s excellent, Lettix. I think I’ll make it my new ID holo, what do you think?” Lettix laughed and reached his hands out to take the datapad back.

“Commander Fox! We learned about the war today!” Thisen said, stepping out of Fox’s embrace and continuing to grin at him.

“What did you learn?”

“We learned that the Separatists didn’t want to be part of the Republic anymore, and when we found out they were making droids, the Jedi brought in you! The clones!” Thisen said in a rush. Fox grinned at him behind his bucket. The beginning of the war was far more complicated than that, but the look of joy on Thisen’s face at having learned something that clearly fascinated him kept Fox from correcting him. “I told my teacher I knew you, and she said no one knows the clones, which is ridiculous.”

“That is ridiculous,” Fox chuckled. He looked at Palo Junior, who stood a little away from Fox and his brothers, a conflicted look on his maturing face. He looked the most like his father, with a slender face and grey eyes, whereas the two younger boys looked more like their mother, with her rounded cheeks and golden eyes. “How are you, PJ?” A small smile flitted over Palo junior’s lips at the affectionate nickname, even though Palo senior frowned at Fox behind his son.

“Doing well, Commander,” Palo Junior said quietly. A look passed over his eyes, an excitement he momentarily couldn’t contain, but it disappeared as the boys’ father cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Boys,” he said sharply, “go up to our apartment.”

“But—”

“Now,” Palo snapped, interrupting whatever Thisen was about to say.

All three boys shuffled to the lift doors. There was a moment of awkward silence as they waited for the lift to descend. Palo Junior corralled his brothers into the lift when the doors opened, and Thisen waved goodbye, grinning widely. Fox waved back, affection clenching at his chest. He loved Riyo’s children. They were full of childish innocence. An innocence he was never allowed at their developmental level. When he was the same biological age as Lettix, he had been handed a training blaster and taught how to kill.

Fox turned to Palo as he crossed the foyer slowly. He stood pin straight, his slender shoulders rigid and his hands clasped behind his back. Fox straightened, his instincts telling him this man’s posture and neutral expression was dangerous, even if his lean stature and aristocratic pedigree suggested otherwise. He stopped half a meter in front of Fox, who watched him carefully as if sizing up an opponent. He wore a blue tunic Fox recognized as a formal Pantoran military uniform, adorned with gold and silver bars on the collar and multi-colored ribbons on the chest for various service awards. Fox wondered if he had fought in any of the battles on Pantora or in the Sujimis sector, or if his military service was entirely ceremonial.

“What the fuck are you doing here, hraladar?” Palo spat, his lip curling into a snarl. Fox was suddenly glad Palo sent his sons away. He didn’t want them hearing anyone, least of all their father, calling him that slur.

Fox gestured behind him to the security panel where his datapad was still plugged in. “Working,” Fox said. Palo growled under his breath.

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Palo said, his voice dipping dangerously low. His grey eyes were cold as they stared into Fox’s visor.

“You’re welcome to inspect my work,” Fox sneered.

“You’re just erasing your trail,” Palo said. He took another half step closer to Fox, his lip still curled into a snarl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fox said, even though his blood turned to ice and his heart skipped several beats.

“I know you’re fucking my wife,” Palo said lowly. Fox swallowed. He hoped it wasn’t audible through his vocoder.

“You can’t prove anything,” Fox whispered.

“Not yet,” Palo sneered. “You’re too slippery, hraladar. But someday I’ll catch you. And I’ll take great pleasure in ordering your decommissioning.”

Fox snorted and leaned in so that his faceplate was close enough to Palo’s face that he could smell the awful cologne clinging to his skin. Palo shifted, moved into a more defensive stance. He was taller than Fox by almost ten centimeters, and although Fox was broader, stronger, faster, and generally a more capable fighter, he wished he was taller if only so that Palo didn’t loom over him in situations like this.

His eyes caught on something metallic that flashed on Palo’s collar, and his gaze fell on a small black pin he’d never noticed before. It was a crescent above an inverted chevron, the crescent’s open side up like a bowl or a cup, and both were bisected by a vertical line. There was something vaguely familiar about the symbol, but in the fraction of a second that he looked at it, he couldn’t remember where he had seen it before.

He looked back up into Palo’s sneering face and remembered that he had just been handed a death threat for the unsubstantiated—albeit true—claim that he was fucking Palo’s wife. Riyo had warned him that Palo would have him decommissioned if he ever found out. Luckily Fox hadn’t earned his name purely for his good looks and remained one step ahead of Palo and his investigations. He took another step closer to Palo so that his cuirass barely brushed Palo’s puffed chest.

“Then that will be such a sweet way to die,” Fox taunted, “with the taste of her cunt still on my tongue.”

A low shout of rage tore from Palo’s chest and he grabbed Fox by the straps of his cuirass, his face murderous. Fox’s heartrate sped up, but he wanted to laugh in triumph.

“Careful, Demoni. I don’t want to arrest you for assaulting a Coruscant Guardsman,” Fox said, barely containing the laughter building in his chest. Palo released his cuirass and backed several steps away, still snarling.

“Fuck you, hraladar,” Palo spat, slapping his hand on the button for the lift. “I hope you die slowly.”

Fox shook his head and turned back to his work. Palo had no idea how slowly he was already dying. This planet had been killing him for the last twenty years, and only his brief and infrequent trysts with Riyo kept him from ending it all himself.

Chapter Text

Seven years before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

“Go ahead, Padmé, tell them what you told me.” Anakin’s voice was cold through the holoprojector, his face pulled into a serious but not unkind frown.

Padmé sighed and hugged her arms tighter around her chest. She had her hair down and was wearing a simple dress, so different from the elaborate hairstyles and dresses Rex had gotten used to seeing her in when she was part of the Republic Senate. But on this call, she was not Padmé Amidala, former queen of Naboo, Republic Senator. She wasn’t even Padmé Amidala, representative in the People’s House of Lianna. She was simply Padmé Naberrie, wife of Anakin, mother of Luke and Leia, friend to Rex and Ahsoka. When she looked into Rex’s eyes through the holoprojector, Rex’s chest clenched at her sadness and worry, and he had a very bad feeling about whatever she was going to say.

“I know where the clone prisoners of war are going, Rex,” Padmé said shakily.

Rex gasped. The CISA had started taking clone prisoners after the removal of Count Dooku as leader. But investigative scans and intelligence had been unable to find evidence of POW camps. The clone prisoners simply vanished, never seen or heard from again. It was widely believed they were being killed, but those who had lost close brothers still held out hope that they were prisoners somewhere, on some remote planet in the far reaches of the Galaxy, just out of Republic view. Rex leaned forward, staring intently at Padmé, both eager and terrified to hear what she had to say.

“They’re being sold into slavery, Rex,” Padmé said, her voice breaking.

Rex froze. His mind stuttered to a stop. This was far worse than he had thought.

“How do you know?” he asked, surprised at how steady his voice sounded, even though he felt like he might break apart any second.

“I met some, at the Liannan Governor’s house,” Padmé answered. “He has three clone POW slaves.”

Rex clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. Slaves. His brothers, pulled from involuntary servitude to the Republic into slavery by the CIS. It made him sick.

“They’ve been treated so poorly, Rex,” Padmé whispered, leaning into the holoprojector. “We must help them. But I don’t know where we could send them. I don’t want to send them back to the GAR.”

“No, we can’t send them back to the GAR,” Rex sighed. An idea occurred to him. If he played his cards right, he could have a place to send any clone slaves they freed. But he would have to ask permission from a friend. “I may have a solution.”

Four months before the anniversary
Sesid, Confederacy of Independent Systems, Outer Rim

Rex focused the view of his HUD on the top of a permacrete wall about two hundred meters away. Next to him, Echo swiped through screens on his datapad until he found what he was looking for.

“There should be a guard on the top of the wall,” Echo said through their internal comms. “He patrols in a single sweep every five minutes.”

“No secondary guard?” Rex asked, searching the top of the wall for the guard Echo mentioned.

“Negative, only the one,” Echo confirmed.

“Sloppy,” Rex admonished.

“Well, lucky for us they weren’t trained by you,” Echo teased. Rex snorted.

“Alright set the chrono… now,” Rex said as the guard turned his line of sight away from their planned point of entry. He counted his own heartbeats as he followed the guard’s path down the wall, ready to have Echo stop the chrono when he turned around and put their point of entry in sight again. The guard walked all the way to the end of the wall, paused as he looked over the lawn to the east, and turned around. “And… stop.”

“Kriff, only one and a half minutes,” Echo sighed. “This guy must be taller than the last guard. Or walk faster.”

“We’ll need a distraction to keep him looking out at the field,” Rex said. He refocused his HUD and looked over at the datapad Echo was holding. It had a layout of the castle grounds’ security from Echo, Anakin, and Luke’s reconnaissance trip last week. It showed the eight-meter wall that surrounded the Sesidian Senator’s castle, the gatehouse at the secondary entry point on the eastern side of the property, the motion-sensors and anti-aircraft turrets lining the cliff-side western wall, and Rex and Echo’s determined point of entry on the western corner of the south wall. There was an unfortunately wide section of lawn between the forest and their POE, but it was the closest point to the subterranean chambers, where they were headed, and the least protected section, with only one guard.

Echo’s earlier recce timed the guard’s patrol to be five minutes: two and a half minutes facing the southwestern corner, and two and a half minutes facing away. This guard only gave them ninety seconds to cross the quarter klick of empty lawn, scale the wall, cross it, and rappel down the other side without being seen. When Rex and Echo were both young and fresh from ARC training, they could have done it in that time easily. But Rex had enjoyed eight years away from the war (and, subsequently, eight years without training for it), and Echo was still working on getting back to his full strength and speed with his prostheses.

“I could set up a droid popper or something along the tree line. Enough to make noise without causing damage,” Echo suggested.

“Do we have extras?” Rex asked, glancing down at Echo’s belt. As a stealth mission, they hadn’t brought a lot of ammo.

“Never, but I’ll make it work,” Echo shrugged.

Rex nodded and Echo slid back into the foliage, heading east. Rex wished he could connect to Echo’s HUD the way they used to during the war, so he could see what Echo saw. But Echo’s ARC helmet had been destroyed in the incident that took his legs and arm, and the helmet he had cobbled together with spare parts was lucky to have an internal comm system that worked. Rex waited with bated breath for Echo to set up their distraction, and watched the guard pace along the top of the wall.

Rex took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He and Echo had run several of these extraction missions together, and so far they had all been a success. Before Echo was healed and strong enough to run missions with him, Rex had either gone with Anakin, Ahsoka, or alone. As much as he and Anakin and Ahsoka had always worked well together, there was something special about running missions with a brother. They understood each other better than anyone could. They moved fluently together, like two halves of the same machine. The way Fives and Echo used to move together.

Echo returned to Rex’s side silently, the movement of his prosthetic joints barely a mechanical whisper. He nodded to Rex and settled into a crouch next to him.

“Ready?” Rex asked.

“Right behind you,” Echo affirmed. Rex waited until the guard had walked far enough that he wouldn’t see them slip from the tree line, then sprinted into the lawn.

It took forty seconds to cross the open lawn, both clones instinctively crouching as they ran. Rex aimed and shot his rappel gun at the top of the wall as he approached, leapt up and let the wire pull him up the wall. Echo’s wire slung past him and attached next to his. He looked to his right, where the guard was still walking away from them at a steady pace. He heard a mechanical click behind him, and in the distance the familiar sound of a droid popper. The guard stopped at the corner of the wall just as Rex reached the top.

Rex climbed over the top of the concrete wall and dropped noiselessly onto a metal walkway. He didn’t stop to check for Echo. He didn’t need to. He could hear his brother directly behind him, his mechanical joints whirring smoothly as he climbed the wall.

“Hey, uh, I think I heard something,” the guard said. Rex paused in the walkway on the top of the wall. The guard stood at the corner and looked out into the eastern lawn, holding a commlink to his mouth. Rex let out his breath. They hadn’t been spotted yet. In front of him, a metal safety railing was the only thing between him and the compound below, which would make rappelling down more difficult than he had anticipated.

“Are you pinging us to report an investigable incident?” a voice on the other end of the comm grumbled. The wall guard heaved a massive, irritated sigh. Rex had to bite his lips to keep from laughing. He spotted an opening in the railing in the corner to his left. A ladder. Echo’s boots landed softly on the metal next to him and Rex signaled in the direction of the ladder.

“Gate Station this is South One,” the guard said into the comm, an edge of annoyance in his voice, “pinging to report an investigable incident.”

“Go ahead South One,” the voice—a guard at the gate station—said in response.

“Electronic sound, clicking and popping, on the south edge of the eastern lawn,” the guard continued. Rex crouched at the top of the ladder and surveyed the ground below. There were crates stacked in a neat grid pattern throughout the open area, like a warehouse or loading dock. Two shuttles sat idle close to a gate on the western wall. Behind the castle’s southern wing was a small metal building that covered the entrance to the subterranean caves, about 100 yards from the corner of the wall. It was a straight path between two rows of crates from their position.

As Rex slid down the ladder with feet and hands gripping the outside of the rungs, he heard the gate station guard reply, “Understood, I’ll send someone to investigate.”

Rex’s heart leapt into his throat. The gate station was in direct view of the ladder. If someone came out of the door into the courtyard at that exact moment, they would see both Echo and Rex sliding down the ladder into the stacks of crates. Rex let go of the ladder with a meter of space still between his boots and the ground and darted backward behind the nearest stack. He heard the door to the gate station open. Echo was still on the ladder. He cursed and let go of the ladder, dropping to the ground next to Rex and pulling his blaster. Both clones froze. Rex barely dared to breathe.

“Did you see that?” a female voice asked from the gate station doorway. Her voice echoed against the crates around them.

“See what?” the gruff male voice asked.

Rex clenched his teeth and willed his heart to stop beating so loudly. He looked over at Echo, who had frozen in place with one hand on the grip of his blaster. Someone clicked on a handheld light, and shined it at the ladder Echo had, just seconds before, been sliding down. Rex stopped breathing entirely, watching the path of the illumination travel up the ladder to the top of the wall, back down to the left and then right of the stack of crates Rex and Echo were hiding behind. Rex’s head swiveled, looking for a way out. If the guard moved into the crate stacks to investigate, they could weave their way through to the subterranean chamber entrance. If they absolutely had to, they could climb back up the wall and run into the forest.

“I don’t see anything,” the gruff voice huffed. “Must have been a trick of the light.”

The light traveled back up the ladder and across the walkway before the female voice conceded to the idea that she had imagined it. She turned the light away. Rex still held his breath. Echo removed his hand from the grip of his blaster but didn’t shift out of his crouched position. The eastern gate opened with a clatter, and Rex and Echo darted through the crates toward the little metal building.

“Let’s see if Leia’s slicing work has gotten better,” Echo whispered into their internal comm as he crept to the door of the metal building. He pulled a datastick out of his belt and inserted it into the slot next to the door.

While Echo, Anakin, and Luke had been collecting reconnaissance on the security and structure of the castle grounds, Leia and Padmé had been inside the castle itself, pretending to speak with the Senator about diplomatic issues while Leia covertly copied the information from the Senator’s datastick. If it was done correctly, they could get into the building virtually undetected. In past attempts, Echo had needed to slice in to get past a final layer of security because Leia simply didn’t know everything there was to know yet about security systems.

The lock chimed, which made Rex’s heart skip several beats, and he peeked around the corner of the castle with his blaster raised to make sure no one noticed. Echo hummed, pleased, and the door slid open. Rex followed Echo through it backwards, his blaster still raised as he watched for the guards at the gate.

“She’s getting better,” Echo said fondly after the door slid shut, concealing them in the little metal building.

“She has a good teacher,” Rex said with a nod. He turned to look around. From above, the square structure was not very large, only a few meters wide. Inside was dark, the only light coming from slats in the roof. The slats cast long yellowish beams of pale moonlight along the ground, partially revealing a steep ramp in the middle of the floor about two meters wide that curved to the right and out of sight.

“This ramp should lead down to the main chamber,” Echo said. “From there we’ll just have to hope that’s where they keep the men and not shit like wine or root vegetables.”

As they descended, Rex followed Echo and thought about how far he had come in the last three years. He had been rescued from the CISA by two operatives working in Padmé’s anti-slavery network after an ARC mission gone wrong. Rex could still remember the tortured look on his face as he realized he had not only lost three of his limbs, but his best friend in the explosion.

“No one could have survived that blast,” Maarva Andor had explained to him. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Echo struggled the first year. He felt that by not returning to the GAR, he was deserting his brothers. Rex had insisted he rest and recover, but Echo resented Rex for leaving the 501^st, and resented that he wasn't able to go back, either. Not only because once he was at the clone colony, he couldn’t return to the GAR, but because he was so badly injured.

The crude prostheses Maarva and Clem had been able to salvage from droid parts were heavy and barely compatible with human synapses. And despite the gradual modifications Echo made to them, he could never stop hearing the clanking of droids everywhere he went. Rex had to admit he was also disturbed by the sound of Echo’s original protheses. Anakin worked diligently to make replacements for him. Once they were installed, Echo’s attitude improved, and his recovery accelerated. And, although Rex was no substitute for Fives, Echo told Rex he was glad to have missions to run with a friend again.

Near the end of the ramp, the corridor in front of them brightened and Echo slowed his pace as he hugged the inner wall. Rex followed, tightening his grip on his blaster. He could hear low voices in the main chamber ahead. They crept forward slowly, backs hugging the wall, blasters raised and ready.

The spiral ramp opened to a low-ceilinged chamber with rough walls and a damp floor. The chamber was divided using scrap metal from cargo crates like the ones they had seen in the courtyard. The air was stale and smelled overwhelmingly of body odor and urine. Voices echoed from among the metal dividers. Soft and fearful, but unmistakably clone voices. Echo paused, and Rex froze behind him, listening.

The enslaved brothers already knew Rex and Echo were coming to free them; Padmé and Leia had given them the message when they came to copy the datachip. It would be so much easier for Rex and Echo if they could also communicate with their enslaved brothers leading up to the extraction. Unfortunately, the risk of the enslaved clones being caught with a commlink was too great, and they needed to be careful.

“…told him this morning. He knows it’s happening,” one brother said in hushed tones.

Another responded, his voice too quiet to hear the words. The sound was like a soft hissing as it echoed off the rocky walls of the subterranean chamber.

“If he was caught up, he’ll come down eventually,” the first said, his quiet voice an attempt at calm, even though Rex could hear the hard edge of fear and anxiety in his tone.

The second argued, and Rex heard the words “caught” and “know” as they echoed through the chamber. Echo looked back at Rex, and signed proceed? Rex nodded.

“No, they would have us on lockdown if they—”

The first clone’s voice cut off as Echo and Rex’s boots scraped through the thin gravel that covered the edge of the ramp. Rex heard the pair of clones shuffling through the chamber, whether hiding or moving to a different room or even picking up weapons, it was impossible to tell. Rex really wished he could send their enslaved brothers a signal of some kind to let them know who they were. That would be the best way to signal to them that he and Echo were there to rescue them, not hurt them. Rex hoped they weren’t armed, and if they were that they weren’t too jumpy.

There was a low hum of electricity in the distance, and as Echo and Rex crouched at the corner of one of the metal dividers, a fan whirred to life. The fan was loud enough that Rex could no longer hear if the enslaved brothers were moving around in the chamber. His heart rate sped up. Anyone could jump out and attack them, even a guard. Rex tightened his fingers around his blaster and followed Echo into the dividers. Each wall divided the space into small stalls. Some stalls had straw on the floor, one had a rough refresher, the toilet sitting out in the open air next to the waste recycler. Rex’s chest squeezed tight as he saw the conditions these brothers were living in. It reminded him of why they risked their lives for these missions. No one deserved to live this way.

Rex’s attention was caught by a flash of bright color in one of the stalls, and he paused. It was a multicolored blanket, coiled on a rough mattress like a pillow. It was clearly well-loved, with frayed edges and loose threads. He didn’t hear the footsteps or see the movement in his peripheral until a blunt force slammed into the back of his helmet. He whirled around, blaster raised, heart pounding, to see a clone brandishing a crowbar. He had an undyed wool cloth with a hole cut in the middle draped over his shoulders like a poncho, his hair was long and twisted into dreadlocks that hung to his shoulders, and his scarred and tattooed face was tight with fear and anger as he swung the crowbar again. Rex grabbed the crowbar before it hit him. The anger and fear on his attacker’s face dropped away into surprise as he saw the shape and style of Rex's helmet.

“You’re a clone?” the brother asked, his voice barely above a whisper and raspy as if he had damaged it from screaming. Rex let go of the crowbar and cautiously reached up to unseal and pull off his helmet. Relief passed over the other clone’s face, and tears welled in his eyes as he let out all his breath at once. Behind him, another brother with short-cropped hair peeked around a partition, also brandishing a crude blunt-force weapon that looked like a plunger taken from a hydraulic lift.

“Ne’er met, brother,” Rex said quietly with a smile as he clipped his helmet to his belt. The brother let out a soft sob at the traditional clone greeting, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Rex extended his hand, and the brother flinched before remembering this was part of the greeting, and not violence. “I’m Rex.”

“Well met, Rex. I’m… I’m Kline.”

Kline reached out and clasped Rex’s forearm in greeting, and Rex wrapped his fingers around Kline’s arm, resisting the urge to check if his forearm was as thin and bony as it felt in his hand. He already knew the brutality these clones wore on their bodies. He’d seen it dozens of times before. Every enslaved clone he had freed had been thin and gaunt, their hair either long and unkempt or forcibly shaven. Many had burns or cuts or whip marks from the violence of the beings who claimed to own them. But the worst brutality of all, in Rex’s opinion, was the mutilation of their hands. Every enslaved clone he had ever encountered had the first two digits of their trigger and middle fingers of both hands removed at the knuckle.

The second brother moved from his hiding place, anxious curiosity etched on his young face as Rex finished the greeting, “Well met, Kline.”

Echo removed his helmet and greeted Kline while Rex reached out to greet the second brother, who timidly called himself Owen. Kline wiped the tears rolling freely down his cheeks with his grimy and mutilated fingers as he watched Owen greet Echo. Owen looked barely twelve, although the scars on his face and what little of his bony arms Rex could see under his makeshift poncho were the kinds of scars Rex would expect on a brother his own age.

“Are there more of you?” Rex asked. Owen bit his lip and looked at Kline, worry clear on his face.

“We’re missing one brother,” Kline said. “Pep. He’s usually back by now, but he was probably kept late.”

“Are there any other slaves here? Or only the three of you?” Echo asked.

Kline and Owen exchanged another look. “I… I think there are girls. Upstairs. But I don’t know how many, or where they’re kept,” Owen said. His voice, unlike Kline’s, was clear and undamaged, albeit timid and small. “The rest of the staff are paid workers, I think. At least, they don’t look like slaves. And they don’t sleep down here with us.”

“Alright,” Rex nodded. As much as he didn’t want to leave whatever girls were being kept upstairs, they didn’t have the intel nor resources to search the castle. He gestured to Echo and said, “Echo is going to deactivate your chips. Gather what possessions you have and be ready to leave as soon as Pep gets here. We’ll wait for him, but we may have to escape quickly if it turns out he was caught.”

“How long can we wait?” Kline asked, eyeing the device Echo pulled from his belt that scanned and deactivated the explosive slave chips embedded in the base of their skulls.

“As long as it takes,” Rex assured him. There were a few quiet and tense minutes as Echo deactivated the slave chips. Kline closed his eyes as Echo pressed the device to the back of his skull, his left hand placed reassuringly on his shoulder. Another tear slid down Kline’s cheek as the device beeped, and Echo whispered that he was free.

“What about Pep’s blanket?” Owen asked, holding up the ratty, brightly colored blanket that Rex had seen earlier. In his other hand he had another makeshift poncho that he had pulled from a corner of the metal divider. He already had his own blanket—a dark red thing that looked more like a scrap of old tablecloth than an actual blanket—wrapped around his shoulders over his poncho and secured with a knot.

“He’ll want that,” Kline said, reaching out to grab it. “I’ll hold onto it until he gets here.”

“Do you have anything you want to take with you?” Rex asked Kline as he hefted the crowbar back into his arms.

“From this place? Not a thing,” Kline answered shaking his head. “I’ve been here ten years. I’ve outlived four other brothers. I fully expected to die here. The only things I want to take with me are Owen and Pep.”

Rex’s heart clenched. Ten years. Ten years. That was almost as long as he and Ahsoka had been away from the war. Except Kline wasn’t floating through space or searching for ancient Jedi temples or making a home and a life on a secluded moon. He was enslaved, tortured, beaten, mutilated, and degraded for those ten years. Just another reminder why he left the safety and security of his and Ahsoka’s hideout as often as possible for these extraction missions. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of his brothers who were enslaved by the citizens of the CIS. And every single one of them deserved to be free.

A clatter rang through the chamber, which had Kline and Owen ducking into one of the partitioned stalls. Rex mirrored them, hiding behind the partition of the stall across from them while Echo chose one closer to the noise. Rex pulled on his helmet, his heart in his throat. He hoped it was only Pep, and not the guards, or—Force forbid—the Senator himself. He pulled his blaster from its holster and watched as Kline tightened his grip on his crowbar. The noise from the air circulation fan muffled any sounds of approaching feet. Rex’s heart pounded in his ears. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had done this before, they had contingency plans in place in case something went wrong, they would all make it out of this cavern alive.

“Kline? Owen?” The voice was definitely a brother, his North Tipoca City accent unmistakable as it echoed off the rough walls. Relief washed over Kline’s face and his shoulders dropped as he lowered his crowbar. He took a half step out of the stall, but Rex held up a hand signal to stop him. This could still be a trap.

“Everything okay?” Kline asked, his voice still raspy even at full volume. “Did they keep you late again?”

“Uh, something like that,” Pep said cryptically. Kline frowned. Rex could tell he was itching to step around the partition to see his brother.

But Kline didn’t need to move, because Pep waltzed down the makeshift corridor and stopped in front of the stall Kline and Owen were currently occupying. He was wearing an outfit practical for hard labor: sturdy but breathable trousers and a water-wicking shirt that hung off his thin frame. And in his arms was a blaster rifle.

Kline’s face paled as his eyes travelled along the long line of the rifle. Owen peeked over Kline’s shoulder and his anxious curiosity melted into blatant amazement.

“Pep, where in the Depths did you get that?” Kline asked.

“The armory,” Pep said nonchalantly. “We’re escaping, right? Are the others here?”

Kline nodded at Rex over Pep’s shoulder, and Pep turned. He grinned at Rex. He looked so young. Younger than Owen. The scars on his mutilated fingers where they gripped the blaster were still dark and fresh.

“Pep, you kriffing idiot, why would you take that?” Owen hissed. “You can’t even shoot it!”

Pep shrugged half-heartedly. “I still got part of my fingers, I can make it work,” he said. Kline shook his head, his eyes still on the rifle. “We should really get going, they’re bound to—”

A shout echoed down into the chamber, a howl of rage and frustration. All three enslaved brothers cowered at the noise, but Echo and Rex jumped to action. Echo pulled his chip deactivator from his belt and pushed it against Pep’s neck as he quickly introduced himself. Rex pulled his blaster and led the group toward the ramp. He was still hopeful they could make an escape across the courtyard and at least over the wall before the guards began their chase.

“You stupid idiot,” Kline spat at Pep as they ran up the ramp. “You brave, selfless, stupid idiot. You’re going to get us all killed.”

“I thought it would take them longer to see that it was gone!” Pep argued.

“Cut the chatter,” Rex ordered. Kline and Pep immediately stopped arguing. He breached the floor of the little metal building cautiously, but there were no lights on, no sounds coming from the courtyard or the wall. His heart pounded frantically against his chest. He could feel his pulse in his temple and throbbing in his fingers where they gripped his blaster.

He opened the door to the courtyard a crack and didn’t see any extra activity. That didn’t mean they weren’t on alert, though.

“We’re going to sprint through the crate stacks to the south wall,” Rex said. Pep and Owen nodded, and Kline wrapped the multi-colored blanket around Pep’s shoulders before signaling proceed.

“I’ll take the rear,” Echo said into their internal comm. His voice was calm, steady. “Ready when you are.”

They sprinted into the first row of crates, Rex splitting his attention between the gate station and the guard on the south wall. He could hear the enslaved brothers directly behind him, their boots too loud against the gravel. Rex paused to check for a guard or a droid or anyone or anything that might see them in the stacks. But there was no one. The guard on the top of the wall didn’t even look into the courtyard. Rex had a brief and wild leap of hope that they might make it out of this one without incident, until the frustrated howl they heard earlier rose from the metal building behind them with intense ferocity.

“THE HRALADAR ARE ESCAPING! THEY STOLE A BLASTER! SHOOT TO KILL!”

Rex’s heart dropped. He looked up and saw the guard on the wall shift his attention from the southern lawn to the courtyard, see them, and raise his blaster. Rex was quicker. With one precise hit, the guard on the wall tumbled backward into the south lawn, screaming as he fell. Behind him, Kline cursed under his breath. Echo told their three companions to keep moving, his voice steady and commanding.

Red blaster fire zinged past Rex’s shoulder and glanced off one of the crates ahead of him. The ladder wasn’t far, another twenty meters at most. He just had to make it so he could shoot down any guards who tried to attack them. He took a deep breath to steady the frantic pounding of his heart. This was what he was trained to do. This was what he was made to do. But over the past eight years, he’d found he preferred the quiet, peaceful life that he and Ahsoka had created to the never-ending pressures of war. Which was exactly why he ran these extraction missions: so that more brothers could live a peaceful life, free of servitude and the constant fear of death. He wished he could save all the clones in the Galaxy from their servitude, whether they understood they were enslaved or not.

Another bolt flew past, this time at chest height, and burned into the permacrete of the wall in front of him. He sprinted to the ladder. He needed to protect the others from above while they climbed. He practically flew up the ladder, skipping rungs and pulling himself up onto the metal walkway. This was the one time he wished Ahsoka or Anakin was here to lift him using the Force.

“They’re on the south wall!” a voice shouted from the courtyard. “They have two others with them, they look like, fuck, they’re armored clone troopers!”

Rex crouched on the metal walkway and aimed his pistol into the courtyard. Three more guards ran out of the metal building they had just left. Owen was on the ladder, climbing as fast as his emaciated limbs would take him. Pep, who had slung the blaster rifle over his shoulders, was not far behind him. Red blaster bolts fired at the clones as they climbed, and Echo and Rex fired back. Echo killed one of the three and Rex knocked the blaster out of another’s hand. Light spilled across the courtyard from the east gate. Two more guards ran out, the man and woman from earlier. The woman shined her light on the ladder, directly into Rex’s visor. He raised his blaster and fired blindly at her. Owen’s hands scrabbled at the metal. Rex pulled him up onto the walkway with surprising ease. Echo shot at the two remaining guards who followed from behind. They had taken cover behind two stacks of crates and leaned around them to shoot at Echo, Kline, and Pep.

Once Pep had climbed onto the walkway, he jammed the butt of his rifle in the crook of his shoulder, used his right hand to hold the grip and the mutilated fingers of his left hand to work the trigger, and fired. The green blaster bolt burned a hole through the corner of one of the crates, and the guard taking cover behind it cried out in pain. Rex pulled Kline up the last meter of ladder and Kline laughed as he turned to assess Pep’s shot. There was a fierce exuberance in his eyes that hadn’t been there when they were in the cavern. His cheeks were flushed, and a small grin spread on his cracked lips. Rex had to admit it was a good idea to bring the extra blaster, even if the only reason they needed it was because Pep had stolen it.

“Echo, take out those two shuttles,” Rex said in their internal comm as Echo stepped onto the ladder, still firing into the crate stacks.

“Way ahead of you,” Echo said, a little breathless. Rex fired at one of the guards as he peeked around a crate, and his blaster bolt missed by centimeters. “Get ready to rappel.”

Rex helped Pep and Kline climb onto the top of the wall. Echo clicked his detonator, and the shuttles exploded with a flash of bright light and a deafening blast. Someone screamed, a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream of real pain. Rex secured his rappel line, grabbed Pep and Kline, and let gravity drag them down. When their boots touched the ground, Kline laughed, wild and unrestrained. They’d made it out of the castle. They were free. But they still had a quarter klick of lawn and dense forest between them and the shuttle, and Rex could hear the guards’ boots on the metal walkway above them.

“Fucking shoot them!” someone shouted. Rex looked up. There were two guards on the wall with blasters aimed directly down at Rex. A third was trying to cut Echo’s rappel line even as he touched down onto the ground. Rex shot one guard in the head, and he tumbled backward and out of sight. Red blaster bolts streaked the air from the guards now emerging from the eastern lawn. A green blast from Pep’s rifle caught one of the guards in the lawn and they fell to the ground.

“Run.” Rex’s voice was hard, fear bubbling up in his chest. “Now.”

They sprinted toward the tree line, Rex running behind the others. He heard the whirring of a turret powering up behind him. Bile rose in his throat. They needed cover, fast. Owen stumbled over clump of grass. A huge green blast from the anti-aircraft turret hit the ground in front of them. Dirt and debris exploded into the air, creating a thick cloud of dust. Rex sprinted into the cloud, afraid to find one of his brothers’ bodies lying in the dirt. The turret whirred again behind him. Panic surged through him like electricity. He emerged from the cloud of debris to see all four of his companions still on their feet, as another blast from the turret obscured his view again.

Red bolts seared the dusty air millimeters from Rex’s armor. He glanced over his shoulder, pistol raised. Four natborn guards chased them through the lawn, firing from carbine blasters as they ran. In front of him, Owen stumbled and fell, and Pep and Echo stopped to help him get on his feet again. Rex skidded to a halt between the oncoming guards and his brothers, a snarl pulling at his lips. The guard in the lead, a tall and burly human man with a shaved head, raised his blaster and aimed directly at Rex.

In one heartbeat, Rex had the guard lined up in his sights, and another he watched Kline jump and tackle the guard, his crowbar swinging through the air. The sharp, curved edge of his weapon lodged itself in the man’s skull.

“You fucking hraladar!” A Nikto guard screamed.

“My name is Kline, and I DO NOT FEAR DEATH!”

Pride mingled with the fear swelling in Rex’s chest. It was a statement clones had been proclaiming since they were cadets. He had a name, a purpose, an individuality, and nothing, not even death, could stop him.  

Rex sprinted into the trees as a barrage of blaster fire pelted past him. Sharp, stinging pain shot through his leg as a bolt grazed the unprotected joint of his knee. Pep’s rifle fired, the blast muffled by the sound-dampeners in his helmet. He crouched next to Owen in the brush and joined Echo and Pep’s fire assault on the incoming guards. In the lawn, Kline was still fighting with his crowbar. He hooked it into the chest of a tall, thin guard who Echo shot.

“Kline! Get back here!” Pep shouted. The guards from the gate station rounded the castle wall, and Rex’s heart sank.

An eerie silence settled over the lawn. Kline ran toward the guards, his bloodied crowbar raised aggressively. Two shots pierced the silence. Kline’s chest lurched as the bolts landed. Rex was vaguely aware of Pep and Owen shouting. Rex didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen. His heart was in his throat as he aimed his pistol and shot the female guard. Kline, his body swaying, blood blooming on the back of his poncho, stumbled forward and swung his crowbar with one last shout. The final guard, a portly man Rex assumed was the gate station supervisor, casually shot Kline in the head. The crowbar dropped, and Kline fell in a heap in the lawn.

Rex’s armor was heavy as he forced himself to turn away from Kline’s limp form. The gate station supervisor swept his beady eyes across the tree line. More guards emerged at the top of the wall and in the lawn. Echo pulled on Pep’s shoulders, and Owen backed slowly into the dense forest, still staring at Kline. In the moonlight, Rex could see tears running tracks down Owen’s cheeks.

“C’mon, we have to go,” Echo said flatly. “They’ll send scouts after us. Or a ship.”

Reluctantly, Pep and Owen followed Echo into the forest toward the clearing where their ship was hidden. The shape and color of it sent a pang of longing and hope in Rex’s chest. It was such a familiar sight to him, a piece of his home. It was the epitome of safety and victory and freedom to him. R9 started the engines, and Rex thought of all the times larty engines flying over a battlefield gave him a sweeping feeling of relief, knowing reinforcements had arrived and the worst of the battle was hopefully over. The engines of their starfighter felt similar, except their gentle hum told him he would soon be going home.

Rex broke into the clearing behind Echo, Owen, and Tep. He could hear more guards crashing through the trees behind him but didn’t stop to look. As soon as he was on the ramp, he shouted for someone, anyone to close it. Pep and Owen followed Echo to the cockpit, unsure where else to go, and strapped themselves into the gunner and navigation seats while Echo moved control of the ship from R9 to his and Rex’s pilot and co-pilot stations. Blaster fire from the ground pelted at the hull and bounced off the viewport as they lifted out of the trees. Echo maneuvered them away from the castle, out of range of the anti-aircraft turrets, and climbed steadily into the sky as fast as the atmosphere would allow.

“Let’s get out of here so we can get you men home,” Rex said as he entered coordinates for R9 to calculate a hyperspace jump.

“Depths below,” Echo cursed as the proximity alarm began to beep wildly. Echo looked back at Owen sitting in the gunner’s seat. “Know how to use that console? We might need to shoot a bird on our tail.”

“Yes, sir,” Owen said, his voice firm and confident. It was the first time Rex had heard his voice so solid.

Echo swerved to avoid their pursuer’s guns. He heard Owen behind him working the weapons console, their own guns firing as he clicked the trigger. Echo dove hard to avoid what looked like a missile. Behind him, Pep let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a shout. Rex gripped the armrests and clenched his teeth. They had nearly made it. They were minutes from jumping to hyperspace, and yet centimeters from dying.

Echo swooped down and shot straight up, and Rex’s stomach flipped. Guilt boiled up in his chest. They had lost a trooper. They set out to rescue three clones and had lost one. Rex should have been watching them as they escaped. He should have made sure no one was following and stopped them himself. They should have had a better contingency plan in case the guards were alerted. It was supposed to be a simple extraction. Easy point of entry and exit, no complicated security. In and out. But Pep had to steal that Depths-damned blaster. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t. Even if the guards found out a few minutes after they had left, they would have been over the wall and across the lawn by that point. They wouldn’t have had to kill so many guards. They wouldn’t be dodging blaster fire in the upper atmosphere. And Kline would still be alive.

R9 whistled to let them know he had calculated the jump, and Echo pushed the lever to send them into hyperspace with enough force that Rex was genuinely concerned he might break the lever off the panel completely. The stars stretched in the viewport, and with a flash they jumped into the safety of hyperspace.

The silence in the cockpit was deafening as they all stared out the viewport at the blue and white swirl of hyperspace. Rex swallowed and took several deep breaths. They made it. But they were one clone short. He turned the chair to face Pep, who sat behind Echo at the navigation console, still clutching the blaster rifle to his chest. His poncho had a blaster hole near his midsection. If he hadn’t been so thin, it would have struck him.

“It was foolish of you to steal that blaster,” Rex admonished. He could hear the old command training and all the years of being a Captain in the GAR coming out in the harshness of his voice. Pep stared back, his lips trembling, tears welling in his eyes. “You put all our lives and the success of the mission in danger. Because you stole that blaster you alerted the guards to our escape faster than if you had not. We wouldn’t have had to bang out if you had taken the time to think about the consequences of your actions!”

“Rex,” Echo said softly. Pep pursed his lips and said nothing, but a single tear slid down his cheek. Rex closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm the rage boiling inside his chest. When he looked at Pep again, pain and grief had lashed itself across his young and tortured face. Rex’s heart broke. He was angry, sure, but this kid did what he thought was right in the moment, and having the extra blaster did help their escape.

“I know it’s my fault,” Pep said, his voice cracking on a sob. “I thought the blaster would help, but all I did was risk the mission and get Kline killed. I’m sorry, sir. It—It won’t happen again.”

Rex deflated as Pep straightened to attention in his seat. He glanced at Owen, who also straightened to attention, as if they were on duty and the captain had just given one of his men a full dressing-down in public. As if they thought that they were headed back to the GAR, and needed to follow GAR protocols. Rex turned to Echo, who pulled off his helmet and gave Rex an unimpressed look. Rex sighed and removed his helmet before turning to Pep again. He was just a kid. A kid who’d been through too much in his short life.

“Kline’s death is not your fault,” Rex said kindly. “What you did was foolish, yes, but understandable. You did what you thought was right. Kline chose to sacrifice himself because he thought it was the right thing to do, too. It’s not your fault.” Pep clenched his jaw and blinked tears out of his eyes as he nodded. Rex gave him a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t you two go into the main deck and Rex will make you something hot to eat?” Echo suggested gently. “R9, go set up the table for them.”

Pep and Owen got up from their chairs stiffly, and silently followed the astromech through the bunk room into the main living space. Echo sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face as he leaned back in the pilot’s seat.

“We aren’t going to be able to use your ship anymore,” Echo said bluntly. “Not until we modify the body so it’s unrecognizable.”

Rex nodded. He wanted to be angry at Pep. He wanted someone onto whom he could pin the blame when their missions became harder after nearly being caught. But Pep didn’t deserve his anger. He was trying to do the right thing, trying to help where he could. What Rex had said to him wasn’t a lie. Kline’s death wasn’t Pep’s fault, it wasn’t Rex’s fault—although he felt no small amount of guilt curdling unpleasantly in his stomach at the thought of Kline’s death—it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Kline chose to sacrifice himself for Pep and Owen’s freedom. That was the price of war, and Rex knew it too well.

“I set the jump coordinates to an old rendezvous point in empty space,” Rex informed Echo. “I didn’t want to go to the colony if we were tracked.”

“Good thinking,” Echo said. “I’ll have R9 scan the ship’s hull when we drop out of hyperspace.”

“Thanks, Echo.”

Echo rested his elbows on his knees and watched Rex silently while Rex rubbed his temples and took several deep breaths. His adrenaline was still pumping in his veins like electricity. He felt jumpy and unsettled. He wanted to scream or cry or punch the dashboard. Echo had told Tep and Owen that Rex would cook them a hot meal, but all Rex wanted to do was destroy something.

“You okay?” Echo asked softly. “Are you hurt or anything?”

“No, I’m okay,” Rex replied, feeling decidedly not okay. “You?”

“I’m alright,” Echo replied. “Did you see the symbol on those shipping crates lined up in the courtyard?”

Rex blinked at Echo. His question threw Rex completely off guard. Echo’s face was pensive, but serious. He thought back to the crates they had run through in the courtyard. He had been more concerned about not getting caught than what the crates looked like. But Echo always had superb attention to detail. It was one of the reasons he made such an outstanding ARC trooper. Rex wondered if Echo would have considered taking a command post, if he hadn’t nearly died in the explosion and been captured by the CIS.

“No, I didn’t notice a symbol,” Rex said. “Did you recognize something on the crates?”

“I did,” Echo nodded. “About seven years ago, Fives and I started seeing a symbol everywhere, tagged on buildings and roads and equipment. If there had been an internal uprising, or a terrorism attack, or even a battle, we saw the symbol. And I saw that same symbol painted on those crates.”

“Do you know what it is?” Rex asked, frowning. Echo shook his head.

“For a while we thought it was just some pop culture reference we didn’t understand or a corporation we didn’t recognize. Then I thought maybe it was a terrorism group’s tag, or a symbol for rebellion. But seeing it on those crates… now I’m not sure what it is anymore.” Echo ran his fingers through his hair and Rex could see the red scars spider-webbed over the skin of his scalp.

“Do you think it’s something we should investigate?” Rex asked.

“I don’t know,” Echo sighed. “I wish I had access to the GAR servers. I wish Fives was still alive.”

They sat in silence, and Rex also wished his old friend was still alive, if not for his analytical skills, then for his ability to lighten the mood. Rex could hear Tep and Owen’s soft crying in the next room.

“I’d better go talk to them,” Echo said, standing up abruptly. “Let them know where we’re going. They probably think we’re headed back to Kamino.”

Rex nodded in agreement and watched Echo join the other two at the table that unfolded from the floor of the deck. Pep and Owen were huddled together in a booth, and Owen’s arm was wrapped tightly around Pep’s shoulders. The blaster rifle sat propped against the table, easily within Pep’s reach. Rex understood the desire to keep a weapon close. He had kept a blaster strapped to his belt for almost three years after he and Ahsoka settled on their moon. At the time, he couldn’t imagine a life where he wouldn’t always need a weapon within arm’s reach.

He took another deep breath and thought of Ahsoka. She had stayed behind to meditate and search her renewed connection to the Force. He missed her fiercely. Their trip would take a few more days, and he needed to stay with Pep and Owen for a few days to make sure they settled into their new home before he could return to his own. He considered sending her a message, but with the possibility that they had been tracked, he didn’t want to risk his message being intercepted.

Soft and sad laughter floated into the cockpit from the main deck and sent a pang through Rex’s chest. These men had been through so much. Rescuing them from slavery was only one part on their path to freedom and recovery. They still had a lifetime of trauma to process, and Rex knew that was far more difficult than any mission he had ever run.

Rex’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten since before they landed on Sesid. His limbs ached and his head pounded as his adrenaline subsided. He couldn’t imagine how Owen and Pep felt. They were so thin; he was afraid to give them too much food. But even a little bit of food would help all of them after the last hour of excitement. As he passed through the main deck to the galley, he heard Echo telling Pep and Owen about where they were headed.

“So… we’re not going back to the GAR?” Owen asked cautiously.

“No, the planet we’re going to is in neutral space,” Echo explained. “It’s been colonized by clones and some natborn refugees. It’s where we’ve been bringing POW slaves after extraction.”

“Does that mean the war is over?” Owen asked.

“No, the war isn’t over,” Echo said. “But you won’t have to fight anymore. You’re free. All the beings who live in the colony are free.”

Rex smiled as they both said “Oh,” with soft amazement and understanding. He remembered when he stumbled on the colony nine years ago. Ahsoka’s Force visions had led her to a Separatist planet, where she hiked off alone into the mountains to, unknowingly, learn from Count Dooku. Rex had waited as long as he could, but eventually he had to escape the CIS patrol droids. He crash-landed on the nearest planet and stumbled into a colony of deserter clones and refugee natborns. They had been living together for four years away from the war, brought together by a mutual desire for peace and solitude.

At first, Rex had been horrified. He hated being away from the war for as long as he had, but Ahsoka needed him and he would follow her anywhere. After spending a few weeks at the colony while he repaired his ship, he understood why the clones had left the GAR. It was more than peaceful. It was freedom. Pure and simple freedom. The clones in the colony could be whoever or whatever they wanted. Some married natborns and had families. Some remained part of the armed guard that kept the colony safe from predators and the occasional smuggler or pirate band looking for a deserted planet to use as a hideout. Others made art or took up farming or a craft. The clones and the natborns made a home, a functioning village together on the planet. They worked seamlessly together as a community. Rex had never considered that he could be part of anything that didn’t involve war. But those few weeks living with the colonists made him long for a more peaceful life. He wished all his brothers could live such a free and peaceful life.

So, when Padmé and Anakin had asked for Rex and Ahsoka’s help to relocate freed clone slaves, Rex knew exactly where they could go: the colony. There they could heal in peace and tranquility, live a life unburdened by war, and be truly free for the first time in their lives.

Rex pulled the packet of pre-made soup ingredients from the conservator and portioned the contents into bowls while he boiled water. He’d started preparing meals before extraction missions like this so that freed brothers wouldn’t need to wait for Rex to prepare a meal, but they wouldn’t have to eat ration packs. Soup was the easiest to pre-make, and it offered a full array of nutrients and hydration that enslaved clones usually lacked. And, despite their hatred of the place, the meals they were often given as cadets on Kamino was a meal almost every clone craved when homesick. Memories of laughing with his batchmates while they ate this soup in the massive mess hall in North Tipoca City swirled through his mind as the boiled water mixed with the pre-made spices and vegetables in the bowls. Pep had a North Tipoca City accent. Rex hoped he found the soup comforting.

“Do you live there? In the colony?” Owen asked Echo. His accent was from South Tipoca, with longer, flatter vowels. Echo’s West Tipoca accent sounded almost sharp in comparison as he replied.

“I do, I’ve been there three years,” he said. Rex could hear the smile in his voice. He placed the four bowls on a tray and carried it out to the main deck. The smell of the soup made his mouth water as the steam curled around his face.

“So, were you also a slave?” Pep asked. Pep and Owen’s eyes dropped to Echo’s gloved hands, clearly curious whether he, too, had the mutilated fingers that marked a POW slave.

“No, I was rescued from the CISA by a couple of anti-slavery operatives in our network,” Echo explained. He pulled off his gloves, revealing his mechanical prosthetic right hand. Pep openly gaped at it, and Owen looked sheepishly up at Echo. “I lost my arm,” he wiggled the fingers of his left hand at them, “both my legs, and my ARC partner in an explosion. But living in the colony, I’ve gained friends and brothers and a new mission that I’ve chosen for myself. That last GAR mission was probably the worst and the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Kline always said being captured by the CIS was the worst thing that ever happened to us,” Pep said. He absentmindedly caressed the colorful blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. “But he said that the companionship he gained with us and the other brothers he’d known was the best thing that ever happened to him. He took care of us. He made sure we were healthy and safe and kept our hopes up that someday we would be free. He made these blankets for us to remind us that we’re people. Individuals with hopes and dreams of our own. All he wanted was to be free. And now he’s dead.”

Silence fell heavily around the table as Pep sniffled and clutched at the blanket. Owen wrapped his arm around Pep’s shoulders again and pressed their temples together. Echo glanced over at Rex where he stood at the doorway to the galley. His face was somber, and Rex knew he was thinking of Fives. Even when they still had their inhibitor chips, and they didn’t understand the full breadth of what it meant to have hopes and dreams and fears, Fives had always maintained that the clones were not just numbers. They had names and individuality and deserved to be treated with respect like men, not like mindless droids.

“You’re very lucky to have had someone like Kline,” Echo said softly, turning back to the pair. “I’m sure he would have loved the colony. But he’s marching on The Road to the Halls of Victory, now. And there he’s more free than any of us.”

“What about you? Do you live in the colony?” Owen asked Rex as he set the bowls of soup in front of them. Pep’s red and teary eyes widened, and he leaned into the trail of steam, breathing in the scent of the broth.

“No, but I live nearby, and I visit often,” Rex said.

“Rex and his wife decided they preferred solitude to brothers,” Echo teased. Rex felt his cheeks heat as he rolled his eyes.

“We settled there before we started running extraction missions,” Rex argued. “And she’s not my wife.”

“Not your wife?” Echo asked, mock bewilderment in his voice as he grinned at him. “Then why did that merchant call you ‘Master Tano’?” Owen chuckled and Pep grinned over a steaming spoonful of soup. Rex rolled his eyes. He regretted answering the commlink from the local village’s mechanic while Echo was in earshot.

“It was easier to tell the villagers my last name was Tano,” Rex explained. Again. “I couldn’t very well tell them I’m a clone and she’s a Jedi and oh, by the way, would you please not tell the GAR or the CIS because technically speaking we’re supposed to be fighting in the war.”

Echo laughed, a deep belly laugh that never ceased to make Rex smile, even when he wanted to punch him. Owen and Pep laughed along, and the sound of their laughter lifted Rex’s heart.

“You never considered living at the colony?” Owen asked. He tried a sip of the soup, but he didn’t seem to have the same exuberance about it that Pep did.

“Sure, I have,” Rex shrugged. “I love spending time at the colony. But… I love Ahsoka more, and she wants to stay on our moon.”

“Ooh, you love her?” Echo teased before making kissing noises to tease him. Owen and Pep laughed and joined in, and Rex scrubbed his hands over his face. His cheeks blazed with embarrassment, even as his lips stretched in a wide grin. He ran his hand over his hair and scowled playfully at Echo, who winked at him as he ate a spoonful of soup.

He thought about what he said as they continued to eat and talk about the colony, their lives in the war, and what Pep and Owen might want to do as free men. He and Ahsoka had never talked about moving to the colony. Ahsoka wanted to stay on the moon, close to the ancient temple in case she ever regained her connection to the Force. And besides, they had built a beautiful home and a peaceful life on their little moon. It seemed unfathomable that they would walk away from it.

But now that Ahsoka had regained her connection to the Force, Rex had to wonder what might come next. Would she go back to the Jedi? And if she left, would Rex go with her? He had told her he would follow her anywhere, but the thought of returning to Coruscant left him questioning that promise. Would he be thrust back into servitude to the GAR? Or would he be allowed to move to the colony, live with his brothers, and remain free?

Chapter Text

Four years before the anniversary
Dulathia, Mid Rim

“What did that guy say this place used to be?”

“A refinery. But it was abandoned when the mines dried up.”

“Dried up like Cody’s love for you?”

Fives heard Echo’s soft scoff through the helmet comm as if Echo was standing right next to him. Fives crept carefully and silently in the dark through a cramped passage between two massive ferrocrete pipes in the main factory room of the refinery he and Echo were scouting. Echo was somewhere above him searching through the offices and workers’ barracks. The factory floor was crowded, dirty, and reeked of something rotting, and Fives was beginning to think that Echo had the easier job.

“I think you’re confused. I wasn’t the one who put salt in his caf,” Echo said. 

Fives chuckled. “Pretty sure it was your idea, though.”

“Maybe, but he’ll never believe you.”

Fives smiled fondly and shook his head. He had to turn sideways to keep the rivets at the seam of a pipe from catching on his armor. He slipped for the thousandth time on the thick and slippery something that coated the floor, and barely kept himself from falling by grabbing one of the massive rivets on the pipe to his right. The rivet was sticky, and he wiped his glove off on his armor. He was beyond ready for this mission to be over.

They had come to investigate a rumor that some rebels had organized a gathering place here, but all Fives had seen so far was abandoned machinery and leftover oil. Despite it’s size, there was no space between the pipes large enough for a gathering like they had previously thought.

“What did they mine? This place is slicker than medical lube.”

Echo snorted, then paused before answering, “Uh, petroleum, I think.”

“No wonder petroleum products are so expensive. They lost half their product to the floor,” Fives said as his boot slid again through the sludge between the pipes.

Echo was silent. Even his breath had gone quiet on the other side of the comm. Fives paused, his boots sinking a little into the decades of petroleum sludge built up on the ground.

“What is it, Echo?”

“I thought I heard voices.”

Silence. Fives could hear his own blood pumping in his ears and Echo’s throat as he swallowed.

“Oh, shit, I think... I think I found it,” Echo whispered. Fives nearly leapt out of his skin. He slipped a little as he picked his way through the passage back to the main corridor. “Here’s the symbol. And... looks like an ops center or something.”

“Any signs of life?”

Silence.

“Echo? C’mon, you know I hate when you’re quiet like that.”

“I hear voices,” Echo whispered. “Sounds like... but that’s impossible.”

Fives frowned and picked up his pace. “What’s impossible? Echo?”

Fives counted his heartbeats as he left the oily refinery and crept across an equally slick control room. He requested to view Echo’s POV cam on his HUD, but there was no response.

“Echo? What’s your location?”

“I’m…”

Silence again. Fives sent another request to see what Echo was seeing. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He swallowed down his fear as he sprinted down the corridor, looking for Echo or stairs or an open door or something.

“Oh, fuck.”

Echo’s comm was full of scraping and thudding, his harsh breathing, and the hiss of a voice as smooth and sharp as a blade.

“What? Echo? What is—”

But his question was cut off by the worst sound he’d ever heard: Echo’s piercing scream of pain. Fives’ blood turned to ice.

“Echo! Echo, where are you? What happened?”

Echo’s only response was a choking sob and short, panting breaths. Fives pulled a doorway apart with his hands and practically fell through the doorway to a tall and winding stairway. He stared up at the landings that extended far up to the top of the building. He would search every floor if he had to.

“Run,” Echo whispered through his sobs. “Fuck! Fives, get out!”

“I’m not—”

The floor shook beneath him as he stepped onto the first stair. In the distance, metal groaned. And closer, another explosion. Echo sobbed again, and Fives had to swallow the bile that rose with his fear.

“RUN!”

And Fives obeyed.

The ground shuddered beneath his feet as he sprinted down the corridor toward the exit. He could only hope that Echo would meet him at the ship. Or that he could evac Echo from the top floor. He tried to access Echo’s POV cam again, but there was no response. Fear lodged itself in his throat. His boot slid on the duracrete and fell on his face, sliding through the sludge that coated the ground. He scrambled up as explosions rocked through the building, too close. His visor was half-covered in brownish black slime, and he tried to wipe it away, but his glove was covered, too. He saw a bright flash of light in his peripheral. The air itself trembled and roared. He glanced behind him, and watched, helplessly, as a massive wave of fire swallowed him whole.

Four months before the anniversary
Jedi Temple, Coruscant

“I’m sending you the vids that were collected by the Corrie Guard during their investigation,” Cody said as he plugged the datachip Commander Fist had given them into the holocomm station in the Jedi Temple. The panel beeped as it registered and began to download the information. “I’d like you to take a look at it and let me know if you notice any similarities to the terrorism attacks you investigated in the past.”

Fives scratched at his jaw and looked down at his own holocomm panel. A small crease formed between his brows, barely perceptible through the low static of the holoprojection. The large scar across his cheek and jaw was barely visible. It had been three and a half years since the explosion that nearly took his life. He was lucky to have escaped with all his limbs. He had flown to the nearest GAR ship, a four-hour flight through hyperspace, with third-degree burns on twenty percent of his body. He lost an eye, and spent a lot of time recovering in bacta, but after a mechanical eye prosthetic was implanted and his skin had healed, he was an obvious choice as Cody’s commander of the 196^th Special Forces Division after Gregor’s promotion to Marshal Commander.

“You said Fist gave you these vids?” Fives asked, raising one eyebrow. “Is there a report included?”

“Several,” Obi-Wan said wearily. They had spent the better part of the last five days reading through Fist’s reports. The blunt and emotionless way that Fist and his men reported on the brutality of each attack made Obi-Wan more than uncomfortable, and he had taken several pauses to meditate or take a speeder for a lengthy flight around the district to clear his mind.

Fives nodded as the holocomm beeped to alert them both that the file transfer was complete. “Any timeframe on this?” he asked.

“Take your time, Commander,” Obi-Wan replied, “We’ll be gone a few weeks, I think.”

Fives smirked as he gave a short acknowledgement.

“What’s funny?” Cody asked flatly.

“Ah, just thinking about something Jesse said,” Fives replied. “It’s nothing, really. Give Ahsoka my love.”

“Anything for Rex?” Cody asked, a smirk forming on his own lips.

Fives snorted. “Nothing nice,” he said. Cody chuckled darkly.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes as he looked between the two clones. He wasn’t sure if their exchange was a joke. Cody and Fives were good friends with Rex. He wasn’t sure what reason either of them would have to be upset with him. Cody dismissed Fives and disconnected the commlink, the smirk sliding off his face as the lights in the room slowly illuminated.

“What was that about?” Obi-Wan asked as they left the small holocomm room and made their way slowly to the shuttle dock.

“The former-501^st men think Rex deserted the GAR. Jesse, especially, is angry after what happened on Radnor,” Cody explained. “Can we take a lift today?”

“Are you in pain?” Obi-wan asked, his brow furrowing. Cody leaned against the wall after calling the lift and rubbed his knee under his knee plate.

“Yes,” Cody said through gritted teeth. “I can’t take another painkiller for two hours, though.”

The “scar dissolver” treatments Kix was giving Cody were working, and Cody had better mobility of his hip and knee, but the pain had not subsided. If anything, it had gotten worse. Obi-Wan had insisted that Cody stay in his quarters in the Jedi Temple so that he could help Cody if he needed anything through the night. Usually, all Cody needed was a painkiller and to fall asleep sitting up, but it comforted Obi-Wan to know Cody wasn’t in pain and alone. And, he had to admit, it was comforting to have Cody’s companionship through the night, even if he was sleeping propped against the wall on Obi-Wan’s meditation pillow.

“I wish I could offer you a chair in Council meetings,” Obi-Wan said, resisting the urge to reach out and help Cody into the lift. “I’m sure it doesn’t help to stand for that long.”

“I should probably stop attending,” Cody said wryly. He leaned against the wall of the lift to take the weight off his leg and let out a long, slow breath. His face was pale, and his fingers shook as he rubbed his knee. Obi-Wan had a brief memory of massaging Cody’s knee at night, Cody clenching his teeth in pain. His skin was hot and inflamed, but the tightness of his face relaxed the longer Obi-Wan smoothed his hands over the joint until something softer lingered in his eyes. His stomach had fluttered when Cody’s hand landed on his gently as a silent thank-you. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and let the memory go, afraid where else his mind might wander.

“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan refuted, “you’re a valued member of Council meetings. I’ll request a chair for you. Or you can sit in my seat.”

Cody smirked at Obi-Wan and shook his head fondly. The lift doors opened and Obi-Wan followed Cody out into the corridor that led to the shuttle dock.

“Anyway, what happened on Radnor? I thought we won that campaign,” Obi-Wan asked.

“We did, but Jesse lost a lot of his battalion,” Cody explained. “It was his first battle as Rex’s replacement, and so he blames Rex’s absence. I’m not saying he’s right, but if Rex hadn’t left so abruptly, Jesse might have been more prepared for that battle, and the title of Captain in general.”

“You don’t think he should have been promoted to Captain?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised.

“I don’t think he should have been promoted to Captain without Rex’s support,” Cody explained. “Same for Appo. He wasn’t prepared to be Commander, and his lack of confidence put Jesse in a no-win situation.”

“None of that really sounds like Rex’s fault,” Obi-Wan said slowly, trying not to insinuate that it was Cody’s fault. He was the commanding officer, however, and he should have had better support for his men. Cody sighed and looked sheepishly at Obi-Wan.

“I know. It’s mine,” Cody said. “I already rectified with Jesse and Appo, and I’ve been careful about promotions ever since. But Jesse and the others from the 501^st still blame Rex for what happened in that battle. Nothing I say will change that.”

They continued in silence the rest of the way to the shuttle dock. Cody limped along the best he could, but had to stop once to rub his knee. Obi-Wan took the time to gaze out the windows at the Coruscant traffic and meditate on the memory that had surfaced in the lift. It was an old memory, from after Cody’s original injury. Obi-Wan had been so afraid for Cody. His knee and hip weren’t healing properly, and he was in excruciating pain. He took too many painkillers to stave off the agony. Some days, Obi-Wan was genuinely concerned that Cody would overdose. He knew the Kaminoan doctors wanted to take Cody away, to decommission him like broken equipment. Obi-Wan used what limited influence he had to save Cody from their clutches. He couldn’t save all the clones, but he could save Cody.

He had kept Cody in his quarters then, too, in case he needed help. He woke several nights to offer heated pads or cups of water or light massages, and woke several mornings tangled in Cody’s embrace feeling happier than he had felt in a long, long time. Cody often looked back on those days with shame, embarrassed that he needed to be taken care of at all. Obi-Wan liked taking care of Cody. He liked knowing that Cody trusted him with his life and his body and his healing. He knew Cody was depressed here on Coruscant. He knew that his friend of twenty years blamed himself for their stagnation and Obi-Wan’s own dour mood. But Obi-Wan would do anything to help Cody. Even if that meant they would never travel again, that they would be bound to Coruscant forever. So long as he had Cody, Obi-Wan would be happy enough.

Cody was quiet as they flew from the Temple to the GAR Medical Facility. He chewed on his thumbnail and looked over the side of the speeder, his face turned away from Obi-Wan. The wind ruffled his curls, and Obi-Wan again had to let a memory of the softness of his hair under his fingers in the dark of night float away.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Obi-Wan asked. Cody hesitated, then faced forward, still not looking at Obi-Wan.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to Rex when I see him,” Cody said. “It’s been ten years. Ten long years.”

Obi-Wan sighed and turned out of the speeder lane into the military-use lane leading to the GAR base. The dark gray buildings and towering red rock of the Geonosis memorial were almost as much a home to Obi-Wan as the Temple after nearly twenty years of war. He wished they lived on a Venator again. He hated the war and the incalculable loss of life, but there was something fondly nostalgic about the years they spent living on a Venator.

“You’ll find the words,” Obi-Wan assured him. “You always do.”

Kix brought another clone medic with him to Cody’s appointment, which made Cody sit up and frown. Kix grinned at Cody as usual and greeted Obi-Wan, then introduced the second clone as Captain Spine.

“He’s an orthopedic specialist,” Kix explained. “I brought him to have a look at your joints and see why you’re still in so much pain.”

“I thought you were an orthopedic specialist,” Cody said to Kix.

“My specialty is obstetrics,” Kix said, emphasizing the word as if he had told Cody before.

“What’s the difference?”

Spine chuckled and glanced at Kix, who smirked. “Let’s just say you don’t have the right equipment to need an obstetrician,” Kix said.

Cody frowned and looked sideways at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head. He wasn’t surprised Cody didn’t know what Kix meant. Obi-Wan himself wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t been concerned with finding one fourteen years ago when Padmé went into labor on a battlefield a month early.

“Obstetrics is the medical practice associated with childbirth,” Obi-Wan explained. Cody’s face flushed and he grinned sheepishly at Kix and Spine.

“No, I don’t have the equipment for that,” he chuckled. Kix patted him on the shoulder, smiling good-naturedly.

“Do you deal with childbirth that often, Kix? I thought the Medic Corps was concerned mostly with clone care,” Obi-Wan asked as Spine passed a scanner over Cody’s leg while he lay down on his back on the exam table. Cody’s face was twisted in pain and Obi-Wan hoped a little conversation would distract him.

“Yes, you would be surprised how often,” Kix said seriously. “We don’t just help clones. We generally stay on a planet for a few weeks after battle to help the citizens. They’re often in dire need of medical attention. And that always includes pregnant women and infants. I have entire companies devoted to women and children’s health in the Corps.”

“Fascinating,” Obi-Wan said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Cody’s jaw clenched as Spine lifted his leg to scan his hip while bending it. “And have you delivered many babies?”

“Me, personally? I’ve helped deliver nine hundred and seventy-three babies,” Kix said. “Nine hundred and seventy-five if you include the Skywalker twins.”

“I forgot about that,” Cody said through clenched teeth. He had his eyes squeezed shut, and his fingers gripped the edge of the examination table so tightly that the skin of his knuckles was white. “Only Senator Amidala would go into labor in the middle of a battle and refuse to be evacuated.”

“Wha—Senator Amidala?” Spine asked as he set Cody’s foot onto the examination table with his knee bent.

“Yes, it was lucky we found that midwife when we did,” Obi-Wan said, stroking his beard and thinking back fondly on one of the most chaotic and stressful battles of his life. “I think Ahsoka offered to pull the babies out with the Force, we were that desperate.”

“That’s twisted,” Spine laughed. He gripped Cody’s ankle and slowly pulled his foot up into the air, scanning his knee as it extended.

“What’s twisted is the torture you’re putting me through, vod,” Cody growled.

“I’m nearly finished, Commander,” Spine said. He put Cody’s foot back onto the table and connected his datapad to a holographic projector. A surreal holographic image of Cody’s bones formed in the air, and Obi-Wan watched Captain Spine manipulate the model.

Kix whispered to Cody as he handed him a cup of water and helped him sit up. Obi-Wan deliberately looked away when Kix pressed his forehead to Cody’s so that they could breathe together. It was something they did early in the war, when the clones had their chips removed and felt overwhelming fear and anxiety that had been previously suppressed by the chips. He didn’t know if it was a private practice, but he felt like he was intruding whenever he watched two clones breathe together. It had always felt private, almost intimate, whenever Cody had asked to breathe with him.

“Commander Kix,” Spine said after a few minutes of silence, frowning. Kix joined him, and their shoulders blocked the image from Obi-Wan’s view. Dread slid down his spine like an icy finger as Kix and Spine talked in hushed tones. Cody turned to Obi-Wan, apprehension on his face. Obi-Wan attempted a reassuring smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

“Okay, I’ll handle it,” Kix said, nodding and straightening. Spine saluted farewell to Cody and Obi-Wan before leaving. Kix stared at the holoprojector and ran his hand over his scalp, letting out a long, deep breath. Obi-Wan tasted bile on the back of his tongue.

“What is it, Kix?” Cody asked quietly.

“There’s a lot of damage here,” Kix said as he turned around to face Cody. “More than just scar tissue.”

“What kind of damage?” Cody asked, rubbing his knee absentmindedly.

Kix’s face pinched and he ran his hand over his head again. “As you know, bacta isn’t perfect. It can leave behind bacta-scarring, especially on extensive wounds,” Kix began, leaning against the counter and folding his arms across his chest.

Obi-Wan had seen too much bacta-scarring over the last twenty years of war. Bluish-hued scars puckered tight where healthy skin was unable to grow. Cody had a bacta-scar on his arm from a lightsaber burn that Obi-Wan should have prevented. The sight of the scar always made his stomach churn uncomfortably with guilt.

“When bacta-scarring occurs on your bones,” Kix continued, “it changes the way your joints move, and can cause different wear and tear than normal. This results in what we call post-traumatic osteoarthritis, which causes pain, swelling, stiffness, scarring, and limited mobility.”

“That sounds right,” Cody chuckled nervously. Kix nodded and gave Cody a small smile that didn’t reach his concerned eyes. “What can you do?”

“What you need is a full replacement of both joints,” Kix said. “That would be the best—and most permanent—solution.”

“Okay,” Cody said slowly, nodding his head. “When can you get me in for surgery?”

Kix’s face fell and Obi-Wan’s heart sank. Cody stared at Kix in silence, the small amount of hope that had glimmered on his face snuffed out by Kix’s grim expression.

“Let me guess. You aren’t authorized to give me replacement joints,” Cody said flatly.

“I don’t have any in my inventory, no,” Kix said softly. “You’ll have to go to Kamino. There, they’ll perform a risk assessment on either cloned replacements, prosthetics, or…” Kix’s face twisted into a frown.

Obi-Wan’s stomach churned, his heart sitting somewhere near his navel like a hot ball of lead. They all knew the third option without Kix needing to say it out loud. Either the Kaminoans would deem him an acceptable candidate for replacement joints, or they would decommission him. It was the risk that Obi-Wan had wanted to avoid at all costs. It was what had kept them on Coruscant for the past two years.

Cody closed his eyes and lay back on the examination table. He rubbed his face with his hands, and pressed his fingers into his eyes as Kix continued.

“I can give you a temporary solution that will last a couple of years,” Kix said. “But I won’t be able to qualify you as battle-ready, and you may still have some pain.”

Cody let out a long, controlled breath. “What do you think my chances are that they’ll give me the prosthetics?” Cody asked from beneath his hands. Obi-Wan lurched forward, nearly jumping out of his seat as his heart leapt into his throat.

“I don’t know,” Kix answered. Obi-Wan stared at him incredulously. “It’s probably fifty-fifty.”

“You can’t seriously be considering going to Kamino,” Obi-Wan scoffed at Cody.

“You heard Kix,” Cody argued, lowering his hands and scowling at Obi-Wan. “I need these joint replacements.”

“Yes, and I also heard him say they might murder you,” Obi-Wan argued back. Cody turned his face to the ceiling and shut his eyes tight. “I’ve worked for the last two years to make sure you weren’t taken to Kamino, to make sure you were kept alive.”

“I’m in pain, Obi-Wan,” Cody growled at him.

“I don’t care,” Obi-Wan snapped, standing out of his chair. Kix also stood from where he was leaning against the counter, his shoulders tense as he silently watched their argument. Obi-Wan’s hands were shaking, and he balled them into fists. Cody didn’t look at him, instead he kept his eyes shut as he faced the ceiling. “I will not let you throw away your life like this. I care about you too much to let you risk your life for prosthetic joints.”

“I don’t give a fuck how much you think you care about me,” Cody said through gritted teeth. His words were like a knife in Obi-Wan’s chest.

“Cody,” Kix said lowly.

“I’ve kept us on this planet so that you could live,” Obi-Wan argued. “I’ve sacrificed my own freedom for you. And you just want to throw that all away.”

“This is all your fault,” Cody spat, his hands clenching into fists and his eyes open and red as he scowled at the ceiling tiles.

“My fault that you’re alive?”

“I’m in excruciating pain, trapped on this planet, useless, because of you!” Cody growled.

“Cody,” Kix hissed. Cody’s eyes were full of venom, his snarling lips trembled, his knuckles were white and his fists shook as he stared at the ceiling.

“You aren’t useless, Cody, but you will be if—”

“WHY WON’T YOU JUST LET ME DIE?” Cody screamed, turning his face to Obi-Wan. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks were flushed, and a snarl pulled at his lips. His words cut like a blaster bolt to Obi-Wan’s chest. Cody’s rage came through their subtle Force Bond like waves of white-hot pain. Any explanation Obi-Wan had stuck in his throat and he choked on it.

“General,” Kix said coolly. In comparison to Cody’s passionate rage, Kix’s anger was icy and sharp. “Could you excuse us for a moment?”

Obi-Wan stood on shaky legs and left the examination room reluctantly. He could feel Cody’s eyes follow him out the door, his anger palpable, hot and electric. Cody and Kix’s overlapping voices rose as Obi-Wan closed the door behind him.

He stood with his back to the door, his eyes closed, his palms flat on the durasteel, and took a deep, centering breath. He thought, briefly, about leaving. After a fight like that, Cody would want to be alone. But Obi-Wan couldn't leave him. Even if he only stayed to ask Cody whether he still wanted to come to Ahsoka’s, or if he would rather stay on Coruscant, or if—Force forbid—he wanted to go to Kamino. He’d hoped that Cody’s pain and depression would never get so bad that he would consider turning himself over to the Kaminoans. But Obi-Wan had to admit that he had only held onto that hope because he would be distraught if Cody died.

He ran his fingers through his hair and took another deep breath before pulling himself away from the door. His chest tightened painfully as he thought of Cody making the decision to go to Kamino. He didn't want to let Cody go. He wanted to take Cody back to his quarters in the Jedi Temple, wrap his arms around him and hold him close. Feel his steady breath and heartbeat against his cheek. Know for sure that he was safe and comfortable. Not feel so maddeningly alone without him.

Obi-Wan shuddered. If he was ever trying to avoid becoming attached to Cody, he had failed spectacularly. This was attachment. He made the decision to keep Cody from the Kaminoans, to draw out his pain and keep him here on Coruscant because he was attached. He had always told himself it was because he valued every being’s life, and it would be a tragedy to throw Cody’s or any other clone’s life away because he was injured. Now, as he paced the corridor outside Cody's exam room, his heart still thudding painfully in his chest and his eyes stinging with the threat of tears, he knew it was because he was more afraid to lose Cody than he was of any of the consequences of keeping him.

He would have to accept that Cody might choose to take the risk and go to Kamino. To Obi-Wan it seemed unthinkable. But to the clones, death was as much a part of their life as blasters and armor and terrible GAR rations. Cody had been prepared for death since childhood. To him, being sent to Kamino might be a relief, an end to his suffering. Knowing his genetic material would be recycled to make new clones might make Cody feel that he was finally useful again. Just as Obi-Wan was eager to find purpose on Ahsoka's moon, Cody might be eager to find his purpose in decommissioning and recycling.

Obi-wan looked around the quiet hallway. He heard voices from an adjoining corridor, but no one had passed him as he paced in front of Cody’s exam room. He picked a spot near the door, lowered himself carefully onto the floor, and settled into a meditation pose. As he breathed to center himself, a thought passed through his mind that his body would protest when he stood up. But the little aches and pains he experienced from his aging body were nothing compared to the pain Cody was feeling. Obi-Wan’s pains were manageable, fleeting, the slow and gradual degradation of his body over time. Cody’s pains were constant and all-consuming. If he thought the only way to rid himself of the pain was to surrender himself to the Kaminoans, Obi-Wan would need to accept his decision. And the best way to prepare himself for that was to meditate.

He focused on the feel of his fingers touching the rough fabric of his trousers and let all other thoughts pass through him. Thoughts of Cody, of attachment, of the softness of his hair, of the tender emotions he felt through the Force. He let them all pass like water flowing along a riverbed. He breathed in serenity and breathed out fear. If Cody stayed, he would be glad. But if Cody chose to leave, he would have to accept Cody’s decision and let him go.

His meditative focus was broken when the exam room door opened. He glanced up, and Kix looked down at him inquisitively.

“I was meditating,” Obi-Wan explained. Kix waved his explanation off, distracted, and closed the door behind him. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were red as he stared at Obi-Wan. His lips twitched, like he was going to say something, but thought better of it.

“I’ll be right back,” Kix said, already stepping away. He ran his hand over his scalp as he walked briskly away.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if Kix meant for him to wait in the corridor or in the room. He assumed the corridor, since he had closed the door behind him. Cody and Kix both probably needed a moment to cool off from their argument.

He settled again into his meditation pose and attempted to reach out into the Force. He knew it was there, swirling all around him. It was a constant energy in the Galaxy. He had been able to connect with it his entire life. Losing his connection to the Force had left him feeling empty and blind. When Ahsoka had told him she may have connected to the Force, he was filled with renewed hope. But he had yet to connect to the Force himself.

He took a deep breath and reached out, seeking warmth and light from all the life around him. It had always been difficult on Coruscant. Drawing the Force that flowed through sentient beings was different from the Force that flowed through plant and animal life. Sentient beings had complicated emotions and feelings that colored and textured the Force that flowed through them. Drawing on that Force always came with the complication of being affected by the other being’s thoughts and emotions. On Coruscant, there were trillions of sentient beings, but very little plant and animal life. This created a cacophony of textures and colors and feelings that could become overwhelming if the mind was not centered properly. In the Temple, they had several rooms devoted to cultivating nature as safe spaces for Jedi to re-center themselves, and for younglings to learn how to draw on the Force without worrying about complex sentient Force signatures interfering.

When Obi-Wan reached out, hoping to find the Force in any shape or texture, all he found was the faint Force Bond that he shared with Cody, the Bond that had been created from twenty years of close companionship and trust. Normally, he found comfort in his and Cody’s Bond. His presence was soothing, his Force signature was strong and confident and compassionate. He leaned into Cody’s Bond, hoping to gain that same comfort he’d felt for so long, only to find devastating sadness, pain, and guilt instead.

Obi-Wan pulled away, afraid to violate Cody’s privacy by delving any deeper.  Cody’s despair lodged in his heart like a shard of ice. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest to keep it from falling apart. This was his fault. Cody’s pain, his depression, it was all his fault. Cody had been right. Obi-Wan should have been able to let Cody go, should have let him make the choice to die, if that was what he wanted. He took a deep breath to center himself and accept that Cody was free to make his own decisions, no matter how much he disagreed with them. He hoped that when the time came, he would be able to let Cody go.

Kix rounded the corner again with a set of hyponeedle vials in his hand. His face had softened, no trace of the icy anger that had been there when he left Cody’s examination room earlier. He stopped in front of where Obi-Wan sat on the floor and looked down at him with an apologetic frown.

“He doesn’t mean it, you know,” Kix said softly. “It’s his pain that’s making him angry and depressed.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes, but he has been in pain for a very long time,” he said wearily. Kix pursed his lips and nodded once before passing Obi-Wan and entering Cody’s examination room. Obi-Wan pushed his fingers into his hair, leaned his elbows on his knees, and willed himself not to cry.

The next time the examination room door opened, both Kix and Cody emerged. Obi-Wan stood, his joints creaking and popping in protest exactly as he had expected, and looked eagerly between Kix and Cody. Kix handed Obi-Wan an armor bag with the Medic Corps crest on the side. Cody, still stripped down to his body glove, leaned on Kix’s shoulder heavily and limped as they walked, not putting any weight on his left leg.

“I can get you an anti-grav chair,” Kix offered. Cody shook his head and reached out for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan’s heart soared. It was a small gesture, but it made his chest tight and his cheeks flush to think that Cody would rather trust him to carry his weight than an anti-grav chair. Obi-Wan looped Cody’s arm over his shoulders and wrapped his own arm around Cody’s waist as Kix stepped away.

“Thank you, Kix,” Obi-Wan said sincerely, hoping Kix could see in his expression how grateful he was to have the Medic Commander’s help.

“Of course,” Kix said with a small smile. “He’ll need to stay off the leg for a day or two. I sent some stretches and exercises to his datapad that he’ll need to do for the next few weeks. If you’re gone longer than three weeks, send me a comm and I’ll send an update. Ideally, I’d like to see you again for a check-up in three weeks, if possible, five weeks at maximum.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody said quietly, looking down at the floor. Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows as he looked at Kix. Whatever Kix had said to him must have put the fear of a medic’s wrath into Cody for him to call Kix “sir.”

Kix clenched his jaw as he studied Cody’s face, then he gave Obi-Wan a tight smile and said, “Travel safely, and don’t hesitate to comm me if there’s a problem.”

“We will, thank you,” Obi-Wan said. Kix looked at Cody again before turning on his heel and marching down the corridor in the same direction he had gone earlier to retrieve the hyponeedle vials. Obi-Wan resituated his grip on Cody’s waist and lightly nudged his friend toward the lifts.

“Kix injected something into my knee and hip,” Cody said as the lift descended. His voice was soft, almost sad. “He said it would increase my mobility and reduce pain. It’ll only last a couple of years, then I’ll need another. And I could still get the surgery after our trip, if I decide to take the risk.”

“That’s…” Obi-Wan stopped himself from saying it was good news. He glanced over at Cody, who had propped himself against the wall of the lift and still had his face downturned, deliberately not looking at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wanted to tell him it was the best news he’d heard all day, that he was glad Cody decided to get the injection rather than submit himself back to Kamino. Cody’s expression suggested that he did not feel the same way. “How do you feel about it?” Obi-Wan asked instead.

“I don’t know,” Cody sighed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall of the lift. Obi-Wan had to pull his eyes away from the long line of his neck to look at his face as Cody said, “I don’t want to be in pain anymore. But I don’t want to die.” Cody turned his head and opened his eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Obi-Wan’s face heat.

“I don’t want you to die, either,” Obi-Wan admitted quietly. “I’m sorry I made that decision for you. You shouldn’t let me guilt you into staying, if you want to go.”

Cody shook his head and sighed. “I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he said quietly, his dark eyes still boring into Obi-Wan’s, piercing his soul. “I’ve been… struggling, since the accident. I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m sorry for being ungrateful. I see now you were just doing what you thought was best.”

The lift doors opened before Obi-Wan could think of a response. Cody’s eyes were soft, and a small smile perched on his lips. Obi-Wan’s chest tightened as Cody raised his arm to reach out for Obi-Wan’s help again, and they made their way in comfortable silence to the speeder. He was happy to help Cody, he wanted Cody to be happy and healthy and fulfilled. He hated seeing Cody as he had been the last couple of years: depressed and in pain. He would have let Cody go if he had chosen to go to Kamino rather than take the injections. He only wanted what was best for Cody, but he knew would be unfathomably sad if Cody was decommissioned.

“Do you want me to drop you off at the GAR barracks?” Obi-Wan asked once he had gotten Cody settled into the speeder’s passenger seat. “I can go and retrieve your things and bring them to you.”

Cody blinked at Obi-Wan, and a frown creased his brow. “I thought we were leaving for Ahsoka’s hideout first thing in the morning,” Cody said.

“Do you still want to come with me?” Obi-Wan asked carefully.

“If you still want me.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Always.”

“I’ll stay in your quarters tonight, so we can leave on time,” Cody said, settling into the seat. Obi-Wan sat in the driver’s seat and buckled himself in, warm comfort settling in his chest. He liked when Cody stayed in his quarters. Maybe he would even curl up next to him in the bunk, like they used to do on the Venator, or when he was injured. Obi-Wan always slept peacefully with Cody pressed against him.

“I thought you might want to spend some time alone, is all,” Obi-Wan said as he drove the speeder away from the speeder dock in front of the Medical Facility. The rushing air felt cool on his flushed cheeks.

Cody was quiet a moment, and Obi-Wan was beginning to think he hadn’t heard what he had said until he replied, “I do want some time alone, I think. We could meditate in the temple gardens, if you’d like.”

“I would like that.”

Obi-Wan smiled at Cody, glancing between him and the speeder lane. Cody smiled softly back at him. That warmth in his chest bloomed and filled his body, and he reached out to feel for Cody’s Force Bond. The grief and pain was not gone, but it had been diminished, and in its place a familiar warmth flowed between them. Obi-Wan wished Cody could feel it the way he did. He wished he could feel their Bond in full, like he could when he could feel the Force. He had a good feeling about the trip to see Ahsoka. At the very least he and Cody would get away from Coruscant for a while, and that would, hopefully, do them both some good.

“Kix is terrifying, isn’t he?” Obi-Wan asked, remembering Kix’s icy glare.

Cody snorted. “All medics are terrifying,” he said matter-of-factly. “The Kaminoans add it into their DNA.” Obi-Wan laughed and caught Cody grinning at him out of the corner of his eye.

“You would think medics would be more disliked, or at least avoided,” Obi-Wan commented. When he and Cody were active in the war, Obi-Wan always noticed a general dislike among clones for the medbay, but medics themselves were respected and well-liked by everyone. Cody hummed in agreement and scratched at his chin, a gesture he had picked up from Obi-Wan over the years.

“There’s a… myth on Kamino, among clones,” Cody said thoughtfully, “that if you’re friends with a medic, you will never die.”

“I thought you weren’t afraid of death,” Obi-Wan said, raising an eyebrow. He’d heard the myth about medics, and he had also heard clones proclaim that they were not afraid of death, usually before performing a dangerous stunt or sacrificial act.

Cody’s grin faded, and he stared at the speeder lane ahead of them silently. Obi-Wan was worried he’d said something to offend Cody. He thought they were having a light conversation about the clone’s culture, a culture Obi-Wan himself had lived amongst for nearly twenty years.

“No, it’s not death we’re afraid of,” Cody said after a full minute of contemplative silence.

Obi-Wan pulled into the Jedi Temple, the voices of Jedi and clones and droids mingling and echoing through the cavernous hangar bay. Obi-Wan looked over at Cody. He had a faraway look in his eyes and a frown on his brow.

“What we’re afraid of,” Cody continued, and a chill ran up Obi-Wan’s spine at the fear in his voice, “is dying without purpose.”

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Raxulon School for Aspiring Politicians, Raxus, CIS, Outer Rim

Anakin hoisted a luggage case full of clothes onto an anti-grav sled, setting it next to the three others Leia had packed to bring to school for the term. He ran his hand over the metal casing and remembered carrying these exact cases to Naboo with Padmé before the war started. They were inconspicuous enough from afar that they did not draw attention, but up-close Anakin could see the fine details: a woven gold band around the seam, a braided leather handle, and a hidden compartment in the top for a small blaster or knife. When Leia had been accepted to the school for aspiring politicians on Raxus, Padmé and Anakin had both agreed the set would be best handed down to her for the long months she boarded at the school. Leia pouted briefly that she wouldn’t be getting new cases, but changed her mind when she found the hidden blaster compartments.

Luke jumped on the front of the anti-grav sled and lounged against the cases as Anakin slid it away from the private transport speeder they had taken from the Raxulon spaceport. Leia rolled her eyes and walked with her head held high and her shoulders back. Anakin and Padmé shared a fondly exasperated look.

As they walked through the campus of the school, Anakin watched his daughter fall into easy step among the students. She held her head high, confident and poised. She looked so much like her mother: short in stature, but large in personality. This was the second year that they were dropping Leia off at the boarding school, and compared to the year previous, Leia had grown a lot, both in height and maturity. He would miss her fiercely, but he was confident this year that she would be fine on her own. Besides, Padmé worked in the city most of the year as a Representative of Lianna in the People’s House, and as her personal pilot, Anakin was always with her, so Leia had them nearby when she needed them.

Leia’s roommate, the same one she’d had the year before, was a Neimoidian girl named Ooibay. She was in the room, already unpacking her own luggage when they arrived. Leia and Ooibay squealed and hugged when they saw each other. Anakin noticed the way Padmé cringed a little as Leia hugged the Neimoidian girl. She had lingering trauma from her many experiences dealing with Neimoidians in the past, as Queen of Naboo and Senator in the Republic. But Ooibay was a daughter of Neimoidian political activists who had left Cato Neimoidia to join the Confederacy and escape the Republic’s persecution of her people. She was nothing like the Neimoidians who had attacked Naboo thirty years ago. Ooibay was thoughtful, charming, and sweet. And she was Leia’s best friend, which was enough for both Anakin and Padmé to accept her.

“Representative Amidala, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Ooibay said, extending a long-fingered hand in greeting. Padmé hesitated before taking Ooibay’s hand. The hesitation was slight, and Anakin only recognized it because he could feel the initial anxiety and fear that coursed through Padmé in the Force whenever she saw a Neimoidian.

“The pleasure is mine, Ooibay,” Padmé said smoothly in her Senator’s voice. “Did you have a nice break?”

Luke and Anakin unloaded Leia’s crates from the anti-grav cart as Ooibay gushed about her family’s beach holiday on Sesid. Anakin tried to imagine Neimoidians wearing swimsuits, decided he didn’t like the idea, and shook his head. He wondered instead how Rex and Echo’s extraction on Sesid had gone. They should be back at the colony by now. He would have to ask Rex how it went when they arrived on his and Ahsoka’s moon.

Padmé hugged Leia tightly once all her belongings were removed from the anti-grav cart. Warm affection filled Anakin’s chest as he watched them embrace. Leia was almost as tall as Padmé, and the coronet of braids on the crown of her head made her look nearly the same height. Anakin wondered how much she would grow over the next few months. He would miss seeing her face every day. He pulled Leia into an embrace once Padmé had relinquished her, and held her against his chest, wrapping her in the love and affection he felt for her through the Force. To his surprise, she returned the affection as she held him tightly.

“Remember: patience, focus, and control,” he said lowly. Leia pursed her lips and nodded. He was confident in her ability to keep her Force sensitivity secret, but she was often hot-headed, stubborn, and impatient, which made her ability to control the Force within her more difficult. His words were a reminder to have patience, focus her mind, and control the Force within her. Her reluctant acceptance of the reminder was a testament to how nervous she was for them to leave her at the school.

He squeezed her against his chest one last time, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes as she whispered a watery “I love you, Dad.” He kissed her temple and released his hold on her, blinking away the wetness of his eyes. Leia and Luke hugged briefly, and Luke said something to Leia that made her punch his arm as he grinned mischievously at her.

“Don’t hesitate to send a commlink,” Padmé said, pulling Leia into another embrace.

“I won’t,” Leia said, looking a little like she didn’t want to let Padmé go.

But she did let go. She squared her shoulders and gave them all a watery smile as they said goodbye, and soon the door to her room was closed, and Anakin felt like he was leaving a part of him behind. As they walked away from Leia’s dormitory, the sorrow of parting from his daughter swirled and soured with each step. He paused at the threshold of the school, a distinctly bad feeling sitting heavy in his stomach. He didn’t know if there was anything to do about it. Sometimes the Will of the Force was best interpreted with patience. Patience, focus, and control.

Padmé checked her commlink as soon as they sat in seats on the private transport, and sighed wearily at the number of comms she had missed while they were dropping off Leia. Anakin told the driver droid the address to their apartment, and Padmé pulled out her datapad. Luke settled into his seat with his own datapad in hand. This was a normal day for the Naberrie family, in all honesty. The only difference was that Leia was missing.

Padmé made three calls in the time it took their transport to cross the city and arrive at their apartment building. Her voice in every call was calm and diplomatic, though the recipients of each call were slightly frantic. There was a new bill being proposed—despite the fact that the legislators were on a two-month break—that had the Liannan government nervous, as well as several of her peers in the People’s House.

“They think they can sneak this language into their bill for the construction committee and not need a full House vote,” Representative Fenway of Serenno said bitterly, her disembodied head floating above the holoprojector held in Padmé’s hand. “It would allow a complete bypass of all individual planetary import laws. And remove tariffs and embargoes. It’s a catastrophic bill and they’re trying to sneak it in under fucking boring construction language.”

“Cover your ears, Luke,” Padmé teased with a soft smile. Luke rolled his eyes and smirked at her.

“Sorry, Luke!” Rep. Fenway apologized before continuing. “Anyway, I know you are personally in favor of more Confederacy-wide regulations, but this is a direct violation of everything we stand for as independent systems, and also hands-down far too much power to the corporations.”

“You don’t have to convince me this is a bad idea, Hailee,” Padmé said. “I support individualized legislation to keep corporations in check just as much as Galaxy-wide regulations.” Anakin raised his eyebrow at Padmé’s deliberate use of the word “galaxy" instead of “confederacy.” Despite needing to flee the Republic and make a new life in the CIS, Padmé still hoped the war would end in reunification of the Galaxy.

“We’re getting together as soon as we can all make it to Raxus,” Rep. Fenway said, swiping a loose lock of curly hair out of her face. “I’ll be there in two days, Standard Raxus time, and I think Xalander will be there in three. We need to counter this bill and find a compromise before it gets voted in under everyone’s noses.”

“I’m supposed to go on a trip with my family, Hailee, I can’t just—”

“And I’m literally leaving a vacation with my family right now, Padmé,” Fenway interrupted. “My daughter’s birthday is tomorrow, and I’ll have to sing to her from Hyperspace. This bill is that important.”

Padmé sighed and closed her eyes. She rubbed her temples, and her shoulders sagged. Luke and Anakin both watched her in silence. Padmé looked at Anakin over her hand where it was covering her face, and he gave her a small reassuring smile. He knew she wanted to see Ahsoka and Rex and Obi-Wan. He knew she wanted to spend time with her family. He also knew that her job was important. The Confederacy of Independent Systems had been formed almost twenty years ago, but it was still experiencing growing pains. Padmé, as a Representative of the planet they had settled on, was determined to make sure that if there was to be two factions in the Galaxy, the one they lived in was a damn good one and continued to protect the citizens who lived there.

“Alright, Hailee, I’ll stay,” Padmé said wearily. “I want a meeting with you as soon as you’re in Raxulon. Send me whatever draft of the Grievances Report you have already written, and I’ll look it over tomorrow.”

“Good. Wish me luck convincing Davon,” Fenway said with a huff.

“Good luck,” Padmé chuckled. “See you soon.”

Fenway disconnected the comm with a short goodbye. Padmé let out all her breath at once and slumped into the seat behind her, scrubbing her hands over her face. She took a deep breath behind her hands, and when she sat up and put her hands back into her lap, she was composed again.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, looking between Luke and Anakin. “I’ll have to stay here and work.”

“That’s okay, mom,” Luke said, only the smallest hint of disappointment in his voice. Anakin could feel the full weight of his disappointment through the Force, however. “Your work is important.”

Padmé smiled and reached out to take his hand in hers as she said, “Thank you, sweetheart.” Luke squeezed her fingers and returned his attention to his datapad, his disappointment fading quickly. “Still, I wanted to be there for you, Ani. If Obi-Wan is going to be there… I don’t want you to be alone for that reunion.”

“I’ll have Luke with me,” Anakin said, nodding at Luke, who gave a half-hearted thumbs-up. Padmé pursed her lips and looked at him skeptically. Anakin sighed.

She was right, he had been looking forward to having her strength at his side when he saw his old Master for the first time in twelve years. At some point they would have to talk about what happened, the incident that had forced them to leave the Republic, to hide from the Order, to cut contact with everyone who had helped raise him. He wasn’t sure he was ready to have that conversation on his own, without Padmé there. But he would have to. He needed to face the man who had been the closest thing to a father he had ever known, who he had not wanted to see for twelve years. He would have to show Luke that sometimes as an adult, tough conversations and awkward situations would arise, and he would have to rise to meet them. Anakin took her hand in his and kissed her fingers.

“What bill is so important you have to work during the break?” Anakin asked, trying to move the subject away from him and the twelve years of absence from Obi-Wan he was about to face.

“The construction committee has proposed a bill to make documentation for transportation of building materials standardized across the Confederacy. On the surface, it’s a bill that I would be very much in support of,” Padmé explained. “However, some corporate lobbyists got hidden language added that would allow transportation of any good from a non-government-affiliated corporation to be transported to Confederate Systems with the same blanket approvals that construction materials are currently allowed.

“And while it will make importing and exporting goods between Corporations and Confederate worlds easier,” she continued, the frown on her face deepening the longer she talked, “it also bypasses individual systems’ import laws and nulls any tariffs, embargoes, and bans that systems may have on certain goods. At the very least this bill could cost a system a steady income from tariffs, and at worst could destroy whole ecosystems if bans are circumvented. Not to mention some embargoes are placed on planets and systems because their exported goods are derived from pirating and slave labor. So, if sales of those commodities are increased, this bill would be supporting a Galaxy-wide humanitarian crisis. I can’t stand for something like this to be passed. And I especially won’t let it be passed quietly while everyone is on break. There’s too much at stake.”

Padmé’s cheeks were flushed, and her frown was deep and serious when she finished her speech. Anakin laid a hand on her thigh and rubbed his thumb in a slow arc over her knee. He smiled softly at her when she looked at him, her eyes still sharp and determined, her mouth set in a hard line. This was who she was. Since she was a little girl, this was who she had always been. Compassionate, committed, and morally uncompromising.

“This is important,” he said softly. “You can see Ahsoka anytime. This work is important now.” Padmé sighed and nodded, and Anakin leaned in to kiss her. Her frown melted under the soft press of his lips, and she entwined their fingers together and held them tightly. He could feel her love for him through their Bond in the Force. It was bright and warm and comforting. Her Force Signature was like coming home, and her love was like an embrace after weeks of solitude.

“Well, we have one night together before I need to work,” Padmé said when they parted. Anakin slid his arm around Padmé’s shoulders and pulled her against his side, tucking her under his arm securely. She laid her head on his shoulder and placed one warm hand on his knee as she turned to look at Luke. He was still playing his game on his datapad, oblivious to his parents. “Should we do something special?”

“I can think of a few things,” Anakin whispered into her ear, sliding his hand from where it was resting on her waist down below her waistband. She pinched his knee but smirked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye, and he kissed the top of her head.

“There’s a pod race on tonight,” Luke said, not looking up from his datapad. “We could make dessert from scratch and watch the race.”

“That sounds lovely, doesn’t it Ani?” Padmé asked, turning to look into his eyes. A rush of love and affection swirled around him through their Bond. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach fluttered at the soft look in her dark eyes. He cupped her jaw and swiped his thumb over her cheek. She had lines around her eyes and mouth and gray sparkling in her hair, but to him she was just as beautiful as she had been that day she walked into Watto’s shop on Tatooine. He pressed a soft kiss onto her lips, and she hummed. He didn’t know if she knew that she hummed when he kissed her sometimes, but it was a sound that made his bones feel like jelly.

“Everything sounds lovely when I’m with you,” he said. She smiled, and he leaned in to kiss her again, contentment wrapping comfortingly around his heart.

Four months before the anniversary
Coruscant Guard Offices, GAR base, Coruscant

Fox held his private commlink close to his face, the volume turned down as low as he could to still hear it over the constant ringing of his ears. He snuck a glance at the closed door of his office again and shifted in his seat. His blacks stunk. He knew his skin stunk worse. He’d been in the underbelly of the lower levels for the last twelve hours tracking a band of smugglers to a warehouse. Now that they were in custody and their smuggled cargo was safely locked away, Fox needed to finish the reports so he could finally sleep. But his personal commlink had beeped, and soon Riyo’s voice glided out, the crappy speaker not doing her sultry voice any favors.

“I want my hands on you,” she whispered. “I want your mouth on me.”

“I’m off shift soon,” he replied, his heart in his throat.

“I have an hour between sessions,” she whispered. The speaker crackled as her lips brushed against her microphone. “Are you at the Senate building? Can you come up to my office?”

Fox clenched his jaw and looked at the chrono hanging on the wall. The wall of his office at the GAR complex. “I’m on base,” he whispered. They both knew that it would take him at minimum twenty minutes to reach the Senate, and that was if he disobeyed all traffic laws and flew at top speed, which would draw too much attention.

Riyo sighed and Fox swallowed bitterly. He wished they didn’t have all this distance and duty between them. He glanced at his closed door again. His men should know not to disturb him when his office door was closed, but he was still worried one of them might barge in. He unlatched his codpiece and rubbed at himself through his blacks, letting the memory of Riyo’s skin fill him up. If he couldn’t see her in person, he would have to imagine she was with him while they were still talking over commlink.

“Amendment Six of the Economic Security Act passed today,” Riyo said bitterly, pulling Fox away from the pleasant memories of her hands on his chest. Fox cleared his throat and pulled his hand away from where he was leisurely stroking himself.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Fox asked, trying to remember what exactly about the amendment had made Riyo upset. “It should allow easier trade.”

Riyo scoffed. “It will. And I’m afraid it will also put humanitarian efforts at risk,” she said. Fox leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face, willing his blood to return to his brain. “If corporate ships take security priority in warzones…” Riyo sighed harshly. “Hopefully they’ll never use the provisions granted them with this amendment. I can’t help but be worried. I wish Padmé was still here. She would have rallied votes against the amendment. She would have made sure the corporate clause was never added at all.”

A heavy silence fell between them. This was the part of their relationship Fox was not very good at, the emotional part. He was conditioned to follow orders, not to question authority or fight against the grain. He had a difficult time understanding her passion in legislature, her fight against what he felt was the natural flow of politics in wartime.

“You can trust the GAR to make the right decisions,” Fox said. “They won’t leave anyone behind.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said softly. Fox wished he could hold her. It was the only way he knew how to comfort her. “I would still feel better if there was some kind of—”

Riyo’s words were drowned out by the beeping of his official comm, too loud and grating against the soft purr of Riyo’s voice. Fox clenched his teeth to stop himself from shouting. He looked at the display to see who was trying to contact him. CC-0027-5555. Fox rolled his eyes. Fives, one of Cody’s commanders.

“Is that your comm?” Riyo asked.

“Unfortunately,” Fox growled.

“I’ll let you go, then,” she said. Her disappointment was clear in her voice. He wanted to tell her not to go. He wanted to tell Fives to fuck off. But he couldn’t. She knew he couldn’t, just as she knew he couldn’t fly across Coruscant to the Senate to see her. The distance between them widened with every insistent beep of Fox’s comm.

“I’ll be at the Senate tomorrow,” he said.

“And I will see you then,” Riyo replied. Her voice was strained, not the usual sultry purr he was used to when the promise of seeing each other was placed at their fingertips. She said goodbye and disconnected their call. Fox took a deep breath and reattached his codpiece before finally answering his official commlink.

Fives’ face bloomed on the holoprojector, his large burn scar stark white against his tan skin. He looked better now that he had a prosthetic eye. It reminded Fox of Wolffe, who marched on too long ago.

“Commander,” Fives greeted him with a nod.

“Threes,” Fox responded. Fives rolled his eyes and barely contained a smirk at Fox’s nickname. “Can I help you?”

“I need you to relay a message to Commander Cody,” Fives said. “We must be on opposite sides of the Galaxy; I can’t get through to his comm.”

“He’s on a special mission with General Kenobi,” Fox said.

“Visiting Ahsoka, yeah, I know,” Fives said, rolling his eyes. “They asked me to look at some footage of those bombings on Triple Zero and I noticed some things I wanted to report.”

Fox sat up straighter in his chair. He’d forgotten that Cody and General Kenobi had been tasked by the Jedi to investigate the attacks.

“Just give your report to me,” Fox said. “Technically it’s the Guard’s investigation.”

“I was told this is for the Jedi,” Fives sneered. Fox scoffed.

“Your report, Commander,” Fox snapped. “I’ll be sure to relay it to Cody when he’s back on Triple Zero.”

“I looked at those recordings of the three bombings,” Fives began, pulling out a datapad. Fox could just see the top of it within the frame of the holoprojector. “First of all, what happened to that school is fucking twisted, ralada. Is Fist really suggesting we let karked shit like that happen again?” Fives lifted the datapad so that Fox could see the back of it. It presumably held Commander Fist’s reports on all three bombings, and his final statement that more attacks would garner more valuable information.

“Hopefully not, if you have something useful to report,” Fox said, letting his thin patience bleed into his voice. Fives frowned and let a short breath out of his nose.

“I haven’t dug too deep yet, but there’s something in all of these vids that I recognized,” Fives continued. He tapped something on his datapad and within a second Fox’s comm flashed with an incoming file. He plugged in his own ‘pad to upload it while Fives continued talking. “There’s graffiti on the walls of other buildings nearby each of the attacks. I know graffiti isn’t uncommon on Triple Zero, but there’s one specific symbol I recognized. When I was an ARC, Echo and I were tasked with preemptively stopping rebellions, investigating terrorist attacks, that sort of thing. Any time there was an uprising, or a terrorist bombing, or a coup, we would see that symbol graffitied on a building nearby.”

Fox opened the file and a simple symbol appeared on the screen of his ‘pad. He squinted at it. It did look familiar. For some reason the smell of Riyo’s shampoo wafted through his mind at the sight of it. But that could have been the way his codpiece rubbed against his semi-hard deece when he sat forward.

“What is it?” Fox asked, looking back up at Fives.

“At first we thought it was some kind of pop culture symbol,” Fives said. “But the more we saw it, the more we had to admit it was probably a symbol of rebellion. We were testing our theory when…” Fives stopped and looked away from the holoprojector, a faraway look in his eyes. Fox knew what he was talking about. The last mission Fives had gone on with Echo. They’d landed in a trap that ended in a massive explosion. Fives was lucky to make it out only needing a prosthetic eye and skin grafts. Echo hadn’t been lucky at all. Fives scratched the burn scar on his cheek and sighed. “Well, I never got to finish our investigation. But there are dozens of reports that might be helpful.”

“The reports are all yours?” Fox asked. He looked down at the symbol that Fives had sent him. It was a picture of graffiti on a duracrete wall. Fox couldn’t figure out why it looked so familiar, or why he couldn’t get thoughts of Riyo out of his head.

“Mine and Echo’s. ARC-0027-1409,” Fox said. Echo’s number caught in his throat as he said it. The accident was nearly four years ago, but Fox knew losses like that never got easier. Thorn had marched on over eight years ago, and Fox still couldn’t look at his old reports without his eyes stinging.

“Alright, I’ll pull your old reports,” Fox said with a nod.

“Careful,” Fives said, and when Fox looked up from the flat holo of the graffiti, he saw the barest of smirks on Fives’ scarred face, “it’s bound to be a lot. Echo was annoyingly thorough.”

Fox snorted. He could have used someone like Echo in the Guard. Before Fist was promoted to Commander, their reports were criminally sloppy. Not as sloppy as the CSF’s reports, but that was why his men thought they could get away with it.

“You might also want to talk to Jesse,” Fives added, scratching at his goatee. “He and the 332^nd just returned from a battle that started with an uprising like the ones Echo and I used to investigate. He’s on Triple Zero now, but he’s set to rendezvous with me in a few rotations, so you might want to catch him now.”

Fox knew the 332^nd was on Coruscant. Besides the fact that he kept an eye on all of Commander Jesse’s men (usually in a drunk tank), he also kept tabs on one of Jesse’s captains, Tup. He’d been watching out for the kid over the years after the incident on Ringo Vinda that revealed the existence of those fucking slave chips, and started the whole mess with Palpatine, the Jedi, and Skywalker. Or at least Fox’s involvement in that mess. He’d already had lastmeal with Tup a few days ago and was scheduled to see him again later in the day, so long as Fox could finish his file work on the smugglers.

The smugglers.

Fox sat bolt upright in his chair, eliciting a wary question from Fives. He remembered what was so familiar about the symbol. It had been painted on the crates of smuggled goods that they had confiscated that morning. The longer he stared at Fives’ graffiti holo, the more he was sure. He looked into Fives’ concerned face, at the scar across his cheek and jaw and the gleam of his prosthetic eye. He considered not telling Fives, but Fives had nearly died for this intel. Echo had died for this intel.

When he explained what he had seen on the crates, Fives’ concern slowly slid into a frown.

“What’s the connection?” he asked. “Who were these smugglers?”

“The usual suspects,” Fox shrugged, looking back down at this datapad. “Hired weequay smugglers.”

“Are they in custody?” Fives asked.

Fox scowled up at him. “The fuck kind of operation do you think I’m running here? Of course they’re in custody,” he growled.

Fives chuckled nervously and held his hands up, palms out. “Right, sorry, of course. Not used to working with such… ah, efficiency. Not anymore, at least.”

Fox’s irritation melted away and turned to slimy, cold guilt as it slid down his spine. He rubbed his face and put down the datapad. He needed a shower. And three hours of hard sleep.

“It’s alright,” Fox sighed. “I’ll talk to Jesse. And I’ll keep you updated.”

“Yessir, I’ll let you know if there’s anything else I find as well.”

Fox nodded and dismissed Fives. When the blue light of his hologram dissolved into the semi-darkness of his office, lit only by the mid-morning glow from the windows, Fox slumped in his chair and let out his breath all at once. There was still something nagging at the back of his mind about the symbol. Something his sleep-deprived mind couldn’t remember. He traced the shape with his eyes, the crescent at top, bisected by a line that ended in the valley of an inverted chevron. He’d seen this symbol before. But perhaps it was just graffitied on the walls of the lower levels, and he’d passed it a hundred times and never thought about it. He rubbed his eyes and wished he had been at the Senate building in Riyo’s arms instead.

“Fist,” he said into his wrist comm. Fists’ gruff voice acknowledged him after a tense moment of silence where Fox tried not to slip into pleasant memories of showering with Riyo. “Pull a team together to interrogate those smugglers.”

“Interrogate them, sir?” Fist asked.

“I have a feeling this smuggling operation is a lot more involved than we thought.”

Four months before the anniversary
Somewhere in hyperspace

The rich scent of caf wafted through the living cabin of the Eta-class T9 shuttle and swirled around Cody’s head invitingly. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes. It was spiced, Obi-Wan’s favorite way to drink it, and the top notes of crisp bannalon seed and spicy pulu root were sharp in contrast to the smooth and earthy base of dark-roasted caf. The scent reminded Cody of living on the Negotiator. Obi-Wan would brew a small pot of spiced caf in the evenings when they had work to do, and usually the pair would fall asleep in the same bunk, datapads still in hand, strategies half-formed, and in the morning not a single word about how comfortable Obi-Wan’s arm was as it rested on Cody’s waist.

Cody stretched out his leg, assessing every pain and ache and sore muscle. The injections Kix had given him were starting to work, and he could feel the steady improvement in his mobility. He opened his eyes and found that Obi-Wan had left him a painkiller hypo and cup of water by his bunk. Cody smiled at the gesture, his chest filling with warm affection. He dialed in the dosage on his painkiller, less than he’d needed in over a year, and injected it quickly into the back of his neck before climbing out of the low bunk.

When he entered the main deck of the ship, Obi-Wan was already seated at the dining table with a mug of caf and a datapad in his hand. Cody noticed a second cup of caf and a ration pack already sitting at the table across from him. He looked up when Cody entered, and the soft smile he gave returned the warmth to Cody’s chest.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan said warmly as Cody limped toward the refresher, and Cody returned the greeting. His hip still felt sore. He hoped his PT stretches would help work out the stiffness. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did, thank you,” Cody replied.

He settled himself into the seat across from Obi-Wan after using the fresher, and picked up the mug of caf, inhaling the scent of the spices. The rations Obi-Wan set in Cody’s seat were his favorite for first meal: sweetened grains with fruit and nuts. Cody smiled as he peeled open the package, his chest feeling tight. Obi-Wan was too kind to him. He didn’t deserve the kindness. Cody had been a burden to Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan had been nothing but giving and kind. In their last appointment, Kix had called Cody ungrateful. Cody was upset, in pain, and feeling vulnerable and fragile, and had screamed the worst thing he could think of at Obi-Wan. Kix’s anger at Cody was terrifying. He reminded Cody that Obi-Wan had done nothing but care for him and love him for almost twenty years, expecting nothing in return. Cody was grateful to Obi-Wan. He only wished he knew how to repay his friend for his undue kindness.

They sat in comfortable silence as Cody ate his ration pack and they both sipped their spiced caf. They’d been travelling for two days now through hyperspace and were due to arrive on Ahsoka’s moon in about six hours. It had been a long time since Cody had left Coruscant. The small ship they had taken was barely big enough for the two of them (even though it was designed for four), but he didn’t feel uncomfortable. Being in close quarters with Obi-Wan reminded Cody of their days living on Venators, fighting on the front lines. During those years they practically lived in each other’s pocket and never cared that they had so little space for themselves. Sometimes Cody missed the closeness that they shared during that time. Being near Obi-Wan was comforting. Cody realized, as he watched his friend and General sip caf and read his datapad, that Obi-Wan was the closest thing to home Cody had.

He hoped this trip would improve Obi-Wan’s mood. Despite his protestations that he was happy to stay on Coruscant while Cody was injured, Cody could see the depression that had crept over his friend over the last two years.  He hoped Obi-Wan would regain his connection to the Force. He hoped that would make Obi-Wan happy again, give him purpose again. Because Cody was still injured, the injections were temporary, and he was still considering sending himself to Kamino.

The hours slid by easily between them. Cody took a grainy holocomm from Wooley, his commander of the 212^th, who had both Cody and Obi-Wan wiping tears from their eyes as they laughed at the stories of the shenanigans some of his men had gotten into during their most recent leave. When Wooley’s call ended, Cody felt a pang of sorrow. He missed being on the front lines. He missed his men. He missed when the war was new and he, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka would fight alongside Anakin and Rex on desperate battlefields without fear of death. He wondered if meeting up with Ahsoka and Rex would be nostalgic, or if it would be painful.

He still wasn’t sure what he would say to Rex when they arrived. He was torn between embracing the man who had been his best friend and brother for ten years and slugging him in the face. He hated that Rex deserted the GAR, but he was grateful Rex went with Ahsoka to protect her on her Wayseeking journey. He just wished that journey had not lasted ten years and involved a permanent home and a shared bunk.

“Cody and I will be there in a few hours, according to my nav computer,” Obi-Wan said to the holographic image of Ahsoka hovering above the holotable. Cody watched their interaction from behind Ahsoka’s image as he stretched his hip like Kix instructed. He grimaced and breathed out through his teeth as he pulled his leg a centimeter farther than was comfortable. Obi-Wan looked at him through Ahsoka’s hologram, a tiny frown creasing his brow. Cody let go of the stretch and gestured to Obi-Wan that he was alright.

“Great, we’ll be ready for you,” Ahsoka said with a smile. Cody smirked at Obi-Wan, who made eye contact with him again through the hologram. Ahsoka had never explicitly revealed the nature of her relationship with Rex after all these years living together, but the casual and easy way she said “we,” as if she said it all the time, practically confirmed their suspicions.

“Cody and I,” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked to Cody’s again as they shared a knowing glance, “are looking forward to seeing you. It’s been a long time, my old padawan.”

“Too long, Master,” Ahsoka replied. She pursed her lips and frowned, pain flashing across her face fleetingly. But in a second it was gone, replaced with a genial smile. “We have a lot to catch up on, I guess.”

Obi-Wan hummed and stroked his beard. There was a sadness in his eyes as he appraised his former padawan through the hologram. Cody knew Obi-Wan missed Ahsoka. She was like a daughter to him. As his padawan of eight years, he had practically raised her. After she was knighted, he kept her and the 501^st close in every battle not because he doubted her abilities as a commander, but because he was fond of her.

“We have plenty of time,” Obi-Wan said, a smile pulling up the corners of his bearded mouth.

Ahsoka nodded, then turned abruptly to her right. Her hand flew to her hip, where her lightsaber was clipped to her belt. Cody could imagine what she looked like in real life, her body tense and perfectly still, like a predator homing in on her prey. Obi-Wan’s smile faded, and a slight frown replaced it as he watched her silently.

“I’m sorry, Master, I have to go,” she said abruptly, turning back to the holocomm.

“Is everything alright?” Obi-Wan asked, alarm apparent in his voice.

“Well, either Rex just got home or else I’m being attacked,” she said wistfully. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and he leaned into the holocomm, as if getting closer would help. “Probably the former. I’ll message you if it’s the latter.”

“Now, Ahsoka, wait—” Obi-Wan tried to catch her, but she turned off the comm, already halfway to danger by the time the signal was cut. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he sighed. As much as Obi-Wan was fond of Ahsoka, he was not fond of the way she leapt into danger without thinking. A message pinged on the holocomm and Obi-Wan frowned before opening it. Ahsoka’s voice floated out of the console, winded but untroubled.

“It’s just Rex,” her voice said. “See you in a few hours, Master.” The message clicked off, and Obi-Wan stared at the console, his arms folded across his chest, his mouth turned down in a frown, his brows furrowed pensively.

“When are you going to tell them that you know about them?” Cody asked.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said wearily without looking up. “It’s not really a conversation I’m looking forward to having.”

“You mean you don’t want to tell your former padawan you know she and her captain are fu—”

“No, Cody,” Obi-Wan interrupted sharply, but his expression was amused. “And I know it’s far more than just that.”

“How do you feel about it?”

Obi-Wan sighed deeply and sat back in his chair, continuing to stroke his beard. His eyes were far away, and Cody knew he was thinking of his padawan as she was when the war had started, when she was young and snippy, but brave and thoughtful and kind.

“My instinct is to say that attachments lead to pain and suffering and the dark side.” He looked at Cody and the barest of content smiles rested on his lips. Cody smiled back, warmth flooding his chest. “But we all have our attachments these days.”

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Ahsoka ran into the courtyard after sending Obi-Wan a short message confirming the ship she had heard was Rex, and not attackers. Her bare feet slid in the slightly soggy ground in front of their home as she ran out to meet Rex. The ramp lowered on the underbelly of the ship, and a familiar figure in white and blue plastoid armor strode out. She leaped into his arms, spanning five meters in a single Force-assisted bound. He caught her, as she knew he would, his arms wrapping around her middle, his hands flat and warm and solid on her back, her chest crashing into the hard armor of his chestplate with a satisfying thud.

He’d had the good sense to keep his helmet off when he disembarked, and her lips found his, tasting his smile, devouring his hellos, unintelligible words lost among the chaotic press of lips and tongues and teeth. Rex’s hands slid down her back and he pulled her thighs up so that her knees hooked over his hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her into their cabin, past the kitchen, down the little hallway, and into their bedroom where he could give her a proper hello.

After, they lay in each other’s arms, pressed together from chest to toe. Rex stroked Ahsoka’s rear lek as he peppered her cheeks and lips with kisses. Ahsoka breathed in his musky scent and bathed in the warm glow of his love that surrounded her through their Force Bond. He had only been gone eight days, but it had felt like a lifetime.

“How was your mission?” Ahsoka asked. Rex sighed and closed his eyes. He pressed his forehead to hers, and his hand stilled on her rear lek. The sunlight streaming through the windows behind him made the grays hiding in his dark blonde hair sparkle. She ran her hand down his chest, tracing the familiar patterns of his tattoos. She circled the blaster scar in the center of his chest that had nearly killed him on Saleucami, and where it cut through the esk of his name tattooed into the center of his chest. And below his name, over his heart, was Ahsoka’s facial markings, a permanent symbol of his love and devotion to her etched forever in his skin.

“We lost one,” Rex whispered. Ahsoka pressed her palm into the skin over his heart and touched their noses together. “He sacrificed himself so we could escape.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka sighed. She would never say it out loud, but she almost always expected that to happen. Clones were notoriously self-sacrificing if it would help even one other brother live. That didn’t make their deaths any easier, though, especially for Rex, who only wanted to see his brothers freed.

“We may also need to change the exterior of the ship,” Rex said sheepishly. Ahsoka opened her eyes to find Rex’s golden ones staring back at her. “We had to make a sort of messy getaway.”

“You weren’t tracked, were you?” Ahsoka asked, fear jolting through her chest at the thought of the clone colony, a well-kept secret and haven for freed slaves and war refugees, being discovered by slavers.

“No, I jumped us to an old rendezvous coordinate and had R9 check the ship, just in case,” Rex said. His hand resumed its stroking of her rear lek, and the warmth of his fingers on her skin left a trail of tingles.

“Good,” Ahsoka sighed. She let herself melt into his embrace again. “Ship modifications are no problem, so long as you’re safe. Were you hurt?”

“Just a scrape on my knee. Didn’t even notice it was there till I took off my second skin.”

Ahsoka made a mental note to check his knee and make sure the injury really was “just a scrape.”

“And Echo?” she asked.

“He made it out fine,” Rex assured her. His fingers paused on her skin, and she opened her eyes, sensing faint anxiety seep through the calm love flowing between them.

“What is it?” she asked. His anxiety was infectious, and it settled into her chest.

“Oh, just… just something Echo said,” Rex said. Ahsoka pulled away from him so that she could look him full in the face. There was a slight frown line creasing his brow, but it smoothed as he smiled at her. His fingers that had been caressing her lek cupped her jaw instead, and his thumb swiped over her cheek softly. “He, uh, he called you my wife.”

Ahsoka snorted and rolled her eyes. “What gave him that idea?” she asked, smirking.

“I answered a call from Grett, and he called me Master Tano,” Rex said. “Unfortunately, Echo heard the whole thing, and now I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Ahsoka hummed. There was something achingly sad on Rex’s face, hiding behind his soft smile. He continued to caress her cheek with his thumb, and when he placed a soft kiss on her lips, the anxiety that had been leaking through his calm swelled. This was more than just what Echo had said. There was something else bothering him, but she couldn’t tell what. Maybe it was still guilt from losing one of the clones he was meant to save. Maybe it was lingering anxiety about having Obi-Wan and Cody on their moon. Force knew she was nervous about it.

“I can feel you thinking, Rex,” Ahsoka said, tapping the back of his neck. “What’s wrong?”

Rex shook his head, brushing their noses together with the movement. “When will General Kenobi and Cody arrive?” Rex asked. Ahsoka pursed her lips. He was avoiding her question.

“In a couple of hours,” she answered.

“I’d better get cleaned up, then,” Rex said. He kissed her lips swiftly before extricating himself from her embrace and climbing off the bed. He stretched his arms up and around, and Ahsoka watched the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex and stretch as he moved. He smirked at her as he said, “Don’t want them to catch us like this.”

“Knowing my master, he already knows what’s going on between us, or at least suspects,” Ahsoka said sighing and relenting that he had a point; they should get up and get ready for their guests. “Once they’re here it will be pretty obvious that we’re doing more than cohabitating.”

“That’s right, because apparently you’re my wife,” Rex teased. He stepped to the side of the bed where Ahsoka still lay, and placed his right hand on her hip as he leaned over her, propped up on his left hand where it rested on the mattress by her shoulder. His mouth was pulled into a smirk, but his golden eyes were lustful as he stared down at her. She felt his desire surge through their Bond, overpowering the anxiety that had been there before.

“Is that what you want? To be my husband?” she teased back. He hummed and kissed her, his lips moving slowly against hers, his tongue brushing lightly against her bottom lip. She wrapped the fingers of her left hand around his wrist, and his hand tightened on her waist.

“I want you to take a shower with me,” he said lowly, leaning in to kiss her again.

“I can agree to that,” Ahsoka said, smiling into his next kiss.

She followed him to the little refresher, but something knocked uncomfortably at the back of her mind. Obi-Wan and Cody were going to be here. Here on her and Rex’s moon in under three hours. And with them they would bring all the judgements of the Order. She shivered, not feeling as sexy as she had before. What was she going to say to Obi-Wan? How was she going to explain her eight-year absence? All she had in plain view was a forbidden love with Rex on a moon in neutral space, and she had a feeling that wouldn’t be a good enough reason for her Master.

No matter what, it was a tough conversation she was not looking forward to having.

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Hyperspace, Outer Rim

Cody squirmed in the pilot’s seat as he and Obi-Wan prepared the ship to come out of hyperspace. His hip was bothering him, a dull pain like someone had stuck their knuckles into the joint. He couldn’t find a comfortable position in his chair, but he couldn’t stand up just yet, not with their imminent arrival at Ahsoka’s hideout.

In the copilot’s seat next to him, Obi-Wan was seemingly calm as he prepped the ship’s forward shields and weapons. They had decided to be prepared for a trap. It was possible that Ahsoka had been captured, and her captor had lured them here under the guise that this was her hideout, a place to which she had not, in eight years, ever invited them. It was also possible that whatever government that presided over the system they were flying into would not take kindly to the approach of a Jedi ship, and they may need to escape. Cody hoped neither of those were true, but he wasn’t going to count either of them out. And to be on the safe side, would rather have forward shields raised and weapons ready just in case.

The console beeped an alarm that they were nearing their destination, and Cody tensed as the blue and white swirls of hyperspace formed into elongated stars, which collapsed all at once into tiny pinpricks of light splashed across a wide and empty swath of space. Cody frowned. They should be at the coordinates Ahsoka sent them. He checked the sensors. Twenty degrees past the viewport on their starboard side was a planet. He turned the ship and a little green and blue planet appeared in view. Obi-Wan let out a relieved breath, but his hands were still tight around the gun controls. As Cody turned the ship further, the viewport in front of them revealed that the planet they were headed toward was not a planet at all, but a moon orbiting a huge purple and blue gas planet. Obi-Wan hummed appreciatively. He liked exploring new worlds. Cody supposed he could like it as well, so long as they weren’t being shot at, which was most of his experience with new worlds over the thirty years of his life.

The exact coordinates of Ahsoka’s home was in the middle of a sun-bathed continent about thirty degrees south of the equator. They descended into a clearing in a broad forest of green-leafed trees. Cody glimpsed a sparkling river that cut through the forest to the north, and a small village in the distance to the east. Ahsoka’s T6 starship was parked in the clearing, shining red and white in the sunlight. And as Cody and Obi-Wan disengaged the shields and weapons and shut down the engines, two familiar figures emerged from the trees on the north side of the clearing.

Cody’s stomach clenched. This was no longer an event in the distant future, no longer an impossible reality. They were seeing Ahsoka and Rex again after ten years. He could see them walking across the clearing, Ahsoka’s blue and white montrals contrasting against her orange skin, and Rex’s blonde hair almost sparkling in the bright sunlight. He hadn’t decided what he was going to say to Rex yet. He hadn’t decided how he felt about his best friend’s desertion. He looked to Obi-Wan, hoping his general had some last friendly words of advice. Obi-Wan gave him a nervous smile and patted his shoulder as he stood up but didn’t offer any words.

Cody’s hip muscles tightened in protest as he stood. He massaged it through the gap in his armor, but the dull pain did not subside. He gritted his teeth and didn’t let the pain keep him from walking with an even gait. If he was going to face Rex and Ahsoka, he was going to do it standing tall.

Obi-Wan paused before lowering the ramp and turned to Cody. Cody rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. He nodded once to Obi-Wan, an affirmation that he was ready. Obi-Wan smiled softly, his own nerves betrayed in the pinch of his brow. Cody had the same excitement roiling in his gut that he had before they dropped into battle. Every muscle was alight with tension. His mind was hyper-focused on his surroundings. He steadied his breath and set his jaw. Obi-Wan pressed his arm against Cody’s, a reminder that he was there, beside him, with him. So long as Obi-Wan was at his side, he could face any challenge.

Obi-Wan pressed the button to lower the ramp and warm sunlight streamed through the gaps. Cody took one last deep breath, and he and Obi-Wan stepped together toward the unknown.

The first thing he noticed as they stepped into the sunlight was how fresh the air smelled. He breathed deep, inhaling the smell of clean air. In the distance he could hear birds singing. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, and the sound was softly melodic. The sun was warm on his face and the breeze swirled around them gently, cooling his skin where the sun touched. All around them the planet was calm, quiet, peaceful. Cody couldn’t help but settle into the feeling of serenity as it swirled around him in the crisp breeze.

Cody and Obi-Wan turned to face the clearing, and Cody’s jaw nearly dropped. There was a garden to his left, full of plants thriving in the sun. He could see fruits ripening between the leaves. To his right sat Ahsoka’s red shuttle. It was not gleaming as brightly as he thought it had from above. In fact, it looked like it had recently been in battle, with carbon-scoring in several places along the hull. At the edge of the garden, clothing hung from a line and waved lazily in the breeze, and beyond the trees on the far northern edge of the clearing, sat a little cottage. The whole scene screamed domesticity. This was a home, a place where people lived permanently, more permanent than a Venator, more permanent than even the barracks on Kamino. It was full of comfort, possessions, sentimentality, and attachment. The sight of it all, the realization that this was Rex’s home, made Cody’s stomach churn.

Ahsoka and Rex crossed the clearing and met them at the bow of the T9. Ahsoka stood in front of Obi-Wan, and Rex stood just behind her in front of Cody. He tried not to look at Rex, not while his stomach was still in knots and he wasn’t sure what he would say to the man he had once considered his brother.

Ahsoka had grown so much. Not in height, necessarily, but in maturity. Her jaw was softer, she had lines around her eyes and mouth that had not been there before. Her lekku, uneven because of an injury early in the war, hung to her waist. Her arms, bare in the soft brown tunic she wore, were muscular and lean, as they always had been, suggesting she kept up with her training. A swell of pride surged in Cody’s chest despite the disgust he had felt earlier seeing their homestead. Cody had watched Ahsoka grow from a skinny teenager padawan to this: a tall and clearly capable woman. He hoped his pride in her was not misplaced.

“Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka said. Her voice was firm, with an edge of nervousness, and a little deeper, more mature, but it was the same voice Cody always remembered. Ahsoka folded her hands together and bowed at the waist, a sign of respect between jedi. Obi-Wan returned the bow. When they stood, there was a beat of silence, where no one was sure what to do or say. Cody’s chest tightened and his stomach churned again, and in that fraction of a second, he wondered if it was a terrible mistake to come here.

Obi-Wan made a soft noise somewhere between a sob and a whine and stepped forward to pull Ahsoka into a tight embrace. Ahsoka didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around Obi-wan and tuck her face into his shoulder. Relief swept through Cody. Obi-Wan placed his hand on the back of Ahsoka’s head and whispered to her as sobs wracked her shoulders. It had been a long time since they had seen each other face-to-face. Cody couldn’t help but think about all the years they spent together training, fighting, learning from each other, and growing together. All the late night talks the two had about the ways of the Jedi and the ways of the Force. All the hours spent relaxing or working together on Venators. And all the time spent a Galaxy apart.

Ahsoka pulled away from Obi-Wan’s embrace, wiping her eyes. Obi-Wan cupped her jaw with his hands, a soft and proud smile on his face. She looked at Cody when Obi-wan stepped back again, and smiled brightly before pulling him into a similar embrace. Cody held her against his chest, suddenly glad to feel the familiar texture of her lekku against his cheek.

“I missed you,” Ahsoka whispered. “I’m sorry we were gone so long.”

Cody didn’t know how to respond. He had missed Ahsoka. He had missed her like an ache some days. He had practically helped raise her. She was close to him and his men like she was their brother. But she was gone for so long. When she left, she left a gaping hole in Cody’s command team, and an even larger hole in Obi-Wan’s heart. After two years, when she had not found what she was searching for, she had chosen to stay on this moon, with Rex, in comfort rather than come back to the war. But damn was it good to see her alive and well and thriving.

“I missed you, too,” Cody said honestly. He opened his eyes to see Obi-Wan embracing Rex, and anger rose inside him again. Ahsoka stepped out of his embrace and he turned his attention to her face again. She smiled warmly at him, her eyes shining with tears, and affection swirled and mingled with the anger in his chest. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Cody,” Ahsoka said, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she tilted her head, as if considering something as she studied his face. In his peripheral, Rex stepped out of Obi-Wan’s embrace, grinning broadly. Ahsoka squeezed Cody’s shoulders as she turned, and made brief eye contact with Rex.

Cody finally looked at Rex. He had to admit that his brother did look good. Peace suited him. His clothes looked soft and comfortable yet sturdy for working. His blonde hair was cut close to his scalp as it always had been. His skin was dark and freckled from the sun. Lines creased around his eyes and mouth from years of smiling and laughing. He looked how Cody wished all his brothers looked with age, as if they had lived long, happy lives. As if they had enjoyed their time in the Galaxy, rather than fighting in unceasing war.

But all Cody could think about as he looked at Rex was how angry he was that he had enjoyed his life these past eight years. Rex had left them. Had abandoned them. Deserted them. How was Cody supposed to be happy for his brother when millions more died daily while Rex lived peacefully on this moon?

Rex took a timid step toward Cody and extended his hand. Cody glanced down at it, then up to Rex’s eyes. All Cody could think as he looked at Rex was deserter, deserter, deserter in time with his pounding heart. He clenched his teeth. Rex took another step. And Cody succumbed to the anger that raged in his chest, and punched Rex in the face.

It was satisfying, feeling Rex’s face crunch under his fist. Rex slapped his hands over his nose and eye as he stepped back from the force of it. Ahsoka gasped and took a half step forward. There was tense silence as Rex pulled his hands away from his face. His nose wasn’t bleeding, but a large red mark had bloomed on his eye that would no doubt turn into a bruise. Cody let his breath out, and with it, his anger. Rex looked up at Cody, and his light amber eyes were filled not with anger, or hurt, or malice, but with affection. Affection which then welled up in Cody’s own chest, replacing the anger and heartbreak he had felt earlier. He reached out, and pulled Rex into a fierce embrace.

Rex clung to Cody like he was a lifeline. Cody pressed Rex into his chest like he could pull his brother inside him. They pressed their foreheads together so hard it hurt, Rex’s fingers digging into the back of Cody’s neck and the gap between his back plate and spaulder. Relief and heartbreak and joy and anger exploded out of Cody all at once, his eyes stinging and his throat tight. He hated Rex. Hated what he’d done, what he hadn’t done. And yet he loved Rex, more than any of his other brothers. Had missed him like an ache. Wanted to know everything about his life and simultaneously wished he would die. Cody pressed his face into Rex’s shoulder, confused and hurt and angry and overwhelmingly happy.

“I’m glad to see you alive, brother,” Rex said, his voice cracking as he held Cody tightly.

“You deserted us,” was all Cody managed in return. Rex squeezed Cody’s chest.

“I know,” Rex replied. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

After Cody had maintained his composure, and stepped out of Rex’s embrace, he walked at Obi-Wan’s side as they toured Rex and Ahsoka’s homestead. He didn’t feel as angry anymore, but the disgust was still there, rolling uncomfortably in his stomach. He had been right; their lives were full of domesticity. Rex had a favorite vegetable plant in his garden. Their clothes were mixed together on the clothesline. They had chairs set out in the lawn, positioned for relaxing in the sun. Their cottage was small, only three rooms, and one was a bedroom with only one bed. Cody glanced at Obi-Wan, his eyebrows raised, and Obi-Wan returned his glance with a small knowing smirk that he hid behind his hand. They sat at a tiny table in the galley while Rex put a kettle on their stove to make tea. Cody was glad to get off his feet. He’d landed wrong on his knee when he punched Rex, and it ached. Ahsoka tried to put bacta on Rex’s face where a bruise was forming from Cody’s punch, but Rex waved her away.

“I deserve it,” he said quietly to her. She pursed her lips as she frowned, but didn’t push the issue. Cody agreed. He did deserve the mark. He deserved to be court-martialed. He should be dragged in front of a disciplinary council. But Cody didn’t have that kind of power here. Not on this moon. And he hadn’t decided yet what he was going to do when they left.

“Do you need bacta, Cody?” Ahsoka asked, nodding at Cody’s knee as he rubbed it absentmindedly.

“No,” Cody answered honestly. Bacta couldn’t help him now. He needed to stretch it out and sleep it off. “It’s an old injury. I just irritated it, that’s all.”

“What happened?” Rex asked, looking over at Cody with concern on his brow as he pulled cups out of a cupboard.

“I punched you and landed on it funny,” Cody replied through gritted teeth.

“I meant the injury,” Rex said. His cheeks flushed as he frowned.

“I was in an explosion,” Cody said. “I’ve been risking my life in the Galactic Civil War, while you’ve been here, playing house.”

Rex clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands as he prepped the tea. Cody stared at him, the anger he felt earlier rising back up into his chest.

“We were retreating, and the Separatists ordered an air strike on our staging area,” Obi-Wan elaborated. “We lost a lot of men. And nearly lost Cody.”

“You said it was an old injury,” Ahsoka said, leaning her hip against the counter. “When did this happen?”

“Two years ago,” Cody responded, still staring at Rex as he pulled fruit out of the conservator and placed it in bowls.

“And it hasn’t healed?” Ahsoka pressed.

“There were complications,” Cody said. He sighed tersely and looked down at his fingers where they dug into his knee. “I need a full hip and knee replacement.” Rex dropped one of the bowls onto the counter, and it clattered as it tipped and the contents spilled. Ahsoka frowned and tilted her head, then looked to Obi-Wan for an explanation.

“No,” Rex gasped.

“I don’t understand,” Ahsoka said, shaking her head. “Can’t the Kaminoans give you replacements?”

Rex touched Ahsoka’s arm as he explained, “They don’t always give clones joint replacements, Ahsoka. Most of the time they would rather replace the whole clone.”

Cody ground his teeth as he watched the understanding on Ahsoka’s face turn to horror. “They can’t replace you,” Ahsoka argued. “You’re irreplaceable. The knowledge you possess, the experience. You’re an individual. You’re invaluable.”

“I hope the Kaminoans would also see it that way, but there’s still a risk that they won’t,” Obi-Wan said.

“Kix gave me a temporary solution,” Cody added. “I’m hoping to feel almost normal again soon.”

“Master, does the Council know this is happening?” Ahsoka asked, crossing her arms across her chest. “Can’t they do something?”

“There’s not much the Council can do,” Obi-Wan answered wearily. “The clones fall under Republic jurisdiction, not the Council. And new laws were enacted about five years ago preventing any non-GAR medical personnel from assisting clones. So his options are illegal back-water operation or Kaminoan medical facility. I’ve done what I can, for Cody and the men in the 7^th Sky Corps, but that usually means keeping them from the care they actually need. The Council has allowed Cody and I to stay on Coruscant for as long as he needs, which is about all I can do to help.” Cody cringed. He didn’t need Rex to know that he wasn’t fit enough to be on the front lines. Not after he had hit him.

“You’ve been stuck on Triple Zero for two years?” Rex asked incredulously.

“I’ve been leading my men from Triple Zero, yes,” Cody growled. Uncomfortable silence settled over them as the kettle whistled, and Rex poured the water into the mugs set out on the counter.

“It’s honestly more convenient, given how large the 7^th Sky Corps has become,” Obi-Wan said. “We added a division and expanded the 196^th and 212^th battalions into divisions. It’s easier to keep track of them all when we’re in one spot. Besides, it allows us to be more involved with the Council and, unfortunately, the Senate.”

“Are you still on the Council?” Ahsoka asked. Cody was grateful for her easy slide into a new topic.

“I am, although it feels less like a Council of Jedi and more like a Council of Generals, in my opinion,” Obi-Wan said, crossing his arms. Rex set mugs of tea in front of both Obi-Wan and Cody, along with a small bowl of fruit he salvaged from the countertop. When he handed Ahsoka her mug, they exchanged warm and familiar smiles.

“Have any of them regained connection with the Force?” Ahsoka asked, wrapping both of her hands around the mug before she took a sip. Cody blew on the top of his, and when he inhaled, he smelled the familiar scent of tea that Commander Skywalker favored, a light and slightly sweet blend from Tatooine. It made Cody think of long hours in the command holoprojection room with Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Rex, strategizing their next campaign. He took a timid sip. The tea was hot, but the flavor was familiar and soothing.

“The majority of the Jedi Council is in denial that they have lost their connection to the Force at all,” Obi-Wan said, the usual bitterness in his voice when discussing the Council’s attitude toward the Force over the last several years.

“You haven’t discussed the lost connection with the rest of the Council?” Ahsoka asked.

“I’ve discussed it personally with a few of the other more amenable members,” Obi-Wan said wearily.  “But the Council has never addressed it, no.”

“So you don’t know why it happened?” Ahsoka asked. The disappointment was clear in her voice.

“Several… disheartening theories, but no. I don’t know why,” Obi-Wan answered.

Ahsoka’s shoulders dropped, and she held the mug of tea to her lips as if it would soothe her. Rex swayed into her space, touched her upper arm and rubbed circles into her skin with his thumb.

“And have you reconnected with the Force at all?” Ahsoka asked. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. Cody’s chest ached. He knew Obi-Wan needed time. He needed to be here for a while, to breathe fresh air and meditate with his former padawan. To have a purpose again.

“I am curious why you have reconnected, though,” Obi-Wan said after a beat of melancholy silence. “I thought maybe it was this place, but I don’t feel anything different here.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “We’ve been here eight years and I’ve felt nothing,” she shrugged. “And then the morning I sent you that comm, I woke up feeling… different. I went outside to meditate, and…” Ahsoka sighed and set her mug down on the counter. “When I connected to the Force that morning, though, it felt wrong. There was something different about it. Like when you add the wrong spice to a dish and it tastes different. Or when you put on someone else’s boots and the tread is all wrong.”

“Is that why you asked me to come here?” Obi-Wan asked, running his hand over his beard thoughtfully. “Because the Force felt… off?”

Ahsoka hesitated. She pursed her lips and glanced at Rex, who gave her a soft, reassuring smile.

“Not exactly,” Ahsoka said, turning back to Obi-Wan. “I brought you here because of the Temple.”

“The ancient Jedi temple?” Obi-Wan asked. Ahsoka nodded.

“It might be easier to show you,” Ahsoka said. She straightened from where she was leaning against the counter and placed her mug of tea down.

Obi-Wan glanced at Cody, and in his eyes was a question: could Obi-Wan go, and leave Cody here with Rex? Or did he need to insist they all follow Ahsoka to the temple, to avoid any awkwardness? Cody nodded once, letting him know he would be alright here. He could handle one deserter clone.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan agreed. He stood up with a small groan, and his knees popped. “Lead the way, Padawan.”

Cody watched Rex as the two Jedi stepped out the front door. His light amber eyes were fond as they lingered on Ahsoka, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. Cody took a sip of tea. It burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. Rex turned away from the door as it snapped shut. Silence settled around them, thick and heavy. Cody continued to stare at Rex, his anger simmering in his chest. Rex avoided his gaze, instead looking down at his tea. The swelling around his eye was red and enflamed. It looked painful, and Cody was glad Rex hadn’t taken the bacta Ahsoka had offered him. He deserved the pain.

Cody knew Rex was avoiding the conversation they needed to have. His chest burned with it. He needed to know why Rex left, why he stayed on this moon instead of returning to the war. It was so unlike the Rex that Cody knew. The Rex that Cody knew would never abandon his brothers. This Rex was a disgrace to the Rex Cody had loved all those years ago.

“You’ve certainly become comfortable here,” Cody said, finally shattering the silence. Rex looked up at him, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Cody—”

“Stow it,” Cody hissed. Rex’s jaw snapped shut, and his jaw muscles jumped as he clenched his teeth. There were so many things Cody wanted to say to him. The words buzzed in his head, knocking against his skull. His lips trembled and his voice shook when he finally managed to speak. “For ten years you’ve been gone. For ten fucking years. Our brothers have been dying on the front lines, while you sit here in luxury. For what? For her? Because you love her? Is that enough to justify abandoning the war you were literally made to fight?”

Rex opened his mouth, but Cody cut him off again.

“You were the best of us, Rex. You could have been a Commander. You could have been a Marshal Commander. But instead, you ran away. You deserted us. You left us all to fight and die while you built a comfortable life here, away from your duty. Your purpose. How can you sleep at night knowing you abandoned your brothers, Rex? How can you fucking live with yourself?”

Rex pursed his lips and stared at Cody, waiting for him to finish. Cody gritted his teeth and stared back.

“Well?” Cody demanded.

Rex sighed bitterly and looked back down at his tea as he took a sip before setting the mug down on the counter. Cody watched him, rage burning under his skin.

“It was for her, in the beginning,” Rex started. His own voice was tense, barely controlled. “I knew I would follow her anywhere because I love her. And for the first two years I followed her while she looked for balance in the Force. And then we landed here, and she lost her connection.”

“Why didn’t you return then?” Cody asked through gritted teeth.

“She always hoped she would regain her connection,” Rex answered. “And I had promised her that I would stay. I knew I needed to return. I laid awake every night thinking about the battles I should be helping fight, about my duty to the Republic, to you and our brothers. I’ve never forgotten that. But I love Ahsoka, and I promised her that we would stay. And then… we found another mission. And it was more important than returning to the war.”

“What other mission?” Cody asked. “What could possibly be more important than the purpose for which you were literally created?”

Rex bit his lip as he hesitated. Cody wanted to strangle him. He probably would have if his knee wasn’t throbbing with pain.

“We’re rescuing clone POWs from slavery on CIS worlds.”

Rex’s words were like a helmet full of icy rainwater dumped over his head. His rage was instantly doused. He gaped at Rex, who crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at him evenly.

“POWs?” Cody repeated.

“From slavery,” Rex said, nodding. “That’s what the CIS has been doing with them. That’s why the GAR hasn’t been able to find them. But we have connections to an anti-slavery coalition in the CIS, and we’ve been rescuing as many as we can.”

Cody sat back in his chair. All the anger left his body as he exhaled. So many brothers had gone missing, captured by the CIS. But they could never find where they had been taken. Cody and the other Marshal Commanders and the Generals had never been able to find evidence their imprisoned brothers were being kept anywhere. They had simply vanished, seemingly into the vacuum of space. Cody had started to believe that was what the CIS was doing: releasing their bodies into space.

“Where are they?” Cody asked, hope flitting through his chest. “Are they here? Can we see them?”

Rex shook his head. “They aren’t here,” he said.

“Where are they?”

“Safe.”

Cody blinked and blew a frustrated breath out of his nose. Why was Rex being so cryptic with him? This wasn’t some Jedi business he wasn’t supposed to know. These were his brothers.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you bring them home?”

“I rescued them from slavery, I didn’t want to bring them back to slavery in the GAR.”

Cody felt like he’d just been slapped. It had been a long time since anyone equated their service to the Republic as slavery. Cody took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. His hip and knee throbbed.

“That’s the other reason I stayed,” Rex said, his voice firm but quiet. “The longer I’m here, the more I’ve come to realize how little freedom we have in the GAR. The Republic enslaves our brothers, forces us to fight their war for them, and expects us to thank them for giving us life and purpose. I can’t go back to that life. I won’t force any of our brothers back into that life either. They’re free, and they’re safe. And I’m going to keep it that way.”

Cody sighed and nodded. He studied Rex’s face as he let his words sink into his chest. His skin was dark and freckled from the sun. His blonde hair was cut close to his scalp, as he’d always kept it. He had new scars on his face, a chunk taken out of the tip of his left ear. He looked almost as rugged as any other clone in the war. His left eye was still swelling steadily, the red darkening to purple and his eyelid threatening to close. But Rex stared at Cody with the same steady confidence he always had. And Cody’s chest ached from the familiarity of his gaze.

“You should put some bacta on your eye,” Cody said, nodding at the little tube that Ahsoka had left on the counter. “And then you can tell me about your comfortable life here.”

Rex chuckled humorlessly as he grabbed the tube of bacta. “Honestly, I’d much rather hear about you. It’s been a long time, Cody. I’ve missed you.”

Cody couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. Rex rubbed the bacta over the bruising on his eye, flinching a little when he touched the swollen skin.

“I’ve missed you, too, Rex. It’s good to see you alive,” Cody said. And despite the sour taste lingering on the back of his tongue as he looked around at Rex’s safe and domestic life, he knew that he truly meant it.

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

There was a short time in Obi-Wan’s youth when he considered leaving the Jedi Order. He often lay awake at night, Satine tucked carefully under his arm in whatever hiding place they had scrounged up, and dream of their life together. He would wear beskar’gam, Mandalorian armor. He’d live in the palace in Sundari with her. They could have a garden. Maybe a child. They could rule Mandalore together in peace, the way Satine had always dreamed her people could live. And when he thought of that life, he always imagined how full of serenity and love their home would be.

Ahsoka and Rex’s homestead was as full of serenity and love as Obi-Wan had ever hoped his life could have been. He could see it in the way the garden was tended, their little house maintained, their laundry strung up to dry all mixed together as if they had shared the labor. Their home was small and cozy, large enough only for two. They moved around each other with practiced ease, and swayed into each other’s space as if drawn together. It was clear to Obi-Wan that this was more than a professional relationship, more than a relationship of convenience. This was love, pure and simple and forbidden.

If Satine had only said the word, Obi-Wan would have left the Order to be with her. For love. Pure and simple and forbidden love.

He needed to tell Ahsoka that he knew she and Rex were together. It would be a difficult conversation. He wanted to have it sooner than later. But nerves stilled his tongue. It was so good to see his former padawan. It had been ten years since he had seen her without the blue of a hologram coloring her face. He was pretty sure she’d grown taller, but it could also have been that he always remembered her as the skinny fourteen-year-old that she was when she became his padawan at the beginning of the war. To him, she would always be that little girl, no matter how tall and mature she had become.

She led him now into a flat clearing of rock carved out of the bluffs that lined the river, where the entrance of the temple overlooked the crystal-clear water. Obi-Wan studied Ahsoka as she ran a hand over the carvings on the cliff face near the temple entrance. Her face had matured, little lines creased around her eyes and mouth and between her brows. Her facial markings swept across her cheeks and brow gracefully, interrupted only by a small scar on her left eyebrow from a battle over a decade ago. Her montrals stood tall above her head like a striped crown, adding to her height. Her lekku were long except for her left lek, which still bore the bluish bacta-scar from Tup’s blaster bolt when his chip had malfunctioned on Ringo Vinda nearly fifteen years ago. Her lek didn’t grow properly after that, and while the other two dropped to her waist, the damaged one was nearly fifteen centimeters shorter, ending about halfway down her upper arm. It was an injury Obi-Wan had always felt guilty about. He should have been with Ahsoka and Anakin on Ringo Vinda. Instead, he’d been on Coruscant, squabbling with the Council and the Senate over an issue that didn’t matter once Palpatine was exposed in the months that followed.

The temple entrance was easy enough to identify. There were rough, naturally-shaped pillars that propped up a stone outcropping three meters above the ground, and faint carvings in the smooth cliff side below the outcropping, protected from the elements by the rock. It looked ancient, far more ancient than any other temple he had ever visited in his own travels.

“There are more carvings on the ground in the center, too,” Ahsoka said, turning to him from where she was running her fingers over the seam of the door. He gave her a soft smile and nodded, and she hesitated, a small, anxious frown creasing her brow. He wished he could feel her in the Force. He wished he could ask her what she was thinking. But he would have to tread carefully without his connection to the Force. It had been a long time since they had seen each other, and Obi-Wan didn’t want to upset her.

“Lead the way,” he said. Ahsoka sighed and turned away from the doorway to step into the sunlight again.

Grasses and flowering weeds grew between square stone tiles that paved the clearing. They stopped in the center, where a single round stone tile three meters in diameter lay under their feet, and Obi-Wan could see a triangle carved into the smooth stone. For as ancient as this temple was, he was surprised to still be able to see the carvings. He knelt and ran his fingers over the intricate lines and curves that made up the triangle.

“I found this temple after a year of searching,” Ahsoka said, crossing her arms and standing at the apex of the triangle, between Obi-Wan and the doorway. “I was trying to find a temple old enough that it was created before the schism between the Jedi and the Sith, when they used Balance in the Force instead of separating the Light and the Dark.”

Obi-Wan frowned at Ahsoka from where he knelt on the ground, his fingers still tracing over an intricate sun carved into one corner of the triangle. “Both sides of the Force?” he asked, incredulously. When Ahsoka told him she was searching for balance, he had assumed balance in the Force meant only the Light. The Dark was, by its nature, imbalanced, which was why the Jedi strived to live in the Light, and only the Light.

“Yes, that’s how Balance is achieved,” Ahsoka said absentmindedly. Obi-Wan blinked incredulously at her. Was she suggesting that Balance required use of the Dark side of the Force? “I hoped to open it and maybe find a missing piece, something to bring back to the Council, but when I got here, I lost my connection.” She looked at Obi-Wan, who was still staring incredulously at her. Her expression was pained and when their eyes met, she frowned sheepishly. “And, well, we’ve been here ever since.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sighed. He pressed his fingers into his temple and tried to process everything she had just told him. He could hear her boots shifting nervously on the stone nearby, kicking at weeds that had sprouted in the cracks. She had set out ten years ago, looking for Balance in the Force. Her journey led her here, to a temple where Force users once combined the Light and the Dark to achieve Balance. How anyone utilizing the Dark side could achieve Balance, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure. But Ahsoka was convinced this was the destination of her Wayseeking journey, and as her master it was his duty to help her in any way he could.

“Have you tried to open the Temple since connecting with the Force?” Obi-Wan asked, standing from his spot at the carved sun.

“Once,” Ahsoka said, nodding. “But I felt there was something missing. I wanted to wait for you to arrive. I…” she took a deep breath and hugged her chest as she looked away from Obi-Wan toward the river. “I needed your wisdom.”

Warmth bloomed in Obi-Wan’s chest. There had been several years when Ahsoka was too stubborn to see that Obi-Wan’s wisdom was borne from years of life experience she had yet to achieve. To hear her say she valued his wisdom enough to reach out after all the years apart made his chest tight. He stepped forward until he was an arm’s length away from her, still marveling that he was near her at all. She looked at him with familiar blue eyes pulled into a frown. The scar on her brow was dark in the bright sunlight. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, and she leaned into his touch.

“We’ll figure it out together, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said softly. Ahsoka nodded and the corners of her lips lifted into a small smile.

They spent the next several hours studying the carvings on the ground, on the cliff face under the outcropping where they both supposed the entrance to the temple was, and on the pillars. Obi-Wan found carvings on the ground at the foot of the cliffs that Ahsoka had not seen before, but the carvings were in a language neither of them could read. They sat on the center tile and ate ration packs and discussed what they had found, and what it might mean. Obi-Wan had to admit that the symbols and ancient text were all far outside of his limited knowledge of ancient Jedi.

“I doubt even some of the Jedi historians would be able to decipher the text,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “If this temple is as old as you say, it may predate the Archive on Coruscant. Not much is known about the time before the schism. When the Sith split from the Jedi, a lot of the ancient texts were destroyed.”

“How do you know so much about the Archive, Master?” Ahsoka asked, smirking at him. Obi-Wan chuckled.

“I spent a lot of time in the Archives as a Padawan,” he said, thinking back fondly to the hours spent poring over ancient Jedi prophecies for Master Qui-Gon. “Most of that time against my will.”

“Is that why you always avoided it?” she asked, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Even when a simple search in the Archives could have saved us a lot of headaches later in a mission?”

“I would never admit to such a failing,” he said. Ahsoka snorted and rolled her eyes. Obi-Wan laughed, and Ahsoka chuckled with him. His heart felt light at the gentle teasing. It was easy to be around Ahsoka again. He’d missed her companionship. “I must admit, this temple has me stumped,” Obi-Wan sighed once their laughter had stopped echoing off the cliff walls around them.

“I thought maybe it could be opened using Balance,” Ahsoka shrugged half-heartedly. “But like I said, something felt missing.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and looked at the triangle carved into the stone beneath them. There was another triangle under the outcropping with the same design on both the floor and the wall, and triangles were a common theme among the symbols carved into the columns and the writing around the perimeter of the clearing. He stroked his beard and remembered what Masters Windu and Yoda had once said to him, that the Sith had a rule of two: Master and Apprentice.

“What if two people are needed to open the temple?”

Ahsoka bit her lip and turned toward the cliff face. “I did think of that,” she said quietly. She glanced at Obi-Wan out of the corner of her eye. “Do you think you could try?”

“Well, I can certainly try,” Obi-Wan said, setting the last of his ration pack down on the stone tile at his hip. He and Ahsoka sat at the base of the triangle carved into the ground below them, Obi-Wan at the sun and Ahsoka at the circle Obi-Wan had assumed was either a moon or the purple and blue planet that hung in the sky above them. He breathed deeply and placed his fingers on the warm stone beneath him, centering himself on the ground, and reached out for the Force. But he found nothing.

“Do you feel anything?” Ahsoka asked hopefully.

Obi-Wan paused, his disappointment heavy in his chest. “No,” he answered, a little more pitifully than he would have preferred in the presence of his former padawan.

“Don’t give up yet,” Ahsoka said with that familiar stubborn resolve. “I have an idea.”

Obi-Wan continued to reach out for the Force, groping blindly in the dark for something, anything, that would help him see. And then, after a few disheartening breaths, he felt a familiar Force Signature. Ahsoka sitting next to him. Warm, bright, stubborn, with hard edges where her life as a child soldier had chiseled her into something sharp. He leaned into the faint Force Bond. It was like a beacon of light among a void of blackness. He let her Force Signature fill him up and expand out and away from his body. Through her he could feel the life around him. Every blade of grass, every insect in the dirt, every bird flying through the air. It was all too much and yet not enough. He pushed out with the Force, desperate to feel everything around him. And flowing between him and Ahsoka was the heart-achingly familiar Force Bond they had grown and cultivated over eight years of apprenticeship.

Just as he was able to feel the entrance to the Temple in the Force, running his consciousness across its surface to see its shape and texture in his mind, Ahsoka’s Force Signature changed. Instead of blooming outward, she pulled it into herself, and Obi-Wan along with it. The sharp parts of her sliced at his mind, and he struggled to pull away. Fear surged through him like electricity. His heart thudded in his chest as he frantically tried to pull himself away from Ahsoka’s mind, where thoughts of hatred and anger simmered in a swirling pool of darkness and fear.

Obi-Wan thrashed in the dark, unable to pull away, unable to open his eyes. He was no longer himself. He was attached to Ahsoka’s Force Signature and she was pulling his psyche further and further into herself. He saw flashes of faces eclipsed in darkness: Rex, himself, Anakin, people and clones and he knew and some he didn’t. He felt her anguish and fear as if it was his own. And within her fear swirled anger and hatred for something nameless and faceless. Death and loss and suffering pulsing together like a many-headed beast. Obi-Wan tried to scream, tried to pull away, tried to throw up his mental shields, but nothing worked. He was suffocating in her mind, dragged under the surface into the darkness.

As Obi-Wan felt his mind slip further and further into a pit inside Ahsoka, drowning in her pain and anger and hatred, afraid he might never resurface, she released all the dark emotions at once like a jolt of lightning that exploded from her mind at the entrance to the Temple. No, the temple itself was pulled into Ahsoka’s mind. Rather than reaching out to feel its shape, she had pulled it inward. The hard edges of her Signature thrashed against the stone, scratched at its surface, and clawed at the seams like an animal. And when she could not find purchase on the doorway, she let it all go.

Obi-Wan came back into his own mind as rapidly as he had been pulled into Ahsoka’s. He gasped for air and swayed where he sat, dizzy from the rush of emotions and whiplash of leaving and entering his own mind. His fingers shook as waves of fear and anger washed uncontrollably over him. He heard Ahsoka breathe deeply next to him, but he was afraid to look at her. Afraid to see in her eyes what he had seen in her mind: the Dark side.

“Well, that didn’t work,” Ahsoka muttered.

Obi-Wan crumpled into himself, still gasping for air, swallowing down the bile that threatened at the back of his tongue. He felt her hands on his shoulder, and she cursed under her breath. He flinched away from her touch, her fingers stinging like electricity.

“Breathe, Master,” she said soothingly. “Breathe and re-center yourself. I’m so sorry, I thought I could expand the Force through our Bond, but I was mistaken.”

He did as she said, and after several breaths had calmed enough to accept a canteen of water with shaking fingers. Her eyes, still clear blue, were kind and apologetic. Obi-Wan drank the water and took a few more centering breaths before asking, “Where in the Galaxy did you learn that?”

Ahsoka bit her lip and looked away, the sheepish frown back on her face. Obi-Wan waited patiently. He certainly had never taught her how to use the Dark side like that. No Jedi would have. Ahsoka pulled a few leaves off a flower next to her and rubbed them between her fingers while Obi-Wan took another drink of water and waited for her reply.

“About a year into my Wayseeking journey,” she began timidly, looking at the leaves in her fingers, avoiding Obi-Wan’s eyes, “The Force pulled me to a planet in Separatist space. I followed its calling into a cave, and there I found…” she sighed and looked up at Obi-Wan, who raised his eyebrows expectantly at her. “Count Dooku.”

Obi-Wan blinked, surprised. Dooku had been found eight years ago hiding in a series of caverns on Lothal and was defeated by Master Depa Billaba and Caleb Dume. Depa had sacrificed her own life to strike the final blow and defeat the last Sith in the Galaxy. If Ahsoka found him a year before Master Billaba and Knight Dume had found him, she either escaped with her life, or…

“He taught me how to use the Dark side of the Force, and then how to control it to achieve Balance,” Ahsoka explained. A weight dropped into Obi-Wan’s stomach.

“You learned from Count Dooku?” Obi-Wan asked incredulously. “After everything he did? Ahsoka, he started the war, he killed Jedi, massacred whole planets, committed genocide on at least three worlds… how could you learn from him?”

Ahsoka sighed and leaned her elbows on her knees as she hung her head and placed her hands behind her montrals. “It wasn’t easy,” she said. “I wanted to resist. But the Force was screaming at me to learn from him. I had to listen.”

“We searched for Dooku for years after Palpatine was killed, and you knew exactly where he was,” Obi-Wan scolded, his anger boiling unregulated under his skin. “Master Billaba died fighting him.”

“I know,” Ahsoka said miserably. “I don’t regret learning from him, but I do regret not killing him when I had the chance. I thought that by sparing him, I was better than him somehow. That I had proven to myself I hadn’t Fallen to the Dark side.”

Obi-Wan let out a long, slow breath to calm the anger raging inside him. Remorse and guilt surged from Ahsoka through their Bond, and he knew she was sincere. After feeling the tumultuous emotions within Ahsoka’s mind as she tapped into the Dark side, as well as the raw power of the Force as she used it, he saw how easy it would be to become consumed by it. Falling would not be hard. Coming back to the Light would be impossible.

“I’m glad you didn’t Fall to the Dark side, Ahsoka,” he said quietly. She looked up at him, and a ripple of cautious optimism flowed between them. “What’s in the past is in the past. All we can do now is look to the future, and trust in the will of the Force.”

“Spoken like a true member of the Jedi Council,” Ahsoka said, a small teasing smile playing on her lips. Obi-Wan snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Someone has to be responsible around here,” he teased back. Ahsoka chuckled and agreed, and an uneasy peace settled between them again.

That evening, they ate around a fire outside of Rex and Ahsoka’s cottage as the sun set with an explosion of brilliant colors. Rex grilled meat from the local domestic cattle alongside vegetables from their garden. Obi-Wan watched as Cody tried hard not to enjoy the food. He and Rex had talked a lot during the hours that Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were at the temple, but he still had an aura of malcontent at every reminder of Rex’s comfortable and domestic existence on the moon.

Obi-Wan was surprised, however, to hear about their missions to rescue clone POWs from slavery on CIS worlds. Ahsoka had told him they were running missions of their own, but he had no idea what the missions were. She was quiet as Rex recounted vague details of what he knew about the POW slaves. He never said where he was taking them after they were rescued, insisting only that they were “safe.” He could feel Cody’s growing disappointment through their Force Bond. Obi-Wan understood. If he had a choice, he would want the rescued prisoners to be brought home, to be with their brothers.

Obi-Wan and Cody returned to their ship late into the night to sleep. He could tell Cody’s hip was in pain from the way he rubbed it as he brushed his teeth in the tiny fresher. Obi-Wan offered to massage his hip and knee when they both settled into their bunks. Cody’s face flushed slightly, and he shook his head. Obi-Wan worried he’d overstepped, that his offer to help was unwanted.

“I’m going to take a dose of painkiller and stretch a little before I fall asleep,” Cody said. “But thank you. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Obi-Wan smiled and nodded, and Cody returned his smile.

That night, Obi-Wan dreamed of the ancient temple. He dreamed that the entrance opened like a dark void, a maw in the stone that led into darkness. He was sucked in, pulled by something he could not see, and fell an unfathomable distance before his body slammed through the surface of unseen water. He flailed his arms and legs, trying to swim. He couldn’t tell which way was up. He kicked and pulled, clawing at nothing, drowning in the thick water, sputtering and coughing, the taste on his tongue coppery like blood. And when he emerged from the black water, he flopped onto a stone floor into a singular beam of light.

Wake up, a voice whispered. He coughed, and blood splattered onto the white stone tiles beneath him. The blood ran into the groves of the tile, filling a carved triangle before running in three streams from each corner. Obi-Wan looked up, toward the light.

Wake up, Kenobi, the voice said again, a voice so hauntingly familiar. A voice he himself had wiped from existence. A cold chill ran down his spine. He could see the sneer on that terrifying face. Hear the hiss in his voice. Feel the anger rip through his body as he watched his Master impaled at the end of that crimson blade. It is nearly time. You must be ready.

“Ready for what?” Obi-Wan asked. He watched as the light dimmed, a reddish hue eclipsing the bright white light. He scrambled to his feet and watched in horror as the red consumed the white, and then darkness began to consume the red. As the darkness closed around him, he felt the walls close in around him as well. When the light was gone, they would crush him.

He pushed the walls futilely. He reached out for the Force but it was not there. He threw himself against the pressing darkness, looking for an exit. As the darkness squeezed his shoulders, he tried to push against them and climb up toward the source of the light, but it was too late. The darkness pushed in on all sides, crushing his lungs, breaking his shoulders, his ribs, his hips. He screamed in pain and looked up at the fading light, a tiny pinprick of flickering red, a candle in the darkness threatening to be snuffed out completely.

Ready for the end, the voice said. And the darkness consumed him.

His body jolted and convulsed and he threw out his arms and legs, suddenly free of the walls but trapped by something else entirely. His right arm smacked against cold, hard durasteel and his legs fought against constricting fabric. He thrashed and fell, gasping for air, and landed hard on the floor.

His eyes flew open as pain shocked through his wrist, and he cried out. Red light flooded his vision and his only thought was of the crushing darkness that followed the red light. Someone said his name in the dark. He looked around frantically, trying to figure out where he was, why his legs were bound, whether the darkness would close in and suffocate him again. Feet broke the red lighting in front of his eyes, followed by knees. Obi-Wan looked up into a pair of familiar brown eyes, and his fear subsided. Cody. He was safe, so long as Cody was with him.

Cody’s warm hands were solid on his shoulder and in his hand as he helped Obi-Wan sit up from where he had fallen on the floor. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around again. He was in their ship, on the floor of their small bunkroom. The red light he had seen was the emergency lighting that illuminated the floor in the dark. Cody left Obi-Wan’s side briefly to turn on the main light, and the red lighting disappeared as the white overhead lights flicked on.

“Are you alright?” Cody asked softly, kneeling at his side again.

Obi-Wan breathed deeply, shaking away the nightmare with each exhale. He closed his eyes and focused on his body, meditating on each sensation to block out the fear still coursing through his veins. His wrist was in pain; he must have landed on it when he fell out of his bunk. His legs were tangled in his bedsheets. His neck and back were cold from his cooling sweat.

And there in his peripheral, like a comforting beacon of light just outside his vision but growing closer and brighter with every conscious second, was the Force.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes wide and looked at Cody. His concern flooded Obi-Wan’s senses through their Bond, stronger than he had felt in nearly a decade. Obi-Wan’s eyes stung with tears as Cody’s emotions rushed to him, wave after wave of worry and affection and fear. He focused on the Force, his eyes still locked with Cody’s, and felt it flow around them, through him, through every living thing. The sensation was almost overwhelming. A tear slid down his cheek, and Cody frowned.

“What is it?” he asked, crowding into Obi-Wan’s space, his eyes darting over Obi-Wan’s body.

“I feel…” Obi-Wan breathed deeply, letting the Force fill him up, to make sure what he was feeling was the Force. It felt… wrong. The longer he let it flow through him the more he noticed the difference. It felt sharp, heavy, unbalanced. He understood now what Ahsoka meant when she said the Force felt different. He reached out again, and despite the heaviness of it, what he felt was, indeed, the Force.

“Are you hurt?” Cody asked. He swiped his thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek, brushing away the tear that had fallen, and Obi-Wan leaned into the warm affection laced within Cody’s concern.

Obi-Wan shook his head, even though the pain in his wrist was starting to throb. “No, Cody, I… I can feel the Force.”

Chapter Text

Eight years after the battle of Geonosis
Disciplinary chamber, GAR base, Coruscant

It was standard regulation for at least two Coruscant Guardsmen to be on security during GAR disciplinary hearings. The regulation itself had been added after the war began. Before, it was unfathomable to the majority of clones that disciplinary hearings would ever be necessary. They were made and trained to be loyal. There was never any reason to discipline a trooper beyond a short dressing down and demerit. Never any reason, that is, until Sgt. Slick.

After his betrayal, formal regulations were quickly updated to include disciplinary hearings for clone troopers with serious offenses. A panel of Jedi, Kaminoans, and Republic Officers would be brought together to listen to the trooper’s plea and defense, and then pass judgement. Two Coruscant Guardsmen were required to stand as security at the door to the room, in case the trooper tried to escape, or became violent. Because of the infrequence of the hearings and severity of the charges that warranted them, Fox always assigned himself and another Commander to stand guard during hearings.

Today he stood by the door of the chamber, silently facing the disciplinary panel next to Commander Thorn. General Plo and High General Windu sat in the middle of the long table set at the head of the chamber, quietly talking with deep frowns on their faces. In the far right corner, Kaminoan Senator Halle Burtoni and Mistress Wei-Li Ta, the Tipoca City Liason to the GAR, stood and stared intensely at a datapad, their thin lips barely moving as they talked. Sitting in the far left chair of the long table at the head of the room, at the right hand of General Plo, was a human natborn GAR officer, wearing dress grays and a pinched expression. Never in the eight years he had been attending these disciplinary hearings was the GAR officer on the panel ever a clone. They quieted as the door behind Fox slid open. The Kaminoans turned but did not sit down. Fox and Commander Thorn turned on their heels to face each other. And as the clone trooper on trial passed by Fox, he nearly did a double-take. The trooper being led into the chamber by Wolffe was Tup.

Fox had grown fond of Tup after the incident with the chips. He was fond of all brothers, but Tup had a special place in Fox’s heart. He tried to keep tabs on Tup after his chip was removed. The 501^st’s CMO told Fox that Tup struggled with anxiety, something Fox understood all too well. Tup left the 501^st over two years ago for the chance at a promotion in the 455^th infantry battalion. Unfortunately, the 455^th suffered a devastating loss on Kessel, and after that Fox lost track of him. He would have been relieved to see Tup alive, if he didn’t look like he was in such rough shape.

His hair was overgrown, hanging limply past his collarbone rather than tied up in his signature bun. His skin was pale and bruised. His bottom lip was cut and swollen. They had the decency to allow him to wear his fatigues, and the stiff fabric hung from his thin and bony frame. His eyes, Fox saw as he passed, were dark and hollow, and his expression was flat. Fox had seen that look before. The look of a man who has seen the worst of the Galaxy and knew he was powerless to change it. The deadened look of a man pushed far past his limit and into the depths of depression. Fox’s heart sank. What had Tup done to land here? What had happened to him in the year and a half since Kessel?

The natborn officer stood and cleared his throat as Wolffe sat Tup in the chair in the center of the room. The Kaminoans finally sat, and Mistress Ta’s nose upturned like there was a sour smell in the room. Tup’s shoulders slumped. Fox’s heart broke.

“CT-5385,” the natborn officer began, his voice cold and emotionless as he read from his datapad.

“His name is Tup,” General Plo interrupted coolly.

The natborn officer cleared his throat, casting a disdainful glance at General Plo before continuing, “You’ve been charged with insubordination, desertion during battle, murder of a superior officer, attempted insurgency, and treason against the Republic. The punishment for these crimes is examination at a Kaminoan facility and decommission by execution.”

Murder? Insurgency? Treason? Fox’s mind reeled. The Tup he knew four years ago was sweet and loyal. He must have suffered far worse than Fox knew to have fallen so far.

“Do you deny these charges placed against you?” the natborn officer asked, lowering the datapad and looking up at Tup with dull gray eyes.

“No,” Tup said.

Fox’s stomach flipped. His voice sounded as dejected and sullen as he looked. The Jedi and Kaminoans all stared at him, surprised.

“You don’t deny the charges?” General Windu asked.

“I don’t know about insurgency and treason,” Tup shrugged, “But I killed Viper, and I was glad to do it.”

Stunned silence followed Tup’s statement. Fox thought he saw Thorn jerk his head back in surprise. Generals Windu and Plo exchanged sideways glances. Mistress Ta stood, her long fingers clenched into fists where she rested them on the table and her thin upper lip pulled into a snarl.

“You see? This is the result of chip removal,” she said, turning to the Jedi. “Insubordinate, aggressive, murderous clones.”

“I might remind you that, as soldiers, their primary function is to murder,” General Windu said, anger at the edge of his voice.

“The clones’ primary function is to follow orders,” Mistress Ta argued. “Without his chip he has become a dangerous liability.”

“I do not believe Sergeant Tup is incapable of following orders,” General Plo said calmly. “He has made no attempt to escape and has cooperated fully with Commander Wolffe and his men.”

Mistress Ta scoffed. “That means nothing.”

“I believe it does, especially in conjunction with the testimonies of Sergeant Tup’s squad.”

“You have witnesses to give testimony?” The natborn officer asked, raising his eyebrows. General Plo nodded and keyed his comm, asking Commander Wolffe to bring the first witness in.

“I hardly think clone witnesses are a reliable source,” Senator Burtoni said, waving a hand dismissively.

Fox was so focused on the bickering of the Kaminoans and the Jedi that the sound of the door made him jump. He turned to see Wolffe leading a clone in full, unpainted armor into the room. He had his helmet cradled in his arms and he looked around the room with wide, fearful eyes. He looked young, but Fox saw the dark scars around his eyes, nose, and mouth. Scars that didn’t look like they were from normal battle wounds.

The trooper sat awkwardly in the witness’ chair on the left side of the room, and shifted uncomfortably, still cradling his helmet. He stole a glance at Tup, but looked away quickly. Tup didn’t look up from where he was staring at his hands.

“What’s your name, trooper?” General Windu asked. The trooper shook his head.

“I don’t have a name, sir,” the trooper said. “My number is CT-9788. I’m a Private.”

“Alright, Private,” Windu said with a nod. “Give us your testimony.”

CT-9788 took a deep breath. His helmet creaked in his grip. Fox wished someone would offer to take it from him. He stole another glance at Tup, who was looking over at the private with sadness tinting his hollow expression.

“I asked Sergeant Tup to kill Lt. Viper for me,” 9788 said, turning toward the panel.

“No,” Tup gasped. Both generals raised their eyebrows, and Windu pressed his mouth to his folded fingers. Mistress Ta narrowed her eyes at Tup. 9788 looked over at Tup. His jaw was set, and he sat straighter the longer he looked into Tup’s broken eyes.

“Lieutenant Viper abused, raped, and tortured us,” 9788 continued. His voice was stronger, more determined. Tup shifted in his seat. General Windu’s face remained thoughtful, but General Plo’s face, what could be seen of it, was dark and angry. “I asked Tup to murder Viper during the battle so that we could finally be rid of him.”

“Do you have proof of this abuse?” Senator Burtoni asked. General Plo turned to frown at her sharply. Fox’s stomach clenched. How could she ask such a question?

“The scars on my face and body, and the scars and bruises on Tup and the rest of our platoon are the only proof I have,” 9788 said, his voice shaky but no less determined.

“How long did you suffer this abuse?” General Windu asked. 9788 shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Twelve months.”

“Over a year? And you never reported it to anyone?” the natborn officer asked skeptically.

“Who would I have reported it to?” 9788 asked. “We had no Jedi, no commanders. Viper was the highest-ranking officer on base. He monitored our outgoing transmissions, he refused transfer requests, and if we tried to argue…” 9788 shuddered. Fox shuddered as well, the implication sending a chill up his spine. “We had no one to turn to but each other.”

The Kaminoans and natborn officer continued to interrogate 9788 about Viper’s abuse, and when they had no more questions for him, they brought in every member of Tup’s squad one at a time for the same questioning. Every trooper claimed he had asked Tup to murder Viper for him. They all spoke of the abuse, torture, and rape. They all bore the same scars on their faces. General Windu remained silent, closing his eyes occasionally when a description was graphic, or a trooper’s voice broke with emotion. The Kaminoans and natborn officers’ pursed lips and straightened spines made Fox’s skin crawl.

When the last trooper was finally led out of the room by Wolffe, General Windu let out a long, heavy breath. General Plo had his arms wrapped around his chest and turned to Windu with a frown. Mistress Ta sighed tersely and picked up her datapad.

“They’re clearly lying,” she said. “It’s improbable that all of them would separately ask their sergeant to murder their lieutenant.”

“Yes, that was a lie,” Mace Windu agreed, keeping his eyes closed. Fox’s heart sank. Was Windu about to dismiss the troopers’ passionate testimonies? “But the abuse and the torture, that was all truth.”

“Impossible,” Mistress Ta scoffed.

“Is it any more impossible than a trooper committing murder? Or treason?” General Plo asked. His modulated voice shook with barely contained rage. Mistress Ta pursed her lips and returned her attention to her datapad. “I don’t think Sergeant Tup deserves to be punished. He and the rest of his men have been through enough.”

“He murdered his superior officer,” the natborn argued. “If we let him go unpunished, other clones will murder their superior officers and claim that they were abused… the entire chain of command could collapse.”

“I highly doubt that will happen,” General Plo said, shaking his head.

“He must be punished,” Mistress Ta insisted. “And the punishment for murder is execution.”

Fox’s stomach flipped. After all of that, after listening to nine troopers testify that Tup had only murdered Viper because of the abuse and torture he had inflicted upon them all, they were still going to execute him.

To Fox’s immense relief, General Windu shook his head. “Tup doesn’t deserve a death sentence,” he said. The Kaminoans and human officer began to protest, but Windu held up a hand to silence them. “If he must be punished, we should send him to the rehabilitation prison here on Coruscant. There, he’ll have the Guard, and by extension the Jedi, to watch over him.”

A cold finger of dread slithered up Fox’s spine. He was grateful that they would not execute Tup, but sending him to the GAR “rehabilitation” prison on Coruscant was not much better. Most inmates in the prison had been placed there by clone troopers.

“We’ll have to make sure the prison guards don’t treat him differently from any of the other prisoners,” Thorn said to Fox on a private channel as they escorted Tup from the hearing. “If they think he’s one of us, he’ll be killed in there.”

Fox sighed. “I know,” he replied heavily. “We’ll keep an eye on him, though. He may be a prisoner, but he’s still a brother.”

Four months before the anniversary
Mess Hall, GAR base, Coruscant

Fox rarely ate in the main GAR mess hall these days, preferring the smaller and quieter Corrie Guard commissary over the chaos of the huge and crowded “public” GAR hall. But he was meeting Tup for lastmeal, and Tup, being a Captain of the 332^nd and not in the Coruscant Guard, wasn’t allowed in the Corrie commissary. He spotted Tup’s bun from halfway across the mess hall after getting his tray of rations and couldn’t help the little smile that pulled on his lips. Tup grinned and waved when he spotted Fox. But Fox’s stomach curdled when he saw the troopers sitting with him: Commanders Jesse and Kix. Or Nuts and Bolts as Fox called them in his head. He had almost forgotten he had asked Tup to bring his Commander with him so that they could talk about their last campaign. And these days when Jesse was on triple zero, Kix wasn’t far from his side.

Tup’s wide grin made him forget momentarily about the unsettling questions swirling in his head. Tup looked good. Healthy. Happy. The dark scars on his face from the abuse he had suffered twelve years ago at the hands of his lieutenant were faded like an old, unpleasant memory. His hair, which they had been forced to shave when he was booked into prison, was grown back completely, and long enough again to pull into a bun on the top of his head. Tup had been through a lot of hardships in the years following his chip removal. Looking at him now, Fox could hardly tell how much he had suffered in the past.

Tup and Jesse both stood when Fox approached the table, and Jesse extended his hand to grip forearms with Fox in greeting. They both looked rather imposing with their black-painted armor. Tup’s black Captain’s pauldron shined from a new coat of epoxy, and Jesse’s Commander’s spaulders were freshly painted with white Republic crests stark against the fresh black paint. Fox pulled his datapad off the clip on his hip as he sat down after greeting both Tup and Jesse. Kix patted Fox on the shoulder affectionately. While Jesse, Tup, and Fox were in full armor, Kix was still wearing his soft medical scrubs from working in the GAR hospital.

“Why didn’t you stand to greet me?” Fox asked, elbowing Kix and giving him a mock frown.

“We’re the same rank,” Kix said flatly.

“Still wouldn’t kill you to show some respect,” Fox grumbled.

“Who said I respected you?”

Fox rolled his eyes and winked at Tup, who grinned.

“Tup said you wanted to talk to me, Commander?” Jesse asked.

“About your last campaign, yes,” Fox nodded, turning on his datapad. His notes on Fist and Fives’ reports were still pulled up, along with the pics of the symbol Fives had talked to him about and pics of the crates of smuggled goods they had apprehended the night before.

“There was an uprising, and the garrison called for backup. The CISA swooped in before we could get there, and we had to re-take the planet,” Jesse explained. “Pretty standard battle, honestly.”

“Anything unusual?”

“Well… when we showed up, someone had put the garrison’s heads on spikes outside the capital city wall,” Tup said with a frown. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“I have,” Kix said darkly. “It’s usually the rebels, and not the CISA.” Tup visibly cringed.

“Did you defeat the rebels?” Fox asked Jesse.

“Didn’t have to,” Jesse shrugged. “They were already dead when we stormed the capital. Either the CISA killed them, or they killed themselves. We didn’t really care to investigate. That’s a job for the civilian government.”

“Who was left behind? Another garrison?”

“The Medic Corps,” Jesse answered. He nodded at Kix, who was reading his datapad and leaning his jaw on his fist. Fox wanted to snap at him and ask if the medic was bored until he remembered that as Marshal Commander, he was probably busy and taking advantage of any precious time to finish report work that he could. “A Senate delegation arrived just before we left. After that, I was more concerned with getting my men off-planet.”

“We weren’t exactly given a warm welcome,” Tup elaborated.

“Were the citizens hostile?”

“Just cautious,” Jesse shrugged. “I suppose it’s an appropriate response. We had to shell a lot of cities to clear out the clankers. And shelling always means civilian casualties.”

Fox scrubbed a hand over his face. Front line battles were so different from his job here on Coruscant. But this battle did sound like every other battle he’d read about in recent years.

“Beg your pardon, but why do you care?” Jesse asked, folding his arms over his chest and frowning at Fox.

“I’m not sure yet,” Fox sighed. Jesse and Tup exchanged confused frowns. Fox handed Jesse his datapad with Fives’ symbol pulled up. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

Jesse took the ‘pad, and his frown deepened when he studied the screen. Tup leaned closer to Jesse to look. Kix lowered his own datapad as he looked up at Jesse’s frowning face.

“This symbol was painted above the main gate into the capital city,” Tup said slowly. He looked at Jesse, who pursed his lips and nodded, and Tup turned back to Fox with disgust on his face. “And it was branded into the foreheads of the heads on spikes.”

“The heads weren’t wearing helmets?” Kix asked, surprised. Tup shook his head.

“The rebels were wearing the garrison’s armor. And this symbol was painted on their chest plates,” Jesse said darkly. “Painted with blood.” Fox’s stomach rolled violently. Kix put down his datapad and stared at Jesse and Tup.

“You wouldn’t call that unusual?” Kix asked incredulously.

“No,” Jesse said, shaking his head and giving Kix a dark look. “It’s good armor. It’s taken off dead bodies and recycled all the time. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen bandits, rebels, pirates, and bounty hunters wearing our armor. They just don’t do it here on Triple-Zero because it means they’ve either killed a clone or else bought the armor off someone who has.”

“And the blood-painted symbol?” Fox asked, pointing at the datapad.

“I think they wanted to intimidate us when we showed up,” Jesse explained. “Fear is a powerful weapon. As I’m sure you know.”

Fox clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Jesse. He couldn’t tell if the comment was a criticism of Fox’s policing tactics, or if Jesse really did understand that fear was a useful weapon on a planet with no front line, no clear enemy, and danger constantly pressing in from all sides.

“I don’t understand…” Tup said slowly, looking up from the datapad still in Jesse’s hands, “if this symbol was the symbol of rebellion on the planet… how do you have it?”

“Your buddy Fives sent it to me,” Fox explained. He leaned over the table and flicked the screen to the next image, a grainy and zoomed-in still from the holovid of the attack on the communications building containing the graffiti of the symbol. Jesse squinted at it, his frown deepening. “He said he and Echo used to see this symbol all the time on ARC missions. And now I’m seeing it here on Triple-Zero.” He flicked to the next image, a still frame of the outside of the destroyed school, where the symbol was found painted on the ground near the front doors.

“So, this rebellion is bigger than just one planet?” Tup asked.

“Is it a rebellion, though? Why not just defect to the CIS?” Jesse countered.

“Maybe they don’t like the CIS any better?” Tup suggested.

“Did the rebels make any demands when they slaughtered the garrison?” Fox asked, cutting through their speculations. Jesse frowned at the datapad and stroked his scarred chin with his trigger finger and thumb.

“None that I’m aware of,” he answered slowly after a moment of tense silence. “I didn’t think anything of it. We were sent to assist the garrison, and when we got there our objective changed to re-taking the planet. We didn’t think about the rebels’ motives or demands. And—like I said earlier—when we got to the capital city, they were all dead.”

“It could be a symbol of dissidence against the Republic,” Tup shrugged, squinting at the datapad. “Not necessarily for the CIS.”

“Maybe,” Fox said, “except that doesn’t explain this.” He reached over the table again to switch to the pic of the smuggled crates painted with the symbol.

“Supply crates?” Jesse suggested.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Fox said with a nod. “Except they aren’t full of weapons or rations or medical supplies. They’re full of seemingly random items. Datapads, fine silks, jewels, canned vegetables, and, of course, spice.”

“What was it all for?” Jesse asked, bewilderment tinging his frown.

“The smugglers didn’t know,” Fox explained. Fist’s men had interrogated each of the Weequay smugglers, but their interrogations, while effective, didn’t reveal any helpful answers. “They were paid to bring the crates in and leave them at a warehouse, and if the crates were unopened, they would be paid double.”

“Who were the smugglers?” Tup asked, his eyebrows raised. Fox smirked.

“Weequays,” he said. “The Ohnaka clan.”

Tup’s face lit up while Jesse and Kix both groaned. “Ohnaka as in Hondo Ohnaka?” Jesse asked.

“The very same,” Fox nodded. Tup smiled softly as his eyes unfocused. Fox watched him fondly. Tup had befriended one of the younger members of the Ohnaka clan during his time in prison, the only friend he made during those twelve months.

“Sir, I have a contact in the Ohnaka clan,” Tup said, turning to Jesse and still smiling slightly. Fox raised his eyebrows, surprised. He didn’t know Tup had kept in contact with his friend from prison. “I can ask about these smuggling operations.”

“A reliable contact?” Fox asked.

“How do you have a contact in the Ohnaka clan at all?” Kix asked before Tup could answer Fox.

“From my time in prison,” Tup said shortly to Kix, who pursed his lips and nodded. “And yes, he’s reliable. I won’t risk OPSEC or let them know you’re investigating, Commander.”

“Better contact him soon. We jump for our RV with Fives in six hours,” Jesse reminded him.

“Yes, sir.”

“And let me know what you find,” Fox added.

“Of course, sir.”

Jesse handed Fox his datapad back and asked, “Anything else you need from me, sir?”

“That’s all, Commander,” Fox said. He looked down at his tray of rations, which he had forgotten about during their conversation. It had gone cold, which didn’t help the tastelessness. Jesse and Kix stood and collected their trays. Fox looked up to see Tup still sitting across from him.

“I’m going to stay a few minutes, Commander,” Tup said to Jesse with a smile. “Keep the Marshal Commander company. I’ll be ready when the transports leave for the Tribunal.”

Jesse patted Tup on the pauldron before walking away. Fox heard Kix ask why Jesse didn’t call him “sir,” and Jesse laughed. Fox scooped some cold, tasteless nutrient mush into his mouth and managed to swallow it down without gagging. He’d kill for some of Riyo’s food right about now.

“Is Commander Nuts treating you okay?” Fox asked Tup after he was sure neither Jesse nor Kix could hear him. Tup grinned and chuckled.

“He’s a good commander,” Tup said sincerely. “He doesn’t think of all the things that happened to me as flaws. He uses my… unique insight to our advantage.”

“I still wish you would have come to the Guard instead,” Fox said. “Commander Fist could use your ‘unique insight.’”

Tup smirked and looked down at his empty tray as Fox swallowed down another bite of tasteless rations. “I couldn’t,” Tup said quietly. “I like you, Commander. But this place… too many bad memories.”

Fox nodded. “I understand,” he said sincerely. If he could escape this place, he would. But that would also mean leaving the only person in this galaxy—besides his brothers—that he actually cared for. He forced himself to take another large bite of rations, imagining instead it was the spicy, creamy grains Riyo had given him when they shared a stolen afternoon in her office a few weeks ago. If he left Coruscant, he wouldn’t have moments like that: moments away from war, away from being a clone trooper, away from the hardships of his birthright. He would then truly be only a weapon. And that wasn’t a life he wanted to live.

“Besides,” Tup continued, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest as he smirked, “If I was here all the time, I would rob you of the chance to worry about me.”

Fox huffed. “Who says I worry about you? You’re a twenty-six-year-old clone trooper. You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”

“Whatever, Commander,” Tup grinned. “I know you worry.”

Fox ducked his head to hide his embarrassed smile. The truth was that he did worry about Tup. And not just on the battlefield. He worried about how other clone troopers would treat him, worried that he would fall victim to the same abuse he suffered at the hands of his Lieutenant all those years ago, worried he would end back up in Fox’s prison, or else that he might desert to join Ohnaka’s clan.

“Yeah, well, you make it too easy,” Fox grumbled. Tup patted Fox’s hand, and his smile made Fox nearly forget how disgusting his rations were.

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim,

Finally, after eight long, dreadful, heartbreaking years, Obi-Wan was one with the Force.

He breathed slowly and deeply as he let the Force flow through him, around him, through every living thing. He felt its pulse, its warmth, its light, welcoming it like an old friend. Through it he saw the planet differently. Life thrived here. The Force thrummed its living pattern onto his skin, into his heart. The longer he let the Force flow through him, the more he felt connected to the life surrounding him, including the three beings occupying the garden with him.

Ahsoka sat across from him underneath the stone fruit tree. Its long, thin branches reached gracefully toward them and swayed in the gentle breeze. Ahsoka’s Force Signature, as strong and familiar as Obi-Wan ever remembered it, pulsed brightly. He could feel the undercurrent of darkness swirling within her, as it always had, but it was more focused now. Ahsoka could use the Dark side of the Force, pull it together with the Light, and achieve Balance. He could feel her use it. Her Force Signature washed over him as she pulled from both within and without. He thought, wryly, that if anyone could harness the Dark Side without Falling, it was Ahsoka. She was far stronger in the Force than Obi-Wan had ever been, far stronger than any other Jedi, except maybe Master Yoda and, of course, Anakin.

A pang of regret shot through him as he thought of his first padawan. Part of him wished they could reunite. Another part of him knew that there were some wounds that were too deep to heal. He let the thoughts of regret go into the Force, let them be whisked away like shells in the current. He breathed out his fears, and breathed in peace and serenity.

“So, it was the dream that gave him back his Force powers?” Rex whispered nearby, breaking Obi-Wan from his meditation. He tried to ignore the nearby whispers and instead focused on the rhythmic sound of Rex and Cody’s tilling and weed pulling.

When Ahsoka and Obi-Wan first sat to meditate, Rex and Cody had been at the other side of the garden, far enough away that their whispers couldn’t be heard. Now, after a couple of hours of blissful meditation in the pale, cool morning, Rex and Cody had worked their way close enough to Ahsoka and Obi-Wan that their whispers were too loud for perfectly focused meditation.

Obi-Wan remembered Qui-Gon teaching him, all those years ago, to tune out distractions and focus only on the Force. There were insects burrowing in the ground beneath the topsoil. He focused on them, felt how they were all connected to each other and to him. He centered himself on the feeling, and slipped back into his meditative state.

“I don’t know,” Cody whispered back. “He said the voice told him he needed to be ‘ready for the end.’”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and focused again on something easier: the garden plants themselves. They were unperturbed by anything around them, growing steadily upward, basking in the warm sunlight. The Force swirled through them, too, and he focused on their ever-upward growth.

“The end of what?”

Across from him, Ahsoka sighed heavily. The bright focus of her connection to the Force dimmed, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see her looking directly at him with an amused smirk. He chuckled and rubbed his face. Neither of them were going to be able to meditate with Rex and Cody whispering so close by.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan answered, turning to Cody. He was closer than Obi-Wan had originally thought, only about a meter away. Cody straightened up where he had been crouched on all fours between berry bushes and raised his eyebrows at Obi-Wan in surprise.

Obi-Wan felt his breath catch at the sight of him. The bright late-morning light reflected in his eyes, making them shine like liquid amber. He had dirt smudged on his cheek, and his tan skin was dewy with sweat. Obi-Wan had seen him like this at least a hundred times before, the light catching his eyes and on his skin during a rare calm moment in battle or while setting up camp. Every other time, Obi-Wan had been able to quickly push away the odd squirming in his stomach and breathe through the fluttering of his heart.

But this morning there was something different about Cody. He was wearing Rex’s work clothes rather than his armor, which clung to the softly defined muscles of his arms and chest. Despite the creases of concentration on his brow, he looked relaxed and comfortable. The shadows of pain and anger and depression were washed away in the morning light. The longer Obi-Wan studied Cody’s face, the more he supposed that Cody looked… happy. Obi-Wan’s chest tightened. He had not been able to describe Cody as happy in a long time.

“I’m sorry, were we disturbing you?” Cody asked, a worried frown creasing his brow. Obi-Wan shook his head, unable to force words out of his mouth.

“It’s fine, Cody,” Ahsoka said kindly. “Actually, I’m curious, too. Whose voice was it in your dream?”

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from Cody. Rex rose from where he was crouched between the plants and sat back on his heels to listen. His face, still so similar to Cody’s despite the decade of different lifestyles, didn’t make his heart flutter the same way Cody’s did. Obi-Wan swallowed and focused on the small frown developing on Ahsoka’s brow.

“It was Darth Maul,” he answered. A chill ran down his spine as Maul’s voice hissed in his mind again. He saw Cody flinch out of the corner of his eye, and felt his shock through the Force.

“Who?” Rex asked, looking between Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

“A Sith lord,” Obi-Wan explained. Rex winced, no doubt remembering all of his own personal encounters with Dooku, Ventress, and Sidious during the early days of the war. The Sith may have ordered the clones and started the war, but they sowed chaos and fear into the galaxy. Obi-Wan, like the rest of the Jedi and clones, were glad that with Dooku’s death, the Sith were finally extinct.

“Didn’t you kill Darth Maul?” Ahsoka asked.

“Yes, thirty years ago,” Obi-Wan replied. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, trying to let go of the memory of Maul’s terrifying face, pulled up in a horrifically triumphant grin as he impaled Master Qui-Gon. “It’s been a long time since his face haunted my dreams.”

“You’re sure he’s dead?” Rex asked.

“Well, I cut him in half, and he fell a hundred meters down a reactor shaft,” Obi-Wan said. Ahsoka chuckled. During their first conversation she had asked him the same thing. He remembered making her giggle as he said that he hoped Maul was dead, or else Maul would be very upset. So many years had passed since those early days of her apprenticeship. Almost twenty years.

Rex grimaced. “Yeah, he’s probably dead.”

“It’s too much of a coincidence that you would have this nightmare and then wake up feeling the Force, though,” Ahsoka said, crossing her arms.

“I disagree. Maul is a representation of my fear of the Dark Side, which, until yesterday, was something I have not brushed in fifteen years,” Obi-Wan countered, thinking of his delve into the darkest part of Ahsoka’s mind as she attempted to cast her Force connection onto him and then use the Dark Side to open the ancient Jedi Temple. In fact, his dream felt a lot like it had felt to be inside her mind while she used the Dark. Like drowning, suffocating, being crushed to death by raw power he was unable to control. He stroked his beard, and when his gaze flitted up again to look at Ahsoka, her eyes were downcast, and she wore an uncomfortable frown on her face.

“It’s nothing,” Obi-Wan continued softly, reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers across the back of her hand where it rested on her knee. “It was just a nightmare. I’m no stranger to them. Sometimes a nuna is just a nuna, no matter how far it strays from the nest.”

Ahsoka smiled at the old saying, a frown still creased on her brow. She fidgeted with the hem of her tunic and bit her lip sheepishly. Obi-Wan thought she might say something, but was struggling to find the words. He would be patient for her. He had always tried to be patient with her.

“Wait, what?” Rex asked. Both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka turned to him, surprised. Rex and Cody exchanged confused expressions. “What did you say about a nuna?”

“A nuna is just a nuna, no matter how far it strays from the nest?” Obi-Wan asked.

“That’s not how the saying goes,” Rex said. “And that’s not how you use it.”

“They learned a different story than we did, Rex,” Cody said.

“Really? What was your story?” Rex asked.

“The nuna strays from its nest, and a padawan thinks the Force wants her to follow the nuna, but a fox gets into the nest and eats all the nuna eggs,” Ahsoka explained.

“No, the nuna strays from home because he thinks he’s stronger on his own, but since he left the nest, the fox came and defeated the nunas and ate the eggs,” Rex said. “A nuna is still a nuna no matter how far he strays from home.”

“It makes sense that the stories would differ,” Obi-Wan mused, stroking his beard. “The jedi are told our version to teach younglings and initiates the importance of listening to the Force. Yours is a cautionary metaphor of disobeying orders or thinking independently. Stories are cultural. And when a value is part of your culture, it is ingrained subconsciously into your actions. Clever of the Kaminoans, really, to indoctrinate you with morals of working together and not straying from your duty at a young age.”

He remembered having this conversation with Cody, years ago. How the stories they were told as children to teach them life lessons were purposefully different. He remembered how much closer he felt to Cody and his men after learning the stories of their childhood, how their culture had been shaped by necessity. It felt very similar to Jedi culture. He turned to Cody, wondering if he, too, had fond memories of sharing their stories. But Cody was frowning at Rex, his face hard as he watched Rex’s lip curl into a snarl.

“Yes, it’s very clever how they brainwashed us to be slave soldiers,” Rex said darkly, crossing his arms.

“Rex,” Cody said lowly, a warning. Ahsoka shifted where she sat. Her uneasiness grew in their Bond, but Obi-Wan didn’t need her unsettled emotions to tell him that his observation overstepped.

“I said that it’s clever, not that it’s right,” he said softly. Rex opened his mouth as if to retort but caught Cody’s eye and snapped his jaw shut again.

Ahsoka waved her hand in the air, like she was trying to wipe away the tension building between Rex and Obi-Wan and said, “Regardless, I don’t want to dismiss your nightmare completely, even if we can all agree that Maul is definitely dead.” Obi-Wan wanted to argue, but something in the back of his mind told him that she was right. He shouldn’t dismiss it completely.

“I will meditate on it,” he conceded. A small smile crept on his lips as he studied Ahsoka’s mature face. She had not only grown strong in the Force, but also wise. He would have to remind himself to listen to her, even when he disagreed.

Obi-Wan helped Cody finish weeding the garden while Rex and Ahsoka washed up and prepared a small midmeal of fresh fruits and vegetables from their garden and cured meats and cheeses from the neighboring farm. They ate outside, the little table and chairs pulled out of the galley into the sunlight, and Obi-Wan basked in the familiar energy of the Force that swirled around him. Next to him, Cody was again uncomfortable with the blatant domesticity of Rex and Ahsoka’s home. Obi-Wan had to admit that he was also uncomfortable as he felt the bright, undeniable outpouring of love in the Force that flowed between Ahsoka and Rex. He had felt it before, and could only ever associate the feeling with the forbidden, and the possibility of Falling to the Dark side.

After midmeal, Rex and Cody dropped Ahsoka and Obi-Wan off at the temple before flying to the nearby town for food and supplies. Obi-Wan was eager to try and open the Temple again now that he had reconnected with the Force. When they walked out of the shuttle and onto the stone-tiled clearing between the cliffs and the river, excitement surged through him. He breathed deeply and had an overwhelming sense that this was where he needed to be. He let the Force pull him toward the cliff wall, along the ancient carvings on the ground toward the entrance to the temple. He still could not make any sense of the ancient text or symbols, but they felt familiar to him, like an old memory blurred by time.

He and Ahsoka settled at the base of the triangle in the center of the clearing, facing the temple, Obi-Wan sitting on the symbol of the sun and Ahsoka on the symbol of the moon, and once again connected to the Force. Obi-Wan felt it flow through him, pulled the light from all around him, let it swirl and shift. He felt Ahsoka do the same next to him, her signature bright and clear with the Light side of the Force. He opened their Bond and let the Force flow between them, and together they reached out for the door. But the door was as solid and unyielding as it had been the day before. Obi-Wan’s consciousness slid over it, feeling its shape, its texture, but it was as smooth and cool and solid as polished stone. When he touched it with his mind, he had the sense that something was missing. He and Ahsoka were not enough to open the door.

He withdrew from the door but did not open his eyes. He heard Ahsoka stand and begin to pace, her feet crunching on the stone tiles. Obi-Wan breathed deeply and let go of his thoughts as they bloomed in his mind. He listened only to the Force. He could feel that he was in the right place, sitting in the right spot. But something was missing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a piece of the puzzle they didn’t have yet. A key element they needed to open the door.

Ahsoka stopped pacing and sat down next to Obi-Wan again with a sigh. “I’m going to use the Dark side,” she said. Her voice wavered, as if she wasn’t sure if she should. Obi-Wan clenched his teeth. He wasn’t excited about the idea of letting his padawan willingly use such a dangerous and unbalanced part of the Force. But in the back of his mind, he knew she was right. She needed to use the Dark side, just as he needed to use the Light. He agreed, and they breathed together as they had done before.

Obi-Wan expected their bond to flood with anger, hate, and fear as it had done the day before. He expected Ahsoka to lean into the sharp and suffocating emotions of the Dark and push out violently at the door. Obi-Wan pulled the Light from all around him, gathering strength to counter the Dark she was undoubtedly about to hurl from within her.

What he didn’t expect was for her signature to become blindingly bright and warm. He recognized the emotion she drew upon. It was not fear or hatred, but instead love. It radiated out from her like a wave of heat. For a moment Obi-Wan was lost in its intoxicating glow. He thought of the paternal love he felt for Qui-Gon, the brotherly love he had for Anakin and Ahsoka, and the more forbidden love he had for Satine. And weaving between it all was Cody’s face, smudged and glistening with sweat, his small, confident smile pulling at the scar around his eye, the way he had looked at Obi-Wan so trustingly as he held out his hand to ask for help. Obi-Wan realized this love was more than simple unconditional love, this was the love of attachment, a kind of love he had struggled to reject. He breathed deeply and pulled the Light side of the Force again, letting it flow through him without emotion, without attachments, without fear or love or anger or happiness. He was a conduit of the Force from without, while Ahsoka was a conduit of the Force from within.

But again, the door would not yield for them.

“Something is still missing,” Obi-Wan said after they had pulled their consciousnesses away from the door. Ahsoka paced across the stone tiles again, pulling on her crippled lek and chewing on her bottom lip as she thought. “We’re closer, but still missing something.”

Obi-Wan listened to the crunch of Ahsoka’s boots on the light gravel covering the stone tiles as he thought back to the feeling he had while they searched the door. He could sense it there in his mind, sense that there was a way to open it, but they were missing something. A third piece. Two was not enough.

“I think we need a third person,” he said slowly, and with his words he felt the Force whisper its encouragement. Ahsoka stopped pacing and turned to him, a frown on her brow.

“I do, too,” she said, nodding.

“But, who? None of the other Jedi have reconnected to the Force. None that I know,” Obi-Wan asked. Ahsoka bit her lip and looked down at where she was pulling at the end of her crippled lek. Obi-Wan frowned at her sheepish expression. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”

Ahsoka shuffled her feet, and her cheeks and lekku flushed. Obi-Wan’s heart thudded in his chest. He knew what she was going to say before she said it out loud. But knowing what she was going to say did not make the shock any easier.

“I asked Anakin to come here, as well,” she said. Obi-Wan’s chest jolted, cringing inward as his heart skipped several beats. Anakin. He hadn’t seen his first padawan in twelve years. And the last time they saw each other was not a pleasant memory.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked weakly.

Ahsoka nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to let go of his feelings of anxiety and regret that gripped his chest. He swallowed down his rising nerves and asked, “Does he know that I’m here?”

“Yes.”

A small relief released some of the tension knotted in Obi-Wan’s stomach. Anakin hadn’t been deterred by Obi-Wan’s presence. And if tensions ran too high, Obi-Wan could always leave. It would hurt, as much as Anakin leaving the first time hurt, but he could do it. He would rather talk things through. He would rather make amends, apologize for what he had said fourteen years ago. Anakin had made his choice, no matter how Obi-Wan felt about it.

“When will he arrive?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Obi-Wan took another deep breath as irritation flashed through him. Ahsoka had been too afraid to tell him, and now there were only hours until Anakin’s arrival. But he had time to meditate, time to think about what he was going to say. And now he had the Force to help guide his thoughts.

“Has he regained his connection to the Force?” Obi-Wan asked.

“He never lost his connection. I thought he could help us find out why we did, and why it’s suddenly come back,” Ahsoka explained, pacing again.

“He never lost his connection?” Obi-Wan opened his eyes to gape at her. She shook her head and continued to pace, still pulling on her lek. “Well… that is a mystery.”

He stroked his beard and thought back to the time when Qui-Gon had Obi-Wan and half the council convinced that Anakin was the ‘Chosen One’ of some ancient prophecy. He was one of the strongest Force-users Obi-Wan and the Council had ever seen, stronger even than Master Yoda. But he was unstable, impulsive, emotional, and Obi-Wan had a hard time training him. War was good for him, in some ways. Commanding armies focused his energy, and fighting released his anger.

He never proved to be anything but strong in the Force, however. Obi-Wan eventually wrote off the prophecy as the ramblings of an elderly Jedi who’d been exposed to too much radiation. And in the end, the Order and Anakin turned their backs on each other, and he left.

But if he had never lost his connection when all the other Jedi in the Galaxy had, maybe there was some truth to the old prophecy. Maybe he was the Chosen One after all, but had not had the chance to bring the balance they so desperately needed. Maybe their lost connection was because they had turned their backs on him, shunned him from the Order, and then betrayed him.

“We can meditate until Rex and Cody return, if you’d like,” Ahsoka said timidly. “I think some meditative katas would help put my mind at ease.”

Obi-Wan returned his attention to Ahsoka and saw his anxiety mirrored on her face. She had never liked sitting in one place and meditating. Neither she nor Anakin had liked it. They preferred action and movement. Lucky for them, Obi-Wan also preferred movement during meditation, especially when his thoughts were spiraling past his control.

He rose to his feet and agreed, and they settled into a rhythm of stances and movements, breathing out their anxieties and breathing in peace.

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Town center, unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Rex thought that when he saw Cody again, when he was finally able to show his best friend and brother the home and life he had built, that he would feel proud. Proud of the cottage and the homestead, proud of the garden and the workshop, proud of the friends he had made and the missions he ran. He was proud of this life he had made on this moon with Ahsoka. He had taken a shitty situation and made the best of it. And he was proud of that accomplishment.

But now that Cody was here, all Rex felt was guilt.

Cody limped beside him as they walked through the streets of the village center. His knee was bothering him after weeding the garden all morning, and his physical therapy exercises hadn’t helped alleviate any of the pain. He’d taken a painkiller before they left for the village, but Rex could still see the pain etched in the lines of his face.

Rex could also tell that Cody was not as proud of Rex as he had hoped. Cody looked at Rex’s life and saw only the fact that he was not fighting in the war. He frowned at the food Rex had cooked and the clothes he had let Cody borrow and the garden he had cultivated. His eyes were dark and resentful when he looked at Rex, and Rex felt only cold, curdling shame.

“Do we have more tasks here, in the village?” Cody asked from behind him through gritted teeth. Rex’s heart sank into his stomach. He had been worried that bringing Cody to the village to run errands would only upset him, but Ahsoka had convinced him that it might be good for Cody to see the way Rex lived. By the sound of Cody’s question, Rex had been right.

“Just one,” Rex said.

“Can we stop for a moment?” Cody asked, and Rex turned to see Cody bent nearly double by the side of the road. He gripped the back of a bench in front of one of the village shops and dug his fingers into his knee. When he looked up at Rex, his eyes were full of pain instead of the anger Rex was expecting. Rex signed for Cody to sit down, and Cody lowered himself onto the bench with a groan. Rex watched helplessly as Cody rubbed his hip and knee and grimaced in pain.

“Your leg is bothering you?” Rex asked lamely, not sure exactly how to ask what Cody needs.

“I haven’t walked so much in a day in a long time,” Cody said. He kneaded his fingers into his knee and let out a long breath. His eyes closed and the grimace smoothed into a tight frown.

“Do we need to leave? I can bring the ship to the edge of town to—”

“No,” Cody said sharply. Rex raised his eyebrows and felt his ears warm, guilt stabbing in his gut as if Cody had reprimanded him. Cody sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “No,” he said again, calmer but no less bitter, “I just need to sit a moment.”

“Are you sure? I can come back later on.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Cody said lowly, frowning up at Rex.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie, Rex,” Cody said. His voice was even but barely concealing the anger simmering beneath the surface. “I know you look at me and see a wounded slave, waiting to be decommissioned, or else die in a war I have no stake in.”

Rex swallowed hard as the guilt surged in his chest again. Rex had thought of Cody that way. He knew the Kaminoans wouldn’t give Cody a replacement hip and knee. The damage was too severe, the recovery would be too long. And despite how Rex and Ahsoka and Kenobi felt, Cody was expendable, replaceable, disposable. A new commander could be promoted, new clones made to replace him. Cody, like all their brothers, was a slave. A slave with no rights, no autonomy, no choices. The thought disgusted Rex. He wanted Cody to be free. Free like the brothers they had saved from slavery on CIS worlds. Free like him.

Cody sighed bitterly and slumped against the backrest of the bench. He looked exhausted and angry. His scarred hand rubbed slowly over his hip, his fingers digging into the joint. Rex could see where the swelling of his leg was tight against the trousers Rex had lent him. He could see that Cody was in pain. But the only sure relief from that pain for him would be death.

“Obi-Wan and I talked several years ago about those stories they told us as cadets,” Cody continued. “He told me the same thing, then. That the Kaminoans must have crafted the stories to teach us how to be good soldiers. To indoctrinate us with those lessons from an early age. It bothered him that we weren’t allowed to dream of anything but war. He has spent the last twenty years making sure that my men and I never feel like slaves to the Republic. And we have never given him any reason to think we do feel that way. I might not have a house, or a garden, or the ability to fly off into the Galaxy on a whim, but that’s because I am Marshal Commander of the 7^th Sky Corps and I have responsibilities to my men, to the war, and to the Republic. Not because I’m enslaved.”

Rex clenched his jaw and looked away from Cody’s cold glare. It was no use trying to convince Cody otherwise. And arguing about it here in the village square wouldn’t do either of them any good. He nodded, just to end the argument, and Cody sighed.

“I just want to help,” Rex said quietly. He gestured at Cody’s leg, where Cody was still rubbing his hip. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Cody snorted. “Well, unless you’re hiding a team of medics and cloned replacement joints with your rescued POWs, I don’t think you can help me,” he said.

Rex frowned, a thought forming in his mind. He was hiding a team of medics. Not just medics, but natborn doctors, too. They might not have cloned hip and knee joint replacements, but they might have synthetic joints. They could help Cody. They could repair his leg and they would never care how long the recovery took. He could stay at the colony as long as he needed to heal completely. And he could be happy there, happier than he would be stuck on triple zero, wasting away, waiting for death. But Rex couldn’t tell him about the colony. Not yet. He had promised never to let the GAR know where they were, never give up the colony’s secret to the Republic. He had risked his life rescuing those clones. He wasn’t about to give them up just because Cody needed a new knee and hip.

When Cody was ready to keep walking, Rex led him to the clothier’s shop on the corner of the square. There was a mother and her two children that Rex didn’t recognize milling around the shop between the racks of pre-made clothing. Cody crossed his arms as he swept his eyes over the little shop, and when Rex glanced at him, he raised one eyebrow in question. Rex nodded toward the owner, a twi’lek woman with lilac skin and dark purple tattoos on her long lekku, who was folding clothes at the register in the back.

“Afternoon, Braya,” Rex said as he approached the counter. Cody followed him cautiously, as he had done at the other shops they had gone to earlier. Braya looked up and her blue eyes flashed with recognition. She smirked at him and returned to her folding. “I was told you had an order for me to pick up?”

“You must be Rex’s brother,” Braya said loud enough that Cody could hear. He flinched a little as he turned to her. Rex had been telling everyone in town that Cody was his brother, and no one was suspicious. They looked too much alike to be anything but brothers. But Braya, unlike other citizens of the village, knew that Rex was a clone. And she no doubt recognized Cody as a clone, too.

“Cody,” he said, his voice clipped as it had been all afternoon around the other citizens. Braya frowned at him, and her eyes flicked between Cody and Rex.

“Braya,” she said with a nod. “I do have an order for you, Rex. It’s in the back.”

Rex followed her as she stepped away from the counter and through a curtain-covered door into the back storeroom of the shop. He gestured for Cody to follow, barely able to keep from smiling. Despite the discomfort Cody had felt at all the other shops they had gone to, Rex knew that Cody would feel most comfortable in this one. Braya led them past the clothing storage and down a thin hallway to a locked door. Rex leaned his shoulder against the wall of the hallway as Braya pulled the keys off her belt.

“I heard you went to Sesid recently and barely made it out,” Braya said lowly, allowing her Rylothian accent to slip through now that they were alone.

“By the width of a blade, yeah,” Rex breathed. He glanced at Cody, who was now frowning, his eyes flitting between the two of them. Braya unlocked the door and put her hand on Rex’s upper arm, squeezing slightly.

“I’m glad you made it out alive,” she whispered, her voice as somber as her eyes. She let them through the door into a small storage room hidden among the corners and bends of the clothing shops’ storeroom. Cody stopped in the doorway, and Rex watched as his mouth fell open when he looked around. The walls were lined with shelves from ceiling to floor, and on each of the shelves were stacks of blasters, ammo, armor, and various other weapons. Rex chuckled and patted Cody on the shoulder as he gaped at all the weapons.

“Braya is one of our anti-slavery operatives,” Rex explained to Cody. “She’s the only person in town who knows who and what Ahsoka and I are.”

“Imagine my surprise when I saw a kriffing clone trooper walk into my shop,” Braya said. “I was about ready to bolt.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Rex said sincerely.

Braya pulled an empty crate from below one of the shelves and opened it, lifting out the false bottom to reveal molded padding where blasters, ammo, and explosives could be placed without rattling around. The crate had a vaguely familiar symbol painted on the side. He figured it was a symbol of another arms dealer. The cases, Rex knew, were made of a special metal that skewed scanning equipment, a favorite among smugglers and pirates, and were passed around as goods were bought, stolen, smuggled, and sold. He and Braya had done this routine enough times before that he started searching the shelves for what he needed without prompting from her.

“Are you not fond of clone troopers?” Cody asked, and out of the corner of his eye Rex saw Cody’s hand rest on the grip of his blaster.

“I like clones,” Braya said. “It’s the Republic I don’t want snooping around. Or the CIS for that matter.”

There was a brief silence as Rex pulled replacement blaster power packs from a shelf, counting out the twenty he usually purchased.

“Are you… Marshal Commander Cody? Of the 212^th?” Braya asked, cutting through the quiet. Rex glanced at Cody from where he was settling the power packs carefully into the soft packaging of the crate.

“I am,” Cody said stiffly. “How do you know that?”

“I grew up in Nabat,” Braya said, her voice more timid than Rex had ever heard her. He turned to look at her and saw that her cheeks and lekku had flushed dark. “I was there when the Republic liberated us from CISA control.”

“Were you captured by the CISA?” Cody asked. His face and voice were unreadable.

“Yes. My father was killed during the attack. My mother and I sat in CISA custody for four days.”

“You never told me you grew up in Nabat,” Rex said.

“You are not Marshal Commander Cody,” Braya quipped, a smirk pulling at her lips. She turned back to Cody and her eyes widened slightly. “Your men saved my people that day. You’re the reason I do this: to fight oppression and tyranny and end slavery in the Galaxy. I…” Braya shifted uncomfortably and bit her lip as she stared at Cody, who met her gaze with his usual stoic and unreadable face. “I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me or my men anything,” Cody said. “We were just doing our job.”

Braya’s eyes flicked from Cody to Rex. She let out a breathy laugh and ran one hand over her lekku. “For eighteen years I’ve idolized you,” she said. “I never thought you would be here in my shop, buying weapons from me.”

“To be fair, me neither,” Cody said, and the barest of smiles cracked his stoic exterior. Braya let out a shuddering breath and turned to Rex. Her blue eyes were bright.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any explosives for you today,” she said. Her voice was still thick with emotion, but she rolled her shoulders back and blinked away the wetness gathering on her eyelids.

“None?” Rex asked, his heart sinking.

Braya shook her head. “My supplier didn’t have any. They said no one can get explosives right now. Corporations have bought up the excess supply.”

“Corporations? What Corporations?” Rex asked.

“All of them, I don’t know,” Braya shrugged. “They’re paying smugglers and pirates massive amounts of credits to deliver explosives directly to them. More than a small-time dealer like me can afford.”

Rex frowned and glanced at Cody who also frowned contemplatively. “Corporations are usually fighting smugglers and pirates,” Cody said. “It seems odd that they would pay their enemies to do their work for them.”

“That’s what I was told,” Braya said, shrugging again. “They could have been lying, too. Jobs like this tend to attract untrustworthy people.”

Rex snorted and nodded, turning back to the crate full of power packs at his feet. He’d dealt with plenty of untrustworthy people in his time away from the GAR. And, honestly, while in the GAR, too. He added another layer of molded padding on top of the power packs and inserted the false bottom to conceal the weapons.

“I guess we have lots of room for clothes, if you have any to donate,” Rex sighed.

“Of course,” Braya nodded. She kept clothes for donation to the clone colony in another, unlocked corner of the storeroom, and Rex brought the half-full case with him to collect them.

Braya excused herself while Rex opened the bags of donated clothes to place inside the crate. He pulled shirts, tunics, trousers, skirts, jackets, socks and hats from the bag, most of them clone trooper-sized. Cody helped him clumsily fold the clothes into a semblance of organization inside the crate. Rex caught him rubbing the fabric of some pieces between his fingers, his eyebrows raised. Rex wondered if they were still given the occasional stipend for civilian clothes. After the first bill for clone rights failed in the Senate, a program was started by clone-friendly interest groups to raise money for clone troopers so that they could buy civilian clothes and food. Rex knew the purpose was to stimulate the economies of worlds on which clone troopers were stationed, having hundreds of young men suddenly buying clothes and food with money they’d never been granted before, but it did help humanize the clones to the general public. It did not, however, convince the Senate to vote for clone rights in any of their attempts in future years.

“What are these?” Cody asked, and Rex looked up to see him lift a glove the size and shape of a clone’s hand, but with the trigger and middle fingers stitched after the second knuckle.

“Gloves for former slaves,” Rex explained. Cody pulled at the stitching of one of the truncated fingers, and he frowned.

“Is this pair for a specific trooper?” he asked.

“No. They all need gloves that shape now.”

Cody looked up at Rex, his confused frown falling away to incredulity. Rex swallowed thickly and continued placing clothes into the bin, trying not to think about the mutilated hands of his brothers in captivity. Cody sighed and placed the gloves gingerly into the crate. When they had finished, Rex closed the crate, wrapped it in thick canvas fabric, and attached a strap so he could carry it on his back. It was heavy from the power packs, but since it was only supposed to be filled with clothes, he needed to be able to carry it easily. Cody pulled on the backpack full of groceries they had picked up earlier and followed Rex out of the back room. Rex waited for Braya to finish helping a man pay for a bag full of clothes before he approached the counter she stood behind and handed her a small purse of credits for the ammo.

“The refugees appreciate your hospitality, Braya,” Rex said with a smile. Braya smirked and pocketed the credits smoothly.

“I’m always glad to help fellow refugees, Rex,” she said, her Rylothian accent again tucked away under her faked mid-rim accent. “Oh, and Cody. This is for you.” She pulled a small flimsi bag from under the counter and handed it to Cody, who frowned at it. “It isn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough. But it’s something.” Her cheeks and lekku flushed dark again and Cody peered at her suspiciously. He reached into the bag and pulled out a soft light gray shirt with gold-threaded hems. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers and looked up at her.

“Thank you,” he said with a nod. She smiled warmly at him and Cody placed the shirt gingerly back into the bag. Rex squeezed Cody’s shoulder and nodded goodbye to Braya before leading Cody out of the shop.

Cody pulled on the shirt while Rex steered their shuttle away from the village. He smoothed down the front and held his arms aloft to show Rex. It fit perfectly, hugging the muscles of his chest and arms without being too tight or constricting. It was hemmed with gold thread, and the gold was used in a subtle pattern on the chest. One arching line between the breast and stomach, a vertical rectangle around the buttons along the sternum, two rectangles slanted across the pectorals from the center up to the shoulders, and one rectangle from the apex of the arch to the bottom hem. Rex had seen the pattern stitched into Braya’s shirts before, in different colors—he had one like it in blue and white—but hadn’t realized until he saw the shirt on Cody that the pattern was a replica of Cody’s armor paint. He blinked at it, and then looked up to Cody, who was tracing the pattern reverently with his fingers.

“I had no idea we made such an impact on those people in Nabat,” Cody said quietly. “Most of the men in that original Ghost Company are dead. Waxer, Boil, and Wooley may be the only ones left.”

“Are they still in the 212^th?” Rex asked.

Cody pulled off the shirt and rolled it carefully to place it back in the bag as he answered, “Wooley is. He became Commander of the 212^th when we expanded it into a division. And Waxer and Boil are on Ryloth, actually. They asked to transfer during the Reorganization.”

Rex nodded. After the first failed bid for clone rights, a division of clones led by Commander Bacara on Mygeeto staged a coup to try and force the Senate into giving them freedom. The planet was attacked by the CISA during the coup and lost. Because no one knew if the clones were all killed or captured, the command structures and mission plans needed to be reorganized. Rex was lucky that he was able to stay in the 7^th Sky Corps under Cody. Of course, with Anakin’s relationship to Padmé exposed and no clear plan for leadership of the 501^st, Rex’s familiar stability was needed to keep his battalion in one piece. The coup didn’t win the clones their freedom, but it did persuade the Senate and the Jedi to allow them to remove the chips en masse and grant more freedoms than they were previously afforded, like civilian clothes and more frequent shore leave.

Cody was silent as he pulled on the shirt Rex had lent him that morning. He held the bag with Braya’s shirt against his chest and looked out the viewport with a small frown. They sat in silence as Rex steered the shuttle away from the town toward the Jedi temple to pick up Ahsoka and General Kenobi. Occasionally Cody rubbed absentmindedly at his hip, but his face remained contemplative, with no sign that he was in pain. Ahsoka and Kenobi were just as quiet and contemplative when they boarded the shuttle, and Ahsoka gave him a meaningful look as they settled into chairs behind Rex and Cody. She must have finally told her Master that Anakin was coming. It was a good thing, too, since Anakin was due to arrive in the morning.

When Rex set the shuttle down in the clearing in front of their house, Ahsoka and Kenobi took the bag of groceries and crate of ammo and clothes into the house while Rex followed Cody to his ship. He was curious what modifications the Jedi had made to the T-series starships, and what modifications he could add to his and Ahsoka’s T-6. The interior was more or less the same, just cleaner and newer. Cody raised the holoconsole from the floor where a table and benches was also tucked away. Rex passed through the four-bunked living quarters to peek into the cockpit and Cody stood at the holoconsole and stretched his leg while he listened to messages.

The T-9 starship had a new navigation computer that didn’t require a droid. Rex raised his eyebrows as he turned on the console and keyed through the settings. He wondered if he could convince Cody to let him find a way to copy the navigation software, but as he dug deeper into the nav computer’s capabilities, he honestly wasn’t sure he had a processor that could handle the data load.

Other than the nav computer, the T-9 was equipped with better firepower and shields. The T-6 had been made for peace keepers during peaceful times, while the T-9 had been made for Generals and Commanders during a galactic civil war. Rex memorized the specs for the shields, something to work on with the clone mechanics at the colony, and left the cockpit to join Cody in the main cabin.

There was a clone trooper in Commander armor on the holoconsole. The hologram was completely blue and fuzzy, but Rex could see the gleam of a prosthetic eye and extensive scarring on the commander’s face, cutting through a tattoo on his temple that he couldn’t make out.

“We’ll RV with the 332^nd and continue to our planned mission,” the commander said, his voice muffled by static. “I left my report on the bombings with Fox, so you might want to follow up with him if you don’t want the Corrie Guard to take over your investigation completely. We’ll be out of comm range during the mission, but I’ll try to contact you if anything changes. Good luck with your mission, Commander.”

“Who was that?” Rex asked as the hologram collapsed.

Cody smirked at Rex over his shoulder. “You didn’t recognize your vod’ika?” he teased. Rex frowned at him. The only trooper he’d ever known to have a prosthetic eye was Wolffe, but he died several years ago, and Rex could never consider Wolffe his ‘little brother.’ Rex shook his head, confused, and Cody chuckled. “That was Fives.”

The name was like a punch to Rex’s gut. All the air was let out of his lungs as his chest constricted and his eyes bulged as he stared incredulously at Cody. He fought to keep his mouth from dropping open. Echo said Fives had died. Maarva Andor told them that no one could have survived the blast that nearly killed Echo. Rex and Echo had sung the mourning song and grieved Fives’ death for the past three years. But there he was. Alive. Whole and alive.

“Fives?” Rex asked weakly. Cody nodded, oblivious to Rex’s incredulity as he turned back to the holoconsole and pulled up the image of Fives again. Rex looked closer at the man who had once been his vod’ika, who he had believed to be dead for the past three years. Now he could see the tattoo on his temple, the stylized 5 that had been tattooed and re-tattooed for years. Rex had tapped the ink into his skin once under the careful watch of Echo and Kix. He hadn’t recognized it before, because he hadn’t thought it was possible. But now that he saw it, it was impossible to miss.

“He’s commander of the 196^th Special Forces Division,” Cody said.

“A commander,” Rex repeated, his voice still weak and breathy. His chest constricted again with pride and longing and sorrow. He wanted to reach out and touch the hologram, but it wouldn’t do any good. Fives wasn’t there. He was probably on the other side of the Galaxy, judging by the fuzziness of the holorecording.

“I wanted to promote Echo, but…” Rex turned to Cody, who frowned apologetically at Rex. “I’m sorry to say that he marched on about three years ago.”

“Echo… died?” Rex said, his mind reeling. He wanted to tell Cody that Echo wasn’t dead. He had just seen Echo not three days ago. He was safe and alive and missing Fives more than anything or anyone in the Galaxy.

Cody nodded and hummed an affirmative, his eyes still apologetic and sorrowful. “He and Fives were on a recon mission. There was an explosion. Fives was lucky to have survived. Lost his eye and about a fifth of his skin.” Cody huffed a small humorless laugh. “He looks bad now, but he looked worse then. And when he told us Echo had been in that explosion, that he had to leave Echo’s body behind… I’ve never seen sorrow like that. He’s never been quite the same since. But he’s a good commander. I think Echo would be proud.”

Yes, Rex knew, Echo would be proud. And Rex could tell him. Rex could tell Echo that Fives was alive. Not just alive. A commander. A dream they shared but never thought they’d ever live to see. Rex collapsed onto the ground, his ass smacking the hard durasteel floor. He didn’t notice the pain smarting through his backside and up his spine. He ran his fingers through his hair and thought of how Echo would react when he learned that Fives was alive. Would he be happy? Would he be outraged that Fives left him to die? Would he insist they jump in a ship and go find him on whatever forsaken battlefield Fives and his men had dropped on?

“I’m sorry, I know he was your friend,” Cody said softly. Rex saw him shuffle his feet, probably weighing the risk of pain in his hip if he also sat on the floor. “But that’s how it is for us still on the front lines. We lose friends and brothers every day. We can only take comfort in knowing that Echo has marched on the Road to the Halls of Victory.”

Rex swallowed hard. Cody’s words would be soothing, if Echo had died. But he wasn’t dead. He was probably curled up in his bed in the colony, safe and warm and very much alive. Rex took a deep breath to compose his face. He wanted to tell Cody that Echo was alive, that the explosion had only taken his limbs but not his life. He couldn’t tell Cody that Echo was alive. Not yet.

“What happened to Gregor?” Rex asked, almost afraid of the answer. Gregor had been captain of the 196^th battalion when Rex and Ahsoka left. Echo had told him the 196^th was expanded into a division, with Gregor as commander. But like Cody said, brothers on the front lines died every day.

“He was promoted to Marshal Commander,” Cody said. Rex let out a relieved breath.

“And who’s commander of the 501^st?”

“Appo. It was a rocky start, but he’s grown into the role.” Cody leaned against the edge of the holoconsole and looked down at Rex with that same sorrowfully apologetic frown.

Rex sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Appo had barely been made Captain before he and Ahsoka left. Rex wished he could have taught Appo so much more, but there hadn’t been any time.

“He probably blames me for that rocky start,” Rex said somberly. Echo had told Rex that most of the 501^st hated him for leaving, blamed him for the losses the suffered those first few months. They considered him a deserter and, in some cases, a traitor to their brothers. Echo had taken months to warm back up to Rex after his rescue. He supposed Appo was one of those who would have hated him for his abrupt departure. Cody said nothing, but the way his mouth tightened and the sorrow was replaced with a frown told Rex that he had guessed correctly. Rex sighed and hung his head. Ten years had flown by, and while he was here, safe and free, his brothers were fighting and dying and suffering. At least Rex had the colony and those freed POWs as proof that he hadn’t completely forgotten himself.

He thought about when Echo had been rescued by the Andors from the smoldering ashes of that explosion and finally brought to the colony. He had been resigned to dying there in the rubble. He thought that the CISA would come and kill him. When the Andors explained that they were saving him from slavery at the hands of the CIS, he openly wept, afraid that Fives would suffer the same fate. They hadn’t found his body. No one could have survived that explosion, Maarva had said sincerely, shaking her head.

Echo told Rex (once he started speaking to Rex again) that he and Fives had been conducting a reconnaissance mission. There had been whispers of uprising, of a terrorist cell originating from the planet, specifically the abandoned refinery that Fives and Echo were investigating. Echo had heard voices. Two familiar voices and one unknown. Asajj Ventress, the scorned apprentice of Dooku who had long been presumed dead after being struck with Dooku’s Force Lightning, and Savage Oppress, the monstrous Force-wielding Zabrak who had slaughtered several Jedi before disappearing. And the third voice… Echo said he saw a figure with red and black skin, with sharp horns protruding from his head like a crown, and when he caught Echo spying, his eyes burned red and yellow into Echo’s soul. Sith’s eyes.

“You have access to the GAR network,” Rex said, snapping his head up to Cody so fast his neck cramped.

Cody frowned at him. “Of course,” he said carefully.

“Can you pull up a file of what Darth Maul looked like?”

Cody blinked at Rex, bewildered. Rex didn’t pay attention to Cody’s confusion. He stood up and gripped the edge of the holoconsole, thinking fast. If Echo and Fives had both survived a deadly explosion, if Ventress had survived Dooku’s lightning, why couldn’t Darth Maul have survived being cut in half and dropped down a reactor shaft? Stranger things had happened when the Force was involved.

“You said yourself that Fives shouldn’t have survived that explosion, but he did,” Rex said, modifying his train of thought to keep Echo, and by extension the colony, a secret. “Who’s to say Maul didn’t also survive?”

“Obi-Wan said he cut Maul in half,” Cody said doubtfully.

“And Maul was a karking sith lord,” Rex pressed. “You know that the Force doesn’t make any sense. I may have seen him in my travels and not known who he is, but if you can pull up a holo of him, we can ask around the GAR and I can ask Eh—the rescued slaves and we’ll be absolutely sure.”

Cody was silent as he squinted at Rex, scrutinizing his face and assessing his logic. He turned to the holoconsole without a word and pulled up the files on known Dark Side users. Rex was dismayed to see that Maul’s name was not on any of the files, not even in the archives. Cody huffed in frustration.

“If we were on triple zero, we could go to the Jedi Temple Archives and search,” Cody said. “I can request files from them, but it will take some time. I can also request any security recordings of the incident from Naboo.”

“Great,” Rex sighed, leaning his weight against the console. Cody worked silently, sending requests to both the Jedi Archives and to the Naboo security force. Rex watched, his thoughts still swirling about Fives. He was alive. Both Echo and Fives were alive. He wanted to tell Cody. He wanted to tell Echo. But he couldn’t.

Letting Cody know that Echo was alive and safe and hidden away would put the colony at risk of discovery by the GAR.

And letting Echo know that Fives was alive but out of reach would break his heart.

Four months before the anniversary
T-9 starship, unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Cody rubbed his knee as the lift carried him and Obi-Wan from the ramp to the main deck of their ship after another meal of grilled meats and vegetables sitting in the open air of Rex and Ahsoka’s clearing. He had walked more today than he had in over a year, when the pain in his leg began to flare and long distances became more than uncomfortable. His skin was swollen and hot under the borrowed trousers. He would need another pain killer soon.

Obi-Wan watched him quietly, and when the lift reached the main deck, he waited for Cody to limp away before leaving the lift pad. Cody knew Obi-Wan was watching him to make sure he didn’t need help, and as much as Cody didn’t want or need Obi-Wan’s help, it warmed something in his chest to know that Obi-Wan was there, silently waiting to be whatever Cody needed in that moment.

“I’m going to make some tea,” Obi-Wan said as he headed for the galley. Cody braced himself with one hand against the bulkhead as he toggled the controls for the main deck assembly to lower the holocomm into the table and raise the booths around it. “Would you like some?”

Cody looked up from where he was gripping the booth into Obi-Wan's face. He had a small crease between his brows, and his eyes were soft and concerned, but he smiled as their eyes met. Cody felt his cheeks heat and he returned the smile as he agreed to have some tea. Obi-Wan’s gaze lingered. The concern fell away and something else passed over his features that Cody couldn’t quite place. It was the same look he’d gotten that morning in the garden when he’d turned to Cody after meditating, as if pleasantly surprised to find something in Cody’s eyes. Cody swallowed against the tightness of his throat, and when Obi-Wan turned away to prepare water for tea, he took a deep breath to calm the fluttering of his stomach.

“What’s this?” Obi-Wan asked from the galley, and Cody looked up from his swollen knee, which he was slowly bringing up toward his chest to stretch his hip. Obi-Wan had the little bag that Rex’s friend Braya had given him that afternoon.

“Oh, it’s a, uh, it was a gift from a friend of Rex’s,” Cody said, his cheeks heating. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raised, and his lips pulled into a smirk. “A shirt, from her clothing store.”

Obi-Wan pulled the shirt from the bag and held it up in front of him. The kettle rumbled from the galley as the water boiled, but Obi-Wan’s eyes traced the gold thread on the light gray fabric with a tender expression.

“This is your armor paint,” Obi-Wan said, astonishment in his voice and a question in his eyes when he looked up at Cody.

“She grew up in Nabat,” Cody explained. “She was there when we liberated the city from the CIS.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said softly, turning back to the shirt. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers like Cody had done when he first pulled the shirt from the bag, and then held it out to Cody as the kettle clicked off. “Have you tried it on? I’d like to see.”

Cody nodded and reached for the shirt across the table. Their fingers brushed, and the touch was like a jolt of lightning through Cody’s arm. Obi-Wan pulled his fingers away quickly, clenching his hand into a fist, and Cody could have sworn he saw a blush paint his cheeks before he ducked into the galley.

Cody pulled off the shirt he’d borrowed from Rex and put on the soft gray shirt Braya had given him. He smoothed it over his chest, tracing the gold threads with the pads of his fingers. It was comfortable and soft, and it fit perfectly. His chest tightened as he thought of the adoration Braya must have felt for him to stitch his paint into her clothing and then sell it to people who never knew he existed. He looked up as Obi-Wan stepped out of the galley with two cups of tea in his hands, and then stopped dead as his eyes fell on Cody. Cody’s heartbeat thundered in his cheeks at the way Obi-Wan looked at him, his wide eyes travelling over his chest.

“What do you think?” Cody asked, smoothing the front of the shirt again. Obi-Wan blinked and tore his gaze away from the shirt to look at Cody’s face.

“It’s—you look very handsome,” Obi-Wan said. Cody froze and watched Obi-Wan’s face turn bright red. He cleared his throat and pointedly stared at the table as he set down the mugs of tea.

“Thank you,” Cody said softly, not sure if he was thanking Obi-Wan for the tea or the compliment as he slid into the booth across from Obi-Wan. He barely noticed the screaming of his hip and knee at the motion, but the pain did take away some of the heat from his face. He wasn’t sure why Obi-Wan was having this effect on him tonight. They’d spent the past twenty years together. They’d been alone together more times than Cody could count. But tonight, it felt how it did when he first had his chip removed, and he wasn’t sure how to contain the new and unfettered attraction for his general the way he knew he ought to.

“Who did you say gave you the shirt?” Obi-Wan asked, still not looking at Cody as he picked up his mug of tea.

“A shop owner in the village,” Cody explained, picking up his own mug. It was the same herbal tea Obi-Wan always drank at night. Cody used to think it was bitter and unpleasant when he was younger, but after years drinking it at night with Obi-Wan while they pored over intelligence reports and battle strategies he developed an acquired taste for it. And now the smell alone reminded him of some of the best hours of his life, talking and laughing with Obi-Wan, or even just sitting in silence together until sleep claimed them. “She had smuggled weapons in the back of her shop,” Cody continued, “and clothes for Rex’s rescued POWs. He purchased it all under the guise of clothes for war refugees.”

Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully and his eyes flicked up to Cody’s as he took a sip of his tea. “You said she grew up in Nabat?”

“Yes, she and her mother were captured by the CIS,” Cody said, letting the steam from the tea wrap around his jaw and curl over his lips as he remembered the look on Braya’s face. “I never knew we had that kind of impact on the people there. We were just doing our jobs, following orders. I didn’t know we would… inspire people.”

“That’s the life of a soldier, I suppose,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. “We rush from battle to battle, but are never able to see the consequences, good or bad.”

Cody sipped his tea, the familiar herbal taste rolling over his tongue. As a commander he was allowed simple pleasures like this because Obi-Wan shared them with him. But for a long time, his men lived with only GAR rations and never knew what fruit tasted like, or the softness of civilian sheets. Over time they’d been given credit allowances, and his men were able to purchase small luxuries. But the credits were just that: an allowance. Not a fair wage. And while they had some freedom in choosing how they wanted to serve the GAR, they were never allowed to dream beyond the military. They weren’t free. Maybe there was some truth to what Rex had said, how he felt about the GAR. That the clone POWs, who had possibly spent years in slavery to the CIS, deserved not to be forced back into the GAR, where their freedoms were hardly any more plentiful.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked, that concerned frown back on his brow. Cody sighed.

“The clothes that Rex took, for the clone POWs,” Cody began, “there were gloves with the trigger and middle fingers sewn shut about here.” He pointed to the second knuckle on his own hand, an approximation of the length of the modification. “I asked Rex if they were gloves for a specific clone, but he said they all need gloves that shape now.”

“The CIS cut off their fingers?” Obi-Wan gasped.

“Probably so they can’t steal a blaster and kill whoever had enslaved them.”

“That’s awful,” Obi-Wan breathed, his concerned frown sliding into disgust.

Cody nodded, his stomach roiling as he pictured those gloves and the mutilated hands that might fit them. He couldn’t imagine the torture and abuse his brothers must have suffered as slaves in the CIS. But he could imagine how they might feel now. Trapped on whatever planet Rex had stashed them, unable to fulfill their purpose, to fight in the war for which they were created. Unable to die honorably in battle. Unable to help their brothers. Useless. Stagnant. Purposeless. Cody had lived that way for two years now. And he wouldn’t wish that life for anyone.

Cody took another long drink of his tea as Obi-Wan sighed deeply and rubbed his hands over his face. Cody remembered he wasn’t the only one who had a full day. Neither Obi-Wan nor Ahsoka had talked about the Temple at lastmeal. In fact, none of them had talked much at all. They had all sat around the fire, lost in their own thoughts, chewing silently. Rex had told Ahsoka that Fives was the commander of the 196^th, to which she had briefly looked shocked before schooling her features again. But other than Cody and Obi-Wan updating them on the newest structure of the 7^th Sky Corps, they were silent. Pensive and quiet.

“Did you open the temple?” Cody asked. Obi-Wan sighed again and dropped his hands.

“No. We think we need a third person,” Obi-Wan said wearily. He took another drink of tea, long and deep.

Cody frowned. “Who?”

Obi-Wan’s face twisted into mingled apprehension and irritation, and Cody knew what he was going to say. “Anakin is coming. Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?”

Obi-Wan nodded, and Cody bit back the irritation that flashed through him. Rex and Ahsoka could have warned them. It had been twelve years since Obi-Wan and Anakin had seen each other, and their parting had been far from friendly.

“How do you feel about it?” Cody asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. No matter his feelings for Anakin—and they had not been favorable since the first time he mispronounced Cody’s name—he was still Obi-Wan’s former padawan, his brother in all but blood. And Cody would never let Obi-Wan see how much he disliked someone who Obi-Wan so clearly loved.

“I’m not sure how to feel,” Obi-Wan answered, his voice soft. “It will be good to see Anakin again. But I fear there is too much time and distance and… unpleasantness between us. I’m not sure what I’m going to say to him when I see him.”

“I had worried about the same thing with Rex,” Cody said.

“I remember,” Obi-Wan smirked. “I suppose I could just punch Anakin in the face and then we’d make up like nothing happened.”

Cody chuckled. “While I agree he might deserve a swift jab in the nose, something tells me he wouldn’t react quite like Rex.”

Obi-Wan laughed softly and took another drink of his tea. Cody studied his face. Time and war had not been kind to Obi-Wan. His hair was going white, the lines around his eyes and on his brow were deep. And yet his face still made Cody’s stomach flip the same way it had all those years ago when he’d had his chip removed and his attraction to Obi-Wan became far deeper than just professional friendliness. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of the tea, and when he exhaled, he let go of all those warm, exciting, dangerous feelings. He could never act on them. He couldn’t even ask Obi-Wan if they were reciprocated. It was best to let them go.

Cody used the fresher and prepared for sleep while Obi-Wan cleaned their mugs, and Cody checked the comm while Obi-Wan used the fresher after him. He hadn’t heard from Naboo yet about Maul. Cody glanced at the bulkhead that separated the main deck from the tiny fresher. Obi-Wan had fought Maul thirty years ago. He had nightmares featuring Maul’s face and voice and cold laugh for years. The only comfort Obi-Wan had was that he was certain Maul was dead. But now Cody wasn’t so sure. Rex had planted that little seed of doubt in his mind. He was right; stranger things had happened where the Force was concerned.

He sat on his bunk in his body glove—the only thing he found comfortable enough to sleep in except his skin—to stretch his hip and knee. He had been feeling better before weeding Rex’s garden and walking all over the town. But now his knee and hip were still swollen and stiff, and he found that once he lay down on the bunk, he couldn’t bend his hip enough to sit up and massage his knee. His grunt of pain and frustration must have been pitiful enough to get Obi-Wan’s attention because he appeared at Cody’s bunk with a concerned frown, a cup of water in his hands. He had taken off his robes and stood in their little bunkroom in only his trousers. Cody froze as his eyes landed on his chest, which was as muscular and scarred as any clone’s.

Obi-Wan didn’t see the dark flush that burned in Cody’s cheeks and ears, thankfully. His attention was on Cody’s hand, which was clutching his hip as he tried to bend it to bring his knee to his chest. He set the water onto the floor, along with the painkiller hyponeedle he had concealed in his palm.

“Do you want me to massage your hip and knee?” Obi-Wan asked. Cody clenched his jaw and pursed his lips. Obi-Wan’s face was earnest, no hint of pity or worry. In fact, he looked almost eager. “I can help with the pain. With the Force.”

“A mind trick?” Cody asked warily.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I can reduce the swelling,” he explained. “It’s about all the healing I was ever good at, honestly.”

Cody chuckled, but it turned into a groan as pain shot through his leg. Obi-Wan frowned at him but made no move to touch him or offer to help again unless Cody asked for it. He didn’t particularly need Obi-Wan’s help. He could take the painkiller and be able to move his leg without pain once it hit his bloodstream. But Obi-Wan’s eyes were bright with the opportunity to use the Force again. Cody knew that even if he didn’t need Obi-Wan’s help, Obi-Wan needed to help. Cody smiled softly and nodded, and Obi-Wan returned his smile.

Obi-Wan sat at Cody’s knees with his back to the bulkhead and Cody’s legs in his lap. The warmth of his body pressing against his left knee was soothing, but nothing compared to the smooth warmth that flowed from Obi-Wan’s hands as he glided them over Cody’s knee. He could feel his muscles relaxing, unclenching. His swollen skin stopped throbbing against the fabric of his body glove. Obi-Wan pressed his fingers into Cody’s muscles, and Cody let out a groan that was far too close to filthy. Obi-Wan chuckled as Cody bit on his knuckle, his face burning with mortification.

Obi-Wan massaged Cody's knee and hip and thigh, sliding his hands up to his hip and then back down to his knee, that warm, relaxing sensation seeping into his muscles all the way to his bones. Cody breathed deeply as his muscles relaxed and the pain receded. And once his leg was no longer throbbing with pain, he became acutely aware of the placement of Obi-Wan’s hands: his palms flat against his thigh, his fingers pressing into his flesh, that deep, warm sensation spreading through his muscles and skin, over his abdomen and between his hips. Cody could feel his heartbeat in his groin. His cheeks blazed with heat. He couldn’t stop the image that formed in his mind, of Obi-Wan’s hand sliding further, just a few inches further, over the slowly forming bulge in his body glove, cupping him, caressing him, stroking him. He placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s as it slid from his hip over the tense muscles at the top of his thigh to stop him before the trail of his thoughts became visible. Obi-Wan’s eyes met his. Concern and surprise and gentle affection mingled on his face.

“I should let you sleep,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Cody wanted to ask him to stay. He wanted to lace their fingers together and pull him into his arms. He wanted Obi-Wan to curl up in his bunk with him like they had done a hundred times before while flying through space between battles. He wanted to feel Obi-Wan's chest press against his back, wanted his hands to glide over more than just his hip and knee. He wanted to pull Obi-Wan close and show him exactly how he felt.

But he couldn’t.

Obi-Wan returned to his own bunk, turning out the light. The red emergency lighting on the floor glowed beneath their bunks, filling the room with an eerie, dim glow. He could just barely see the light reflected in Obi-Wan’s eyes as he lay down.

“Thank you,” Cody said, pouring as much emotion and affection into the words as he could.

“Anytime, Cody.”

He wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but as he drifted into sleep he could have sworn he felt a rush of affection wash over him that didn’t quite feel like his own. He knew that so long as they had each other, in whatever way they could ever be for each other, everything would be alright.

Four months before the anniversary
Contested space, Outer Rim

Kyl Oa stepped into the aft bridge and quickly closed the hatch, plunging the room back into darkness. He swept his eyes across the room. The only light was the glow of starlight from the viewport, and it softly illuminated the hard surfaces of the holoprojection table, darkened comm consoles, and the silhouette of his master. Kyl let his other senses expand, in the way his master had taught him, and sensed no one else in the room. Excitement and anxiety surged through his chest. An audience alone with his master meant a lesson, a mission, or punishment. Kyl’s mind raced, thinking back to anything he might have done to upset his master. But there was nothing. He was a good apprentice.

“You asked to see me?” Kyl asked quietly.

“The time is very near,” his master said, seemingly to himself. “The Force is awakening in our adversaries. We must strike before they gain more power.”

“What do you require of me?”

“One of my spies thinks he has located one of the assets in Raxulon. The girl. I want you to confirm his claim.”

Kyl pursed his lips. An impossible task. There were over twenty million people living in Raxulon’s city center, another billion at least in the greater metropolitan area.

“How will I find her?” Kyl asked, keeping his voice neutral and trying not to let his frustration bleed into the Force. His master might not be able to feel the Force in full, but he could always feel Kyl’s emotions.

“I will give you the location, but you must… persuade her to reveal herself,” his master said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but Kyl could hear every word as if they were branding themselves onto his ears.

“How?”

“She has been raised by Jedi, and has therefore been taught to only use her power for selfless purposes,” his master explained. He began to pace in front of the viewport and his metal feet clicked softly against the durasteel floor. “She will be compelled to use the Force to save others, when they are placed in grave danger.”

“I understand,” Kyl said, a plan forming in his mind.

“If you find her, you will capture her—alive—and bring her to me.”

Kyl bowed low as his master turned to face him. He could feel his master’s eyes burning into him. This was an important mission. Kyl was lucky to be chosen to complete it.

“I will not fail you, Lord Maul.”

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Orbital space above an unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Hyperspace dissolved into star streaks, which collapsed into pinpricks of light across the inky black expanse of space stretched across the viewport. Anakin reached up to the overhead control board and flipped the switch that moved power from the hyperdrive engines to the sub-light engines, noting the slight tremble in his fingers.

“Gas giant to port side,” Luke said, the barest hint of curiosity in his voice as he read the scan report on the co-pilot dash in front of him. “Inhabitable moon to port, too. Eighty degrees.”

Anakin nodded, his voice caught somewhere in his throat, where his heart pounded uncomfortably. He turned their starship eighty degrees to port and a little orb of blue and green and swirling white sat in front of a massive purple and blue gas giant against a backdrop of stars.

Luke muttered, “Wizard,” under his breath appreciatively. Anakin glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Obi-Wan had probably thought the blue and purple gas giant was “wizard,” too. He probably hummed and stroked his beard, unable to resist staring at the planet in unabashed awe for a moment. He always appreciated interesting planets and had taken his sweet time approaching them. He claimed it was to savor the mystery of what the planet held for them. Anakin had always been sure it was because he knew approaching a planet slowly made Anakin want to vibrate out of his skin with anticipation.

Today, Anakin approached the little blue and green moon, Ahsoka’s moon, slowly. Not because he was appreciating its beauty or savoring a mystery, but because with every second his blood turned sluggish and his heart thumped harder and clammy sweat gathered on his brow and in his palms. The closer they got to Ahsoka’s home, the closer he got to his former master, and the closer he was to facing the incident that had changed his life, and the twelve years of expatriation and silence that had followed.

“Dad?”

Anakin turned toward Luke, who was frowning at him. He felt his throat tighten. Luke could probably feel his anxiety in the Force. Normally, he could control his emotions. He had spent the last fourteen years mastering them, using meditation and long talks with Padmé to help soothe his anger and anxiety. But his normal meditation hadn’t been enough on this trip, and he hadn’t been able to talk to Padmé for more than a few minutes at a time during their flight.

“Are you feeling okay?” Luke asked. His brow creased, and his fingers tightened on the arms of his chair.

“I’m fine,” Anakin lied. He took a deep breath and focused on the feel of the yoke beneath his fingers and the dry, recycled air on his tongue. Luke shifted uncomfortably. When Anakin leaned into their Bond, Luke’s mind was tumultuous. “Are you feeling okay?” Anakin asked.

“I have a… bad feeling” Luke said slowly, his frown deepening. “Not about going to see Ahsoka and Rex, but…” Luke let out a short, terse sigh. “I don’t know how to describe it. I feel like something bad is going to happen. But anytime I try to focus on the feeling, it goes away.”

Anakin slowed the ship to a stop and turned to face Luke, who was frowning at the viewport. His blue eyes were far away, and his hands were tight around the arms of his seat.

“When have you felt this… bad feeling?” Anakin asked.

“Before our mission to Sesid,” Luke said, “and again when we dropped Leia off at school, and again just now.”

“Could it be nerves?” Anakin asked. Anakin had also felt a bad feeling in the Force during those times, but he had passed the fleeting feeling off when nothing concrete came from his exploration into them.

Luke sighed and slumped into his chair, his long and gangly arms hanging over the armrests awkwardly. “I guess. I was worried about the mission on Sesid. And I’m not sure what to expect from this.” He gestured at the moon in the viewport. “And I guess I was worried about dropping off Leia at school, too.”

Anakin chuckled. “Worried about your sister? That’s a new one.”

“Don’t tell her,” Luke groaned, grinning at him. His grin faded and he looked back out the viewport. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing. Just a bad feeling about nothing.”

“Don’t discount your feelings, Luke,” Anakin said, frowning at him. “Listen to them. Calm your mind and let the Force guide you.”

Luke closed his eyes and Anakin took a few deep breaths with him. He let the Force flow through him and around him, expanding his mind to reach out and flow with the Force. He felt nothing but nervous excitement. He opened his eyes and Luke shrugged.

“I don’t know. The feeling’s gone,” he said.

“Let me know if you feel it again.”

Luke nodded and smiled at him. As he got older, he was beginning to look more and more like Anakin. But that smile was all Padmé. Anakin squeezed Luke’s shoulder, sending a wave of affection toward him in the Force, and turned back to the moon in the viewport ahead of them with a sigh.

“Remember not to tell Master Obi-Wan or Cody about the colony or anyone in it,” Anakin said.

“I remember,” Luke answered. The anxiety that had been in his voice earlier had already slid away, and annoyance emerged in its place.

“And while we’re here I expect you to keep up with your studies and help out with chores.”

“I thought this was a vacation,” Luke said, whining a little. Anakin angled the ship as they entered the atmosphere and frowned.

“It’s not a vacation. We’re guests in Rex and Ahsoka’s home,” Anakin said firmly.

Luke huffed and grumbled “okay” under his breath. Anakin pursed his lips and sighed as he turned the ship toward the coordinates for Ahsoka’s home once they broke through the upper atmosphere. Some moments Luke was far more mature than his fourteen years, and sometimes Anakin was reminded that he was still a kid who needed a firm guiding hand. His arguments with Luke and Leia were not so different from the arguments he used to have with Obi-Wan when he was young.

Nerves clenched his chest again, especially as they approached the clearing and he saw not only Ahsoka and Rex’s T-6, but another ship he could only guess was Obi-Wan’s. Luke glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Twelve years. It had been twelve years since he and Obi-Wan had seen each other. Anakin didn’t like what had happened that forced him to gather up his family and leave, but he never regretted leaving. It had been a choice between the Jedi Order—the people who had freed him from slavery and raised him—and his family. And Anakin chose his family. If posed with the same question now, Anakin would choose Padmé and the twins every time over the Jedi Order. He just wished it hadn’t come at the cost of one of his oldest and closest friendships.

Anakin took a deep breath to calm the trembling of his hands as he landed the ship in the courtyard. Ahsoka was already standing in the northern part of the clearing, where he could see a small cottage through the line of trees. Rex approached her side as he and Luke completed the post-flight check, still pulling a blue shirt over his tattooed chest. Anakin scanned the clearing, his heart pounding in his throat, but he didn’t see Obi-Wan or Cody.

Ahsoka and Rex greeted them at the bottom of the ramp with wide, familiar grins and warm embraces. Anakin looked around at the clearing with one arm still around Rex’s shoulders. There was a full garden, a little wooden cottage in the shade of the trees, a fire pit with four chairs and a metal grill, and the old T-6 starship Ahsoka and Rex had taken from the Jedi Temple ten years ago. It was all exactly as Rex had described. Peaceful, serene, tranquil. The Force thrummed all around him, and he breathed in its light and energy.

“It’s beautiful, Rex,” Anakin said, squeezing Rex’s shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.” Rex scoffed and rolled his eyes as Anakin chuckled.

“Dad,” Luke said quietly. Anakin looked to see his son step out of Ahsoka’s embrace, his face turned toward Obi-Wan’s ship. When Anakin followed his gaze, his eyes landed on a familiar figure he had not seen in twelve years. Obi-Wan.

From afar, Obi-Wan looked exactly like Anakin remembered. His hair gleamed copper in the morning sunlight. His beard was neatly trimmed. His blue eyes were bright. Cody, who was descending the ramp behind Obi-Wan, looked the same as Anakin remembered, except for the gray sparkling at his temples and the soft civilian clothes he wore instead of his armor.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said from the bottom of the ramp, his voice a mingle of surprise and apprehension.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, the same apprehension in his own voice. He was worried about what Obi-Wan might say once he reached them. Whether Obi-Wan was still angry from the fight they’d had twelve years ago, or if time and distance between them had cooled the anger in Obi-Wan as it had cooled in Anakin. But a small smile pulled at the corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth, while a nervous frown had settled on his brow and in his eyes. “It’s… It’s good to see you,” Anakin said.

And it was the truth. He hadn’t realized until he saw Obi-Wan’s face just how much he had missed his old master. Warmth flooded his body. Pleasant memories of his time as Obi-Wan’s apprentice swirled in his mind. He reached out in the Force, looking for Obi-Wan’s familiar Force Signature, wondering how he would react if he felt that it was as muted as Ahsoka’s had been the past eight years. But Obi-Wan’s Signature was as bright and strong as he ever remembered it.

“It’s been a long time, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m glad to see you alive.”

“It’s been too long,” Anakin said softly.

Obi-Wan stopped in front of Anakin and timidly reached out to squeeze his shoulder. They stared at each other, studying each other’s faces silently. There were silvery white hairs streaked through Obi-Wan’s beard and at his temples. The lines around his eyes and mouth and between his brows were deeper, noticeable as his smile slid into a nervous frown. The pleasant memories soured. The tension in the air around them was palpable. Cody, who had never particularly liked Anakin, shifted his stance, his dark eyes flicking between them.

Anakin felt a slight nudge in the Force from next to him, and he tore his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s face to see Luke looking at him expectantly. Anakin blinked and took a deep breath. Obi-Wan’s hand slid off his shoulder as everyone’s attention turned to Luke.

“You remember my son, Luke,” Anakin said, placing his hand on Luke’s shoulder, not dissimilar to the way Obi-Wan had placed his hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

“Luke? Really?” Obi-Wan said. Both his and Cody’s eyebrows rose in near-identical expressions of surprise.

“Luke, this is my former Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan extended his hand for Luke to shake.

Luke grinned and gave a polite “hello” in greeting. Obi-Wan’s surprise softened.

“You look just like your father did at your age,” Obi-Wan mused. “But that smile is all Padmé.” Luke glanced at Anakin, a faint blush rising high on his cheeks.

“And this is Marshal Commander Cody,” Anakin continued.

“Well met, Cody,” Luke said as he held out his hand, a traditional clone greeting.

Cody’s eyebrows raised further, and an amused smile spread on his lips as he shook Luke’s hand and replied, “Well met, Luke.” He glanced at Obi-Wan, and then at Rex, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You didn’t bring Padmé with you?” Ahsoka asked, disappointment tinging her voice.

“She had to stay in Raxulon,” Anakin shrugged. “Work emergency.”

Ahsoka and Rex nodded in understanding, but Obi-Wan asked, “What work does she do in Raxulon?”

Anakin gritted his teeth to keep from cringing. Everything had been going so well. The galactic civil war had fallen away when they landed. The years of fighting had vanished when he saw Obi-Wan’s face. He had forgotten that, while he and Padmé and the twins had been living in safety on Lianna and Raxus, Obi-Wan and Cody had been fighting a terrible and bloody war against the government for whom they both worked.

“She’s, uh, she’s a politician,” Anakin said sheepishly.

“She’s the Representative of Lianna in the People’s House,” Luke explained. Anakin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He should have told Luke not to mention that Padmé worked in the CIS government. But the truth was out, and there was nothing Anakin could do.

“So, you’re Separatists, now?” Cody asked lowly, incredulously.

“We’re not—” He sighed tersely. He wanted to say they weren’t Separatists. He could never be a Separatist. But the truth was that they lived on a planet that had joined the CIS, Padmé was a representative in the CIS legislature, and they enjoyed all the privileges that position afforded them. He sighed and ran his mechanical hand through his hair, thinking about how best to respond. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were raised expectantly. Cody’s frown was sliding into a dangerous snarl.

“We live on Lianna,” Anakin began, deciding the truth was better than obfuscation. “Padmé has family there, and it was a neutral system until about nine years ago. There’s a surprisingly large reunification movement there now, however, and Padmé was voted into office on that platform. She works in the CIS legislature to continue the work she started in the Republic. Ending corruption and tyranny, reunifying the Republic, and ending slavery in the Galaxy.”

Obi-Wan seemed satisfied with Anakin’s answer, but Cody’s face remained hard as his dark eyes flicked to Rex. “You knew about this?” he growled.

Rex’s expression was impassive as he answered, “How do you think we get intel on the clone POWs? It’s all through Padmé.”

“And we’ll miss her presence,” Ahsoka said. Her voice, aided perhaps by a little influence in the Force, smoothed out the sharp edges of the conversation before it could build into an argument. “But I asked the two of you to come here to help me open the Temple, and maybe figure out what’s going on with the Force, not debate politics.”

“Very well,” Obi-Wan said with a small nod. Cody pursed his lips, his dark eyes still locked on Rex.

“C’mon, Skyguy, I’ll give you a tour,” Rex smirked, seemingly oblivious to Cody’s anger. Anakin nodded and gestured for Rex to lead the way. His eyes caught Obi-Wan’s as he turned. Obi-Wan stroked his beard and gave Anakin a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, nor dissolve the concerned frown on his brow. Anxiety clenched in Anakin’s gut again. Their initial greeting had gone a lot better than Anakin had expected, but there was still time for everything to fall apart.

After a tour of the garden and tiny cottage, they all sat in the clearing in the warm sunlight to eat midmeal. Anakin cradled a mug of spiced tea between his palms and peeked over Luke’s shoulder at his datapad. He had one of his schoolbooks pulled up, a dryly written history of the Galaxy. He wasn’t surprised that Luke was ignoring it in favor of Obi-Wan’s story about waking up from a nightmare to find he had reconnected with the Force. They had both been surprised to find out that Ahsoka was not the only Jedi in the Galaxy to have lost her connection.

“The voice was Darth Maul’s?” Anakin asked.

“Yes, I think because he is the Sith I feared the most, a representation of the Dark Side,” Obi-Wan explained, stroking his beard. “Perhaps because of my returned connection to the Force, my subconscious mind pulled from my deepest fears of the Force.”

“I don’t know,” Ahsoka said, frowning. “It stills feels like too much of a coincidence that you would have a nightmare with Maul’s voice telling you to ‘be ready for the end’ and then wake up with a connection to the Force.”

“We’ve already established that it was a nightmare, nothing more,” Obi-Wan said, a little tersely. “And Maul is dead. Has been dead for thirty years.”

Anakin felt a small flicker of nervousness from Rex, and he saw Rex and Cody exchange surreptitious looks. He would have to ask about that later. But Obi-Wan was right. Maul was dead. Obi-Wan had killed him on Naboo thirty years ago.

“And you hadn’t felt the Force at all until yesterday morning?” Anakin asked.

“Not for eight years, no,” Obi-Wan answered. Luke made a small, pitying noise.

“What about the other Jedi? Did they lose their connections, too?” Anakin asked.

“There are few Jedi who will admit it out loud, but yes, I think all Jedi lost their ability to connect with the Force,” Obi-Wan said miserably. “There are very few younglings and initiates in the creche, almost none found within the past eight years. Jedi are dying more frequently in battle. The Council has not recognized our lost connection at all and haven’t considered researching what happened.”

Anakin snorted. “I’m not surprised the Council won’t admit their lost connection,” he said darkly. He remembered the short time that he had been placed on the Jedi Council at the request of Chancellor Palpatine. Those few months only affirmed his growing discontent with the Jedi Council, their “wisdom,” and their priorities. He was exposed to their lies, their extremism, their hypocrisy, and his time on the Council nearly drove him directly into Palpatine’s trap—had driven him into Palpatine’s trap. He shuddered to think of the horrible things he would have done in those desperate hours to save Palpatine. He truly believed that the Sith Lord was the only one who could, and would, save Padmé. But despite the things he may have done to save Palpatine from execution at Windu’s hands, Commander Fox shot first. And, in hindsight, that was probably for the best.

“Why would they deny it?” Luke asked.

“They have too much power,” Anakin answered, feeling his lingering anger toward the Council bubbling to the surface. “Admitting they lost connection to the Force, to the very thing that make them Jedi, would take away that power.”

“The Republic relies on the Jedi for strength,” Obi-Wan argued gently. “It has nothing to do with power.”

Irritation burned at the back of Anakin’s throat. “It has everything to do with power,” he snarled. “Power and control. It always has been. And anyone they can’t control, they eliminate.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, his back tense. Anger rolled off Anakin in waves. Again, the tension between them was palpable. Cody shifted and tensed next to Obi-Wan.

“No one wanted to eliminate you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said coolly. “But there’s a reason that attachments are forbidden, and you proved it that night.”

“You tried to take Luke and Leia,” Anakin growled through gritted teeth. Luke flinched next to him. Anakin and Padmé had told him part of the story. They had told Luke and Leia that they had fled the Republic to escape the Jedi Order’s insistence that the twins be raised in the Temple, away from their parents. But Anakin and Padmé had never told them it was Obi-Wan who had shown up with the seeker to retrieve them, or what had happened after. “The Order took me away from my mother. I wasn’t about to let them take my kids from theirs.”

“The Jedi have been raising children at the temple, away from the danger of attachment, for millennia. That was no different. It wasn’t personal.”

“And when I refused to hand them over?” Anakin asked, his voice hard. He remembered the cold, indifferent way that Obi-Wan had looked at him, the blue reflection of his lightsaber in the coppery strands of his beard. “That was personal.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, his eyes flitting between Anakin’s as if he, too, was remembering the way they shouted at each other, the heat of their lightsabers crashing, the feel of Anakin’s Force push, or the transparisteel window shattering behind his back. Rage and fear and regret twisted inside Anakin as he remembered Padmé’s screams, the crying of the twins in the next room, his hands nearly slipping on Obi-Wan’s bloodied forearms as he hung limply from the balcony over the Coruscanti traffic.

“I will admit that my reaction was extreme,” Obi-Wan said. His voice cracked with barely contained anger. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he reigned in his emotions. “Given your reaction to Padmé’s distress when she gave birth to the twins, the Council wanted me to be cautious.”

“Cautious? You drew your lightsaber on me, Obi-Wan.”

“And I regret it every day,” Obi-Wan said, opening his eyes.

Anakin blinked at Obi-Wan. He had expected an argument, or a lecture. He had expected his former master to defend his actions, the ways of the Jedi, the fight they’d had twelve years ago. He hadn’t expected empathy. And he certainly hadn’t expected the broken look on Obi-Wan’s face. Anakin swallowed, his chest tight, and shook his head slightly, unsure what to say.

“I don’t regret choosing my family over the Order,” he choked out. His anger had cooled, and in its wake left only confusion.

“And I understand,” Obi-Wan said softly, his shoulders dropping and his fists unfurling, “that it was never a choice we should have forced you to make.”

Anakin studied Obi-Wan’s face, looking for any shred of insincerity or deception. But all he saw was raw regret. Cody relaxed next to Obi-Wan, his expression wary and his shoulders still tense. He rubbed his knee absentmindedly. Ahsoka and Rex relaxed, too, although Anakin hadn’t noticed that they had tensed. He had barely noticed anyone except Obi-Wan. He had let his anger overcome his senses, something he had warned Luke and Leia against their whole lives. Shame washed over him in a wave like a cold sweat and he took a deep breath to re-center himself.

“So, you don’t know why you and Ahsoka lost your connection to the Force?” Luke asked carefully, breaking the silence. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. He scrubbed a hand over his face before looking at Luke wearily.

“No, I don’t,” he said miserably. “A good friend of mine and I speculated once that it was our involvement in the war that caused us to lose our connection. That we had lost our way as Jedi, and in turn lost the ability that made us Jedi at all. But Jedi have fought wars in the past, wars against the Sith, and never lost their connection to the Force.”

“So, there wasn’t anything that happened eight years ago that might have caused it? Nothing special?” Luke pressed, his brow furrowing deeper. Obi-Wan exchanged a questioning look with Cody, who shrugged and shook his head, then turned to Ahsoka who did the same.

“Not that I know of,” Obi-Wan said. Luke slumped where he was sitting on the ground and put his chin in his hand, disappointed. He raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Anakin, who frowned apologetically.

“Neither of you lost your connection?” Obi-Wan asked. Luke shook his head.

“Leia didn’t either,” Anakin said. “We didn’t even know it had happened until Ahsoka told me. And I thought she was the only one until this morning.”

“So why now? Why would you two suddenly be able to connect to the Force now after eight years?” Luke asked, still slouching with his chin in his hand. His datapad had gone to sleep, unused. There was silence as everyone contemplated Luke’s question. Anakin felt discomfort curl tightly in his stomach. They had too many questions and no clue where to start finding answers.

“I think the temple might have the answer,” Ahsoka said. “And now that Anakin is here, I think we’ll finally be able to open it.”

Anakin was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense that what Ahsoka suggested was right. They needed to open the temple. They needed to see what was inside. He reached for the feeling, and the more he dwelled on it, the more urgent the feeling became. They needed to open that temple. The fate of the Galaxy depended on its secrets. Obi-Wan must have felt the same overwhelming urge, because when Anakin looked at his former master, his cheeks were flushed and his jaw was set and there was a sparkle in his eyes, one that Anakin associated with adventure and exploring the unknowns of the Galaxy.

Obi-Wan glanced at Cody, a brief concerned frown interrupting the joy of impending mystery and adventure. Anakin could feel the trust and affection flowing between Obi-Wan and Cody, stronger than it had been in the early days of the war. But there was a hardness to Cody’s emotions, wariness and concern and uncertainty. It felt familiar. The same hardness Anakin felt when he worried about Padmé or the twins’ safety, or when Rex and Ahsoka worried for each other.

He looked between Obi-Wan and Cody and wondered briefly how the war had changed their relationship, and if that relationship had changed the way Obi-Wan viewed the Jedi’s dogma. Obi-Wan had carefully tucked away and avoided his attraction for Cody in the early days of the war. Anakin only recognized it because he knew what it felt like to be bucket over boots for someone he couldn’t have.

Anakin felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Obi-Wan hadn’t apologized for what had happened twelve years ago, but Anakin hoped that over time they would be able to see eye-to-eye again.

Four months before the anniversary
Ancient Jedi Temple entrance, Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Ahsoka stood on the wide, circular stone tile in the center of the riverbank clearing that marked the entrance to the ancient Jedi Temple she had struggled to open for eight years. The curve of the bluff looked natural at first glance, but Ahsoka had long ago determined that this portion of low cliffs had been carved away from the natural riverbank to create the entrance to the temple. The doorway in front of her was sheltered under a natural outcropping of rock in the bluff, supported by rough pillars of the same river rock that surrounded her.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, breathing in peace and breathing out anxiety. She could feel the Force, familiar and comforting and warm. She remembered when she landed on this moon with Rex eight years ago, sat here in this very spot to reach out to the Force and found nothing. Now, the Force flowed through and around her, pulsing and thrumming its approval on her skin and in her veins. This was where she was meant to be. She had all the pieces, and now she needed to make them fit.

To her left, Anakin laughed and Obi-Wan scoffed. She smiled as she reached out and felt no animosity between them. Not now. Earlier, when they were eating midmeal in the clearing, Ahsoka had been terrified that her decision to reunite Master Obi-Wan with his first apprentice would end in disaster. Their anger and rage were tangible. She was genuinely concerned for a moment that their argument might become physical, and she would have to separate them and insist that one or both of them go home. She would find another way to open the temple if that had happened. That, or resign herself to never being able to open it.

But they had not fought. No more than some harsh words and tense silence had passed between them. And while neither apologized, they seemed to have fallen into a comfortable camaraderie as the afternoon carried on. She hoped the truce would last long enough to open the temple and discover what to do next.

“Okay, so the temple is ancient,” Anakin said as they walked toward Ahsoka at the center of the clearing. “Remind me why that matters?”

“Because it needed to be built before the schism between Jedi and Sith. When Force-wielders used Balance,” Ahsoka explained.

“But that… That was millennia ago,” Anakin said, shaking his head.

“Five millennia,” Obi-Wan added.

“Right. There’s no way any temple could have survived that long.”

“I believe this temple used to be one of the great temples of the Jedi before the schism,” Ahsoka explained. She had meditated for days, researched for weeks, and searched for months for this place. She was sure this was the Temple of Balance. Or, if there had been several like it five thousand years ago, they had all been lost or converted after the schism. “This planet is a wellspring of the Force, and it has been preserved by the Force for millennia, even after it was forgotten by time.”

“Again, Snips, remind me why that matters?”

Ahsoka frowned at him, and he crossed his arms, challenging her like he used to do when they were young. Obi-Wan may have been her master, but she learned a lot about courage and confidence and assertiveness from Anakin.

“The Force has been calling for me to learn Balance for over a decade,” Ahsoka said. She gestured at the temple, and Anakin raised one eyebrow. “There’s something in that temple, some kind of wisdom or vision or… or prophecy that I can take back to the Jedi Order and restore Balance. And only by restoring Balance can we save the Jedi, and maybe the Galaxy.”

“A prophecy?” Anakin asked skeptically.

Ahsoka scoffed and rolled her eyes. She heard Obi-Wan chuckle as he circled the center stone behind her. “I don’t know, Anakin. Maybe it’s a talking blurrg,” she drawled. “Whatever is in that Temple, I need to see it.”

“And what if there’s nothing in the Temple?” Anakin asked. Ahsoka gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. He didn’t understand. Something was in the temple, and Ahsoka desperately needed to find out what.

“Then nothing is what I need to see,” Ahsoka said through gritted teeth. She let out a short sigh and unclenched her fists. Anakin wasn’t trying to antagonize her. Well, maybe a little. But he was trying to help. She had placed all her faith in this five-thousand-year-old temple, and there very well could be nothing inside. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and centering her mind again. “Will you help me, or not?” she asked calmly.

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, who shrugged and gave him a look that said, “It’s up to you.” Ahsoka knew Obi-Wan would help her. He always had. Even when they disagreed, he was always her biggest supporter.

Anakin heaved a massive, overly dramatic sigh. “Alright, Snips,” he groaned. “What do I need to do?”

Ahsoka grinned, almost giddy with glee. She explained her theory to them, that three people were necessary to open the temple. One using the Light, one using the Dark, and the other using Balance. She pointed to the carvings on the stone tile beneath their feet and the three symbols at the angles of the triangle as she explained. Obi-Wan stroked his beard and frowned, and Anakin continued to look skeptical.

“So, Master, you’ll sit here, and use the Light,” Ahsoka said, pointing to the carving of the sun that Obi-Wan had sat on during their last two attempts to open the Temple, “and Anakin, you’ll sit here at the apex and use Balance, and I—”

“How do you know how to use Balance?” Obi-Wan interrupted, staring at Anakin with a bewildered frown.

“According to Ahsoka, I always have,” Anakin said nonchalantly, shrugging.

“And how, may I ask, do you do that?”

“By pulling from the Force within as well as without.”

“Anakin, I specifically taught you not to do that!” Obi-Wan’s face flushed with anger, his expression still incredulous.

“Clearly, I didn’t listen!” Anakin said, crossing his arms. Obi-Wan gaped at him. “Besides, it’s the only way I can draw on the Force. It’s the most natural way. And it’s how I taught Luke and Leia as well.” Obi-Wan sighed and closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face, but did not respond.

“Does everyone understand what they’re doing, then?” Ahsoka asked, feeling a little weary. She loved Obi-Wan and Anakin, loved them like they were her own family, but having them together again reminded her of why she always preferred the company of clones when they ran missions together during the war. Clones had far less discourse.

“Wait, if I’m using Balance, does that mean you’re using the Dark?” Anakin asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Yes,” Ahsoka sighed, settling on the ground at her position of the triangle while Obi-Wan and Anakin continued to stand over her.

“Why do you get to use the Dark?”

“’Get to’?” Obi-Wan asked, appalled.

“It’s the most fun,” Anakin shrugged, flashing Obi-Wan a wicked grin. Ahsoka wished she could punch them both. She took a deep breath, teeth gritted, before answering Anakin’s question.

“I’m the only one here trained to use the Dark without Falling,” she said. Her voice shook with barely concealed anger and annoyance. Anakin looked like he was about to protest, but Ahsoka raised her eyebrows at him, challenging him. He sighed and nodded, conceding to her point.

“Will you be okay, using the Dark?” Obi-Wan asked softly.

“I’ll be fine, Master,” Ahsoka said. When she looked at him and saw the concern on his face she softened. “Really, I’ll be okay. I’ve done this before.”

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably as Anakin sat on the ground, watching their exchange with quiet curiosity. Finally Obi-Wan gave her a short nod, his lips pursed and his eyes concerned and maybe a little sad, and he sat on his spot on the triangle. Anakin made eye contact with Ahsoka, a flash of protective concern reaching her through the Force from him. The gravel crunched underneath him as he swiveled to face the temple. Ahsoka closed her eyes and took a deep breath to cast out the concern and doubt she felt, lingering emotions from both Obi-Wan and Anakin, and reached within for the Force.

Fear was easy to reach inside her mind. Having Obi-Wan and Anakin here, at her home, together, made her skin itch with anxiety. But she didn’t want to sink into her fears. Not now. She wanted a different emotion to breach the door. And so she breathed away her fear as she had been taught to do since she was a little girl, and instead reached for her love and attachments. Her undying need to protect and care for the ones she loved. Her desperate drive for more power to fulfill that need. She let it fill her up, the love she felt for Rex, for Obi-Wan and Anakin, for Cody and Luke and Padmé and Leia and all the clones and Jedi she had ever known and loved like her own family. The emotion was bright. A shining beacon of light filling up the dark corners of her mind. She pulled on the Force from within her as it flowed through her body, through her heart. She focused on her love and attachment and used it to draw on the Force from within.

Around her, she could feel Obi-Wan and Anakin reaching for the Force as well. Obi-Wan reached out, his steady Force Signature bright and pure and emotionless. It was the Force from without, and he was merely it’s conduit. She could feel the way he let the Force swirl around him and through him without guiding it. He merely reached out to see what the Force wanted him to see. While Ahsoka, through her emotions, pulled the Force within her and controlled it. The Force was hers to command. And through the raw and powerful emotions that she let fill her entire body, she could harness the power of the Force and make the Galaxy bend to her will.

When Anakin joined their meditation, the Light and Dark entwined, pulled together by the easy Balance that Anakin used as he reached both within and without. The Force flowed through Ahsoka, around Obi-Wan, and swirled around and within Anakin before flowing through her again like a current in an ocean. In the current, three heartbeats synched as one. Three minds travelled along the current and merged. Three Signatures entwined and braided into an unbreakable cord of light and dark and Balance. It was all at once too much and not enough. She craved to feel the balance they created. She wanted it to take over her mind and body so that she could become truly, wholly one with the Force.

They sat, testing the current of the Force between them for an unknowable amount of time. And then, the Force itself whispered to them all: open the temple. It was not a physical voice, it came from no corporeal being. Ahsoka wasn’t sure the command was said in words or if it was a gentle nudge and her mind interpreted it on its own. But she knew she needed to obey. They had all the pieces. The time was right. They needed only to open the door.

Ahsoka reached deep for her power from within. She pulled the Force into her body, into her mind. She let it fill her up, let the raw energy spark along her skin and between her fingers like lightning. Beside her she could feel Obi-Wan reaching further out, his Signature bright and calm, his mind serene and untroubled. And at the apex of the triangle, like a leader in a battlefield, Anakin pulled their consciousnesses forward and touched the door.

Excitement and fear and longing roared in Ahsoka’s head and heart. She had waited so long for this moment. She wanted control. She wanted to pull the door within her and draw it under her skin and crack it open to peer inside. Her lungs burned from the effort. She could feel pain in her palms and electricity arcing between her montrals. She tried to pull the Force within her, tried to strike out and draw the door in.

When she unleashed the Force from her chest, letting her desire lash out toward the door, it was absorbed into the current that flowed between her, Anakin, and Obi-Wan. Serenity cooled her rage. Patience tempered her passion. She breathed in Obi-Wan’s peace and control, and let her emotions be balanced in the current flowing between them. And again Anakin led their collective consciousness forward.

When their minds touched the door, Ahsoka was not met with cold, unyielding stone. Instead, the stone was solid and warm, and it only took the slightest push from their minds as one to open it.

She was wrenched from the current of the Force that flowed between them as the cliff face erupted with blinding white light. Ahsoka opened her eyes, already on her feet preparing to run from an explosion. But even as she stepped away toward the river, the light dimmed, and she faced the temple entrance. Carved runes and symbols in the cliff side glowed, stark white against the stone. There were more symbols and words that stretched the entire height and length of the cliff face that had been eroded by time, exposed now in the brilliant light. Ahsoka gaped unabashedly. It was glorious. The light shimmered, and she realized that it was not pure white light, but instead refracted into tiny rainbows that shifted and gleamed in the sunlight.

She turned her eyes to the center of the cliffs, where the rough outcropping and pillars glowed and glittered with multicolored light. And below the eroded stone, surrounded by dazzling sparkling light, was a darkened doorway.

Ahsoka nearly fell to her knees as joy and relief surged through her body. After eight years—or maybe thousands of years—the Temple door was open.

Four months before the anniversary
T-9 ship, Unnamed moon, outer rim

“Relax, will you? No one is replacing you.”

R9 whirred and beeped, whining. Rex had no idea droids could be so emotionally temperamental. Anakin claimed it was the result of years without a memory wipe; their circuits formed a personality and it was usually about as emotionally mature as a natborn child.

“It’s an update, R9. You haven’t had one in ten years,” Rex explained wearily.

R9 made a low blap blap in disagreement that he needed an update at all.

“What if there are new Hyperspace routes?” Rex asked him. Force, he couldn’t believe he was arguing with a karking droid. “What if we’ve been taking the long way ‘round because you haven’t had an update in ten years?”

R9 paused to consider that point. He whistled an affirmative and extended his scomp link to download the update from the the T-9’s holoconsole. Rex rolled his eyes and patted the droid’s dome fondly. R9 might hate updates, but he hated being wrong more.

Cody had asked for maps of the CIS in exchange for an update to R9, and while Rex wasn’t hesitant to hand over updated maps of CIS worlds, he didn’t want the maps to contain information on the colony. He could help his brothers still fighting in the war and continue to keep his freed brothers from the clutches of the GAR. He copied his modified maps onto a data cylinder and walked to the cockpit, where Cody was showing Luke the flight controls.

“It feels a lot like the T-6,” Luke said as he moved the yoke and studied the controls in front of him.

“It’s eta-class, like the T-6,” Cody explained, “just a newer model.” Cody sat in the co-pilot seat with his arms crossed and slowly extended his leg out in front of him and then bent it again to work out his knee.

“It feels like it was designed by clones,” Luke said, reaching out to toggle a switch that turned on one of the sensor arrays.

“What do you mean by that?” Cody asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Everything necessary is directly within reach. It can be piloted alone or with a squad. It’s… efficient,” Luke explained with a shrug. Cody’s eyebrows raised and his eyes widened as they had done when Luke used the traditional clone greeting earlier. He sat back in his chair and watched Luke. Rex could see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

“How do you know so much about clones?” Cody asked nonchalantly. Rex’s heart skipped a beat. Cody’s voice was so casual. As much as Luke was used to clones from all the time he spent at the colony, he was not used to clones who knew how to manipulate even Jedi into telling him everything he wanted to hear.

Luke gave Cody a half-shrug as he started to say, “From—”

“From me,” Rex said before Luke could accidentally spill to Cody about the clone colony. Luke and Cody both looked at him, Luke with surprise on his face and Cody with suspicion.

“And you talk a lot about clone culture, do you?” Cody asked Rex, his eyes narrowed again.

“There’s a lot of time to talk when we’re in hyperspace on missions together, yes,” Rex answered truthfully. When Luke and Leia came on scouting missions with Rex and Echo, they did sometimes talk about clone culture, or what it was like during the war. It was a nice way to fill the time when they weren’t training the twins on important skills like hand-to-hand combat and how to slice into any security network in the Galaxy.

“And you’re comfortable telling him what it’s like to be a clone soldier?”

“He’s lived with the war his whole life,” Rex chuckled, “He can handle a little clone culture. The kid was born on a battlefield for Force’s sake.”

Cody stroked his chin and raised an eyebrow at Luke, his suspicious frown almost turning into a fond smile. “I remember,” he said.

“You were there, too?” Luke asked, grinning at Cody.

Cody snorted and nodded as he reached for his datapad. His frown was completely replaced with the fond smile and faraway gleam in his eyes as he said, “I might have a holopic in here somewhere, actually.” But the smile slid away when he thumbed open his ‘pad. “The Nabooian government sent me their security vids from the battle,” Cody explained, glancing at Rex. He tapped on the pad a few times and thumbed through a few pages before glancing briefly up at Rex as he said that he had sent them to him.

Rex opened his own datapad as the message pinged, and he found several holopics and three videos. He opened one of the holopics as Cody grumbled about not being able to find anything quickly in the confusing tangle of GAR archives.

“Not designed by clones?” Luke asked. Rex heard the grin in his voice, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the images Cody had forwarded to him.

Darth Maul, the Sith who had helped attack Naboo nearly thirty years ago, was a Zabrak male with a crown of horns, red and black skin, and intense yellow and red eyes. Sith’s eyes.

Cody laughed and replied to Luke, but Rex had long ago stopped listening. His heart thudded painfully, and he forgot to breathe. Echo had described a third being with Ventress and Savage at the factory where he had nearly died three years ago. Red and black skin, horns protruding from his head like a crown, and those glowing yellow and red eyes. Maul fit Echo’s description exactly.

Rex swallowed hard and sent the three best holopics to Echo, asking if that was the Zabrak male he had seen at that factory. He crossed his arms and tried to return to Luke and Cody’s conversation, but his mind was filled with the images of Maul’s face, Echo’s broken and burned body after his rescue, Fives’ scarred but blessedly alive face on Cody’s holoconsole.

“Is that me?” Luke asked, chuckling. He had Cody’s datapad in his hands and a gleeful expression on his face.

“Yep, and Rex was holding Leia,” Cody said. His voice was soft and fond as he pointed at the figures in the holopicture. Rex looked, but all he could see was Maul’s terrifying face.

“Who are these other clones?” Luke asked. Cody pointed them out, one by one. Kix. Jesse. Hardcase. Fives. Echo.

Rex noticed the way Luke’s fingers tightened on the datapad when Cody said Echo’s name. His own heart leapt into his throat. He swallowed hard and had to take a deep breath as Cody explained, “Hardcase and Echo died some time ago, but Kix, Jesse, and Fives are all still alive. They’re all commanders, now.”

Rex’s datapad beeped with an incoming message and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He opened it up and was reminded that Echo, despite what Cody believed, was not dead. In fact, he had responded to Rex’s message with two words that made his heart drop from where it had lodged itself in his throat all the way into the pit of his stomach.

That's him.

Rex messaged back asking if Echo was sure. If he was absolutely sure that the markings on his face were all the same, that he wasn’t mistaken. Luke commented to Cody that he and Rex looked very young in the holopic, but also very tired. Cody laughed, the sound bright and clear. Rex’s datapad beeped again with Echo’s response.

He killed Fives and tried to kill me. I’ll never forget his face. That’s definitely him.

But Fives wasn’t dead. Fives was alive. Echo was alive.

And, worst of all, so was Maul.

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Hyperspace, Mid Rim

“Time?”

“Thirty seconds, sir.”

“Shields?”

“At maximum, sir.”

“Spread power over all shields until we know what we’re dealing with. Weapons?”

“Laser cannons manned and ready, sir.”

“Turbo lasers ready, sir.”

“Torpedoes on standby, operators report five-second response time.”

“Starfighters?”

“Bombers and starfighters ready, sir.”

“Ten seconds to real space.”

Fives watched from his spot in the aft bridge command deck as Admiral Yularen prepared the Intrepid III to exit Hyperspace in the Hwatte system, which they were tasked with reclaiming from the CIS. Yularen stood on the walkway between the two command pits where clone and natborn naval officers sat at their control panels and sensor monitors. Around him, more clone and natborn troopers and officers shuffled around, reading sensor data and calculating vectors and communicating with the other ships in the fleet and the port bridge. He watched them all from his spot at the holotable, where a map of the landing zones and main targets shimmered in the dim light. Jesse stood next to him, his toe tapping nervously on the durasteel as he silently watched the bridge officers prepare for battle. Their men were ready. As soon as the fleet broke through whatever Seppie blockade was set up around the planet, the 196^th and 332^nd would fly to the surface for ground assault.

When the navigation officer gave Yularen the ten second warning, the elderly Admiral stood up straight, his white hair glowing unnaturally blue from the swirl of hyperspace out of the viewports. Fives blinked a few times. His prosthetic eye wasn't great in dim light. Whites and bright blues always stood out too stark, like a sharp glare against an inky backdrop. It would give him a headache if he stared too long.

“Prepare for real space,” Yularen said crisply, before he dropped the authoritative timbre and added, “And, men, give ‘em hell.”

There was a rumble of “sir, yes sir!” from the naval officers, and with a flash of light and a disorienting stretch of pseudomotion, hyperspace collapsed and the red and brown planet of Hwatte jumped in front of them.

“I’m reading six ships in orbit,” Bite, the sensor officer said.

“Class and weapons status?”

Bite hesitated. Yularen turned his head to look down into the pit where Bite sat. Fives and Jesse turned to look at the pit as well, even though they couldn’t see Bite from their spot in the aft deck.

“Th—three light cruisers, two heavy cruisers, and… and a dreadnought, sir, but—” Bite stopped himself, no doubt biting his lip as his anxieties overcame the confidence he exuded earlier.

“But, what?” Yularen asked crisply.

“They aren’t CIS ships, sir,” Bite answered. “I’m… I’m requesting better data now.”

“Not CIS ships?” Yularen asked, not hiding his bewilderment. “Who the kriff—”

“We’re being hailed, sir,” Deadpan, the comms officer, said from the pit on Yularen’s left.

“Hailed? By who?”

“The ships are corporate, Admiral,” Bite said. He halted, as if someone was speaking into his ear. “Czerka Arms.”

Yularen made a strangled noise and his composure nearly broke. Fives glanced at Jesse, and saw his friend’s helmet turn to look at him as well. The white Republic cog on his faceplate glowed like Yularen’s hair, sharp against the black paint. Fives blinked hard again, trying to get rid of the bright glare. Yularen composed himself as quickly as he had fallen apart, and he clasped his hands behind his back as he ordered Deadpan to open a comm channel.

“Czerka Dreadnaught, this is Admiral Yularen of the Grand Navy of the Republic. You are currently occupying Republic space. Please state your purpose here, or I will be forced to fire upon you.”

The bridge was silent. Everyone held their breath as they waited for a response, their fingers millimeters from their control panels. Fives could hear his heart thudding loudly in his ears.

“Admiral Yularen, your reputation precedes you.” The voice on the other side of the comm was a soft hiss that made Fives’ hair stand on end. Something about the tone was hauntingly familiar. Like a voice from a nightmare he couldn’t quite recall. “My ships are offloading supplies, weapons, and armor. We will not stay long.”

“And you require six fully armed ships to accomplish this task?” the Admiral asked skeptically, gesturing to the pit on his right to someone Fives couldn’t see. The officers and troopers’ hushed voices rose slightly.

“These are dangerous times,” the voice sneered. “I assume, by the fleet of ships you’ve brought along, that you intended to retake this planet from the Confederacy?”

“Your observations are correct,” Yularen said slowly. A navy clone trooper jogged past Jesse and jumped down into the pit to the right of Yularen, datapad in hand. Yularen glanced at the troopers as their voices rose again, but his composure did not break.

“As you can see, the Confederacy is not here,” the voice said. “Whether they plan to attack is unknown. Although I think it would be foolish of them to try now.”

“And why are you here?”

“Prime Minister Xhell requested aid. We are supplying it.”

Yularen turned to Deadpan and gestured for him to mute the comm. In the low light of the bridge, Fives could see the bewildered scowl on Yularen’s aged face.

“What, in the name of the Light, is going on here?” Yularen asked. Two officers stood in the pit to his right, one of them holding out a datapad. His expression was just as bewildered as Yularen's.

“Sir, the Prime Minister of Hwatte is Faleen Diytoo,” the clone with the datapad, whose name Fives couldn’t remember, informed him. Yularen knelt and took the datapad from him, reading it quickly on bended knee as the officer continued to explain. “She informed high command three weeks ago of growing unrest among her people. Two standard rotations ago, we received a distress call from the garrison requesting reinforcements. They reported ships arriving in orbit.”

“Have we heard from her or the garrison since?” Yularen asked.

“No sir.”

“Any connection to Czerka?”

There was a pause, and someone shifted from behind Fives. “No, sir. She’s lived on Hwatte her whole life, and Hwatte has never had a Czerka presence.”

“What about Xhell?” Yularen asked, looking up at the two officers standing in the pit in front of him.

“Diytoo’s Minister of Natural Resources,” the second officer, a natborn named Hiray, informed him.

Yularen groaned as he stood straight again, leaning heavily on his knees. Fives could just barely hear the popping of his joints as he stood. He gestured to Deadpan again, and the comm clicked on.

“Where is Prime Minister Diytoo?” Yularen asked the Czerka ship.

“Dead, I’m afraid,” the voice said coolly and without sympathy.

“And Minister Xhell? Where are they?”

“On my ship, discussing terms. You’re welcome to come and meet him, if you’d like. I’m sure the three of us have much to discuss.”

Deadpan muted the comm again at Yularen’s gesture. Yularen turned to the right, and Bite’s voice rose above the urgent murmuring of the troopers around them.

“This feels like a trap,” Fives said quietly to Jesse while Yularen conversed with his officers. Jesse nodded, but kept his attention forward on Yularen.

“I’m going to send a delegation to your ship to meet you and Prime Minister Xhell,” Yularen said once the comm was unmuted again.

“Excellent,” the Czerka delegate replied. His voice still sent a cold shiver down Fives’ spine.

“May I have your name, so my delegation knows who is receiving them?”

“My name is not important,” the voice said, “But I am the Director of Czerka Arms and you may address me as such.”

Yularen’s frustration was only noticeable by the sudden tightness in his shoulders. His voice continued to be sharp and professional as he said, “Very well, Director. My delegation will arrive on your ship within the hour.”

“I look forward to it, Admiral,” the director said with that smooth hiss of a voice. Fives’ stomach churned. The director’s voice reminded him of the sinking dread before a battle, of the fear that crept up his spine and slid into his belly, and the nightmares that lingered for years afterward.

Yularen turned away from the viewport and his eyes landed on Fives and Jesse. Fives swallowed down the memory of fear and straightened to attention as the admiral approached.

“Are we sure they aren’t CIS in disguise?” Jesse asked. Yularen pursed his lips.

“Their weapons are not primed, and their shields are at standard defensive power,” Yularen said wearily. “But their ships are blockading the planet, and we’d be fools to assume the six ships we can see are the only ones. There may be two or three more behind the planet.”

“Do you think Czerka has seized the planet?” Jesse asked. If he was skeptical or surprised, his voice didn’t betray it.

“Czerka is a corporation and, technically, neutral in the war,” Yularen said, rocking on his feet as he stared at the map still glowing above the holotable.

“If they’re neutral, why didn’t they step aside when we arrived?” Fives asked. “Why are they blockading a planet they have no claim to?”

“That’s what I need the two of you to find out,” Yularen said, looking between Fives and Jesse. “Figure out what happened to the garrison and Minister Diytoo, what deal Czerka is making with this new Minister Xhell, and whether or not we’ll need to fire on Czerka ships to retake the planet.”

“Sir, do you think it’s a good idea for both of us to go?” Fives protested, the very bad feeling that this was a trap clenching his gut. “They might gun us down, or capture and torture us for information once we step foot on that ship. We shouldn’t risk two commanders on one mission.”

“He’s right. I’ll go—”

“Like hell you will,” Fives growled, interrupting Jesse. Jesse turned to look sharply at him. Fives couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine his impressive scowl. “I’ll go alone, Admiral.”

“You will go together,” Yularen said before Jesse could retort. “I need both of your expertise on this. And you’re both old enough and skilled enough to not be killed or captured.” He looked between the two of them again, his elderly face pulled into a tight frown.

“Yes, sir,” Jesse said, his voice again that smooth veneer of emotionless calm. Fives echoed him, feeling like he was choking on his words.

Admiral Yularen dismissed them, and Fives followed Jesse through the hatch and into the lift that would take them to the hangar. Jesse pulled off his helmet when the lift doors closed behind them, and the scowl he threw at Fives was, indeed, impressive.

“Jesse—”

“Don’t undermine me again in front of Yularen,” Jesse snarled, interrupting the complaint Fives was about to make.

“You know it’s stupid to send both of us on this mission,” Fives argued. “And you’re more important than me. If anyone should go alone, it should be me.”

“I wasn’t going to go alone, Fives. I was going to take Tup. I already commed him when Yularen was talking to that Czerka jerk.”

It took all of Fives’ willpower not to giggle at the phrase “Czerka jerk,” but he managed to keep a straight face as he explained, “I don’t think you should go at all, is what I’m saying. You’re more valuable than me.”

“That’s not even remotely true,” Jesse said, shaking his head. Fives was about to argue, about to explain why he was more valuable, but Jesse put a hand on Fives’ shoulder and sighed wearily. When Fives looked at him, he could see all of Jesse’s thirty years of life etched into the deep lines on his face. Fives’ chest tightened, and he swallowed hard against the rising guilt. No matter how much he thought he was protecting Jesse, he shouldn’t have argued with him in front of a natborn officer.

“Yularen is a prick,” Fives said thickly.

“Yularen has always been a condescending prick,” Jesse agreed. “But he has a point. We’ve been in this war for almost twenty years, we’re clever enough not to get killed or captured.”

Fives snorted softly and turned away. “I thought the same thing about Echo,” he said quietly. Jesse was silent, but the hand on his shoulder slid to grip the back of his neck firmly, and Fives leaned into the comforting touch.

Tup was waiting for them by the lifts, his hair pulled up into its signature bun. The little scars around his nose and eyes dimpled as he frowned when he saw Fives climb out of the lift after Jesse. Fives gave him a wide grin and clapped his hand on his black-painted pauldron.

“What the kark are you doing here?” Tup asked.

“Didn’t you hear? At twenty-eight, I am finally old enough not to fall into some Czerka jerk’s trap,” Fives joked. Tup’s frown twisted into bewilderment as he turned to Jesse.

“Fives and I are both going,” Jesse said coolly. “Yularen’s orders.”

Tup shook his head and followed Jesse as he began to walk quickly from the lifts to the hangar. Fives jogged a few steps to catch up, watching Tup’s bun bounce as he walked.

“That’s a bad idea,” Tup said. “What if you’re gunned down? Or captured? We can’t risk two commanders like that.”

“That’s what I said,” Fives shrugged. “But Yularen said we were ‘old enough and experienced enough not to get killed or captured.’”

Tup gaped at him, then turned to Jesse, who confirmed what Fives said. “Prick,” Tup muttered under his breath.

They passed into the first hangar bay and Jesse was immediately approached by one of the starfighter pilots, who offered them his ship. Jesse accepted with a genuine smile and thanks. Fives climbed into the cockpit and settled into the co-pilot’s seat, reminding himself of the controls. Echo always liked to pilot. He was better at it, especially during a chase. Fives never minded being co-pilot. He preferred to monitor controls and fire weapons. It felt like he was keeping Echo safe whenever he co-piloted. Fives hadn’t sat co-pilot since Echo died.

“Sir, are you sure you wouldn’t rather I go in your place?” Tup asked Jesse. Fives pretended not to listen as he toggled a few controls on the starfighter’s dash.

“No, I need you here,” Jesse said. “If something happens to me, you’re in charge.”

“But sir—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Tup,” Jesse said wearily. “Report to Yularen on the bridge.”

Tup hesitated, and Fives watched out of the corner of his eye as Tup sighed before straightening to attention and nodding shortly. Jesse gave him a soft, genuine smile as he put his hand on the back of Tup’s neck like he’d done to Fives in the lift, and they touched their foreheads together for a breath before Jesse turned toward the starfighter. Tup watched them prepare the ship, still frowning.

“No goodbye kiss for me?” Fives teased.

Tup scowled and made a rude hand gesture, his trigger and middle fingers crossed and flicked in Fives’ direction, meaning that Tup thought he was twisted¹. Fives chuckled and pushed on his helmet. He heard Tup wish them good luck just before the cockpit closed over their heads, and Jesse flew them out of the hangar and into the crushing darkness of space.

The Czerka dreadnaught was massive up close. Fives gaped at its towering form as they flew along its port side. He also noticed the massive turbolaser turrets lining the hull. A single shot from one of those turrets would turn them into nothing but shards of durasteel and plastoid alloy. A cool female voice directed them to land in a hangar about mid-way down the nearly six kilometer hull. Nerves fluttered in his stomach as they turned toward the square of blue air shield that broke a long expanse of smooth metal hull.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Fives said lowly.

“Just keep your ears open and your head on a swivel,” Jesse said, but instead of his usual cool and smooth veneer, Fives could hear the slight anxiety in his voice.

They landed in the cavernous hangar, next to a sleek private starship. Fives watched as workers in gray jumpsuits performed maintenance on the starship, cleaning its shining hull and filling the fuel reserves. The workers themselves, a motley mix of humans and aliens, all looked exhausted. It was a familiar exhaustion, the kind seen in troopers after a punishing battle, filled with defeat and despair and the knowledge that even though the battle was over, there were more to come. He wondered if there had been a battle between Czerka and the rebels, or Czerka and the CIS. His stomach churned at the thought. The workers in the hangar did not look like soldiers. And Fives had no idea if corporations were capable of loyalty to anyone except themselves.

“I read that Czerka uses slave labor for their main work force,” Jesse said to him on their internal helmet comm. Fives’ stomach clenched.

“No wonder their expressions are so familiar,” Fives said wistfully. Jesse snorted, but didn’t reply as he opened the cockpit.

A shining golden protocol droid met them at the base of their ship and greeted them politely before leading them out of the hangar. The corridors were nothing like a GAR ship. The durasteel walls had been painted a creamy white. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The floor was tiled with terrazzo of green and blue and white, polished to a mirror-like shine. When Fives turned his head, a gleam of gold flashed brightly in his prosthetic eye, and he saw a thin band of it inlaid in the floor running parallel to the walls. He felt less like they were in a dreadnaught and more like they were in a luxury cruise liner. For a moment, he hoped his and Jesse’s rough combat boots wouldn't scuff the floors before remembering the familiar defeated and exhausted looks on the slaves’ faces, and he suddenly hoped they would get to destroy this vessel after rescuing every innocent enslaved life aboard it.

The droid led them through a maze of glittering corridors. Workers in gray stopped and pressed themselves into the walls as they passed, their eyes downcast, their faces gaunt and exhausted. One of the workers, an Aqualish man with dark skin and hair, dared to look at Fives as they passed. Fives’ stomach clenched again when he saw the fear in his black eyes.

They stopped at a hatch, painted white with the Czerka symbol in bright red, and the droid opened it to a walkway that led into a massive, dimly lit chamber. Fives could see the faint blue glow of an air shield and starlight beyond. Whatever this was, it was open to space above them. Jesse reached out and tugged on the droid’s shoulder as it stepped over the threshold onto the walkway.

“Where are you taking us, droid?” Jesse growled. His voice was full of fear and anger.

“The director will meet you in the conference room just beyond the port-side cargo bay,” the droid explained, gesturing with its gleaming golden arm toward the dim chamber and the walkway through it.

Jesse gripped his blaster at his hip, and when he spoke, Fives could hear his snarl. “If you’re lying, I’ll blast a hole through your processor.”

The droid took a small step back and focused its glowing photo receptors on the blaster at Jesse’s hip before turning back to his face and saying with a cool, even voice, “There is no need for threats or violence. The conference room is just beyond the port-side cargo bay.”

Jesse hesitated a heartbeat, one hand holding the droid’s shoulder, the other gripping his gun. Fives traced his finger over the edge of his holster at his hip, ready to grab his own blaster. Jesse let go of the droid’s shoulder, and gestured for it to lead the way again. Neither Fives nor Jesse took their hands off the grip of their blasters.

The walkway was suspended above the cargo bay, and Fives looked down into the cavernous space in awe. The cargo bay was massive, the size of a Venator’s hangar, and completely dark save for the thin strip of emergency lighting on the floor and the glow of starlight that shined through the shield above them. In the dim light, Fives could just barely pick out shapes in the cargo bay. Stacks of crates, a freighter, and massive loading droids five meters tall lined up in their charging ports. Fives swallowed hard at the sight of the droids. He knew the long, thin ends of their appendages were for picking up crates and pallets, but in the low light the scraped edges shined like vibroblades.

Another gleam caught in his prosthetic eye, a bright glow of white in the dark. He looked away from the droids to the source of the gleam and blinked, thinking maybe his eye was playing tricks on him. His heart leaped into his throat as the image cleared and focused.

The symbol.

The karking symbol he and Echo had chased across the galaxy. It was painted on the side of the freighter in bright white. Another gleam of white as he walked and stared in wild bewilderment, and he focused to see more symbols painted in white, on the sides of a dozen crates stacked neatly along the center of the cargo bay. He turned to his left, the side with his organic eye, and saw the crates there were also painted with that symbol. His heart rate skyrocketed. These symbols were not painted on in a hurry with aerosolized paint. These were placed carefully, deliberately. But why?

Fives and Echo had always associated the symbol with terrorism. It was painted in haste on buildings after bombings, drawn in blood on assassinated public figures, and recently painted on dead brothers’ heads and armor after a rebellion, according to Jesse. It was a symbol of fear for those who were loyal to the Republic, a symbol of terror and violence and uprising. And here it was, used as officially and deliberately as the Czerka symbol itself.

The doorway in front of them opened, flooding the walkway with light. The darkness of the cargo bay deepened in comparison, and Fives pulled his eyes away from the blackness to adjust to the light. The conference room was as opulent as the corridors. The floor was covered in a thick carpet of gray the color of the Kaminoan sea, with threads of gold woven through the fabric. A table sat in the center of the room, a massive, polished slab of red crystal three meters long. It glittered in the starlight that filtered through the transparisteel ceiling above them. To their left, the transparisteel sloped gently until it reached the floor, allowing a breathtaking view of the bow of the dreadnaught. At the starboard side of the viewport, the red and brown horizon of Hwatte was just visible.

In front of the viewport at the far end of the room stood two beings: a Neimoidian and a Zabrak. When their eyes landed on Fives and Jesse, Fives’ heart skipped a beat, and Jesse paused. Fives could have sworn the Zabrak’s eyes flashed red and yellow. But it must have been a trick of the light, or his prosthetic acting up, because Fives blinked and his eyes were dark gold, a perfectly normal color for a Zabrak.

The Zabrak smiled at them and swept his hand in front of him, gesturing to the massive table between them as he said with a voice as smooth and cool as a blade, “Welcome, Commanders, to my ship.”

Jesse stepped forward first, his shoulders and back tense as he walked toward the sloped transparisteel wall at the far end of the room. Fives followed, dread sinking in his gut. He swallowed down his fear and took a deep breath as they neared the two men. Jesse pulled off his helmet once they were halfway down the room, and Fives reluctantly pulled his off as well. Cool air hit his scalp, and he ran a gloved hand through his sweaty hair, suddenly aware of how formally dressed the two other men were.

Minister Xhell looked down his flat nose at them as he introduced himself. He adjusted his intricately embroidered ceremonial tabard that hung over his robes, but Fives noticed that he only made the motion to conceal the way he wiped his long fingers off on the fabric after shaking his and Jesse’s hands. A flash of metal caught Fives’ eye as the Minister adjusted the tabard, and he nearly gasped. The minister was wearing the symbol. A small pin of black metal on the lapel of his robes. The Zabrak did not shake their hands, and introduced himself only as “The Director of Czerka Arms,” as he had done over the comm to Yularen. He, too, wore a black pin in the shape of the symbol. It was nearly invisible on the black neckline of his tunic, almost dull in comparison to the fantastic black tattoos on his red skin and the red and gold embroidery on his jacket.

The Director gestured to the table, inviting them all to sit. Jesse sat in the chair closest to him and Fives sat on his right. The Prime Minister of Hwatte sat across from Jesse, still looking down his nose at them, and the Director sat at the head of the table. He rested his elbows on the polished crystal and touched the tips of his fingers together in front of his face. His gaze flicked between Jesse and Fives, and a small frown creased between his brows. There was silence as the protocol droid slowly ambled down the length of the room with a tray of drinks. Fives thought his heart might beat out of his chest. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that whatever answers Jesse was able to wriggle out of these two men, they would be nothing but lies.

“I must admit, I was surprised to see two hraladar on my ship,” the director said smoothly. His voice sent a chill of ice down Fives’ back, and he pressed his lips together to keep from snarling at the casual way he called them that word.

“We prefer ‘clone troopers,’” Jesse said, his voice calm and cool like it had been when he spoke to Yularen on the bridge.

The director sneered, his white teeth flashing. “Apologies,” he said, without a hint of sincerity. “I was under the impression Admiral Yularen served with Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Fives shifted uncomfortably. The director’s dark gold eyes flashed to him, but returned to Jesse, who remained calm and impassive as he answered, “Admiral Yularen and the Open Circle Fleet work closely with us in the 7^th Sky Corps, which General Kenobi leads. However, he’s not on this mission with us. I am the highest ranking officer on this mission, below the admiral.” Minister Xhell was now the one to shift uncomfortably, and Fives again had to press his lips together to keep from snarling.

“As the second-highest ranking officer,” the director sneered, “I’m sure you have questions regarding the events that have taken place these last few rotations.”

“What happened to Minister Diytoo?” Jesse asked, turning to Xhell, who paled slightly.

“There was… an uprising,” Xhell said, his strange orange eyes flicking between Jesse, Fives, and the Director. “Diytoo was killed in an attack on the Senate.”

“What about the garrison? The clone troopers stationed here?” Fives asked, leaning his elbow on the table. His elbow knocked into the untouched glass that had been set in front of him. “There was an entire company of men on this planet.”

“Sadly, they all perished in the fighting as well,” Xhell said. His voice was shaky, and he fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve. “The… rebels,” he emphasized the word like he could hardly believe they were real, “had unusual weapons. The hral—the clones were torn apart on impact.”

Fives squinted. He’d seen blasters targeted for clone troopers on battlefields in the past. Weapons that didn’t use tibanna, and instead used a semi-solid chemical charge that exploded on contact with human skin and blood. He was pretty sure they discovered that the specialty weapons had been manufactured and sold by Czerka. He wondered if Jesse knew about the weapons, if he had faced them on any of his punishing battlefields in the past few years.

“Was anyone assisting these rebels? Separatists? Pirates?” Fives asked. He looked to the director, whose small smirk was partially hidden behind his interlaced fingers.

“I don’t know,” Xhell said, sounding convincingly baffled. “They must have had some help, maybe the Separatists. Their weapons were so powerful. They were very well organized. It was only after Czerka arrived that we were able to stabilize the planet.”

“And why was Czerka called at all?” Jesse asked.

“We needed weapons,” Xhell shrugged. “Once the garrison was destroyed, we didn’t know if the Republic would come to our aid before the CIS arrived.”

“And what do you get out of it?” Jesse asked the director of Czerka.

“Only a fair compensation for tamping a planet-wide rebellion and supplying weapons to desperate people,” the director sneered softly. “Thirty percent of the planet’s exports of thorilide for the next fifteen years.”

Fives barked a laugh and punched Jesse in the shoulder as he said, “After the war, we should become mercenaries. It sounds like there’s an insane amount of compensation for anyone with a blaster for hire.”

“He’s right,” Jesse said coolly. His hands balled into fists on the table as he stared the director down. “Thirty percent is ridiculously high, and fifteen years is unduly long.”

“Minister Xhell has already signed the contract,” the director said smoothly, gesturing to Xhell with a sweep of his hand.

Jesse was silent as he looked between Xhell and the director. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he thought, and without warning, he stood. Fives stood as well, watching the sadistic glee spread on the director’s tattooed face.

“Is our meeting over?” the director asked, his voice quiet and smooth and condescending.

“If Minister Xhell has already signed a contract, there’s nothing left to discuss,” Jesse said, a growl breaking through his calm voice. “You’ll be hearing from your Senator, no doubt. And I’m going to advise Admiral Yularen to retain his fleet in orbit in case the CIS do attack. How long until your supplies are offloaded?”

“Six rotations, at maximum,” the director said.

“You will leave Hwatte orbit in seven rotations,” Jesse said, teeth clenched, “or we will assume your presence is a hostile occupation of a Republic planet, and act accordingly.”

The director leaned back in his chair and stared at Jesse with unreadable dark eyes. “Understood,” he said in that slick, cold voice that sent a chill down Fives’ spine.

They were escorted back to their ship by the protocol droid after tense and overly formal departing words with the director and Minister Xhell. Fives tried to take a few holopictures of the symbol on the crates in the cargo bay, but he wasn’t sure if his helmet could pick up the paint in the low light the way his prosthetic eye did. Jesse’s posture was stiff, and his hands were balled into fists at his side. They were silent as they followed the droid through the maze of glittering corridors back to their ship, too afraid to even talk on internal comms in case they were being monitored.

As soon as they had passed the air shield at the threshold of the hangar, Jesse sighed deeply and slumped in his seat in front of Fives. Fives leaned over the co-pilot’s console and patted his friend on his spaulder affectionately.

“At least we aren’t in battle right now,” Fives said with a smirk. Jesse snorted and nodded as he angled their starfighter back toward their cruiser. Czerka’s dreadnaught may have been massive and opulent, but the Republic fleet was impressively formidable. Their Star Destroyers idled in attack formation, ready to encircle the planet or destroy a line of CIS ships, bright wedges of durasteel lined with weapons. Fives imagined how it might look to an enemy when the laser cannons started firing and the starfighters were released like clouds of death from the hangars.

“They lied to us,” Jesse said, breaking Fives from his reverie. “Xhell said he called Czerka after the garrison was killed, but the garrison reported ships arriving when they called for reinforcements. And neither of them said anything about fighting off Separatist ships.”

“You know those weapons they talked about, the ones that tore the clone troopers apart on impact?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen those personally,” Jesse said darkly. “Bloodiest battle of my life.”

“Well, guess who makes them.”

Jesse whipped his face around to look at Fives before quickly turning back to watch where he was flying. “Czerka Arms?”

“Dead right.”

“Did you see the pins they wore? Of that terrorist symbol?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, and I saw about a hundred crates and a freighter painted with the same symbol in the cargo bay we walked through. I’d be willing to bet they’re full of Czerka-made weapons.”

“Fox said he confiscated crates painted with the symbol from some Weequay smugglers on Coruscant, but they weren’t full of weapons or supplies. They were full of random shit like vegetables and silk and Spice.”

Fives paused, his mind racing. Jesse spoke to a flight control officer as he approached the main hangar on the bow of their Destroyer. Czerka’s fleet were the only ships that could have possibly arrived in orbit over Hwatte when the garrison called for reinforcements. They must have supplied the rebels with weapons. But if the rebels were supplied by Czerka, that meant Xhell was not an innocent successor to Diytoo’s office. Jesse landed the starfighter in the same bay they had departed from but turned in his seat to look at Fives before disengaging the cockpit.

“You think maybe Czerka is working with the terrorists?” Fives asked Jesse.

“What about Xhell?” Jesse asked. “He was already in the Hwatte government.”

Fives shrugged. “A puppet. Maybe he offered them thorilide, and Czerka decided to keep him.”

Jesse was silent for a moment as he thought, running a finger over the edge of his vambrace. Fives suddenly wished Echo was here. He would have put all the pieces together. He would have known what to do next. Jesse sighed and looked back at Fives. The white republic cog on his faceplate glowed brightly in Fives’ prosthetic eye as he turned.

“I think,” Jesse said slowly, hesitantly, “we need to talk to some Weequays.”

Four months before the anniversary
Ancient Jedi Temple entrance, Unnamed Moon, Outer Rim

Anakin felt the temple door unlock. It wasn’t a physical vibration through the air or stone. It was something deeper, something in the Force that echoed through him. The walls of the temple entrance glowed brightly, and carvings and runes previously worn away by weather and time were revealed. It was a magnificent sight, and if nothing else came of this journey to the temple, at least he had seen the beauty of it.

Behind him, Ahsoka gasped and stood from her place at the base of the carved triangle. He could feel her surge of excitement. She still radiated with the raw energy of the Force from within, a shining, golden energy of attachment and love. It was so powerful that Anakin had almost been swallowed up by it. But he used the calm strength of Obi-Wan’s Force to maintain the flow of dark and light as it circled around and between them like a great current of energy and serenity and power. And for a moment just before they reached out to the door, he felt all of the life in the galaxy fall into place, all of time and space converge into him, and he touched something with his mind that felt wholly foreign and completely natural. The Force in Balance.

Ahsoka drifted toward the temple, mesmerized. Her arms floated in front of her as if the Force itself was pulling her by her hands into the Temple’s doorway. Anakin stood from his spot on the center stone and followed her. He tossed a concerned look over his shoulder at Obi-Wan, whose eyebrows were raised as he watched Ahsoka cross the courtyard. But Anakin could also feel the pull of the Force. It tugged on his wrists and whispered into his mind, go in, go inside. He felt compelled to obey.

The door to the temple opened in the cliff face, an archway of complete darkness in contrast to the magnificent glow of the carvings and runes around it. He stopped behind Ahsoka just before the threshold, where she hesitated as she peered into the darkness. She took a step back, even though he knew the Force was pulling her along, also screaming at her to go inside! Go Inside! She pulled her lightsabers from her belt and ignited them, the white of her blades as magnificent as the glowing of the carvings and runes around them, and stepped into the temple. The dark swallowed her whole. Anakin couldn’t see her lightsabers, nor the reflection of them against rock, nor a silhouette of her body in front of the glow. She had disappeared the moment she stepped over the threshold.

Obi-Wan gasped and stepped past Anakin when Ahsoka disappeared, peering frantically into the darkness. But there was nothing. No light, no sound, no Force Signature. Nothing. Obi-Wan lit his saber, and it glowed blue against the chasm of darkness in the temple. He took a deep breath, and also stepped through the door. Anakin watched him be swallowed by the complete darkness. Apprehension twisted in his chest, but the Force still pulled him into the dark, whispering for him to go, go inside!

He gritted his teeth and pulled his lightsaber from where he had attached it to his belt that morning. He was out of the habit of keeping it on his hip, but it felt familiar and comforting in his hand. The crystal within hummed as he extended the blade, and it became an extension of his body and mind. His lightsaber was more than a weapon. It was part of him. He looked into the temple once more and wondered if the glow of his saber would do him any good in that impenetrable darkness.

The Force gave him one last push, one last firm nudge in his mind, and he followed Ahsoka and Obi-Wan into the dark.

At first, there was nothing. Only the glow of his lightsaber in an endless blackness. He stumbled a little, His eyes straining to adjust to the complete darkness around him. He shuffled forward, his eyes burning as he tried to find the ground, or a wall, or the ceiling, or anything that would tell him where he was. As he moved deeper into the temple he could see something in his periphery, fluid shapes of smoke and shadow that disappeared when he turned his head to focus on them.

And then, a light in the distance. He let out a heavy breath and moved toward it, extending his feelings into the Force to find the light’s source, or his surroundings, or something that would help guide him through the temple. Runes glowed on the floor in front of him, illuminating a thin path through the dark toward the faint light in the distance. He hurried between the lines of runes, aware that on the outside of the glow, the floor dropped away into the pure darkness.

The light in front of him flickered, like a candle threatening to extinguish in the wind. He picked up his pace, the sudden feeling that if he didn’t reach the light fast enough, it would go out, and he would be left in darkness. In his periphery, the shapes materialized again, taking form and solidifying just beyond his line of sight. To his left he could see two people fighting, their quick movements silhouetted against a dim reddish glow. When their weapons joined, they flashed brightly, and his chest throbbed with fear and anger and sadness and raw, horrible power.

The dim glow of the scene to his left faded as another materialized to his right, again just at the edge of his vision. Dark silhouettes seated in a circle in front of a pale light. And another figure, standing in the center of them. The figure bowed, then kneeled. And as the silhouette was lost among the others, Anakin felt all his emotion, his weakness and his strength and his power leave him.

Darkness enveloped him again, save for the runes on the floor and the flickering light in the distance. He could still feel his lightsaber in his hand, but it had sheathed itself long ago. The darkness around him was absolute. He could see nothing within it, feel nothing. He reached out for the Force, to feel the shape and texture of the temple beyond, but felt nothing. There was no light, no life, no whispers, no guiding hand. He picked up his pace, running now between the runes toward the light. It flickered and sputtered and nearly went out. The path below him narrowed, until he was running along a thin strip of path barely wider than his feet. His fear ratcheted and his heart thudded violently in his throat. He needed to get to the light. If he didn’t, it would go out, and he would be crushed by the darkness, the heavy nothingness forever.

He lifted his organic hand, barely able to see the outline of it in the dark and reached out with the Force toward the light. He pulled on the Force from both within and without, as he’d always done, and extended it to the light. He felt the Force wrap around something warm and pulsing, and he pulled it toward him. The light, dim and flickering and nearly extinguished, floated in the darkness toward him, and as he skidded to a stop on the thin pathway with that thick and heavy nothingness pressing in around him, the light sank itself into his chest and disappeared. And he was plunged into darkness once again.

He stood completely still, not trusting the shapes and shadows his eyes created as he stared wildly into the darkness. His eyes ached with the strain, trying to find a sliver of sunlight or the glow of a lightsaber. But there was nothing. He shut his eyes—not that the darkness behind his lids was any more or less complete—and took a deep breath to calm his mind.

The Force. He needed to find and listen to the Force. He reached within himself and found it there, pulsing against his veins with fear. He let the fear rise up, let it fill him and give him raw power and strength. When his veins felt like fire and his limbs were singing with the energy of the dark side, he reached out and drew on the Force from without. He could feel it swirling like a calm stream all around him, where before there had been nothing. He pulled it around him, let it surround him, flow through him. The fear and serenity entwined in the center of his chest where he had pulled the flickering light inside him. They twisted around each other, a dance of light and dark, a never-ending push and pull. He breathed through the reverberations of the two entwining powers, letting them settle into a rhythm, faster and faster until they became a pulsing knot in his chest and he could do nothing but push and pull and press and stretch until they found an equilibrium.

And finally, with a sigh, they clicked into place, and Anakin’s mind touched that Balance in the Force that was both foreign and natural. It sang through him, power and beauty and life and time and space. He was everything and nothing. He was here and nowhere and stretched across the long years and distances of the universe and simultaneously in one singular place and time within it’s vastness. He wasn’t carrying the Force, wasn’t reaching out into the Force. He was the Force. It flowed through him, around him, within him. It was terrifying and comforting, and he knew he was in the right place.

“Open your eyes, Ani.”

Anakin opened his eyes, and looked into the face of his mother. Her dark eyes were kind, as he had always remembered. Her smile was soft. Her skin was rosy from the sun, weathered from years of cruelty and slavery. She reached out and clasped Anakin’s hand where it rested on the rough sandstone table in their tiny house on Tatooine. Anakin wrapped his fingers around her hand, his own hand far too small.

“There’s no reason to be afraid,” she said, her voice soft and kind and warm. “This is who you are meant to become.”

Anakin remembered this talk they had. Before Master Qui-Gon took him away from Tatooine to Coruscant. Before his life changed forever. He wanted to warn his mother, tell her what would happen in the next ten years. He wanted to tell Master Qui-Gon to save her, to change the future that had already happened. But when he opened his mouth, there was only one thing he could say.

“I love you, mom.”

His mother’s smile softened, and she squeezed his fingers.

“You are the Chosen One,” Qui-Gon’s voice whispered from another time, another place. “You will bring Balance to the Force.”

“I don’t know how,” he had replied, fear swirling through him as he shivered in the cold. He looked away from his mother to Qui-Gon’s face where they stood in the Jedi Temple corridor. The morning Coruscanti sunlight streamed through the transparisteel and bathed Qui-Gon in pale golden light.

“Listen to your feelings,” Qui-Gon said calmly, “and listen to the Force. It flows all around you, within you. You are its guide, its conduit and controller. The Force wants Balance. And you will bring it to the Galaxy.”

“And if I don’t?” Anakin asked, feeling simultaneously nine years old, cold and alone and afraid, and nearly forty years old, no longer so cold and alone, but still very much afraid.

Qui-Gon’s smile was kind, but it did not reach his eyes, where fear bloomed in place of his usual serene confidence. “Then the Galaxy will fall into darkness.”

Anakin turned away from Qui-Gon’s face, away from the sunlight streaming through the window, to a door on his left. A doorway that did not belong at the Jedi Temple. The door to Padmé’s bedroom in her apartment on Coruscant. He crossed thirty years of time and life in a few short steps, and when the door opened in front of him, he was no longer the little boy from Tatooine taken from his mother and thrown into a life he had not chosen for himself. Beyond the doorway he could hear Padmé humming. Excitement rushed through him. He was eager to see her. He would give up being a Jedi for her. But Qui-Gon’s words echoed through his head: The Galaxy will fall into darkness.

The light inside his chest throbbed insistently. He was Balance. He was the Force. He understood what it all meant as he let the Force fill him again, let it guide him forward toward his destiny.

He crossed the threshold in front of him but did not step into Padme’s apartment. Instead, he found himself outside the ancient temple, blinking in the bright sunlight, facing the river that cut through the surrounding bluffs. The runes and carvings on the cliff side had gone dark again, and he didn’t need to look to know that the door had sealed itself shut behind him. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan had emerged from the temple as well. They stood beyond the overhang of rock above the door. Obi-Wan’s face was pale, and his hand shook as he ran it over his white-streaked hair.

“Are you alright, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked as he stepped away from the temple and into the sunlight. Obi-Wan sighed and Ahsoka lay a hand on his shoulder. She had her shoulders rolled back, her spine straight, and her jaw set. When she looked up at Anakin, her blue eyes were hard and bright, a fierce determination in her stare.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said shakily.

“Did you have a vision, too?” Ahsoka asked Anakin. Anakin shrugged as he thought of reliving the memories, how real they had felt, how vibrant.

“I guess I could call it that, yeah.”

“I saw a rising power,” Ahsoka said, her voice hard. “A darkness on the horizon. Something that’s been lurking for years, biding its time. And if we want to bring Balance to the Galaxy…” she hesitated, uncertainty flashing over her face where before there had been fierce confidence. “If we want to bring Balance, the darkness will have to be defeated.”

“I saw my mother,” Anakin said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. He wished he could go back into the memory. He wished he could see her face so clearly again. “And I saw Master Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan’s head jerked up and he gaped at Anakin. “Master Qui-Gon? What did he say?”

Anakin shook his head, and was about to explain that Master Qui-Gon didn’t say anything, rather the Force explained what Master Qui-Gon had meant all those years ago, but stopped as he felt an insistent tug in his mind from the Force. His stomach turned over as a very bad feeling overwhelmed him. His hand was in his pocket, grabbing his commlink before it beeped. But when it did, he knew who it was.

“Anakin? Anakin, where are you?” Padmé’s voice was frantic. Anakin swallowed down the fear rising in his throat.

“I’m with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“It’s Leia,” Padmé explained, and Anakin’s heart sank all the way down into his gut.

“Is she okay?” Anakin asked. He blinked as darkness pulsed around the edges of his vision.

“I don’t know,” Padmé said breathlessly.

“What happened, Padmé?”

Padmé took a deep gulping breath, and Anakin saw Ahsoka and Obi-Wan lean in, their faces pulled into concerned frowns. “Ani, her school was bombed.”

Four months before the Anniversary
Raxulon School for Aspiring Politicians, Raxus, CIS, Outer Rim

Leia Naberrie was not like other girls her age.

For one, she was the daughter of a Representative in the People’s House of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. This gave her certain privileges, like going to a premier school on Raxus for aspiring politicians. Her family could give her and her brother everything they ever wanted or needed. Her grandparents were artists from Naboo, who created masterful pieces of art and furniture for the elite of the CIS. Her mother was a politician. Her father was a skilled pilot and mechanic, and worked for the Liannan Guard.

She also had an impressive temper for a young woman of fourteen. Her glare could make mountains bow to her will. Her father often laughed and said she would make a great politician someday. She loved the idea of following her mother’s footsteps. Of course, when her mother was her age, she was a Queen.

But aside from all of her family’s wealth and influence and her stubbornness and ambition, Leia Naberrie had a great and terrible secret.

She could wield the Force.

She had always known about this power. She and her brother were born with it. As toddlers, they used to destroy carefully decorated sitting rooms with a single temper tantrum. As young children, they would fight in the garden by Force-throwing mud and dirt at each other. And as they got older, they learned to control it, to temper it into something useful and powerful. Their father could wield it, too, and he taught them everything they needed to know.

And something they needed desperately to remember was that their power should remain a secret.

And so, immediately following the bombing of the Academy, when her roommate and best friend hung from the edge of the crumbling balcony above the dark and unknowingly deep chasm created by the bomb, hanging on for dear life just out of Leia’s reach, she did not think of using the Force. If she used the Force, she and her family could be placed in grave danger. There were many people in the CIS who hated the Jedi. If she used their power, they would assume she was a Jedi, even with all evidence to the contrary. Her mother and father could lose their jobs. Her grandparents would lose patrons. She and her brother would lose their status and comfortable lifestyle and all the privileges that came with it.

But if she didn’t use the Force, Ooibay would die.

“If you must use the Force,” her father had told Leia and her brother during one of their many (and incredibly boring) meditation sessions, “use it only for good. Use it to save a life, or to help those who are unable to help themselves.”

Ooibay slid another ten centimeters away from Leia’s outstretched hand. Her nails were painted bright pink, and Leia watched helplessly as they cracked from the strain of trying to gain purchase on the permacrete to which she was attempting to cling.

It wouldn’t take a lot. She could reach within herself, grab Ooibay’s wrist with the Force, and pull until her fingers could reach. She looked around. The air was thick with permacrete dust and black, acrid smoke. The two boys they had been walking with were thrown through the air in the blast, and Leia could just barely see one of them, lying unconscious in the rubble not far from where she crouched at the edge of the chasm. She heard screaming and yelling in the floors below them, and sirens outside, but there was no one around to see. Leia needed to save her friend, and there was only one way to do it.

Leia closed her eyes and decided. She let the fear of losing Ooibay fill her up and expand out. She took another breath and let the living Force from around her flow through her and swirl around her. She could feel Ooibay’s wrist in the Force. She could feel her whole body, the crumbling balcony, the entire school. If she wanted, she could completely lift Ooibay up and through the air until she was safe. But floating a young woman through the air was not as easily covered up as one tiny tug on her wrist.

She wrapped the Force around her friend’s wrist and pulled as she stretched her arm toward the poor girl who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When her fingers closed around the warm skin of Ooibay’s arm, she looked up into her wide orange eyes and could tell that Ooibay would not be fooled by any excuse Leia had to offer. She could only hope that she had made the right choice to trust her best friend with this secret. She used as much of the Force as she dared to aid her as she pulled Ooibay to safety.

“How did you do that?” Ooibay asked.

“I don’t know,” Leia lied. “I just know that I can.”

Ooibay was quiet as she considered her broken fingernails and soiled skirts. The air around them was still thick with dust and smoke, and they could hear the shouting and thundering of footsteps in the building. She looked up at Leia with wide eyes as the footsteps of their rescuers came closer.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Ooibay whispered. Leia smiled gratefully.

What neither girl knew, however, was that they were not the only two who felt Leia use the Force. Levels below, Kyl Oa tagged a crumbling wall with the sign of his master. It was easy to instill fear in those not part of the Cult of the Sith. The death of innocents was the quickest and easiest way, if not always the most desirable.

Kyl felt someone pull on the Force, and he stopped painting to reach out and see who it was. There, on the destroyed balcony, was a girl both bright and dark in the Force. A beacon of balance, a swirling dance of fear and hope. It burned Kyl to touch the girl’s Force Signature. He hoped she would not notice his presence. Not yet.

Kyl slunk into the shadows of smoke, tracking the girl’s Signature as she moved through the ruined school, and commed his master.

“I found her,” Kyl said.

“Was my suspicion correct?” his master asked.

“She is powerful in both the Light and the Dark.”

The comm was silent for a moment and Kyl side-stepped a flurry of emergency personnel running into the building.

“You know what to do,” Lord Maul said quietly.

“Yes, Master. I will not fail you.”

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed Moon, Outer Rim

Rex paced the main deck of Cody and Obi-Wan’s ship, breathing deeply and thinking fast when the shuttle’s engines suddenly roared overhead. He gripped his datapad, the holopicture of Maul’s terrifying face still visible on the screen, and frowned. He hadn’t expected Ahsoka and the others back until the end of the day.

Behind him, boots thundered on the durasteel. Rex turned to see Luke scrambling through the small bunkroom that separated the main deck from the cockpit, his face pulled into an anxious frown. Cody ran out of the cockpit after him, clutching his knee and grimacing.

“What is it?” Rex asked, anxiety rising in his chest at the sight of Luke’s pale face.

“I don’t know,” Luke said. His voice was high and strained, and his eyes welled with tears. “I—I think Leia is in trouble.”

Rex stared at Luke, amazed. They hadn’t heard anything from Padmé or Leia, nor from Anakin and the others while they were at the temple. Luke could only have felt something through the Force, a bond he shared with his sister. It would have to stretch a very long distance if he could feel that she was in trouble while he was here and she was on Raxus. He tore his eyes away from Luke’s face and hurried down the ramp and out of the ship. The shuttle’s door opened and Ahsoka came running out, her blue eyes intense and focused on Rex and Luke.

Anakin emerged from the shuttle next, and Rex knew there was something terribly wrong. He didn’t need to feel the Force to see his anger and fear. During the early days of the war, Rex and his men had grown accustomed to the many expressions on Anakin’s face. They only needed to take one look at their commander to know if there was danger, if there was a hard fight ahead, if the battle would be easy or bloody, or if they were about to be ambushed. And right now Rex could see the fear plain in his face, the anger in his eyes, the plan forming behind the creases in his brow.

Rex’s eyes flicked back to Ahsoka, and she pressed her lips into a hard line. Luke ran to his father without another word. Rex reached out and grabbed Ahsoka’s arm above her elbow when she approached. Anakin’s fear was infectious. He could feel it squeezing his chest and stabbing his gut.

“Leia’s school was bombed,” Ahsoka said flatly. Rex let out all his breath at once.

“Is she alright?” he asked.

“We don’t know, they’re still searching for her.”

The fear Rex felt was no longer Anakin’s, and it clenched his insides with an iron fist. Anakin had been hesitant to let Leia attend the school, since she would have to live there most of the year. He wanted her and Luke close, so he could keep an eye on them. Leia, like Luke, could wield the Force, which meant that she could protect herself, and also meant that she was in grave danger.

“I’m going with Anakin to Raxulon to look for her,” Ahsoka said. Rex’s heart sank and he tightened his fingers around her arm.

“Do you have to go?” Rex asked.

“Yes.” Ahsoka’s jaw was set, her mind was made up.

“Force osik?” Rex asked, raising an eyebrow. Ahsoka’s hard exterior broke minutely, and one corner of her mouth lifted.

“Something like that.”

Rex sighed. There was no convincing her not to go. Not when the Force was involved. “I’ll go with you,” he said.

Ahsoka shook her head. “You should stay here with Cody and Luke. We don’t know if Raxulon is safe.”

Rex nodded, his heart continuing to sink. Ahsoka was right. Luke should stay out of the fray. Besides, Ahsoka had the Force again. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

“Alright, but I need to tell you something, before you go,” he said lowly. Ahsoka looked around at Anakin, who was holding Luke in an embrace outside the shuttle, and then to Obi-Wan, who was climbing the ramp to his own ship as Cody watched, his face grave.

“Come help me pack,” Ahsoka said, entwining her fingers in his and pulling him toward the cottage. He squeezed her hand as they hurried across the courtyard, nerves fluttering unpleasantly under his skin. He knew she would be okay. She was a Jedi Knight with full Force powers. She could defend herself, if she was headed into danger. What made Rex more nervous was the Sith Lord who had nearly killed Echo and Fives and was wandering the galaxy without anyone knowing.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. Her brow creased as she studied his face and placed her hands on his waist.

“Maul is alive,” Rex said.

Ahsoka blinked rapidly and took a step back. “That is not what I thought you were going to say,” she said. “How do you know?”

“Do you remember Echo telling us about the three people he ran into in the factory?” Rex asked. Ahsoka nodded. “The third was someone he didn’t recognize. But he said he had Sith’s eyes. So, when Obi-Wan said that Maul was a Sith, I immediately thought of what Echo had said. I asked Cody to request holopictures of Maul from Naboo, and when I sent them to Echo, he confirmed that Maul was the third person in the factory.”

Ahsoka shut her eyes and shook her head. “Master Obi-Wan cut him in half and he fell down a reactor shaft. No one could have survived that.”

“That’s exactly what Maarva Andor said about Fives, that no one could have survived the explosion. But Fives is alive.” Rex argued, his heart was thudding in his throat. Ahsoka frowned and sighed, but nodded. She had been just as shocked as Rex to discover that Fives was alive and commanding the 196th division. “Echo and Fives were following a trail of terrorism and rebellion when they went to that factory. All those bombings, the attacks Kenobi and Cody talked about—kriff, even Leia’s school bombing—they all could be linked to Maul.”

“We don’t have any proof of that,” Ahsoka said, shaking her head.

“I know, but if Echo and Cody can compare notes, we might be able to solve this.”

Ahsoka bit her lip. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“I trust Echo not to say anything incriminating about the colony to Cody.”

Ahsoka’s eyes darted between Rex’s, her mind working quickly. She pulled him into an embrace, and he kissed the side of her head, just above the bluish bacta scar from all those years ago. She sighed into his shoulder, and he felt her kiss him through his shirt.

“Please be careful in Raxulon,” Rex said onto her skin. Ahsoka squeezed his chest tighter, and Rex stroked her back lek soothingly.

“I love you,” Ahsoka whispered into his neck. Rex smiled and pressed another kiss to the side of her head. His fear from earlier smoothed.

“I love you, too.”

. . .

Obi-Wan hurriedly pulled his empty travel bag from where he had stored it and unsealed it while he walked across the main deck. Cody stood gripping the back of one of the booths around the table in the center of the room and stretched his knee.

“It’s not like the bombing of that school in district eight, is it?” Cody asked.

“In terms of casualties, no,” Obi-Wan answered as he neatly stacked clean Jedi robes in the bag from where he had stored them in one of the drawers lining the bulkhead outside the little bunkroom. Padmé had told them that the staff were searching for survivors, so it couldn’t be like the attack on the school on Coruscant, where the children had all been burned alive in one room and every single staff member was crushed to death by the collapsed building. “There are survivors of this attack. But whether the attackers are the same, I intend to discover.”

“How will you do that if we don’t even know who the attackers of the school in district eight were?”

Obi-Wan paused and sighed. “I don’t know. But like Commander Fist said, more information is always good information.” He remembered with a jolt that he also had the Force again.

Obi-Wan crossed the main deck and dipped into the fresher to gather his toiletries. When he emerged, Cody had gathered his handheld commlink, datapad, and a few blank datasticks from the cockpit. Obi-Wan thanked him as he tucked the items carefully into the bag. Cody’s Force Signature was a swirl of conflicting emotions. Fear and longing and agitation and excitement. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly and placed his hand on Cody’s shoulder.

What he’d seen in the temple had brought up terrible old memories from after Cody’s injury. For the past two years he would look into Cody’s eyes and see nothing but pain and depression. But as he looked into Cody’s eyes now, a different memory surfaced. A memory of the night before, when he’d massaged Cody’s leg with the Force. It was the first time he’d been able to really help Cody in the past two years. The anxiety clenching his stomach turned into a sudden swoop of pleasure at the memory of Cody’s flushed cheeks, the little noises he tried not to make, the feel of him under his hands. He hadn’t wanted that moment to end. Hadn’t wanted to take his hands off Cody. Hadn’t wanted to return to his own bunk and continue to deny that he felt anything more than dutiful respect and platonic affection for him. He took a deep breath to clear his head, squeezed Cody’s shoulder, and turned toward the lift that would take him out of the ship. Cody followed, limping slightly.

“Are you sure you can’t take me with you?” Cody asked as the lift descended. “I can’t protect you from here.”

“I’m a Jedi Master, I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself,” Obi-Wan said. He made to step onto the ramp, but Cody caught his upper arm. His eyes were hard when Obi-Wan turned to him.

“It’s not monsters or armies I’m worried about,” Cody said lowly. His eyes flicked to Anakin’s ship, where Anakin and Luke had emerged, Luke’s travel pack slung over his shoulder. Cody’s voice lowered again, and Obi-Wan had to lean in to hear him. “The last time I left you alone with him, I nearly lost you.”

Cody’s grip on Obi-Wan’s arm softened, and his thumb stroked his arm in a slow arc. A small frown creased his brow and the hard expression in his eyes turned to something more like sadness or worry. Obi-Wan remembered the rage and pain on Cody’s face when he found out what Anakin had done.

“That won’t happen again,” Obi-Wan assured him. “I made mistakes last time. Mistakes I need to correct. This is the only way.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can only trust in the Force.”

Cody pursed his lips and nodded once. “Be safe,” he said softly.

Obi-Wan stepped close to him and pressed their foreheads together, placing his hand on the back of Cody’s neck. His fingers threaded through the short hair on the back of his head, and old memories of touching Cody’s hair at night whispered through his mind. Cody placed his hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s head, and they breathed together, Cody’s fingers caressing the back of Obi-Wan’s neck.

Obi-Wan leaned into their Force Bond and felt the same warm attachment and affection and trust that he felt last night. He tried to send it back through their Bond, the same way he had tried to send it to Cody just before he fell asleep. He opened his eyes a fraction and watched as Cody’s lips twitched up into a soft smile. It would be so easy to surrender to these feelings. To lean forward and kiss him, to wrap him in the love he felt so deeply in his soul he sometimes forgot it was there. But he couldn’t.

Obi-Wan released Cody after a final deep breath, and Cody smiled at him before turning away and limping down the ramp. Obi-Wan watched him, and wondered if Cody was the one who needed protection.

They all met at the ramp to Anakin’s ship, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka with their travel packs, and Luke with his. Cody’s eyes were hard again, and Obi-Wan felt a sort of grim determination steel his resolve as he looked from Cody’s face to Anakin’s, which was pale and twisted with mingled fear and anger.

“Are we ready?” Anakin asked, looking from Ahsoka to Obi-Wan. Ahsoka nodded, her mouth set in a hard line. Obi-Wan nodded as well and resituated his pack on his shoulder. “Luke, stick with Rex. He’s in charge of you until we know it’s safe for you to come home.” Luke nodded, his face pale, and Anakin pulled him into another tight embrace.

Ahsoka took the first step toward the ramp of Anakin’s ship, but Rex grabbed her arm and pulled her into a kiss. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked sideways at Cody. Cody’s cheeks flushed dark, and he smirked at Obi-Wan. He didn’t need to feel the Force to know that Cody was amused, and slightly annoyed. He held out his hand and clasped forearms with Obi-Wan, the amused smirk still on his lips as he said, “Good luck.”

Anakin led Obi-Wan into the ship and Obi-Wan watched from the corner of his eye as Rex kissed Ahsoka again, holding her close in a full and fierce embrace. He turned away, watching his step as he followed Anakin into his ship. Ahsoka’s boots followed not long after. They followed Anakin to the cockpit and strapped themselves into seats as Anakin began pre-flight checks and warmed up the engines. Ahsoka’s cheeks and lekku were flushed dark, and she avoided Obi-Wan’s eye as she helped Anakin prepare the ship for flight. Obi-wan watched Cody until they had ascended, and he could no longer see anything except the bright blue sky, then the deep darkness of space, and soon the bright swirl of hyperspace.

Anakin slumped in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said softly.

Obi-Wan exchanged a worried glance with Ahsoka and silently agreed.

Four months before the anniversary
Senate Building, Coruscant

Fox’s body glove reeked of blood and sweat and grime. He caught a whiff of the stench when he pulled off his bucket as he stormed along a corridor on one of the upper levels of the Senate rotunda. He hadn’t had time to change after several hours of chasing a group of fugitives through the undercity. A medic had at least patched up the laceration on his arm, and although he was supposed to go to the medbay to have it properly looked at, he was instead about to stand in a meeting with the chancellor, several senators, and some lower-level senate employees.

When he approached the meeting room door, he caught sight of the chancellor’s red tabard, and walking with him was a face that made Fox’s stomach flip. Palo Demoni, Riyo’s husband. He suddenly wished he’d kept his bucket on.

Fox knew the moment that Palo recognized him—not an easy feat, considering he looked exactly like millions of other clones in the galaxy. Palo’s cold, grey eyes narrowed slightly, and his upper lip twitched. Fox clenched his teeth and tried to look straight ahead rather than make eye contact with Palo, but it was difficult as he got closer to the meeting room in front of which Palo and the chancellor had stopped.

“Ah, Commander,” the chancellor said coolly as Fox approached. “You’re out of uniform.”

“Helmets aren’t required in meetings, Chancellor,” Fox reminded him.

“You’re in this meeting as well?” the chancellor asked, surprise lilting his voice. He huffed a sigh and frowned as he said to Palo, “No doubt they’ll want a full security detail if they’re involving hraladar.”

“Your safety is invaluable,” Palo sneered. He turned his face toward the chancellor, and a flash of light at his neck drew Fox’s attention. His heart leaped into his throat, and not because of the derisive snort that the chancellor gave in response.

The black metal pin at Palo’s neck, the same one he had seen the day Palo and Riyo’s sons had caught him outside the lifts at their residential building, was Fives’ kriffing symbol. The symbol that had been painted on the ground outside the school in district eight. The symbol that was painted on the crates of smuggled goods. The same symbol that Fox had recognized on the remains of a war refugee housing center that had been bombed yesterday, and whose attacker Fox’s squad had chased through the undercity for several hours before this very meeting. The attackers disappeared, and Fox had dispatched several squads to hunt them down. If Palo was wearing the symbol, he must know who they are, maybe where the attackers had run to.

“Safety, my ass,” the chancellor muttered to Palo, who chuckled as the chancellor frowned at Fox. “Master Demoni and I must speak privately, Commander. You’re dismissed.”

Fox pursed his lips and turned away from the pair, questions about the terrorist symbol still thudding in his head. How did Palo have it? Why did he have it? Was he in league with the terrorists? Supplying them? Did he even realize the shape was being used as a symbol of terror and rebellion around the galaxy?

He stood in the back of the room and watched the rest of the senators filter in and sit at the conference table. He assessed each one as they entered, looking at the lapels of their jackets and the necklines of their shirts for the same dark pin that Palo wore. It was a foolish hope, to think that anyone else might be wearing the symbol, that it might be something other than a symbol of rebellion. He hated Palo. Would delight in a chance to arrest him, especially on charges of treason. But if Palo was aiding terrorists and insurgents, Fox had no idea how that would affect Riyo. They were still married. She might still love him. Seeing him arrested for treason might upset her. And as much as it hurt Fox to think that Riyo still loved Palo, he would never want to hurt her.

Palo did not join the chancellor when he finally walked through the door into the meeting room, but the chancellor was accompanied by one of the newer senators, a young woman from a mid-rim planet Fox couldn’t remember. Fox was about to put it out of his mind so he could focus on the meeting, until the younger senator turned to sit in her chair and Fox caught the shine of a small pin on the neckline of her dress, and immediately recognized its shape.

Fox only half-listened through the meeting. The lower-level senate employees who had called the meeting were planning an address to the Republic on the twentieth anniversary of the First Battle. The chancellor would speak, along with the other senators in the room. The entire Senate and their families would be invited to sit in the Rotunda and witness the address live.

Fox let his mind wander as they discussed topics for the speeches. Commander Drake’s men could handle security. Drake had a new captain, Garrett, who would be eager to take on the challenge. What Fox cared about was the pin. The symbol. The bombings and the murder of innocents and the terror unleashed across the galaxy in association with that symbol. And why, of all people, would Palo Demoni—the husband of a senator, son of Pantoran aristocrats, and owner of the Sujimi sector’s largest corporation—be wearing it?

Riyo’s office door was open and she sat at her desk alone when Fox stopped by after his meeting. He stood in the doorway and watched her for a moment, his stomach fluttering pleasantly. Her lavender hair was down, and it draped gracefully over her shoulders, shimmering in the morning light. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Her stylus flew over the datapad in front of her as she wrote, and Fox could just barely hear the sound of it tapping against the screen over the soft and slow music playing from the small speaker at the corner of her desk. Fox smiled. She was so lovely like this. Passionate. Focused. When she noticed him, her golden eyes lifted from her datapad and she smiled, which made Fox’s stomach flutter all over again.

“Commander,” she said softly. “What a lovely surprise.”

“May I have a word, Senator?” Fox asked, trying to keep his voice light and professional. Riyo’s eyes danced as she nodded. Fox closed the door behind him, and the sounds of the Senate Rotunda fell away as it zipped close. Riyo’s speaker played a soft love song, the melody slow and sweet, like fine silk slipping through fingers. Riyo put down her datapad and watched Fox cross her office. He stared deeply into her golden eyes as he leaned in close to her face. Her lips parted, and her breath was warm on his skin. When his lips touched hers, it was like electricity. As they kissed, their lips moving together with smooth, practiced ease, the fluttering in Fox’s stomach spread through his chest and hips.

“You smell like a gutter,” Riyo muttered onto his lips.

“Because I’ve been in the undercity,” Fox explained. Riyo hummed but did not break their kisses. Fox was the first to pull away as his aging back protested his bent posture. Riyo’s eyes lingered on him as he stood and rubbed his lower back fruitlessly through the flexible plastoid of his abdomen armor.

“What are you doing in the Senate today? I thought you already had Senate duty this week,” Riyo asked. Fox smirked as he remembered earlier in the week when he’d stopped by her office for fifteen minutes and left with the taste of her still on his tongue and her lipstick on his deece.

“I had a meeting with some committee that’s putting on a twentieth anniversary celebration thing later this year,” Fox explained.

Riyo made a face. “That sounds… tone deaf,” she said sourly. Fox snorted in agreement.

“It’s being organized by the chancellor’s Unity Party, so you know it will be rife with pro-war propaganda,” Fox grumbled. He pulled a chair from the small table in the corner to sit facing her without her desk between them.

“Great,” Riyo said sarcastically. Fox smirked at her, but the back of his tongue soured as he remembered seeing the chancellor outside of the meeting room talking to Palo, and the symbol Palo wore on his neckline.

“I saw Palo talking to the chancellor,” Fox said quietly. They tried not to talk about Riyo’s husband, but he needed to know if she knew what his pin was. He needed to know if her husband was a traitor. And if so, he needed to know if she knew.

Riyo frowned. “I didn’t know he was in the building,” she said sourly. Jealousy and triumph clashed in Fox’s chest. She sounded disappointed that he hadn’t stopped by to see her. Bitter, but not surprised.

“He was wearing a symbol on a little pin,” Fox said, gesturing to the neckline of his body glove where Palo wore the symbol. “Do you know what it is?”

Riyo’s frown deepened, and she shook her head. “I don’t know, I think it’s some corporate syndicate symbol,” she answered. “I’ve seen some of his friends from other corporations wearing the same thing.”

Fox ran his hand through his hair, only afterwards remembering how filthy his glove was. Her answer only gave him more questions. It couldn’t be a corporate syndicate. How could it when the symbol was used for terror and rebellion? What would corporations like Palo’s—which sold luxury items from the Sujimis sector and surrounding systems directly to Core worlds—gain from overthrowing governments?

“He and the chancellor looked chummy,” Fox said, still thinking of the way Palo had sneered as the chancellor insulted Fox right in front of him.

“They’re old war buddies,” Riyo said lightly, bitterness still in her voice. “They served on the same ship in the early days of the war.”

“Is that why you fell in love with him? Because he was a soldier?” Fox smirked. He didn’t need to point out the parallel. Riyo had left Coruscant to serve on her home planet, leaving Fox and the years of forbidden love they had shared behind. And when she returned, she had a husband who could not be more different from Fox. And Fox had been bitter. So very bitter. He had wanted to be the one Riyo loved forever. Still wished he would be the one Riyo loved forever. But despite their occasional trysts in her office or apartment, they had never talked about a future together. She’d told Fox that she couldn’t leave Palo without a very good reason. Their lives were too public, too entwined in the aristocracy of Pantora and galactic politics.

“His military service did appeal to me at first,” Riyo shrugged. “But I fell in love with him because he had grand dreams of how the galaxy could be, how the Republic could be. We had the same vision of the future. Both the future of the galaxy, and the future for ourselves.”

A future Fox could never give her. Marriage. Children. Stability. Fox sighed and hung his head, looking down at his gloves. He could see the dried blood stuck in the stitching at the seams.

“And now?” Fox asked, looking up at her again. Her golden eyes were soft, apologetic. Fox swallowed down the anger and anxiety that rose in his throat.

“He’s changed,” she said quietly. “After he took over his family’s company, he became… different. Power-hungry.”

“Do you still love him?”

Riyo paused, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth like she had done earlier. Jealousy churned in his stomach and rose into his throat, tasting of bile and blood. He knew he wasn’t going to like Riyo’s answer. He shouldn’t have asked the question. He should have left it alone. But the question was out, and he couldn’t take it back. He watched her struggle with the answer, feeling more disgusted with himself, with her, with their arrangement every second.

“He’s the father of my children, Fox. We’ve spent so many years together, I…” Riyo sighed bitterly, and Fox clenched his teeth. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” Fox said softly, resisting the urge to growl. “Do you still love him?” Do you love me? he wanted to add.

Riyo paused, picking at the stitching in the arm of her leather chair. She sighed deeply, and when her eyes met his, they were full of conflict and grief. Fox’s throat tightened under the liquid gold of her stare.

“Not like I used to.”

And while the hope that had lifted in his chest turned to triumph, the grief in her voice confirmed that she wished she still did.

Four months before the anniversary
Orbital space above Florrum, Outer Rim

This was officially the strangest mission Fives had ever been on.

He and Tup had taken a starfighter from the Tribunal, made an in-system jump, and were now flying into the atmosphere of a known pirate stronghold, wearing civvies, to make friends. Not to arrest the thirty-four wanted criminals and recover sixty counts of stolen goods, but to talk with them. Peacefully. About a symbol of terrorism that Fives had been chasing across the Galaxy for nearly a decade. He glanced down again at his clothes and frowned. Jesse had reluctantly lent him his bantha leather jacket to “roughen-up” his otherwise rather stylish civilian clothes. Jesse had threatened Fives with pain of death if anything happened to his jacket. Although Fives had teased that they were only going to get in one knife fight, he was hoping there wouldn’t be any reason to worry that Jesse might have to keep his promise.

Tup, sitting in the pilot’s seat in front of him, had his hair pulled up into its signature bun. He also wore a jacket over a simple cotton shirt and heavy trousers that were cut close to his legs. Fives thought he sort of looked like a pirate if he added a bandana, or pierced his ear.

“Rashiid obviously knows we’re coming, but we may get some resistance from the rest of the clan,” Tup said as they banked right to approach a sprawling settlement in the lee of a set of low mountains.

“And Rashiid is one of your friends from prison?” Fives asked.

“He was my only friend in prison.”

Fives’ heart sank. He and Echo had tried to visit Tup in prison, but Fox had turned them away. If the other inmates thought that Tup was still liked by other clones, they would have killed him. He understood that. Most of the criminals in the GAR prison had been put there by clones. But he had hoped that Tup had more than one friend in prison. To Fives, being a clone meant there were always friends and brothers anywhere he went. Even after Echo died, Fives always had a friend to lean on. He thought prison must have been exceedingly lonely for Tup.

They landed in a dusty field outside a scrubby town of mud-brick buildings. The largest building, a sprawling complex of five dome-roofed buildings connected by a series of passageways, created a semi-circular border between the field and the town. Fives tensed as he noticed the congregation of Weequays outside the building, watching their descent. A few raised blasters.

“You sure about this, Tup?” Fives asked as they shut down the engines. Tup’s shoulders were as tight as Fives’ felt. He checked to make sure his pistols were still strapped to his hips.

“Not really,” Tup said. He turned over his shoulder, and the smirk he gave Fives didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re old enough to keep us out of trouble, right?”

Fives rolled his eyes. Ever since Yularen had argued that Jesse and Fives were “old enough and clever enough” not to get caught by a potential trap, the teasing had been ceaseless.

“The only person I know here is Rashiid,” Tup continued. “So, if we have to kill a few pirates to bang out of here, I won’t feel bad about it.”

“What if we have to kill Rashiid?”

Tup paused with his finger on the control for the cockpit hatch. “I’ll do what it takes, Fives. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The air was still and dry, almost dusty on Fives’ tongue when they climbed out of the cockpit. Despite the congregation at the edge of the field, the only sounds were Tup and Fives’ boots on the dirt and the occasional click of a blaster safety being toggled off. Fives rested his hand on the grip of his pistol to calm the apprehension thudding through his veins. The crowd at the edge of the field inched forward as they approached, a smattering of Trandoshans, Nikto, and Bith among the overwhelming majority of Weequays, all armed with blasters and slug throwers and the occasional grenade launcher. And at the head of the crowd, grinning wickedly at them, was Hondo Ohnaka.

Tup raised his hands, palms outward, and stopped five meters from the wall of pirates and mercenaries. It was so silent that Fives could hear his heart thudding in his chest, and Tup’s deep four-count breaths. He felt naked without his armor. If this devolved into a fire fight, there was no way he and Tup could survive. No matter how old they were.

“Well, well, well!” Ohnaka shouted. “It seems we have two lost hraladar.” Fives clenched his teeth, his body tensing. The pirates were smirking at them, the ones who weren’t yet holding blasters reaching for them now. Tup stiffened next to him, his hands still in front of his chest, palms out. Hondo put his hand on his pistol and cocked his head. “Let’s show them the way, yes?”

With a clatter of plastisteel, everyone in the courtyard cocked and aimed their blasters except for Tup, who still had his hands up. Fives took a half step in front of him to shield him as he aimed both of his pistols at Ohnaka’s head. Ohnaka was no longer grinning. The barrel of his pistol was aimed directly between Fives’ eyes.

“Tup!”

In the crowd, one Weequay fought his way through the others. He looked like he was in his late twenties—although it was hard to tell how old Weequays were with their leathery skin—and had his sparse hair pulled back into long braids and covered with a dark blue bandana. He grinned, even as he elbowed his way past pistols and rifles and grenade launchers.

“Rashiid!” Tup called back. He took a half step forward, but Ohnaka trained his blaster on Tup and clicked his tongue.

“Don’t kriffing move, hraladar,” Ohnaka said coldly. Tup froze again. Ohnaka stopped Rashiid from running out of their crowd with one hand on his chest. He kept his blaster leveled at Tup, but turned to Rashiid with narrowed eyes. “How do you know this hraladar, Rashiid?”

“Tup is my friend from prison, Uncle.”

Hondo turned back to Tup, his eyebrows raised and the smirk stretching over his face again. “Prison? What was your crime?”

“Murder,” Tup said flatly.

Ohnaka tossed his head back as he laughed. His blaster was still aimed at Tup. “You are a soldier. You are made to murder.”

Rashiid stepped closer to Ohnaka and lowered his voice. Fives couldn’t hear everything he said, but based on his lip movements and the words he did hear, he pieced together that Rashiid was telling Ohnaka the specifics of what happened to Tup, who he murdered, and why he was sent to prison instead of decommissioned, like the Kaminoans wanted. Fives swallowed down the anger as it rose in his throat. Tup hadn’t deserved to go to prison at all. But if he hadn’t, they might not have this lead.

Ohnaka was silent after Rashiid finished explaining Tup’s story. His dark eyes scrutinized Tup. His finger traced the trigger of his pistol. Tup stared back calmly, his palms out, his face placid.

“Is this true?” Ohnaka asked, his voice a mix of incredulity and anger.

“I’ve never lied to Rashiid,” Tup said evenly. Fives readjusted his grip on his pistol as Hondo stared at Tup.

“And they put you in prison for it?” Ohnaka asked.

“Better than being executed.”

Ohnaka scoffed, then to Fives’ surprise, lowered his blaster. He and the other pirates cautiously lowered theirs as well. “And the Jedi claim to be compassionate,” he said solemnly, shaking his head. He raised one horned eyebrow as his eyes flicked between Tup and Fives, and a smirk slid onto his face again. “So, hraladar, what is it you want?”

“We have a few questions,” Tup said. Ohnaka snorted.

“And why, exactly, should I answer them? You may have my sympathy, but not my trust.”

“The Coruscant Guard arrested four of your men recently for smuggling,” Fives said. “We’re prepared to offer them freedom in exchange for your cooperation.”

Ohnaka threw his head back and laughed, and the crowd of pirates behind him laughed as well. “You can’t threaten us with prison time. Prison is nothing to my men!”

Fives gritted his teeth. “Alright, how’s this? If you don’t cooperate, you’ll be treated as an enemy of the Republic. I have a Venator-class Star Destroyer in this system, awaiting my call. And when I call, my ship will make a quick in-system jump and destroy your pathetic little town with an orbital bombardment.”

Ohnaka’s smirk faltered a fraction before widening to a broad grin. “My friends! There is no need for such threats!” Fives and Tup exchanged knowing smirks, and Tup rolled his eyes. “Come, come, Rashiid and I will, ah, what did you say? Cooperate?”

Ohnaka barked something in Huttese to his men—Fives caught the word “party” and a foul expletive—and they all reluctantly shuffled away from where they had congregated into the main building. Rashiid clasped forearms with Tup, and Tup pulled him into an embrace while Ohnaka and Fives watched warily. Music started from the main building, a thumping rhythm with a complicated melody. Tup thumped Rashiid on the back and grinned at him as they stepped out of their embrace.

“It’s good to see you alive,” Rashiid said with a small, reserved smile.

“You, too, Rashiid.” Tup patted Fives’ shoulder and pulled him forward. “This is my brother, Commander Fives.”

Rashiid held out his hand, and Fives timidly shook it. He honestly felt more at ease when everyone was pointing blasters at each other. They followed Ohnaka inside to a wide cantina where the rest of Ohnaka’s pirates and mercenaries were scattered among tables and along a long and grubby bar. The far wall was made of a series of archways that were open to the town beyond, with gauzy curtains tied to the mud-brick with colorful cords. Fives felt the pirates’ eyes on them as they walked through the tables to a far corner near an open archway. Ohnaka gestured to the bartender as they sat down.

“So, my identical friends,” Ohnaka said, that wicked grin creeping on his face again as he sat in the seat across from Fives. Tup and Fives exchanged another side-eyed smirk. “What questions can I answer for you?”

Fives pulled the holoprojection disk from the pocket of Jesse’s jacket and set it on the table. The symbol appeared in the air above it, and Fives turned the projector so that the flat side faced Ohnaka. His grin slid away and his eyes narrowed, and he placed his hand over his mouth as he rested his elbow on the table. Rashiid leaned closer to Ohnaka to look at the projection. Recognition flashed in his black eyes before he schooled his expression.

“What does this symbol mean?” Fives asked.

Ohnaka hesitated. It was a fleeting hesitation, and would be barely perceptible to a normal human, but Fives was an ARC-trained clone trooper. Ohnaka removed his hand from his mouth and shrugged. He gestured to the projection, a casual frown on his face, and said, “I don’t know what this symbol is.”

“That’s rich, considering the crates your men were smuggling had this painted on them,” Fives said.

“Sometimes cargo crates are painted,” Ohnaka shrugged. “We have Republic and CIS crests on crates, too.”

“No doubt stolen,” Fives said flatly.

“We are pirates,” Ohnaka sneered.

“And where did these crates come from?”

Hondo smiled, and his teeth were dull yellow in the sunlight streaming through the archway. “These crates? With this symbol on them? We picked them up at a rendezvous in the middle of nowhere. For a considerable fee, of course.”

Fives sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. They were here to make friends. Friends. Not get into a fist fight with a pirate king, no matter how infuriating he was being.

“Who met you?” Tup asked, his voice calmer than Fives felt. “What’s in the crates?”

“We usually meet a cargo freighter,” Ohnaka sneered cryptically, “and are instructed not to open the crates.”

“And you’ve never once asked who’s supplying the crates?” Fives asked, unable to hide the frustration in his voice any longer.

The bartender sidled up to their table and set four small, brightly painted ceramic beakers and a blue glass bottle containing about a liter of liquid onto their table.

“Do you know what this is?” Ohnaka asked. Fives and Tup both shook their heads. Ohnaka poured a small amount of the clear liquid into the ceramic beakers. The smell had the sharp sting of alcohol, followed by something more earthy. It was unlike any alcohol Fives had ever smelled. “This is a spirit called Florrena,” Ohnaka explained, his accent emphasizing the alien word. “It is distilled from a plant that only grows here, on Florrum. Something to do with the specific light spectrum of the sun and the argon in the air, I don't know, I’m not a botanist. But it makes the most delicious alcohol you've ever tasted. Go on, have some.”

Fives gritted his teeth, but remembered that they were here for answers, no matter what it took to get them. Besides, a little alcohol couldn’t hurt. He put one of the beakers to his lips. The smell of alcohol stung his nostrils, but when he took a sip the spirit was smooth. It tasted like liquid smoke and the scent of freshly mulched wood. Ohnaka sipped from his beaker and grinned at them as he swirled the remaining liquid.

“With the right distributor, I can sell this alcohol to wealthy people in the Core for one thousand credits a liter,” Hondo smirked. “More, if it’s flavored. But, ten years ago, we could only ever sell this to the Hutts. Neither the Republic nor the Confederacy would allow anything from our planet into their systems. All because we are pirates.

“Now, I have connections with a reputable distribution company, we ship Florrena into the Republic and Confederacy without anyone knowing where exactly it came from, and all it costs me is a few smuggling runs a month, maybe a few men in prison. But, as I said, prison is nothing to my men.”

“But you don’t know who is supplying the crates,” Fives said. He wasn’t really sure what the Florrena had to do with smuggling crates, and he was beginning to feel like Ohnaka was lying to him.

“Who cares? So long as I get paid, I don’t ask questions,” Ohnaka shrugged. He finished off the last of his drink. “We get paid more for not asking questions anyway, so that’s just good business!”

Fives leaned back in his chair and looked sideways at Tup. As far as he was concerned, this trip had been a complete waste.

“Now, if there are no more questions,” Ohnaka looked between Fives and Tup, who both frowned and said nothing, “then you will excuse me. Today is my favorite nephew’s birthday, and we are having a party. You are welcome to stay, if you want, but I must attend to the preparations. You might not know this, but family is very important to us Weequays.”

“Family is important to us, too,” Tup said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table as he stared at Ohnaka. “Whoever’s symbol that is, they’re killing thousands of my brothers daily. And I won’t rest until they’re found and brought to justice.”

Ohnaka was silent as he appraised Tup. His eyes flicked to Fives, who stared at Ohnaka. He, too, wanted justice for his brothers. Justice for Echo. Ohnaka nodded and said gravely, “Then, I wish you luck, hraladar.”

Fives sighed and drained his beaker of Florrena. Tup scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Did he lie to us?” Tup asked Rashiid. The Weequay grimaced at him and lifted his beaker to his lips.

“He didn’t lie,” Rashiid said. He drank the shot all in one swallow and set the beaker down heavily onto the table. “But he wasn’t telling the whole truth, either.”

“And what’s the whole truth?”

“While I was still in prison, Hondo was approached by Black Sun,” Rashiid explained. Fives and Tup exchanged surprised looks. “They wanted our clan to run smuggling operations for some mystery syndicate. I guess they threatened the clan, kind of like you did. Hondo may be reckless, but he’s not stupid. He managed to get the best out of the deal by using the Syndicate’s contacts to hook us up with a distributor for the Florrena. The worst part of all of it is being on the Republic and Confederacy’s radar more often than we like.”

“What’s the name of the distribution company?” Fives asked.

Rashiid shrugged. “Some company out of the Sujimi sector, I think. That’s where we take the Florrena, at least.”

Fives sighed and pursed his lips. Tup frowned at him. None of this helped, really. He had no idea how Czerka was connected to any of this. Unless the crates they were picking up were actually from Czerka. But how could they be, when the crates confiscated from Ohnaka’s men didn’t contain Czerka weapons at all?

“Will you stay? For the party?” Rashiid asked Tup.

“I don’t think so, Rashiid,” Tup said, shaking his head. “Something tells me we won’t exactly be well-received.”

Rashiid frowned but didn’t argue otherwise. “At least stay for another hour and meet my wife,” he said. “She’s eager to meet my clone friend from prison.” Tup smiled, and Fives’ heart ached.

“I’d like that,” Tup said softly. “If it’s alright with you, Commander?”

Fives smiled and clapped Tup on the back. “Of course, Tup. We can stay as long as you’d like.”

Chapter Text

Nine years before the anniversary
Primus, Lianna, Mid-Rim

The Naberrie family was in the old city square, shopping the farm and artisan market, when their lives were upturned once again.

It was a clear, sunny day. Temperate. Serene. Padmé held Leia’s hand, the pair wearing matching dresses of sunshine yellow. Anakin held Luke’s hand as they followed, and together their family walked through the crowded market without worrying about war, or politics, or Jedi business. Happiness had settled over Anakin’s shoulders here. Happiness and peace and freedom like he had never known before.

Luke had been lagging behind them all morning, his face turned up to the sky. He squinted into the sunlight, a tense frown on his round face. Anakin wasn’t sure what Luke could be so upset about. It was a beautiful day. There were no speeder lanes over this part of the city, no loud noises from the sky at all. Anakin found himself squinting up into the bright blue sky, searching for what Luke was concerned with, but found nothing.

“Stop looking,” Leia hissed at Luke when they paused at a stall selling dried legumes.

“Stop looking at what?” Anakin asked her. She stared at him but did not answer. Sometimes her dark eyes were unfathomably deep, too mature, too wise to be only five years old. He frowned at her. Her mind was as dark and deep as a black hole, swallowing the light around her. Anakin wondered how much she knew, how much she felt from the people around her.

Luke tugged on Anakin’s hand, pulling him away from the black hole of Leia’s mind. In contrast to Leia, Luke was bright as a star. The Force radiated from him, the swirl and dance of light and life almost unbearable. Luke frowned at Anakin, then pointed into a bare patch of bright blue sky.

Anakin felt it before he saw it. The Separatist dreadnaught snapped out of hyperspace low enough in orbit that it could be seen through the atmosphere, growing larger as it descended over the capital city. They’d been warned that the Separatist military was coming to garrison the planet. Lianna’s decision to join the CIS had come with the protection of the CISA from the ever-growing slaver raids and pirate pillaging. CISA protection meant safety and security to the majority of Lianna. But to Anakin and Padmé, it meant danger. They thought they’d be safe in their home far outside the capital city. They hadn’t anticipated they might not be home when the CISA arrived.

It took less than an hour for droid patrols to begin on the streets. Anakin and Padmé held Luke and Leia in their arms as they sprinted back to their speeder at the edge of town. Leia, the taller and heavier of the two, held onto Anakin’s neck tightly. Her little chin dug into his shoulder, but he didn’t think to mind. He used the Force to make Luke lighter in Padmé’s arms, and focused on his weight in his mind while he watched Padmé’s skirt flap around her knees.

They skidded to a halt at the end of a street and ducked into a little tapcaf as a patrol of droids rounded the corner. The whirring of their joints and the clanking of their feet jostled in his head. He grit his teeth and followed Padmé to a booth in the far corner. They needed cover. He groped his hip for his lightsaber, but it was not there. His heart rate skyrocketed. Obi-Wan would kill him for losing it again. No, Rex would kill him for losing it again.

“Daddy, what’s happening?” Leia asked as he set her on the booth between himself and the wall.

Anakin looked into Leia’s dark eyes and remembered that he was not on a battlefield. His lightsaber was not lost, it was safely packed away at home.

“We have to be very careful around the droids, Leia,” Padmé said quietly, placing a soft hand on Anakin’s elbow, her signal to him that she knew he was still reliving the horrors of a war he had left behind five years ago.

Leia’s eyes flitted from Padmé’s back to Anakin’s, and in them he saw his own fear mirrored. No, not mirrored, absorbed. She was feeling his fear, feeling Padmé’s fear. She gripped Anakin’s arm, and her dark eyes widened.

“Are they going to hurt us?” Leia asked. Anakin pursed his lips, and Padmé hesitated. They weren’t sure what the droids would do if they recognized Anakin or Padmé. They had planned to stay at home until they had more information about the CISA’s role here and how it would affect them, if they would need to flee again.

Anakin looked at Luke, whose blue eyes had that same too-old quality that Leia’s had sometimes. Luke usually felt the Force from without easier than Leia. He could tell something was going to happen long before it did. He’d known all morning that the droid ships would arrive, but didn’t have the words to tell them. And his fear was as palpable in the Force as Padmé and Leia’s.

“Listen to me, both of you,” he said, looking between his two children. “Your mother and I will never let anything hurt you. We will always protect you. I promise.”

“Always?” Leia asked, her voice small and timid and so, so young. He swiped his thumb over her rounded cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped her eye. He expanded the affection and love he felt for them into the Force so they could feel it, and the fear that pulsed within them subsided slightly.

“Always,” he promised.

Four months before the anniversary
Terman Station, Hutt Space

Kyl scanned his ship for trackers while pit droids droids pumped fuel for him. He’d taken an alternate path away from Raxus, and stopped at a refueling station in Hutt space, the opposite direction from his destination. The Aqualish man who managed the fueling depot eyed Kyl suspiciously while he manually scanned his hull. Good. He wanted to be seen. If those pig-headed Raxulon Security Force goons picked up his trail, he wanted them to think he was headed in the opposite direction.

As he passed over the port side, he felt a rush of fear and anger wash over him in the Force. He gritted his teeth and continued on without reacting. His passenger was awake, but he couldn’t let the Aqualish man know there was anyone else in his ship.

“What’s the best way to Tatooine?” Kyl asked the man in Huttese once he’d finished scanning the ship. His voice sounded odd without the modulator from his helmet. But he wanted the man to see his face, not his mask. “My droid’s running on an outdated set of maps, and I don’t want to end up in the middle of Confederate or Republic territory.”

“Tatooine? Ain’t you a bit young to be crossing the Galaxy alone?” the man asked in Aqualish.

“I’ve always been alone,” Kyl said flatly. 

The Aqualish scratched his hairy cheek and narrowed his eyes. “I got updated maps you can buy.”

“How much?”

“I’ll give you the whole Galaxy for a hundred wupiupi.”

Kyl snorted and crossed his arms. A lifetime of haggling with opportunists like this had taught him suspicion. “I don’t have anything valuable on my ship,” Kyl lied coolly. “So if you’re trying to sell me bugged maps, you’re wasting your time.”

“What’s your business on Tatooine, huh? What’s a kid like you doing crossing the Galaxy in a ship like that if you ain’t got something valuable?”

“I’ve been surviving on my own a long time. All I have is my ship and my skin,” Kyl answered. He tried to keep his voice calm and not let his anger boil over. “And my business on Tatooine is my own.”

The Aqualish was silent as he stared at Kyl. Kyl stared back, and figured that if he had to, he could silence the man with one stroke of his saber. But he needed a witness. Just in case. So, he kept one hand on his belt, ready to reach for the saber hidden cleverly in it’s blaster-shaped hilt, just in case he wasn't convincing enough.

One of the droids reported how much fuel was added, and the Aqualish man nodded slowly. “You’ll want to avoid the Corellian Run,” he said. “Republic cruisers patrol the whole lane from Core to Rim. I recommend going through Hutt space, and stay core-ward of Kamino. In fact, if you can’t jump from Nal Hutta to Tatooine without refueling, I’d prepare to run into some hraladar.”

“Thank you,” Kyl said sincerely. He was glad he wouldn’t have to cut anyone’s head off today.

“It’s three hundred for the fuel.”

Kyl fished in his pocket for the wupiupi coins and paid the man. He counted the coins before nodding and shoving them into his own pocket.

“I would tell you to travel safely, but I got a feeling you can take care of yourself,” he said with a shrug. Kyl didn’t reply, but he watched the man retreat into his office while the droids scurried off to their messy little workshop. He sighed as he climbed into the hatch on the side of his ship. The man had no idea how long Kyl had been taking care of himself.

He sat in the cockpit and pulled on his helmet before starting the engines. The filtered air tasted sweet in comparison to the ozone and oil of the spaceport. As the engines roared to life, another wave of fear from his passenger hit him like a physical punch. He followed the Aqualish man’s instructions and headed in the direction of Tatooine via Hutt space. He travelled two minutes before dropping from hyperspace and turning around, heading instead along a pre-set course toward his master.

Not worried anymore about the Raxulon Security Force finding him anytime soon, he took a deep breath of cool, sweet, filtered air and steeled himself for his next task. He still couldn’t believe his master chose him for this mission. The Aqualish had been right; he was still young. But he’d been on his own for a long time, and by the time his master found him, he had matured far beyond his years out of necessity. No child could survive the mines unless they grew up fast.

Kyl closed the cockpit hatch behind him and stood in the dark cabin, letting the fear and anger radiating from the crew bunks beyond the command consoles wash over him. The port-side bunk’s privacy barrier was still closed, which meant his passenger either hadn’t figured out how to open the mechanical lock with the Force or was trying to hide the fact that she could. He unlocked the barrier and gripped the handle, then reached out with the Force. His passenger was coiled tightly within. If he opened the barrier, she would kick him in the throat. He switched hands and kept his left hand up so that when he did fling open the barrier, he caught her ankle as she kicked him.

Leia’s eyes widened as she struggled against his grip and the binders that he’d tethered to a handhold above the head of the bunk. Kyl gritted his teeth and swallowed as he looked into her eyes. Even with her lip split and swollen, and her hair hanging in curled strands from the braids she had pinned onto her head, she was stunningly beautiful. Her round cheeks were flushed, and her dark eyes were intense. She looked about Kyl’s age, maybe a year younger. He was surprised how young she was, and was also surprised how inexperienced she seemed to be with the Force. He could feel the Force rolling off her, heavy and thick. The Dark and Light swirled together in an unfathomably deep ocean of power. But her power was restrained, unused. She could have easily broken free of her bindings and the barrier, killed Kyl, and stolen his ship, and yet she barely seemed trained enough to use the Force to aid her kick.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Kyl said evenly.

Leia snarled at him. If he let her ankle go, she would kick him again. He considered the arc of her foot and ducked out of the way when he released her. Her shoe barely grazed the face plate of his helmet. She curled into herself, the gold embroidery on her maroon jacket shimmering in the light. Kyl opened a compartment on the wall and pulled a nutrient bar from it. He had too many in the drawer. He’d rather starve than eat them. They tasted too much like the rations they were given in the mines, and the memory hurt worse than the cramping of his stomach.

Leia was staring directly into his visor when he turned back to her. “You want to release me,” she said flatly, and with the words he felt the feather-light touch of her Force Signature brush against his mind. He smirked and narrowed his eyes at her. Untrained, for sure. With the power she possessed, she should have at least been able to get him to consider releasing her, even if the full mind trick would never work on him.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he chuckled. He tossed the nutrient bar onto the bunk, but her eyes remained focused on him. “You can’t just say the words. You have to mean them. Reach within and push your Force Signature into my mind.”

Fear flashed across her lovely face before her scowl returned. “What’re you talking about?” she asked coldly.

“Your mind trick. It was pathetic. For one as powerful in the Force as you, I would have expected something better.”

“How do you—?”

Kyl lifted his hand and focused on the nutrient bar resting on the bunk. He could feel it in the Force, feel its shape and position. He reached within, not much power was needed for something so small and insignificant, and lifted the bar into the air. Leia watched it float through the air and settle into the palms of her hands where they were joined by the binders.

“Who are you?” she asked. Her mind had lost some of the sharp fear and was now curious and—though she hid it on her face—amazed.

“You should eat,” Kyl said instead of answering. “We will be flying for a few days.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Kyl didn’t answer. He turned his back to her and sat at the comm console. He dialed the frequency for his master, and waited as the comm connected across half the Galaxy.

“My mother is a Representative in the People’s House of the Confederacy of Independent Systems,” Leia said, an edge of desperation in the fear emerging again in her mind. He heard the nutrient bar drop onto the bunk again as she struggled against her restraints, and he sighed tersely. “My father… My father is a Jedi. He will find me.”

Kyl chuckled and turned over his shoulder to look at her. Her dark eyes were intense, her lips were pulled into a trembling snarl, and a tear fell down her flushed cheek.

“Oh, I hope he will. And when he does, my master will be waiting for him.”

Four months before the anniversary
Hyperspace, Outer Rim

Ahsoka sat in a booth at the galley table in Anakin’s Liannan starship with her eyes closed, meditating on what Rex had told her before she, Obi-Wan, and Anakin left for Raxus. Maul is alive, he’d said. The fear in his voice and flowing through their Bond was unmistakable. He truly believed that Echo had seen Maul three years ago on his last ARC mission with Fives—who, to Ahsoka’s surprise, had not died in the explosion that nearly killed Echo—and that Maul was now out in the Galaxy, organizing terrorist attacks. Maul had been presumed dead for thirty years. Obi-Wan cut him in half. Without bacta, smaller lightsaber wounds than that were often fatal. How Maul could have survived was beyond her belief and understanding. 

And yet, after what she saw in the Temple of Balance, it made sense that Maul might be alive.

She had breathed through her fear of the dark at the entrance to the temple, and stepped over the threshold into nothing. She walked forward cautiously, her white sabers extended, until runes at her feet lit her path. At the end of the path, she found three beings, their silhouettes illuminated by soft starlight. The Force swirled around them, through them. It felt like when she, Anakin, and Obi-Wan had sat on the stone outside and used Balance to open the Temple. Light and Dark blending and entwining, shepherded and guided by Balance. The starlight brightened around her, tiny pinpricks of light dotted on a ceiling and walls she had not seen before, and she saw that the three beings were not her, Anakin, and Obi-Wan. Instead, the three beings were Anakin, Luke, and Leia.

Red light had glowed on their faces, dim at first, then brighter. Ahsoka turned, and saw an army of shadows, all wielding crimson lightsabers. She stood between them, her own sabers raised, and knew that she was the only thing that stood between her friends and the darkness.

She had sprinted forward, sabers swinging and heart thudding, to attack the enemies that sought to destroy her friends. But the darkness overwhelmed her, and she watched as Anakin and the twins were swallowed up by it. The last thing she saw was Anakin’s eyes burning yellow and red before the universe went dark.

When she had emerged from the temple, she understood. There was something evil, a darkness they had not seen since the Sith Wars millennia ago, that grew beyond their reach. And she was the one who stood between Anakin and the twins and the destruction of the universe as they knew it. Earlier, she didn’t know what the dark force could be. But if Rex was right, and Maul was alive, she had a feeling that he was behind it.

What disturbed her the most was not the rising darkness—although that did unsettle her—but rather the implication that if she failed to keep the darkness at bay, Anakin would Fall. She knew he was emotionally volatile. She had heard stories from Master Obi-Wan about his uncontrollable rage and anxiety as a padawan, and had even seen his burning passion on the battlefield more than once. But she never thought he was capable of Falling. He used Balance so easily. Where connecting to the Force using Balance was a conscious effort for Ahsoka, it was as natural as breathing to Anakin and the twins. They didn’t understand that there was any other way to connect to the Force. And that made Ahsoka believe that they were incapable of letting the Dark consume them.

But Anakin had almost Fallen. Palpatine had groomed Anakin to become his next Sith apprentice. And if Fox hadn’t killed Palpatine, Obi-Wan made it sound as if Anakin might have betrayed everyone he knew and loved to follow him into the Dark.

Ahsoka opened her eyes as she felt the warm and familiar presence of Obi-Wan leave the galley and enter the small eating nook where Ahsoka sat. The Liannan ship was a Corellian-made diplomatic transport, large enough for six people, and laid out with lots of separating partitions for privacy and comfort rather than the wide, open deck of Ahsoka’s T-6, which was made for training and meditating.

“How far is Raxus from your hideout?”

Ahsoka smirked at Obi-Wan as he set a mug of tea in front of her. Anakin stayed in the cockpit, and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan decided it was best to leave him alone.

“My hideout?”

“That’s what Cody and I have been calling it,” Obi-Wan chuckled.

Ahsoka shook her head, not sure if she should be offended. “A full standard day, I think,” she replied.

“You think?”

“I haven’t been to Raxus since I was a padawan,” Ahsoka shrugged. She and Padmé had travelled to Raxus to attempt to initiate peace talks between the Republic and the Confederacy two years into the war. She hadn’t been back since. “When we visit Anakin, we always meet on Lianna.” She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from adding “or the colony.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and stroked his beard, studying Ahsoka’s face. She took a sip of her tea. It was the same light and floral Tatooinian tea that Rex and Anakin preferred. The taste was familiar and comforting amongst all this anxiety and uncertainty.

“When you say ‘we,’ you mean you and Rex.” It wasn’t a question. There was no denying anymore that she and Rex were more than Captain and Commander, more than friends. Rex had kissed her goodbye in front of Obi-Wan and Cody. She was glad he did. Part of her, the part that was still Obi-Wan’s padawan, would have walked away from him without a second glance. But another part of her, the newest and greatest part, would have been remiss if she had not kissed Rex goodbye before leaving for an unknowable amount of time.

“Yes, I mean Rex and I.”

“How long has this been going on?” Obi-Wan asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in the booth.

“Eight years,” Ahsoka answered. She didn’t want to explain her growing attachment and love for Rex that had begun the moment they met.

“Is he the reason you didn’t return to Coruscant?”

“He’s not the only reason,” she said sheepishly, feeling very much like the teenaged padawan who Obi-Wan used to lecture about attachments all those years ago. “I also wanted to stay by the Temple, in case my connection to the Force returned.”

“You could have done that from anywhere in the Galaxy,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Ahsoka bit her lip and looked down at her mug.

“I didn’t want to return to the war,” she admitted. “Rex would be in danger again. And we wouldn’t be able to be together.”

“He is a soldier of the GAR, and you are a Jedi. Your obligations are to the Republic.”

“I love him, Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to let him be taken back into slavery in the GAR just because the Republic demands it.”

“Your attachment to him has clouded your judgement.”

“My love for him allows me to better understand his perspective,” Ahsoka argued. Her anger rose within her, hot and sharp, and she did nothing to cool the power of the Force that buzzed over her skin like electricity. “If you had a chance to free Cody, to ensure that he was safe, that the Kaminoans could never decommission him, wouldn’t you take it?”

“That’s different,” Obi-Wan said coldly.

“Is it?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, but didn’t reply. Ahsoka sighed and rubbed her temples. She’d seen the way Obi-Wan and Cody looked at each other. She could feel the attachment and attraction and love that flowed between them. She didn’t think that after all these years Obi-Wan would still deny his feelings for Cody. He never denied that he once had feelings for Duchess Satine. Something had changed in him when Anakin left. She always assumed it was just because he missed his friend and former padawan. But after their argument at midmeal, Ahsoka wasn’t so sure anymore.

“What happened when Anakin left the Republic?” Ahsoka asked. She had been away with the 501^st on a mission when the Order discovered that the twins were Force-Sensitive, and when she returned, Anakin, Padmé, and the twins had fled Coruscant.

Obi-Wan lowered his mug and frowned at her. “It’s not a day I like to remember,” he said darkly.

“Why not? You never told me what happened.” Neither had Anakin, which only confirmed how sore the memory was for them both. Seventeen years of friendship and brotherhood dashed away in one night. Ahsoka needed to know why.

Obi-Wan let out a slow, controlled breath and set his mug carefully on the table. When he looked back up at her, his blue eyes were older and more exhausted than she had ever seen him.

“You remember how chaotic those years were, after the chips were discovered and Palpatine was apprehended,” Obi-Wan began. “I tried to shield you from the majority of the chaos. I thought that by making you commander of the 501^st, you would stay busy and focused on the war rather than the way the Order was trying to stitch itself back together.”

“What do you mean, stitch itself back together?”

“The war and Palpatine’s manipulations had fractured the Order,” Obi-Wan explained. He ran a hand over his scalp, and the white streaks in his coppery hair flashed brightly in the light. Ahsoka hadn’t noticed how white his hair had become until now. “As Jedi, we were always keepers of the peace. We thought we were working with the Republic to create a stable Galaxy. Discovering that we were so easily victims of the machinations of the Sith shook many Jedi’s faith in our Order. And not just Jedi. I’m sure you noticed that the civilians have a less than favorable view of the Order as the war has gone on.

“The Council was scared—I was scared—that everything the Order had worked so hard to achieve had fallen apart in the span of five years, and no one had seen it coming, or had been able to stop it. The Council was desperate to hold on to any shred of normalcy that we could. And at the same time, we were all individually afraid that we might fall victim to another Sith, or worse, Fall to the Dark side ourselves.”

“That’s why Anakin wasn’t allowed to stay in the Order?” Ahsoka asked. “Because the Council was trying to hold onto archaic ideals in the face of a crisis?”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “The ways of the Jedi have been in place for millennia because they’re effective. Just because they’re archaic does not mean they’re invalid.” Ahsoka sighed and took a sip of her tea. She’d suspected that was the reason Anakin had been forced out of the Order—even though at the time Anakin had claimed he left voluntarily. And she knew that Obi-Wan would disagree that the Jedi’s views on attachment were outdated. But it still stung to hear it out loud.

“So, what happened that night?”

“A seeker, Master Kiali, discovered that the twins were Force-Sensitive. And, being Anakin’s children, the Council sent me along to help collect them.” Obi-Wan paused and closed his eyes as he took a drink of his tea. His mouth turned down in distaste when he set the mug onto the table. “They were afraid that Anakin would react poorly. They were afraid that the anger that had surfaced when he thought Padmé was in danger would surface again.”

“And they thought that you being there would help smooth things over?” Ahsoka asked skeptically, a smirk pulling at her lips. Obi-Wan had never been able to control Anakin. The Council should have known that.

“That and… to make sure the twins were brought to the Temple, with or without Anakin’s approval.”

Ahsoka gaped at him. No child was ever forcibly taken from their parents. There was a stigma that the Jedi were kidnappers, but usually parents found their child’s Force-Sensitivity a complicated burden. Jedi training was preferable to the difficulty of growing up different.

“Why?” Ahsoka asked, dumbfounded. “Why not let him keep them if he chose to?”

“The majority of the Council believed that if Anakin was allowed to train them, they might become a threat to the Jedi Order in the future.”

“That’s … that’s banthashit, Master, and you know it,” Ahsoka said, anger rising in her voice. “How could you go along with that?”

Obi-Wan sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t have much choice. And, foolishly, I wanted Anakin to prove them wrong, to show that he was capable of letting go. When we told Anakin we were there to take the children, however, he was not willing to let them go.” Obi-Wan grimaced like it was physically painful to recall the memory. “We had an argument. More than an argument. A fight. He tried to kill Master Kiali. And I saw the Darkness within him. I saw him slip away from the Light. In that moment, my own fears made me draw my lightsaber. I don’t know what happened after that. I woke up in the Halls of Healing, and Anakin had gathered up his family and fled Coruscant.”

Ahsoka stared at Obi-Wan, letting his story roll around in her mind. There was a time that Ahsoka believed her master was faultless. That he was the wisest of all Jedi. She wanted to believe that he would live forever, never grow old or die. But looking at him now, with his hair going white and the dark circles under his eyes and all the truth spread bare between them, she knew that was foolish. The expectations of a little girl who wanted to believe she was being trained by the best. And all the decisions she made since her apprenticeship: leaving the Order, training with Dooku, falling in love with Rex, no longer felt so misguided.

Anakin emerged from the cockpit before Ahsoka could ask any more questions. The dark circles under his eyes rivaled Obi-Wan’s. His frustration and anxiety were tangible in the Force. He ran his hands over his face and stood at the end of the rectangular table.

“Any news?” Obi-Wan asked softly.

Anakin sighed and shook his head. “I can’t reach anyone while we’re in Hyperspace.”

“They’ll find her, Anakin,” Ahsoka assured him.

“I can still feel her in the Force,” Anakin said. “She’s not—I just hope they can find her soon.”

“How long until we reach Raxus?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Ten hours. Is there more tea?”

“Of course. It’s in the galley,” Obi-Wan answered. Anakin sighed heavily and trudged into the galley. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan sipped their teas in silence while they listened to the tinkling of water being poured into a mug, accompanied by Anakin’s soft, stifled sobs. Ahsoka closed her eyes and swallowed, her throat tight. She could feel his apprehension and grief as it filled the cabin.

“I’ll be in the cockpit,” Anakin said thickly as he hurried through their nook back toward the front of the ship. “Don’t bother me unless there’s an emergency.”

“Maybe you should rest,” Obi-Wan suggested, but by the time he’d finished his sentence, the cockpit door was closed behind Anakin. Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. The weariness and exhaustion returned to the droop of his shoulders and the deep lines on his face.

“Earlier, you said you regret fighting with Anakin that night he left,” Ahsoka said quietly once she was sure Anakin was not going to emerge from the cockpit.

“I regret the way the whole ordeal was handled, yes,” Obi-Wan replied wearily.

“Do you think the twins should have been raised at the Temple?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, his fingers clenching on the handle of his mug briefly. “I think they would have been trained well at the Temple, as you and I were, as every Jedi has been for thousands of years.”

“You didn’t think Anakin could train them well?”

“Anakin struggled to grasp basic Jedi principles. As you heard today at the Temple, I taught him not to draw on the Force from within, but he did it anyway,” Obi-Wan argued, the crease between his brows deepening. “There is a darkness within him, Ahsoka. Just beneath the surface. I’ve seen it. His attachment to Padmé and the twins is a dangerous path that leads to the Dark Side. I did not think he could be trusted to teach Luke and Leia in the ways of the Jedi without the support of the Temple. And to train them in any other way would be seen as a threat to the Order. There’s a very good reason why attachments are forbidden, Ahsoka. For anyone. But especially for someone as powerful as Anakin.”

Ahsoka gritted her teeth. “I have never once seen Anakin slip toward the Dark Side, or show any signs that he might,” Ahsoka argued.

“I fear that if something has happened to Leia, he will.”

Ahsoka glanced at the cockpit and sighed. Anakin loved his children. Like any good father, he never wanted to see them hurt. That didn’t mean he would Fall.

But, she had to admit that if they arrived in Raxulon and discovered Leia was hurt or dead, Anakin’s rage would make a bomb look like child’s play.

Four months before the anniversary
Raxulon, CIS capital, Outer Rim

It was mid-afternoon in Raxulon when they finally landed. The spaceport was bustling, full of people hurrying from one place to another, unconcerned with the Galaxy around them. Anakin watched them as he paused to take a few deep breaths while the locking clamps snapped into place around his landing gear. Did they know a school had been bombed? Did they know children had been murdered? Did they know Leia was missing?

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan waited for him at the ramp with their packs slung over their backs. They had convinced Obi-Wan to wear the “spare” Liannan pilot’s uniform that Echo usually wore on missions. The jacket was a little broad on his shoulders, but the face plate on the helmet helped hide his identity.

For an odd, brief moment, he felt like they were headed into a new mission as Jedi. Scouting a battlefield, walking into unknown negotiations, chasing the Sith. It had been a long time since the three of them had gone on a mission together. Despite the years of heartache and distance between them all, a pang of nostalgia clenched his chest. He gritted his teeth, slung his pack over his shoulder, and opened the hatch into the bustling spaceport and unknowns beyond.

Padmé was already waiting in the docking bay when they landed, and she ran into Anakin’s arms as soon as he stepped off the ramp. He wrapped her in his embrace, pressing his face into the top of her hair, pulling her warm and comforting body against his. He felt her chest shudder with sobs, and his throat tightened.

“Any news?” he asked when Padmé stepped out of his embrace, wiping tears from her cheeks. He kept one arm around her waist, and gently tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

“No,” Padmé answered. “They still haven’t found her. Nearly all the other students have been accounted for except her.”

Anakin let out a long, controlled breath and kissed Padmé’s forehead before letting her go. “I brought some help,” he said, turning to Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

The tightness of his throat returned as he looked at Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, waiting on the ramp. He still wasn’t sure yet why they had risked capture or death to come to Raxulon with him. He hadn’t wanted them to come with him at all. But Obi-Wan had practically begged Anakin to let him help. He’d said it was a chance to fix the mistakes he’d made twelve years ago. To help their family, to help Leia. And Ahsoka had been stubborn as ever that she was coming along, whether Anakin liked it or not. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew he would need their help. He had that familiar bad feeling about the whole situation, that it was more than just a bomb, more than just the terrorism they’d seen over the last several years. He would need other Force-users here, helping him. More than that, he would need the people he was closest to, no matter how many years of distance and disagreements lay between them.

“We’ll find her, Padmé,” Ahsoka said softly as she stepped forward and pulled Padmé into a soft embrace.

Padmé narrowed her eyes at Obi-Wan, a question forming on her lips. The uniform belonged to Echo, but the blue eyes behind the visor did not. She glanced at Anakin, who pressed his lips into a firm line. He hadn’t been able to tell Padmé that Obi-Wan was coming. He wasn't sure how she would react. They had been friends, once. But after the incident twelve years ago, that friendship had been dashed away.

“Surely I have not gotten so old that you don’t recognize me,” Obi-Wan teased. Padmé’s shoulders dropped, and mingled surprise and affection crossed over her face.

“Obi-Wan,” she sighed. “No, of course not. I wasn’t expecting you. It’s… It’s good to see you.” She took a hesitant step toward him, and he pulled her into a warm embrace. Anakin felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. He didn’t think Padmé would ever forgive Obi-Wan. Time may have cooled Anakin’s anger, but Padmé’s fury at Obi-Wan and the Jedi Council was far deeper.

Padmé glanced at Anakin, a concerned question flitting through her eyes and in the twitch of her lips. Anakin nodded, trying to convey that he’d allowed Obi-Wan to come along. The Council had not been contacted. This was Obi-Wan’s choice. As a friend, as a former mentor, as a brother.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Padmé said, turning back to Obi-Wan as she put her arm around Anakin’s waist and pulled him close. “It’s been so long.”

“I’m as bewildered as you,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “If you’d told me two days ago that I’d be in Raxulon today, I’d never have believed it.”

“Well, I’d love to give you a tour,” she said, her smile fading back into anxiety, “but the detective is expecting us at the academy.”

“Lead the way,” Ahsoka nodded.

They took a private speeder, one of the nice ones with a droid pilot and steam-cleaned leather seats, from the spaceport to the academy. Padmé sat next to Anakin, and they faced Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. A tense and uncomfortable silence fell over them as the speeder lifted away from the spaceport. Ahsoka folded her legs beneath her and closed her eyes to meditate while Obi-Wan watched Raxulon zip past the viewport to his left.

“Did you figure out what happened to your Force connection, Ahsoka?” Padmé asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

Ahsoka shook her head before opening her eyes. A frown creased her brow. “No. But Obi-Wan’s Force connection also returned a few days ago. And we were able to open that Jedi temple.”

“Did you lose your connection, too?” Padmé asked Obi-Wan, surprised.

“I did,” Obi-Wan said, turning away from the window. “All Jedi lost their connection about eight years ago, although the Council never has admitted it.”

Padmé nodded slowly. “I understand why they would be reluctant to show vulnerability like that during the war.”

Anakin tensed for Obi-Wan to argue, but Obi-Wan only sighed, his shoulders drooping and a frown developing on his brow.

“What was in the temple?” Padmé asked, looking from Obi-Wan to Anakin to Ahsoka.

“We had… visions,” Anakin shrugged.

Padmé's eyebrows raised. “Visions? What did you see?”

“A lot of darkness. I don’t… I don’t really understand all of it. There was a light, at the end of a long, dark path.” Ahsoka and Obi-Wan watched him intently with near-identical expressions of curiosity on their faces. He looked out the viewport at the passing Raxulon skyline and thought of the dark visions in his peripheral. The two people fighting, and the anger and pain that followed. The other figure kneeling amongst a circle of peers, and the utter loss of the Force. He didn’t know if they were visions of the past or the future, but he disliked them both. “The light went inside me—inside my chest. And then I was in a—a memory.”

“What memory?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Of my mother, the night before Qui-Gon took me to Coruscant,” Anakin said thickly. He remembered the pain and sadness he had felt then, the idea of being parted from his mother forever had been unfathomable. “She had said to me, ‘This is who you are meant to become.’ And then the memory changed, and I was in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant with Master Qui-Gon. And he said…” Anakin pursed his lips and had to turn away from the anticipation on Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions: pain, sadness, hope, longing. They rarely talked about Master Qui-Gon. Even when Anakin was growing up, as Obi-Wan’s padawan, they hardly ever talked about Obi-Wan’s former master. Anakin could always feel the pain and guilt that Obi-Wan exuded whenever he thought of Master Qui-Gon, no matter how much he tried to meditate away the feelings and let go of the man who was the closest thing to a father he’d ever had.

“He told me that I was the Chosen One,” Anakin continued. “That I would bring balance to the Force. He said that I was both conduit and controller of the Force, that the Force wants balance and I had to bring it to the Galaxy. And if I didn’t, the Galaxy would fall to darkness.”

Ahsoka and Padmé’s shock was palpable in the Force. Padmé placed her hand on Anakin’s knee.

“He said all of this in your vision?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice breathless.

“He said it to me in real life,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan blinked, and his eyebrows raised as genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t understand what he meant then, but I think I might understand now.”

“I—I had no idea he told you that,” Obi-Wan said softly. He took a deep breath, and his mind was overcome with guilt. Anakin thought it must have been because Master Qui-Gon was the only one who truly understood what Anakin needed in his training. He knew that Anakin was the chosen one. He knew how Anakin needed to be shaped to fulfill that role. And while Obi-Wan had done the best he could, Anakin never learned from Obi-Wan what Master Qui-Gon should have taught him instead.

But Obi-Wan surprised Anakin, surprised all of them when he said, “That is a terrible burden to have placed on you at that age, Anakin. I’m sorry.”

Anakin looked into Obi-Wan’s eyes, which were soft and sad and genuine. Anakin’s throat felt tight, and he could only manage a nod. He’d spent the last twelve years imagining Obi-Wan as the man he was in Padmé’s apartment that final night in Galactic City. He had forgotten Obi-Wan was capable of being genuinely kind and caring. It had been rare when Anakin was a padawan, almost as rare as it was to talk about Master Qui-Gon, but when the war started and Anakin was knighted, Obi-Wan’s attitude had shifted from the hard-edged teacher to a softer, more caring friend and brother Anakin had always hoped Obi-Wan could be. Obi-Wan smiled softly before turning to look out the viewport again, and Anakin stared at him, lost for words.

“What, uh—” Anakin cleared his throat and blinked away the tears threatening to well on his eyelids. Padmé squeezed his knee softly. “What did you see in the temple?”

Obi-Wan’s face pinched. His mind became a cloud of uncertainty and confusion. Anakin frowned and watched him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He had looked distraught, almost ill when Anakin emerged from the temple. Whatever he had seen there was disturbing enough to make him physically sick. And seeing Obi-Wan struggle now, Anakin wasn’t sure he should have asked what he’d seen.

“Anakin, look.”

Padmé pulled Anakin from his thoughts and saved Obi-Wan from explaining his vision. Outside the viewport, Leia's school slid into view, and Anakin’s heart sank.

A throng of civilians had gathered on the street, crowded around an electrostatic shield barrier. The transparent blue of the barrier flashed with the words “POLICE LINE. DO NOT CROSS.” And beyond the barrier, the tall permacrete walls of the academy, the walls that were supposed to shelter and protect his daughter, were burnt and crumbling. The trees that surrounded the academy’s main building were charred and blistered. The entire south wall had taken the brunt of the concussive force and was scattered across the south lawn. Inside, the floors of the building sagged. Temporary durasteel beams had been set between the floors for support while droids and workers in plastene suits and respirators sifted through the rubble.

“Ahsoka, what do you feel here, in the Force?” Obi-Wan asked as the shuttle slid into a gap formed in the crowd by the electrostatic barrier.

Ahsoka frowned at him and glanced at Anakin and Padmé before answering gravely, “Fear. Overwhelming fear.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I do, too. I wanted to make sure it was not my own fear clouding my senses.”

“It’s understandable, though,” Ahsoka said, looking through the viewport at the crowd gathered. “An attack like this on a school is bound to make people afraid.”

“It’s probably fueled by all of the other attacks we’ve had recently,” Padmé said. “Terrorism attacks just like this one. There are never very many survivors.”

“We’ve been victim to terrorism attacks like this on Coruscant as well,” Obi-Wan said. “Over six hundred students were burned alive in a school in district eight earlier this year. There were no survivors.”

Fear flooded Anakin’s veins like a wash of ice. Padmé gasped, horrified. “None?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I thought maybe I would be able to find out if the attackers here were the same as the ones on Coruscant.”

“How?” Anakin asked, frowning.

“I don’t know. I thought the Force would offer a clue. But all I feel here is fear. Overwhelming, all-encompassing fear.”

Ahsoka pursed her lips and pulled her sleeveless cloak tighter around her chest. Obi-Wan’s eyes caught Anakin’s briefly before he put his helmet back on. Anakin reached out in the Force and felt what they did: fear. Thick and sharp and heavy, like the Dark Side often was when unbalanced by peace and serenity. He took Padmé’s hand in his and kissed her knuckles before climbing out of the shuttle and into the crowd.

The detective met them in a massive tent with flimsiplast walls stretched across durasteel supports that had been erected by the east wall of the school. The Raxulon Security Force officers and CISA medics filled the temporary building, offering aid to injured children and teachers on cots lined up in the open space. Anakin tried not to notice the occasional body covered in a sheet, or think about how it was likely the body was a child.

The detective was a tall and thin Umbaran man named Ferris. He wore a wide-brimmed black felt hat with the Raxulon Security Force crest embroidered in red on the front. His eyes were obscured by dark glasses, and he wore long sleeves and pants, to protect his skin and eyes from the sunlight. Anakin saw Ahsoka shift uncomfortably next to him. She and Obi-Wan had fought on Umbara while Anakin had been called back to Coruscant by the chancellor on what he now understood to be a fool’s errand. So many of his men had died in that oppressive darkness. He should have been there with them. They were just more people he hadn’t saved, more people he had failed.

“Representative Amidala,” the detective greeted Padmé, his voice low and slick. “This must be your husband.” Anakin held out his hand and Detective Ferris shook it. “And your companions?”

“Ashla, my assistant, and Ben, our co-pilot,” Padmé said, giving the detective the false identities they had used on many occasions during the war years and years ago. Detective Ferris nodded to them in greeting. Ahsoka pulled her cloak tighter around her chest.

“Do you have any news, Detective?” Anakin asked. The detective nodded and gestured toward a holoprojection table pushed against one of the walls to make room for more injured.

Ahsoka touched Anakin’s shoulder and used the clone hand signal for “reconnaissance,” which he understood to mean that she and Obi-Wan were going to have their own look around, preferably with the Force.

The detective pulled up an image of a device that Anakin supposed could be something like a bomb, though it was of no design he’d ever seen before. “We think this is the approximate configuration of the explosive device used.”

“It doesn’t look familiar,” Anakin shrugged. “Not like anything used by the CISA or the GAR.”

“No, this is a homemade device,” Detective Ferris confirmed with a nod.

“What does this have to do with Leia?” Padmé asked.

“Do you think she would be capable of making a device like this?” The detective asked flatly. “As a pilot for the Liannan Royal Guard, I’m sure you have access to all sorts of mechanical parts.”

“What?” Padmé asked, her voice icy.

Anakin frowned, his heart sinking into his stomach. It was certainly possible. She did have access to a lot of tools and parts, thanks to his work making prosthetics and helping maintain ships and weapons for the clones at the colony. But the thought that Leia would make a bomb and then blow up her own school was… unfathomable.

“I don’t… I mean, she’s capable—”

“What are you insinuating, Detective?” Padmé asked, placing a hand on Anakin’s arm to shut him up before he incriminated their daughter on accident.

“There’s no sign of your daughter in this school,” the detective said coolly. “Either she wasn’t there, or she was carrying this bomb.”

Padmé’s stare was icy, and a tense silence fell between them. “Detective. Are you suggesting that my daughter suicide bombed her own school?”

“I know you’re a Republic sympathizer, maybe she—”

“Let me make one thing very clear,” Padmé said, her voice low and dangerous. Chills ran down Anakin’s spine. “I would never, never, condone this type of violence, whether I was a Republic sympathizer or not. I have always maintained that the Army Creation Act was the downfall of the Republic and have worked tirelessly, for decades, to reverse its damage. My daughter would never commit an act of terrorism like this. Not for any political agenda. Ask anyone who knows her, and they will tell you that Leia’s strength lies in her ability to persuade. With words. So, I do not want to hear another insinuation that she willingly carried an explosive into this academy and murdered innocents, Detective. Do you understand me?”

Detective Ferris’ lip curled, and his nostrils flared. Anakin’s shoulders tensed. “Your daughter is not here, Representative Amidala,” Ferris said coolly. “So, unless you know of another place she might have gone, I think it’s time you came to terms with the idea that you knew her less than you thought you did. If you’ll excuse me, I have an investigation to run.” Ferris turned on his heel and stomped away, stiff-backed with fists clenched, to another nearby holoprojector. Padmé leaned on the table, her knuckles white where she gripped its edge. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Anakin placed a hand on her back and rubbed soothing circles into the soft fabric of her jacket.

“He’s just guessing,” Anakin said truthfully. “He’s probably under a lot of pressure to find the cause. Leia would never do this.”

“I know, Ani,” Padmé sighed. “I just wish I knew where she was.”

“Representative Amidala?”

Anakin turned over his shoulder to see a young Neimoidian with wide, fearful orange eyes standing behind them. Ooibay. Leia’s friend and roommate. A thrill of mingled hope and fear surged through Anakin’s chest.

“Ooibay?” Padmé asked, standing straight and smoothly wiping a tear off her cheek as she brushed her hair behind her ear. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… I’m okay,” Ooibay answered. She had her arms wrapped around her chest and her long, thin fingers clutched her pale pink robe.

“What are you doing here, Ooibay?” Anakin asked, his voice not nearly as calm and soft as Padmé’s had been.

“I—I know where Leia is,” Ooibay said quietly.

“Where is she?” Padmé asked frantically, stepping forward to place her hands on Ooibay's bony shoulders.

“She—she was taken.”

Padmé gasped. Panic surged through Anakin’s veins like an icy wave. “Taken? Taken where? By who?” Anakin asked. He could hear the desperation in his own voice.

Ooibay swallowed and fidgeted with her robe, her eyes flitting between them nervously. “By the Cult of the Sith.”

Anakin blinked at her, bewildered. “The… what?”

“The Cult of the Sith. My parents are part of it. They… the cult bombed the school. To get to Leia. And she… she was taken.”

Tears began to fall down Ooibay’s cheeks, but Anakin’s mind was spinning too fast to know what to do. Leia was kidnapped. By something called the “Cult of the Sith,” no less. The name made his stomach churn.

“Where did they take her?” Anakin asked, his voice hard. “Why did they take her?”

Ooibay shook her head and let out a pitiful sob. It was difficult to hate her, even if she was Neimoidian. She looked so young and pitiful with her arms wrapped tightly around her thin chest and her eyes puffy and cheeks tear-streaked from crying.

“Did your parents take Leia?” Padmé asked, her voice a lot calmer than she felt in the Force.

Ooibay shook her head and wiped tears from her cheek with bandaged fingers. “No. No, they… they just told me what the Cult… what the Cult did. And… and they wanted me to give you this.”

Ooibay pulled a small handheld commlink from her pocket and held it out for Padmé. She looked at it, her brows pulled together, and handed it to Anakin. When he pressed the button, the hologram of a ghostly figure in vaguely Mandalorian armor bloomed above his palm.

Ooibay gasped. “That’s who took Leia,” she breathed. Anakin exchanged a nervous glance with Padmé.

“I have your daughter,” the figure said.

Anakin’s heart skipped a beat. The voice, distorted through the helmet’s vocoder, sounded male, but any accent or inflection that might indicate what species he was or what planet he was from was lost in the electronic distortion.

“If you want to see her alive, you will meet me at the abandoned temple on Malachor in five standard days. You will not bring any authorities. You will not bring any weapons. If you fail to comply, or don’t show up—” The figure shifted out of the frame, and when he reappeared, Leia was with him. His fingers gripped her braid, and he pulled her in front of him by her hair. Her lip and right eye were bruised and bloodied. Her hands were bound in front of her chest. A tear-soaked strip of fabric was tied around her mouth like a gag. She sobbed softly as he tugged on her hair. “—I will kill your daughter.”

Leia’s eyes went wide. The figure stabbed her in the side with an electrostaff, and she screamed and cried and writhed in his grip. Her screams tore through Anakin like a physical blow, like someone stabbing his chest and twisting the blade. The figure dropped Leia onto the ground and turned forward again, the purple sparks of the electrostaff reflecting off the black paint of his helmet.

“Five standard days. No weapons. No authorities.”

And then the message was over, and it collapsed with a soft beep. Anakin had forgotten how to breathe. He stood, frozen solid with his eyes glued to the spot where Leia had fallen out of the view of the holoprojection. He could still hear her screams in his head, feel them wrenching through his chest. He swallowed hard. Something was caught in his throat that felt a lot like helplessness.

“Oh, Ani,” Padmé sobbed, collapsing into Anakin’s arms. Anakin pressed her into his chest, kissed the top of her head. Fear and guilt surged through his chest, squeezing his heart. He should have been there for Leia. He shouldn’t have let this happen. He’d had a bad feeling when they left the school after dropping Leia off for the start of term. Luke had one, too. He realized now that it had been a warning in the Force. A warning of the danger that would come. He should have listened. But he’d followed the metaphorical nuna that had strayed from the nest. And now Leia was in danger.

“What are we going to do?” Padmé asked, tilting her head up to look at him. He swiped a tear off her cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear before cupping her damp cheek in his hand.

“We’ll find her, Padmé,” Anakin said softly, his stomach still churning. “We’ll bring her home.” Padmé kissed his palm and tucked her face into his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Anakin gritted his teeth and set his resolve. One way or another, he would find Leia.

And he would tear apart anyone who stood in his way.

Four months before the anniversary
Somewhere in the Outer Rim

Leia had never once thought about what the floor of a starship smelled like. She’d been tossed to the floor plenty of times, but there was always a training mat laid out, soft and cushy. Those smelled like feet and body sweat and disinfectant. And there was always an outstretched hand ready to pull her to her feet. Rex, or her father or, more recently, Echo.

This floor had no training mat. There was only cold, textured durasteel that scratched her palms and bruised her knee and chin. And it stank like oil and dirt and blood.

Leia took a few shallow breaths with her face pressed into the durasteel, assessing the pain in her ribs. The electrostaff had felt like being stabbed with electricity. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. She’d screamed until her throat was raw, and then she was thrown onto the ground. Bile rose in her throat, sour on the back of her tongue. The sharp pain of electricity was gone, and instead a dull buzzing remained.

“Five days. No weapons. No authorities.” The boy—and he was just a boy, Leia could feel that in the Force as if she could see the youth on his face despite his helmet—finished his message to her parents and sent it using the commlink terminal she’d seen him use earlier to call his “master.”

He sighed and was silent, and Leia had the distinct feeling that he was staring at her. She closed her eyes and swallowed down the bile coating her tongue. She timidly expanded her senses to feel him in the Force. He was standing behind her, staring down at her. His mind was tumultuous, dark. He was full of pain and anger, and instead of suppressing it the way her father had taught her, he let it fill him up and drew power from it.

She heard the sharp tap of the electrostaff being set down by the comms terminal. If she could get past him, she could grab it. Leia shifted, got her hands beneath her chest, her knees and toes on the ground. She’d trained for this. Rex and her father had been training her and Luke their whole lives how to fight, how to fly, how to save themselves. And while Luke had been focusing on flight and lightsaber duels from their father, Leia had been learning hand-to-hand combat and blaster skills from Echo. And Echo had always stressed to her that she should use the Force to help her in combat, even though she had been taught her whole life to suppress and hide her ability.

“If you’ve got a weapon,” Echo had said after he’d helped her up from the mat, “you should use it. Your enemies won’t hold back, and neither should you.”

Leia struggled to use the Force in their spars. If anyone outside their tight-knit group of friends knew she could use the Force, they would all be in danger. So she practiced hiding her ability, and had difficulty unleashing it. But this boy already knew she had the Force. He had used the Force in front of her. She didn’t need to fear using it in front of him. He wouldn’t hesitate, and so she shouldn’t either.

In one breath, she gathered the Force from around her, felt its light and the way it flowed through the Galaxy, through every living thing. The boy took a step toward her. His boot was silent on the durasteel. His Force Signature was a dark tangle of pain and anger and guilt. He felt cautious, but not aggressive. This wasn’t necessarily a good thing, Leia thought as she remembered Echo’s training. Aggression was easy to unbalance. Caution was a defense she would have to break.

In her next breath, she drew on the Force from within, and it was from here where she felt her true power. Her emotions were strong, wild, untampered. She could let her fear and anger fill her and feel the vast dark ocean of the Force underneath her skin. It flowed through her like a rushing river, raged inside her chest like a torrent. It filled her with a power she did not know how to control.

Her fear gripped her throat as she drew on it, and she teetered on the edge of a balance she had never dared to cross. The boy reached for her, and she reigned in some of the power, too afraid to let it out, too afraid to be consumed by it.

When his fingers gripped her upper arm, she used the small amount of power she dared unleash as she jerked her elbow back into his soft, unarmored armpit. He grunted in pain and his fingers slackened on her arm, not letting go, but just enough that she could twist out of his grip and kick him, hard, in the groin. He stumbled backward, his cry of pain distorted by the helmet. She jumped up from the floor and turned to him. He looked up at her, still clutching his codpiece, and growled softly. She slipped into a defensive stance. Feet solid, her left foot forward, shoulders squared, muscles tense. She breathed deeply. The Force from within and without flowed through and around her, under her control. She heard the boy swallow, and knew this was the last second to strike.

With her hands bound, she really only had her feet to attack him with. But she had to be careful that he wouldn’t grab her ankle like he had done earlier. She kicked his knee, then hit his neck with the bindings on her wrists. He stumbled but hit her in her ribs where he had stabbed her with the pain stick. Her chest spasmed, and she choked on her own gasping throat. The pain shocked through her as if he had used the stick again. She kicked him in the side to force him away, then kicked again, and again, and again until he fell onto the ground and she followed him with a clatter of armor and the thud of her knees on the durasteel.

She used the Force within her, the rage and fear and panic that bubbled up to the surface, and hit the boy has hard as she could wherever she could. The metal bracers that bound her hands clanged loudly against his armor. He fumbled with her legs and waist as he tried to grab her and she shifted around his grip, pressing her knees into the soft spots between armor plates, throwing elbows and bashing him with her bound wrists.

It wasn’t a coordinated fight. Echo would have been barking at her to tighten up, find his weaknesses, use her strengths against him. But all she felt in this moment was driving fear and a need to gain control. She needed to get him unconscious so that she could, at the very least, send a commlink to her parents. Ideally, she could get control of the ship and fly herself home.

As her fight became more desperate, the strain of hitting the boy as hard as she could while trying to escape his fumbling grasp began to wear her out. She panted, desperate grunts and screams escaping her mouth with every blow. She could feel her heartbeat in her eyes, hear it thundering in her ears. Her lungs ached. Her ribs screamed in pain. And still the Force thrashed within her like a wild animal clawing desperately at its cage, fighting to break free.

“ENOUGH!” the boy flung his hands toward Leia’s chest, and she felt the air between them solidify and expand, and then she was soaring through the air. Pain exploded through her back and her skull as she hit the edge of the tactical console and tumbled over it onto the floor. Lights popped in front of her eyes and she blinked them away as she lifted herself off the ground again. But something stopped her, like a massive invisible hand pushing at her back. No matter how hard she pushed against it, she could not get up.

The boy sighed tersely, and she turned her head to look up at him through the locks of her hair that had escaped her braid. His chest heaved as he panted. He had one arm outstretched, his shaking fingers splayed and his palm facing Leia as he used the Force to keep her down on the floor.

“You are the most powerful Force user I have ever met,” the boy growled at her.

“Is that supposed to be flattery?” Leia asked derisively through gritted teeth.

The boy shook his head. “It’s the truth. But you’re untrained. You don’t use the power within you. I don’t think you know how. My master can show you how. He can train you. You could be the greatest Force user to ever live.”

“I would rather die,” Leia growled back. She didn’t want to be powerful in the Force. She wanted to go home.

The boy sighed, more annoyed than angry. “Have it your way.”

She felt a tug on her mind, and her body sagged and her vision blurred before fading to black.

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

A nightmare woke Cody into the pale morning light that streamed through the cockpit into the adjacent bunkroom. He sat up and rubbed his face, and the images of the nightmare faded into nothing, leaving the taste of fear on the back of his tongue. He glanced at the bunk across from his, and his heart sank when he remembered that Obi-Wan wasn’t there.

Cody pulled off his blanket and swung his legs over the side of his bunk, noting how easily his knee bent, without more than a twinge of pain. He wouldn’t need much painkiller this morning. If any at all. It would be nice to only need a dose to sleep, instead of a dose every few hours to stave off agony. When he stood from his bunk, movement from outside the ship caught his eye. He slipped into the cockpit to cautiously peek into the clearing, and saw Luke outside in his sleep clothes, rearranging the chairs around the fireplace with the Force.

Luke surprised Cody in many ways. First was that greeting, the traditional clone greeting that he used when he met Cody. The shape of his face and the gleam in those blue eyes didn’t surprise him—he was Anakin’s son, after all. Rather, the kindness in his smile, his mother’s smile, threw Cody completely off his guard. And yesterday afternoon, when they learned that Leia’s school had been bombed and that she was missing, and Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan had flown to Raxulon to find her, Luke faced the whole situation with maturity far beyond his years.

And now Cody watched him lift chairs into the air, move them around the clearing, and rest them upright into the dirt as delicately as if they were porcelain figurines. He knew Luke wasn’t technically a Jedi, but it was difficult to watch someone, anyone do that and not feel the same awe that usually came with the title “Jedi.”

Cody stepped out of his ship into cool, fresh morning air. He breathed in deeply, letting the earthy scent of the surrounding forest fill him up. Birds trilled in the distance, unseen among the foliage. Above him, the blue and purple gas giant was a bright and brilliant crescent among the dusty lavender and pink of the early dawn.

Luke paused briefly when Cody approached, then continued to float a chair over their heads, twirling it around one leg like some kind of lumbering ballerina before setting it down behind Cody. He smiled and gave Cody an awkward wave, and Cody bobbed his head in greeting.

“You’re up early,” Cody noted.

“I had a nightmare,” Luke shrugged.

Cody nodded and looked around at the chairs now scattered around the clearing. “Want to talk about it?”

Luke bit his lip and looked down at the ground. When he met Cody’s eyes, his own were rimmed with tears that he was trying to choke back. He shook his head, and Cody looked away when he sniffled and rubbed his face.

“Have you eaten first meal yet?” Cody asked.

“No.”

Cody gestured for Luke to follow him, and turned around toward the ramp to the T-9. “You like caf? Or prefer tea?” Cody asked as they rode the lift from the ramp to the main cabin.

“Do you have milk? For the caf?”

“Milk powder.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Luke raised the table and booths without being prompted, and Cody hobbled into the kitchen, a twinge suddenly forming in his hip. He stretched it out as the kettle boiled and he prepped a pot of caf mixed with the spice blend Obi-Wan preferred. The rich scent of the spices sent a pang of longing through his chest that he quickly swallowed down. It had been less than a day. He’d been away from Obi-Wan for far longer stretches of time in the past. But for some reason this separation hurt worse.

Luke picked a ration pack of sausage and eggs while Cody had his usual sweetened grains and fruit, and they sat across from each other at the table to eat. Cody sipped his caf and watched, amused, as Luke put three spoonfuls of dried milk powder into his mug until it was the color of sand. Cody was never afforded such a luxury at Luke’s biological age. They drank caf black on Kamino, and if they didn’t like it, they dragged their sleepy asses to training without.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Luke asked, breaking the pensive silence.

“Yes,” Cody said honestly. “But I don’t remember it. I have nightmares most nights, honestly.”

“I’ve heard… other clones say that.” Luke’s cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head to take another bite of eggs.

Cody raised one eyebrow as he scrutinized Luke’s embarrassed face. “The clone POWs?” he asked.

Luke nodded sheepishly, his cheeks and ears becoming impossibly redder. “I’m not supposed to talk about them to you,” he explained. “The… place where they’re kept, it’s a secret. And I promised to keep that secret.”

“But you’ve been there. And spent time with clones. That’s how you know so much about clone culture. Not just from Rex.”

Luke stared at Cody for a moment while he chewed, then nodded. Cody let out a long sigh. He’d suspected as much. Rex had been suspiciously defensive when Cody tried to ask Luke how he knew so much about clones.

“Are they happy? The clones?” Cody asked. He wasn’t sure how he would feel about any answer Luke gave him. He still felt that his brothers should go home to the GAR, but knew that if they did, they would only return to war and death.

“I guess so,” Luke said carefully. Cody frowned at him, confused. “They’re healing. They all have a lot of scars. On their skin and in their minds. But being at… where they are helps. There are a lot of clones there and they help each other.”

Cody looked down at the mug of caf in his hands, at his reflection in the liquid. His chest felt tight. He didn’t know if he should be glad or disappointed. His brothers were healing. They’d been enslaved, mutilated, tortured, and abused, and now they were healing. He couldn’t ask for much more.

But something sat uncomfortably in his chest, something hard and sharp that pressed against his heart. He felt a wave of anger as he thought of all those brothers living in isolation while millions more suffered every day in the war. Those men, those soldiers, mutilated and abused as they were, could still help the fight. They were still useful, even if they couldn’t fire a blaster. He was suddenly angry at Rex, and Ahsoka, and Anakin, and anyone else who ever kept their brothers from fulfilling their purpose of fighting in the war. Forcing them into stagnation to die of old age. That was no life for a clone. And Cody would know, he’d lived that life for the past two years.

He looked up at Luke, who was watching him with blue eyes far older than his fourteen years. “You’re angry,” Luke said plainly, in the same way Obi-Wan used to lay Cody’s emotions out between them.

“I don’t know how to feel,” Cody admitted. Just as quickly as the anger came, it left, and he was embarrassed he had ever felt any anger at all. His brothers were healing. Away from the judgements of the Kaminoans, away from the terrors of war, but also away from the glory of death in battle.

“You’re not the only one who’s conflicted,” Luke shrugged as he stabbed a sausage with the plastene fork provided with the ration pack.

Cody wanted to ask what he meant, who else might be conflicted, but the ship’s commlink chimed with an incoming call. He pursed his lips and stood from the table to answer it in the cockpit. He was amazed how easily he could stand. His hip and knee barely protested.

“General,” Cody greeted Obi-Wan when his face bloomed above the small holoprojector on the control panel. “Any news?”

“Leia’s been kidnapped,” Obi-Wan said wearily, running a hand through his hair. Cody’s heart sank.

“By who?”

“We’re not entirely sure. A friend of Leia’s claims it’s a group called the Cult of the Sith.”

“Who is that?”

“We don’t know, but I don’t like the sound of it. The strangest part is that they left a message for Anakin and Padmé, but didn’t ask for anything. Just for them to show up alone and unarmed on Malachor in five standard days,” Obi-Wan explained. “We’re not sure yet if the kidnapping is politically motivated.”

“Any connection to our terrorism bombings on Triple Zero?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply, but paused. His brow furrowed, and he reached up to stroke his beard. Cody raised one eyebrow at him, waiting.

“Have we deployed special forces into the CIS to perform strikes on civilian targets?” Obi-Wan asked.

Cody sat back in his chair, surprised. “None from the 196^th, no. I can’t speak for the rest of the GAR. Though that hasn’t been our tactic since Palpatine was in office.”

“So, any terrorism bombings reported by CIS officers would be separate from war activity?” Obi-Wan asked. A little flush had spread over his cheeks, something that usually happened when he got excited. Cody almost smiled.

“Well, it would depend on the attack, but probably, yes.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly and stroked his beard, his eyes lost in thought.

“Why, what have you heard?”

“The CIS has had other attacks, other bombings like this one. I think our terrorism group may be working on a Galactic scale. So far, there’s no evidence those attacks are the same as this one. It appears the school was bombed purely as a diversion to kidnap Leia. Probably—”

“Leia was kidnapped?”

Cody turned sharply to see Luke standing in the doorway to the cockpit, his blue eyes wide and his cheeks flushed as he stared at Obi-Wan’s holoprojected form. Cody gestured for him to come into the cockpit, and signed for him to sit down, forgetting momentarily that he was not a clone or Jedi trained to understand handsigns. Luke understood, however, and sat in the copilot seat, his wide eyes still glued to Obi-Wan.

“Luke, I didn’t know you were there, I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said kindly.

“How do you know she was kidnapped? And by who?”

“We received a ransom call from the kidnappers. We don’t know exactly who they are yet.” Obi-Wan’s voice automatically took on that soft, slightly paternal tone he used with Ahsoka, especially when she was young. It made Cody’s chest tight and his stomach squirm for a reason he didn’t really understand. He wrote it off as nostalgia of simpler times, back when Ahsoka was Obi-Wan’s padawan and Cody was healthy and whole and they soared through the Galaxy together on the Negotiator. 

“Is she okay?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, and Cody’s stomach clenched, pushing away the oddly pleasant feeling that had been there before. “What does the Force tell you?” Obi-Wan asked.

Luke frowned and scrunched his nose, but Obi-Wan watched him patiently. Luke closed his eyes and his face relaxed a fraction.

“Reach out, let the Force flow around you. Listen to it without feeling, without judgement, without expectation,” Obi-Wan said in that soft, paternal voice. Luke’s shoulders relaxed, and he breathed deeply.

“She’s alive, but she’s hurt,” Luke said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She’s very afraid. There’s something… sharp with her.”

“Sharp? Like something stabbing her?” Cody asked.

Luke shook his head. “Sharp in the Force. Dark. It feels like… It feels like fear. I can’t tell if it’s hers or someone else with her.” He opened his eyes and when he looked at Obi-Wan, an anxious frown creased his brow. “What are you going to do?”

“We’re going to get her, Luke,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “We’re going to bring her home.”

Obi-Wan ended the commlink after short goodbyes. Cody told him to be careful, wishing he could say so much more, unsure he would know how even if he could. Uncertainty and worry sat heavily in his gut and he took a deep breath to will it away. Obi-Wan would be fine. He was a Jedi Master. He had regained his Force powers. Cody had seen him achieve incredible feats with and without the Force. But still, he worried.

Luke ran his hands through his hair as he leaned his elbows on his knees. Cody was suddenly reminded so wholly of Anakin that it was difficult not to call the kid “Commander.” He thought idly that Luke was the age where he would be a padawan, if he had been raised at the Temple. He wondered if Obi-Wan would have been his Master. But Luke hadn’t been raised at the Temple. He was raised with his family, something no Jedi had been allowed in the millennia since the Order’s founding. And right now, his family was in trouble.

“Worried about Leia?” Cody asked.

“Yeah,” Luke sighed, sitting up straight and wrapping his arms around his chest. “And I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Cody snorted, and Luke gave him a small smirk. Now that he did understand. Brotherly affection, the not-so-gentle teasing of people he knew would always love him and understand him because they had been raised together.

“I’ve lost a lot of brothers. Occupational hazard.” Cody smirked at Luke, and Luke snorted as he rubbed his face. “But the worst is when they go missing. Not knowing what happened to them. Not knowing if they’re alive or dead.”

“At least I can feel her in the Force,” Luke said. “I’ll know if she’s alive or—or not. Even if there’s nothing I can do.”

“Keep up that positive attitude, kid.”

Luke grinned, and his grin was nothing like Anakin’s at all. Obi-Wan had been right when they first met Luke; that smile was all Padmé.

Luke turned toward the viewport, and Cody followed his gaze to see Rex emerge from his cottage, rubbing his face and yawning. He nearly tripped over the chair Luke had set at the edge of the clearing, and he stood in front of it with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his head as his eyes scanned the clearing. He waved awkwardly when he saw them.

They waited for Rex at the table, finishing their rations and caf while he watered the garden. He climbed the embedded ladder from the ramp to the main deck and emerged smelling of dirt and fresh air. He grinned when he saw them sitting at the table, and ruffled Luke’s hair affectionately.

“You’ve been busy this morning,” Rex teased. “Re-arranged my outdoor furniture and had firstmeal, and the sun’s barely up.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Luke explained with a shrug.

Rex gave him a sad, understanding half smile and squeezed his shoulder. “Why don’t you go start your studies in the T-6? I need to talk to Cody.”

Luke huffed, but stood to leave. He thanked Cody for the food and caf with a genuine smile, and Rex patted his shoulder as he turned to leave the ship. Affection gnawed at Cody’s chest, unbidden. He didn’t want to think he felt affection for anything Skywalker made, much less raised and trained. And yet here was Luke, sweet and funny and smart and all the things his father was and all the things his mother was combined into a person that Cody could find himself feeling something like pride for. And he barely knew the kid. He watched Luke climb down to the ramp the same way Rex had climbed up, and steeled himself to turn to Rex.

“Spiced caf?” Rex asked with one raised eyebrow.

“Want some?”

“If you’re offering.”

Cody stood, again surprised at how easy the motion was, and poured Rex a mug of caf while he settled into the seat Luke had vacated. “Have you eaten? I think there’s more egg rations.”

“Caf is plenty, thanks.”

Cody set the mug down for Rex and sat again in his own seat. Rex closed his eyes as he inhaled the steam coming off the top of his mug, and a small smile crept onto his lips.

“This reminds me of the war. All those times we fought together,” Rex said, his voice far away.

“Ahsoka used to hate the smell.” Cody remembered the way she would wrinkle her nose and complain whenever Obi-Wan would make a pot of spiced caf while they strategized.

Rex took a sip and set down the mug, and a troubled frown eclipsed his peaceful expression. Cody watched him silently, anger and nostalgia swirling around in his chest. He missed the days they fought together. He was still angry Rex stayed here on this moon instead of returning to the fight. But he was glad that Rex was there to help those ex-POWs heal. Luke had said there were a lot of them. They needed all the support they could get.

“I have to tell you something,” Rex said. He shifted in his seat, his fist clenching and unclenching on the table. “I should have told you before, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t important that you know then. And now it is.”

“What is it?” Cody asked, trepidation gnawing at the edge of his mind.

Rex swallowed hard and swiped his hand over his head. “Echo’s alive.”

Ice rushed through Cody’s whole body in a wave. His heart stuttered, thumping erratically behind his ribcage. He stared blankly at Rex, not sure if this was a joke, or a mistake, or some cruel prank. But Rex said nothing. He looked at Cody with those light amber eyes full of guilt and anxiety.

“Echo,” Cody said flatly. “Of Domino squad.”

“Your vod’ika, yeah. And he’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

Cody felt like he’d just been kicked in the chest. He and the rest of the GAR had assumed Echo died in that refinery explosion that almost killed Fives. They had gone back to sift through the wreckage, to search for his body, but there was nothing left. Of the building, or of Echo. Fives had never been the same after.

“You didn’t think to tell me this earlier? I’ve been here almost a week, and you’ve been keeping this from me the entire time?”

“I wanted to tell you the minute I found out Fives was alive,” Rex said. “But for Echo’s safety—”

“What do you mean ‘found out Fives was alive’?” Cody interrupted.

“We all thought Fives had died in that explosion, just as you thought Echo had died.”

Cody stared at Rex again. “Have you told Echo that Fives is alive?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Rex frowned and his fist clenched again. “I didn’t want him to do something foolish, like fly to Triple Zero to find him.”

“Maybe he wants to come home,” Cody suggested. Echo had been just as livid as the rest of the 501^st when Rex left. He’d been on Radnor, he’d witnessed the carnage, the lack of confidence Jesse and Appo had in themselves for years afterward. There was no way Echo felt the same way as Rex, that they were better off here, away from the war, away from their brothers.

“And you think the GAR would readily accept a clone who’s been dead for three years, no questions asked?” Rex argued. “No, he could put our entire operation in jeopardy when GAR command starts asking questions.”

Cody clenched his jaw, emotions warring inside him. Rex sighed heavily and hung his head. When he looked at Cody again, he looked decades older than his thirty years. Guilt soured on the back of Cody’s tongue, mingled with the bitterness of anger.

“When you see him, you can decide whether to tell him,” Rex said dejectedly.

“And if he wants to come home? To the GAR?”

“He’s free to do whatever he wants, and I won’t stop him.”

Cody closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into his temples, where a raging headache had formed. Echo was alive. His Echo. And Rex had kept the truth from Cody for days.

“Cody, I—”

“Get out,” Cody snarled. “Before I punch you again.”

Rex hesitated, but obliged. Cody took a deep breath and felt the Galaxy shift around him. Who else was Rex hiding with his clone POWs? And if Echo had survived that horrifying explosion, who else could be alive that they’d previously thought was dead?

The next morning, Cody was up at the first light of dawn again, but for a completely different reason. He sat on the wing of the T-9 with a mug of caf in hand and watched the skies. Of all the men in Rex’s chaotic 501^st battalion, Echo had been his favorite. He was the kind of man who could strategize an entire battle plan, set up an elaborate prank, assassinate a target with his bare hands and be back on the ship to watch the prank unfold without anyone ever knowing who the mastermind was. Fives usually got the brunt of the blame—he wasn’t exactly innocent himself—but Echo never let Fives take all the punishment. He was a good brother in that way, someone Cody knew he could trust to tell the truth, no matter how much trouble it got him into. Cody would have liked to promote him to Commander. But he’d died three years ago.

He’s not dead, Cody reminded himself for the thousandth time. He’ll be here soon. He wondered if Echo got out of that explosion unscathed, only to be left behind by Fives as he escaped on their starfighter. Fives had lost an eye and had third-degree burns on almost a quarter of his body. There was no way Echo survived unscathed. Until yesterday, Cody always imagined that Echo had died quickly, caught in the blast and disintegrated before he could feel the pain. At least, Cody had hoped that was what happened. If Echo had to be dead, he could only hope that he had not had a long, painful death. How much had he suffered before he was pulled from the wreckage by those anti-slavery operatives?

Eventually, Luke joined him on the wing, climbing up with one Force-assisted jump. He had what looked like a GAR ration bar in his teeth and a datapad in one hand, and he lay back on the wing and ate his food while he read. The silent company was nice, even if his nerves were still frayed. This anticipation wasn’t the same as when he was preparing to see Rex for the first time. This was different. Excitement, rather than apprehension. Echo was alive. And Cody would get to see him after nearly four years apart. He didn’t know what he would say to Echo, but it wouldn’t matter. He could say nothing at all and he knew that Echo would understand him perfectly.

“I see a lot of him in you,” Luke said, breaking their silence.

“Who?”

“Echo. I see a lot of Echo in you.”

“He’s my vod’ika, my little brother,” Cody said absentmindedly, before his brain registered what exactly Luke had said. “Do you know Echo?”

“He’s with us a lot. He trains us to fight, comes with us on missions to rescue clones sometimes.” Luke shrugged. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off his datapad. “Leia is his favorite, though. He’s been giving her special training.”

“What kind of training?”

Luke shrugged again, then tilted his head back to look at Cody upside-down. “Leia doesn’t like to pilot, so Echo teaches her while dad teaches me to fly.”

Cody chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, if she’s been receiving special training from Echo, I’m not worried about her at all.”

“Why not?”

Cody raised one eyebrow at him and smirked. “Skywalker genes, Amidala attitude, and ARC Captain training? She’ll be unstoppable.”

Luke chuckled. “I hope you’re right.”

“Don’t worry,” Cody said with a wink, “I won’t tell anyone you’re still worried.”

Echo didn’t arrive until late in the morning, after Cody and Luke had helped Rex with his morning chores and had started to prepare mid-meal. The sound of engines cutting through the sky was an odd comfort for his frayed nerves. He stood with Luke and Rex and rubbed his now-aching hip as they watched an ARC-170 drop into the clearing long enough for a single figure in custom armor to jump out of the co-pilot seat and for Rex to toss a canvas bag filled with the clothes from Braya into the cockpit. The pilot, who wore a phase III clone flight armor and helmet, caught the bag and tossed it into the co-pilot seat behind him. Cody narrowed his eyes as he looked from the pilot to Rex, wondering how clone POWs had managed to acquire armor and a GAR starfighter.

But his curiosity didn’t matter once the starfighter had risen away from the clearing, because in front of him, after almost four years, was Echo.

Echo pulled off the black custom helmet—Cody had no idea where he’d gotten it or from what it was made—and grinned as he clasped forearms with Rex. Cody’s throat felt tight. He looked almost exactly as Cody remembered. He tucked his helmet under his arm and ruffled Luke’s hair. Then he turned, and his dark eyes landed on Cody, and Cody thought his heart might just fall right out of his chest. He clutched at Echo’s outstretched forearm like it was a lifeline, his eyes scanning every inch of his face. His hair was still cut regulation-length, the way he’d always kept it. He had a few more scars, including some that spider-webbed over his scalp and down his neck. Time and age had lined his skin, but his eyes still danced with that boyish youth that Cody had missed.

And he was here. He was alive. His fingers gripped Cody’s unarmored arm, and Cody looked down at his hand, afraid to find the mutilated fingers that would have fit into the gloves from Braya’s shop. His fingers were all intact, but they felt different. Thin and bony. He didn’t dwell on it as he pulled Echo into an embrace. He was real. Alive. Cody placed his hand on the back of Echo’s neck and felt his pulse beneath his scarred skin. Echo’s arms wrapped around his chest, his hands flat and strong and secure on the planes of his back. This was Echo. Exactly as Cody remembered him. Alive and whole. His eyes stung with the threat of tears. He breathed them away, swallowed down the emotions bubbling over, and stepped out of Echo’s arms.

“I’m glad to see you alive, Commander,” Echo said thickly. His own eyes were red and watery, but his grin was wide and heart-achingly familiar. “I’m sure seeing me is a bit of a shock to you.”

Cody couldn’t help but bark out a short laugh. He felt hysterical, looking at Echo. Echo. “You’ve been dead for almost four years,” Cody said. “I’m more than a little shocked.” He squeezed Echo’s shoulder, then put his hand on Echo’s jaw. Echo leaned into the touch. Warm. Real. Alive. Cody wanted to crack completely open. “But I’m glad to see you alive.”

“You’re just in time for mid-meal,” Rex said, clapping Echo on the back.

“Dry rations and recycled water?” Echo teased. He winked at Luke as he said, “Luke’s favorite.”

“Charred meat and moldy veg,” Luke teased back.

“Ah, Cody’s favorite, then.”

Cody laughed as they sat around the firepit in the center of the clearing. It almost felt like old times again, gathering around a fire to scarf down rations and quickly strategize their next move. The only person they were missing was Fives.

Echo threw his head back as he laughed at something Rex said. Cody’s stomach clenched. Fives. Echo still thought Fives was dead. His best friend, his brother. His other half for nearly sixteen years of war. Cody wanted to tell Echo that Fives was alive. He wanted to cut through their conversation and blurt out that while they thought Echo was dead, Fives had been mourning him, grieving his death, lost and angry and sad without him. And yet here was Echo, looking happy and healthy and whole. His cheeks were flushed, and his skin was brown from the sun. He looked well-fed, well armored, well taken care of. Meanwhile, Fives was suffering.

No, he couldn’t tell Echo that Fives was alive. Echo would want to go to Fives. He would want to see him. And Fives, already wracked with the guilt of leaving his brother’s body behind, would feel worse that he had left Echo behind alive. It would tear Fives apart to know Echo was alive. And telling Echo that Fives was alive but not allowing him to go home to see him would break Echo’s heart.

Cody scrubbed his hands over his face as his emotions warred within him. Luke placed a warm hand on his shoulder, and gave him a soft smile when Cody glanced at him. His blue eyes had that too-old quality again. Like he knew too much of the universe to only be fourteen. Cody gave him a reassuring smile and returned his attention to Echo and Rex’s conversation.

“Have you heard any word from them?” Echo asked. All traces of laughter were gone from his face. The smoothed skin around his eyes and mouth were pale where they’d been creased as he smiled, as if he smiled and laughed so often his skin had tanned everywhere but there.

“Ahsoka said they’re flying out to Malachor to meet the kidnappers,” Rex said.

“How’re you doing, kid?” Echo asked Luke solemnly.

Luke shrugged. “I’m worried about her.”

“She’ll be okay,” Echo assured him. “She’s tough for her size.”

“Luke says you’ve been training her,” Cody said, watching Rex lay out thick slices of meat onto the grate over the fire, where it immediately began to sizzle and sear.

“Yeah, some recon training, black ops, espionage, those sorts of things.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand a few times as he talked, and then his elbow, the same way Cody often stretched out his knee. He smirked at Cody, that devilish sparkle in his eyes that Cody had learned meant trouble. “Rex and the others taught the twins basic hand-to-hand and blaster skills. This training is just a… supplement, of sorts.”

“What others?” Cody asked flatly, narrowing his eyes. He thought of the starfighter pilot, with his distinctive clone helmet. He began to wonder if the clone POWs were a cover-up for something else, like deserters who didn’t want to be found by the GAR.

Echo’s smirk faltered. He glanced at Rex, who looked back at him with a grim expression, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“The other clones. At the colony,” Echo said.

Cody felt his eyebrows raise with his temper. “Oh, it’s a colony now?” he asked Rex.

“That’s what we call it,” Rex explained, no heat in his voice at all.

“That’s where I live,” Echo pressed. “With the freed POWs, and the—”

“That’s enough,” Rex said coldly.

Echo shot him a sharp look before continuing, “And the Naberrie family visits often. Training the twins is good therapy for freed slaves. They’ve been through a lot, and training themselves and others keeps their bodies and minds active.”

Cody let out a long breath, his anger falling away, and guilt rising to take its place. Rex flipped the meat on the grill and it sizzled appetizingly, the scent filling the air around them. Cody watched the flames lick at the fat dripping from the meat into the fire. Echo flexed his fingers again as they all sat in silence, watching the food cook, brooding over what Echo had said.

Echo’s sincerity and passion were obvious. And Cody trusted Echo not to lie to him. If there were deserter clones at this colony, they were helping take care of the very real freed POWs. And that, Cody supposed, was a noble enough cause. Even if it made his insides squirm. But he couldn’t help but feel that those “freed” clones were worth so much more, could be doing so much more than wasting away their lives at some hidden colony. Was their “freedom” worth the stagnation? Was their healing complete if they had no greater purpose? Echo had admitted that they needed to keep up with training, and train others, to keep their bodies moving and their minds sharp. What kind of life could they have if they weren’t fighting? They were made and raised to fight. Clones knew no other life, wanted no other life. Cody thought this colony must be a miserable place for a clone. Trapped, isolated, stagnant. It would be tempting to fly to Kamino to be decommissioned and recycled. The same way it was tempting for Cody to do the same trapped on Coruscant.

“Is there something wrong with your arm?” Luke asked, pulling Cody from his thoughts. Echo bent and flexed his elbow, then rotated his hand around his wrist like he was churning the air before clenching his hand into a fist. He flexed his fingers again, flaring them wide to stretch his palm and frowned down at his hand.

“Just phantom pains,” Echo said.

“Did you injure your arm?” Cody asked.

Echo snorted. “That’s one way to describe it, yeah.” Cody raised one eyebrow at him, and Echo smirked as he pulled off his glove, revealing a mechno-prosthetic hand. The dark gray metal shined in the light, tiny pistons and mechanics whirring with every miniscule movement. Cody was both fascinated by it and disturbed. “Lost my arm above my elbow and both legs above the knee in that explosion. Sometimes I can still feel them, like an ache in a limb that isn’t there anymore.”

“And your left arm?” Cody asked cautiously, nodding toward his other hand. He was afraid to know if Echo had suffered the same mutilation as the POWs, if the CIS had taken away two of his remaining fingers in their cruelty.

But Echo pulled off the glove on his left hand and wiggled five whole, albeit scarred, fingers. “All mine,” he said cheekily, smirking at Cody.

“So you were never… captured by the CIS?”

Rex frowned as he pulled the food off of the fire onto a cutting board set on a crate next to him. Echo’s face pinched, and he looked down at his knees as he replied.

“No, I was never captured by the CIS,” Echo said soberly. He met Cody’s eyes, heartbreak and fear clouding his own. “I hope every day that Fives wasn’t either. The people who found me never found his body, or the starfighter we flew in on. I’m sorry to say that if you were hoping for both of us to be alive, only I made it out of that refinery.”

Ice rushed through Cody’s veins at the mention of Fives. Cody’s eyes flicked to Rex. His expression was dark and wary as he watched Cody intently. Cody swallowed hard and turned back to Echo, who pulled back on his gloves and gave Cody a sad smile. He wanted to tell Echo that Fives was alive. Alive and well. But he couldn’t. He understood now why Rex kept the truth from Echo. He understood the conflicting guilt and heartbreak and longing. Echo had already been through so much. Fives had already been through so much. They deserved to see each other. Echo deserved to have the chance to come home, to be with his best friend. They each blamed themselves for the other’s death, but they were both alive. Cody didn’t know what to do. So, he stayed silent, and let the guilt chew him up inside.

“Let’s eat something,” Echo said, clapping Cody on the shoulder. “Fives wouldn’t want us to sit around crying over him when we could eat instead.”

They talked about the training Luke and Leia had received as they ate and laughed about their own old training stories from Kamino. Luke listened to them, grinning and adding his own anecdotes occasionally. It felt good to be with Rex and Echo. Sitting with them felt like he had brought old friends back from the dead. He missed being with his men on the front lines, living with them constantly on Venators, instead of watching them fly away after a far too short leave on triple zero.

After they ate, Rex and Echo convinced Luke to study on Rex’s T-6 while they moved into Cody’s T-9 to discuss the real reason Echo had flown from his home at the “colony” to Rex’s moon: Darth Maul. Luke pouted the whole way to the ship, and Rex and Echo shared a fondly exasperated look.

“Did you injure your hip, Cody?” Echo asked as Cody limped up the ramp into the T-9. The pain in his hip and knee had started to build again after their morning chores, and it had stiffened while they sat around the fire.

“Yeah, two years back I was caught in an air raid during evac,” Cody said. He dug his fingers into his throbbing hip while the lift ascended into the main hold. “Never quite healed right.”

Echo glanced at Rex, who grimaced and ran his hand over his scalp. Cody pursed his lips. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want Echo to pity him, too. Cody raised the holoconsole from the center of the floor while Echo dimmed the lights.

“Alright, Echo, tell us your bit,” Cody said as he navigated through his saved messages to find the one from Naboo’s Security Force about the invasion nearly thirty years ago.

“You remember Fives and I went to Dulathia to root out a rebellion cell we thought was hiding out in that refinery,” Echo began. “Well, we were also testing a theory. We’d been seeing this symbol everywhere—rebellions, terrorism attacks, everywhere. So, we went into the refinery to look for rebels, but were also looking for that symbol. Fives went down to the refinery floor and I went up into the offices. I heard voices in one of the corridors, and I thought I recognized one of them, so I went to investigate.” Echo’s brow creased into a frown.

“Whose voice was it?” Cody asked.

Echo’s gaze was dark beneath his lowered brows. “Ventress.”

Cody shook his head. “Impossible. She’s been dead for, what, sixteen, seventeen years?” He looked to Rex to confirm.

“That’s what we thought,” Rex said, nodding.

“She’s definitely alive,” Echo pressed. “I saw her, Savage Oppress, and some other Zabrak male I didn’t recognize. They were standing around a holomap of the quadrant, planning something. I never found out what, because one of them spotted me. I tried to subdue them, but Savage cut off my arm and would have killed me if the other Zabrak hadn’t stopped him. I think they set the explosives. I… don’t remember much after that except being pulled from the rubble by the Andors.

“But I do remember what that Zabrak male looked like,” Echo continued, the dark expression settling in his eyes again. “He had red and black skin, and horns like Oppress. And his eyes glowed gold and red. Sith’s eyes.”

“Is this him?” Cody asked, pulling up one of the images NSF had sent him. Darth Maul, who had led the invasion on Naboo, had red and black skin and horns encircling the crown of his hairless head, and—just visible in the still image—yellow and red eyes. Sith’s eyes.

Echo visibly shivered, fear and disgust plain on his face. “That’s him. That’s definitely him.”

“Obi-Wan says he cut Maul in half and pushed him down a hundred-meter reactor shaft,” Cody said. “I don’t know how anyone survives that, much less reappears thirty years later halfway across the Galaxy.”

“Obi-Wan?” Echo asked, a smirk spreading on his face.

Cody was suddenly glad the lights were dimmed as his cheeks blazed with heat. “General Kenobi,” he corrected, but Echo’s smirk remained.

“Look, we all know that when it comes to the Force, there’s a lot of crazy shit none of us understand,” Rex cut in. “Anakin once threw me off a hundred-foot cliff and caught me before I splattered on the ground. Maul could have done the same.”

“And what about the part where he was cut in half?”

“Prosthetics,” Echo said, wiggling the fingers of his prosthetic hand.

“For his entire lower half?” Cody asked skeptically.

“Just because the Kaminoans would never supply us with prosthetics that advanced doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Rex said darkly.

“Zabrak physiology is different from Human. Training manuals said to aim for the head, neck, and upper torso to kill Zabraks,” Echo added.

Cody clenched his jaw and let out a long sigh. Logically, it started to make a lot of sense. If someone had found him and put him in bacta with some emergency prosthetics, it was possible he could have survived. And Rex was right. Nothing ever made sense when the Force was involved.

“Okay, so if Maul is alive, and you saw him at that refinery, what does that mean? What does that have to do with anything?”

“That symbol, the one Fives and I had been seeing, it was painted on the door to the refinery, and again on the wall where I found them talking.” Echo gripped the edge of the holoconsole, and his face was lit by the eerie red and blue light from Maul’s image suspended above it. “That symbol has been painted at every uprising, every terrorist attack, every battle I’d fought at for years. Fives and I believed it was a symbol of rebellion, or a symbol of terror that triggers fear and causes the citizens to rebel. We’ve been blaming the CIS for causing all this unrest, but what if it’s a larger organization? What if it’s a third party, someone who’s profiting from the chaos and the unrest and the war at large?

“Maul, Ventress, and Savage may be part of whatever group is organizing this kind of chaos at the Galactic level. The whole war may still be going on because these fuckers are instigating unrest that’s keeping the fighting going. And the Republic and the CIS have been blaming each other for… kriff, who knows how long.”

Cody let out a long breath and put his forehead in his hand as he sorted through everything Echo had just said. He remembered reading notes from Echo and Fives about a symbol they’d seen hastily graffitied on the walls of cities brimming with unrest. But there was never any proof that civilian uprisings had been anything except rebellion, or that terrorism attacks had been anything except the CIS’s attempt to undermine the security of the GAR on tenuously held worlds. The war had changed since Palpatine’s influence. Instead of randomly attacking worlds with little to no real stake, the Republic and CIS held what planets they had grasped and fought over borders and contested worlds, gaining ground inch by inch, day by day, dead brother by dead brother.

“So, what about those crates on Sesid?” Rex asked Echo, crossing his arms.

Echo shook his head, and his shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. Like I said, seeing those there throws off my whole theory.”

“What crates?” Cody asked, frowning as he looked between the two of them.

Rex opened his mouth to answer, but Cody’s holoconsole beeped with an incoming commlink. Cody looked down at the display and his heart sank into his stomach. CC-5597. Jesse. He would ignore it, but Jesse and the 332^nd were supposed to be fighting the CIS on Hwatte. A comm from Jesse this soon after their initial attack could only mean trouble or a swifter victory than anyone anticipated.

“I have to take this,” Cody said to them.

Rex and Echo both straightened to parade rest, an automatic response to what would have been a normal comm call, if Echo was not supposed to be dead, and Rex technically AWOL. Cody clenched his jaw, and neither of them needed him to say anything before they stepped back, out of the holocomm’s field of view. Cody cleared Maul’s image from the holoprojector and took a deep breath, recentering himself, preparing for whatever news Jesse had about their battle, before accepting the commlink.

Two figures appeared around his holoconsole, their images solid and undistorted as if they were standing in the room with him. Jesse’s Republic Cog tattoo was stark against his skin, and his armor was bright and clean, freshly painted. Next to him stood Tup, his black Captain’s pauldron gleaming in the light of the holoprojection. He smiled at Cody when the commlink connected. Cody could just barely see the dark scars on his face. Somewhere to his left, either Rex or Echo gasped.

“I know you’re probably surprised to hear from us so early, Commander. Please excuse the interruption,” Jesse said stoically, his face a study in focus and determination.

“You’re not interrupting anything, Commander,” Cody said. “How’s the battle progressing?”

Jesse's shoulders relaxed a fraction and he glanced at Tup, who watched him silently. “There is no battle,” Jesse answered.

Cody frowned. They’d met with Fives and part of the 196^th to aid the garrison on Hwatte after they’d reported an uprising getting out of hand. The garrison reported ships dropping out of hyperspace into orbit. They’d assumed the CIS had come to offer reinforcements to the rebels, and to take the planet.

“When we arrived in Hwatte orbital space, there were no CIS ships present,” Jesse continued. “Instead, the planet was blockaded by Czerka Arms. They had at least six ships, including a dreadnaught, and they were off-loading massive amounts of armament to the surface.”

Cody blinked at Jesse. None of this made any sense. “Were they… hostile?”

“No, they hailed us, explained that they had come to aid the citizens at the request of their new Prime Minister, and would finish off-loading the supplies in six days,” Jesse explained. There was a muffled sound from Jesse and Tup’s side of the commlink, and Tup turned to look at something out of the holocomm’s range. Jesse sighed and closed his eyes, the focus on his face wearing away to annoyance.

And then, appearing bold as brass, standing between Jesse and Tup with a smirk on his scarred face, was Fives.

There was another sound from Cody’s left, a sharp exhale of air, and then the dull thuds of armor hitting the floor. Cody turned to see that Rex had tackled Echo to the ground—no easy feat since Echo was in full armor while Rex was not—and was whispering to him as they grappled for control.

Cody’s heart thundered in his veins, and he cursed himself for not taking this call in the cockpit. There was no denying that was Fives. Someone had refreshed the tattoo on his temple, and despite the broad scars on his cheek and jaw that spanned into his hairline, the man that stood between Jesse and Tup could be no one except Fives. He had that same haircut and goatee, and had not changed his armor paint despite the many armor style changes he’d been through in the last nineteen years. No, it was impossible to deny that Fives was alive. And it was also impossible to deny that both Cody and Rex had lied to Echo about it.

“Sorry I’m late, Commander, a briefing with my men went longer than I expected,” Fives said.

Cody swallowed as he heard Echo make a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and then another clatter of armor. He didn’t look this time.

“That’s alright.” He couldn’t bear to say Fives’ name, acknowledge he knew exactly who it was, that he had looked at Echo and not told him his best friend, his brother was alive and well. “Please, continue.”

“Fives and I—” Cody wanted to cringe as Jesse said Fives’ name, “—went to the Czerka ship to talk with the director.” There was another clatter of armor, a muffled curse, and then boots thudding heavily across the floor. Cody was relieved that they headed toward the ramp instead of toward him.

“You both went?” Cody asked, raising an eyebrow. That was not standard procedure, considering Jesse and Fives were both Commanders, and the highest-ranking army officers on the ship. If it had been a trap, the 7^th Sky Corps could have lost two very important officers in one strike.

“Yularen’s orders,” Jesse said darkly.

“Prick,” Cody and Tup muttered at the same time.

Fives smirked at them both. “Anyway, we were dragged through half the dreadnaught to a meeting with the director and Hwatte’s new Prime Minister.”

“What happened to Diytoo?” Cody asked.

“Dead,” Fives huffed.

“There was an uprising. The Prime Minister and most of her government were assassinated just before the garrison was killed,” Jesse elaborated. “Minister Xhell was the former Minister of Natural Resources. He claims he called Czerka for aid. He said that he did not know if the Republic would respond in time. He offered Czerka thirty percent of the planet’s thorilide production for the next fifteen years. He signed a contract without consulting his Senator, or the Republic.”

Cody rubbed his forehead. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, and that Czerka jerk was all too pleased to accept the deal, too,” Fives said.

“I would be, too, if I were him.” Cody ran a hand through his curls and sighed heavily. “Hwatte has the second-largest known thorilide production in the Galaxy. The Republic needs those thorilide mines to keep up with weapons’ manufacture for the war. Czerka taking thirty percent of that source… it could cripple us.”

“Unless we purchase weapons from Czerka,” Fives noted. “They want us crippled so we’re dependent on them.”

Cody frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“Minister Xhell said that the rebels had unusual weapons that tore the clone troopers apart,” Jesse said.

Cody’s throat clenched. He and Jesse had seen those weapons before. The worst battle of their lives. Worse than Radnor. Worse than Umbara. Worse than when Ahsoka and her men ended up trapped inside a cave with carnivorous monsters, and the CIS digging through the rubble on the other side. Worse than when Cody himself was injured. There was no defending against the weapons; they shot a semi-solid chemical charge that exploded on impact with Human cells. A platoon of blood-spattered clones could be wiped out from the explosion of just one shot.

“We’ve seen weapons like that,” Cody remarked.

Jesse nodded, his expression dark, but Fives was the one who spoke up.

“So have I. Do you know who manufactures those weapons? Czerka Arms.”

Cody balked. Now this really didn’t make any sense. “So Czerka was supplying the rebels with arms, and then gave aid to the government to suppress the rebels they were helping aid?”

“We have no idea if there is anyone left from Minister Diytoo’s government,” Jesse said. “We think maybe Xhell is a puppet for the Czerka Director, and he’s now effectively in control of Hwatte.”

“Who was this Czerka Director?”

Jesse shook his head. “We don’t know. He didn’t tell us his name.”

“We’ve just been calling him Czerka jerk,” Fives smirked. “But I got a few holoimages because, get this, he was wearing that terrorism symbol I’ve been seeing all over. He had a little pin of it on his neckline. And so did Minister Xhell. And there were about a hundred crates painted with the symbol in their cargo bay.” Fives tapped something on the holoconsole in front of him, and an image bloomed to life in the space above the console.

Cody stopped breathing completely. Wave after wave of fresh terror washed over his body. Jesse said something about Fox, about canned vegetables and Spice, but Cody didn’t hear him. His eyes were transfixed on the image hanging in the air in front of him. He’d had an almost identical image on this console not five minutes ago. The Director of Czerka Arms was Darth Maul.

“Jesse. Get back to Triple Zero,” Cody said flatly, still staring at the image of Maul’s terrifying face. “I’ll meet you there, with someone who has more information on this whole thing.”

Fives, Jesse, and Tup all exchanged bewildered expressions. “Who?” Jesse asked.

Cody looked through Maul’s face directly at Fives. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. There was no going back after this. Rex would be furious with him. But it had to be done. The fate of the war, the safety of their brothers, the entire Galaxy might be at stake. Fives frowned at him, clutching his helmet more firmly against his side. Cody swallowed and let out a shaky breath.

“Echo.”

Chapter Text

Four months before the anniversary
Unnamed moon, Outer Rim

Rex’s heart hammered against his ribcage and his blood thundered in his ears as he chased Echo across the clearing. Echo’s helmet was still on the ground near the dying fire, long forgotten. It gleamed in the sunlight as Echo ran past it. Rex watched Echo’s form as he sprinted. He ran easily, almost perfectly. He was getting stronger with his new prosthetics. Rex would have been proud of his progress if he wasn’t trying to chase him down and prevent him from doing something foolish.

Cody’s commlink had chimed while they were all talking, a live communication from Jesse. Rex and Echo had stayed, expecting a normal battle briefing. But then Fives was there, his holographic image standing at that holoconsole table as if he was standing in the room with them. And there was no denying it was Fives. Someone had refreshed his tattoo. His goatee and hair were perfectly trimmed. And he wore that confident smirk he’d always worn when he was anxious. Neither Rex nor Cody had told Echo that they knew Fives was alive. They’d as good as lied to him. And now Echo knew. Rex had barely been able to keep Echo from jumping into the holocomm view. It was the only time that Rex had ever been glad Echo’s full strength had not returned yet. They’d listened as Fives, his voice so heart-breakingly familiar, apologized for being late, and then Echo was on his feet, slithering out of Rex’s grasp and halfway to the ramp before Rex realized what had happened.

Rex knew where Echo was headed. He was going to steal Rex’s ship and fly to Triple Zero, and if he didn’t find Fives there, he would scour the Galaxy until he did. But Echo couldn’t go back to the GAR like that. Not alone, at least. And definitely not in Rex and Ahsoka’s T-6, which was almost certainly on a criminal list in the CIS and probably reported stolen by the Jedi.

Just as Rex had predicted, Echo thundered up the ramp into the T-6. Rex followed close behind. As he climbed into the main hold, he saw Luke jump up from his spot at the table, datapad still in hand, and block Echo from the cockpit. Rex’s stomach clenched. Echo might not be at full strength for a clone, but he was still stronger than Luke. And, Rex remembered with a wash of ice over his body as Echo placed his hand on his hip, Echo was armed.

“Get out of the way, Luke.” Echo’s voice was low and dangerous.

Luke’s eyes flitted to Rex, the fear and concern plain on his face. Rex didn’t want Luke to use himself as a shield. Not against Echo. But he didn’t want Echo to get near the cockpit, and Luke was the only thing currently in his way. Echo's fingers closed around the hilt of his pistol. Bile rose in Rex’s throat.

“Echo, stop and think for a minute,” Rex said calmly.

“Fives is alive, Rex. I have to go to him.”

Luke’s face blanched and he looked from Echo to Rex with open bewilderment. But, to Rex’s great relief, he didn’t move.

“You can’t go back to the GAR. Not like this.”

“Why not? I’m a fucking clone trooper. An ARC captain. They would be giddy to have me back.”

“You’ve been gone four years, Echo,” Rex said calmly. “They think you’re dead. They’ll think you were brainwashed by the Seps. They won’t trust you. Your ident chip is gone, your armor is gone. And you’ve been away for four years.”

“I’ll risk it,” Echo said through gritted teeth. He took another step closer to Luke, his right hand still resting on his pistol. Luke, his face contorted with fear, raised both hands and grimaced, and Echo paused his advance as if an invisible wall had been placed in front of him. He tried to push his way through it, a snarl pulling at his lips as his boots scraped along the ground, but he couldn’t push through Luke’s Force barrier.

“If you want to go back, we’ll talk to Cody—”

“Cody lied to me!” Echo growled. “He looked me in the eye when I told him Fives died and he said nothing! Why should I believe anything that hraladar says?”

“Don’t call him that,” Luke rasped. Echo snarled at him.

“We knew it wouldn’t do any good to tell you. That it would only upset you,” Rex said.

Echo’s livid snarl turned slowly to Rex. Rex held his hands up, palms out. Luke maintained his Force wall against Echo, but his face was becoming increasingly pained. He was inexperienced in using the Force like this. Rex wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on, and Echo’s boots were digging into the floor as he tried to push his way through.

“You knew?” Echo asked, his voice barely above a whisper and shaking with rage. Rex didn’t answer, but Echo read his silence for the admission that it was.

In one heartbeat, Echo was glaring at Rex as he took a couple cautious steps forward, and in the next he had drawn his pistol and aimed it squarely at Luke’s head. Rex froze. A high-pitched whine escaped Luke’s throat, a pitiful, fearful sound. Rex froze in place with one hand outstretched toward Echo.

“Put the blaster down, Echo,” Rex said lowly.

“Get out of the way,” Echo growled at Luke. He moved forward a few inches, his boots still pushing into the ground against Luke's slowly failing Force wall. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“You don’t want to hurt me,” Luke said. His voice was strained, exhausted. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

“I will, if you don’t get out of the kriffing way.”

Rex took another cautious step toward Echo. Luke’s face twisted in concentration, and his fingers curled where they hung in the air. Echo pushed a little further on his barrier.

“You want to put the blaster down,” Luke said with an eerie calm that was contrary to the strain on his face and the trembling of his muscles. “You don’t want to hurt me.”

Echo’s breathing hitched. He swallowed and blinked. Rex could have sworn he lowered the pistol a fraction, his face going oddly smooth despite the anger still resting there. His finger traced over the trigger, and Rex’s heart leapt into his throat.

Luke took a deep breath and flared his fingers wide again. “You want to put the blaster down.”

And Echo obeyed. He lowered the blaster and straightened his posture, sliding a few centimeters from the force of Luke’s barrier. Luke frowned, all the color draining from his face. He closed his hands into fists and hissed, “grab him!”

Rex dove to catch Echo as he collapsed. Luke slid down the door frame between the main hold and the small bunk room, clutching his stomach. His face was pale, and a light sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Rex pulled the blaster from Echo’s limp hand and tossed it across the room. It was one of the heavy blaster pistols they’d purchased from Braya, a DL-44. It had no stun setting.

Luke moaned and rolled to his feet, still clutching his stomach. He sprinted to the fresher, and the sound of his violent retching carried out into the main hold. Rex swallowed down his own nausea and held Echo upright in his arms. He patted Echo on the cheek to wake him, hoping that whatever Luke did wouldn’t last longer than a few seconds. Echo’s eyes fluttered open, and Rex stared at him with his jaw clenched, relief flooding through his body. He was okay. Rex had him in his arms, the blaster was tossed away, and Echo would be okay.

“You lied to me,” Echo said weakly.

“I know, Echo. I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried how you would react. I didn’t tell Cody you were alive until it was absolutely necessary for the same reason.” It wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough. But it was the only explanation he had. “I didn’t want you flying off to Triple Zero without a plan and getting yourself kriffing killed. And I didn’t want the knowledge that Fives was alive to break your heart.”

A tear slid down Echo’s cheek, and his lips trembled. He clutched Rex’s upper arm, and Rex tasted shame and bile on the back of his tongue.

“I’m so sorry,” Rex whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But Fives is alive. He’s alive.”

Tears flowed freely down Echo’s cheeks, and he pulled Rex into a bone-crushing embrace. His chest heaved and shuddered with sobs. His tears soaked into Rex’s shoulder. His fingers twisted into the fabric of his tunic. But Rex didn’t mind. He held Echo and cried with him, grieving lost time, regretting that he didn’t tell Echo right away, and so, so kriffing happy that Fives was alive.

Echo pulled away from Rex’s embrace as they heard Luke flush his sick down the vactube. Echo wiped his tears off his cheeks and sniffled but managed a small smile when he glanced at Rex. Luke padded back into the main hold, still looking pale and green and sweaty. He rubbed his arm and frowned at his feet as he approached.

“You used the Force to influence my mind,” Echo said to Luke. It wasn’t a question, nor an accusation. There was no heat in his words. Instead, there was something almost like pride.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said weakly.

Echo signed for Luke to sit down, and he obeyed. “You did a good job, kid,” Echo said softly. “I know you’ve struggled with that. Leia hasn’t managed it at all.”

Luke nodded and fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, still not looking at Echo. “She’s afraid to use the Force. It affects her differently than me. But I still don’t like using mind influence.”

Echo nodded. His expression was carefully neutral as he studied Luke. “You did the right thing,” he said softly. “Rex is right. The GAR won’t trust me not to be a Sep spy. I should talk to Cody—"

“Talk to me about what?”

Rex turned so quickly toward the open ramp that his neck cramped. Cody’s eyes were dark and serious, staring directly at Echo as he crossed the threshold. Rex noticed that Cody walked without his usual limp, his spine straight and his shoulders square. Tall, proud, determined. Behind him, Echo bristled, but didn’t move.

“Do you want to see Fives again?” Cody asked.

“More than anything,” Echo said without pause.

“Then grab your kit,” Cody ordered. “You and I are going to Triple Zero.”

Four months before the anniversary
Coruscant Guard Offices, GAR base, Coruscant

Fox had been chosen for the Corrie Guard for one very good reason, and it wasn’t his winning personality or charming good looks.

Fox had earned his title of Marshal Commander on Kamino, just like Bly and Cody and Wolffe. He’d worked hard, earned top marks, and then beaten the rest of the candidates fair and square in a challenge of wits and strength. He was Marshal Commander because he was the best of the best. And he was Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard because while his fellow Marshal Commanders were adept at commanding armies, Fox excelled at espionage and investigation.

He sat with Commander Fist and a smattering of his men, all poring over helmet footage and security holos and personnel reports, looking for that fucking terrorism symbol. Any individual found wearing the pin was placed in a database, and all information was pulled for that individual. The data was then compared against all the other suspects in the database, looking for similarities, patterns, anything that might connect them all to each other and the larger terrorism effort either on Coruscant or in the Galaxy.

So far, the only connection was that Senate employees wearing the pin had all started within the past six years, and all vehemently opposed ending the war. But their reasons for opposing peace were all different, from companies profiting from wartime to loyalists who believed the Galaxy could only be reunited by force. The connections were loose and unfounded, and there were thousands of hours of footage to sift through. Fox and Fist had several teams working in shifts around the clock combing through helmet holorecordings, security holos in every GAR-secured building on Coruscant, and CSF security droids that patrolled the streets and speeder lanes. Fox worked double shifts, desperate to find a connection and stop the unnecessary death and destruction at its source.

Fox pulled up the record of a young Ishi Tib lobbyist who was wearing the little black pin and placed it in the database. The Ishi Tib gained access to the Senate complex three years ago when he started as a lobbyist for BlasTech, one of dozens who resided and worked in the Senate. Fox wanted to dig deeper, investigate BlasTech itself, and see how many other employees had been identified. But he wasn’t part of the analysis group today. He was on data retrieval. So, he submitted the information record and resumed combing through the security holos.

Next to him, two troopers giggled. Fox turned and caught both of them glancing at him before they averted their eyes.

“Something funny?” Fox growled.

“N-no, sir.”

The trooper’s denial was a pitiful excuse for a lie. Fox stared at him with an unimpressed look, something he had perfected over the years as Marshal Commander. The trooper, Pivot, swallowed audibly as his smile slid into discomfort. His friend, Blast, shifted in his seat.

“Want to show me what’s so funny, trooper?” Fox asked, raising one eyebrow.

Pivot and Blast exchanged a nervous glance, but moved out of the way so that Fox could slide his chair over to Pivot’s monitor. He had a helmet recording on the screen, the details of the recording around the borders of the image, like looking through the trooper’s HUD. The recording was taken mid-day, in a familiar corridor. Fox’s heart sank into his stomach as the Sujimi Senatorial Office’s door slid open and Fox himself stepped over the threshold into the corridor. The trooper’s gaze slid away from the doorway to check the rest of the corridor—clear, except for the next Guard at his post at the very edge of the trooper’s line of sight—and then turned slowly back toward Senator Chuchi’s doorway. Fox had his helmet off, a gross violation of protocol, and Riyo’s youngest son, Lettix, in his arms.

Fox remembered this day. Lettix had stayed home sick from school that morning. Riyo had taken him to work—Palo was off-planet, and their nanny was as sick as Lettix—so he could nap off the anti-viral medication his doctor had given him. But Riyo had a series of important meetings, and had asked Fox to take him for a couple of hours. It wasn’t technically allowed, but Fox was kriffing Marshal Commander, and Riyo was desperate. Besides, Lettix had slept peacefully while Fox completed report work in an abandoned office. There was no harm done. And he got to spend a few rare, peaceful hours with Lettix, who he loved dearly.

Fox watched himself on the holorecording as Riyo handed him a bag, her face pulled into an anxious frown. She petted Lettix’s hair, smoothing down his soft purple curls.

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch over him,” Fox in the holo-recording assured Riyo. “We always have fun, don’t we Lettix?”

Fox’s chest tightened as Lettix returned his smile. No one had ever taken a holo of him and Lettix together. Riyo never wanted proof that she and Fox were much more than work acquaintances, or that her sons’ adoration of him wasn’t purely because he was Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard and little boys loved anything to do with war. But because he’d never seen his own face next to Lettix’s, he’d never noticed just how similar they looked. The curve of his jaw, the shape of his smile, the color of his eyes, even the curl of his hair.

Fox’s heart sank further. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was impossible. Impossible. He swallowed down the bile and blinked away the anxiety and doubt and thrilling hope crowding into his mind and returned his attention to the holorecording.

The trooper looked away again to do another visual sweep of the corridor, and whatever Riyo said to Fox was blocked by comm chatter overlaying the sound. The trooper turned back to the Sujimi Senatorial Office doorway as Fox, helmeted again, hefted Lettix on his hip and slung the bag over his shoulder.

“Fox is headed your way, Pip. He’s got precious cargo,” the trooper said into his comm.

Riyo stood at her doorway, her hand covering her mouth and a mingled expression of fear and sadness in her eyes as she watched Fox walk away with Lettix in his arms, Lettix’s head resting on his shoulder. Behind her, a group of two humans, a Duros, and a Sullustan rounded the corner to her office. She rolled her shoulders and composed her face before greeting them warmly. One of the humans, the younger of the two, glanced over his shoulder at the Guard.

“Wait, I know that face,” Fox said, his pulse jolting at the recognition. He’d seen that man not ten minutes ago on his own console. He ran facial recognition on the holo as Pivot leaned in closer to look at the screen.

“He’s not wearing a pin,” Pivot said.

“Not here, but he was wearing one in a security holo I just looked at,” Fox said. The facial recognition software confirmed, the man was Trent Hakkar of Abragado-rae, an aide to the new Senator of the Abregado system. And Fox had seen a holorecording of him slipping into the Senate complex wearing the pin on his neckline and a nervous expression on his face. Fox had initially assumed he’d gotten in using a forged clearance pass. But he was a Senate employee. And, worse, he was meeting with Riyo.

Fox reversed the holorecording to the point where all four faces of the group were visible, a sort of surreal image with the group on the left side of the trooper’s HUD, Riyo nearly in the middle, and Fox to the far right with Lettix in his arms. He tried to ignore the familiar curve of Lettix’s cheek bone, so similar to a clone cadet’s shape, and focus on the faces of the other Human, Duros, and Sullustan in the corridor.

“Anyone recognize these other three?” Fox asked as he selected the faces one at a time and ran the facial recognition software. It wasn’t perfect, as most things programmed weren’t, and he wanted confirmation from his men that the program pulled the right faces. They crowded around him, Pivot, and Blast to look at the monitor.

“That’s the new Senator of Abregado,” Yarl said, pointing to the older Human. “I logged him into our system myself. I think the Sullustan is a representative of a minor planet in the Abregado system. I’ve seen him around before.”

“That Duros is new, though,” Two-Oh, his squadmate, said, pointing from over Fox’s shoulder at the Duros. “I’d remember that mug.”

“What’re they doing at Chuchi’s office?” Yarl asked.

“Senator Filray of Abregado was an ally of Chuchi’s,” Fox explained. “She could be checking to make sure his replacement's interests still align with hers.”

He hoped that was the reason. And he hoped that those interests didn’t involve this terrorism group. But the evidence was stacking up against her. Palo’s pin, this meeting. She’d kept Lettix in her office all day with no problems, but for this meeting, with potential terrorist operatives, she needed him out of the room. Because she knew that if Lettix heard he would tell Fox? She didn’t want her son to hear the horrible things they planned to do?

Fox bit his tongue as his thoughts spiraled. He needed more proof. He couldn’t just accuse her of insurgency and conspiracy to commit terrorism. A meeting with one senator and his aides, who happened to be on a terrorist watch list didn’t mean Riyo was a terrorist herself.

The results of the facial recognition software populated on the screen, and Fox added them to the database as “associates”—people who were in contact with suspects, but not wearing pins themselves. He hesitated, and added Riyo Chuchi to the list as well, his heart breaking as he typed her name into the database.

“Is that Senator Chuchi’s son?” Yarl asked. He didn’t need to point at the screen; they all knew who he was talking about.

“Her youngest. Lettix.” Fox moved his chair back to his own monitor and brought up another holorecording to watch. The men surrounding Pivot’s monitor filled the gap he made. Yarl glanced between Fox and the screen with one raised eyebrow, and Fox had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at him.

“He, uh, looks an awful lot like you, sir,” Yarl smirked.

Fox gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead at his monitor. “Impossible,” he breathed.

“Impossible because we’re supposed to be sterile, or because you and Chuchi really are just friends?”

Fox looked sharply at Yarl out of the corner of his eye, which only made Yarl’s smirk widen.

“You know what a Lettix is, sir?” Yarl asked, his eyes twinkling. Fox didn’t dare ask. His stomach churned violently. He swallowed down the confusing tangle of fear and hope and bile that rose in his throat.

“Genomic mistakes happen all the time, sir.” Dev, one of the few clones with naturally blonde hair, glanced at Fox from his holo-monitor. A cold wave of realization washed over him, only compounding his nausea.

“Yeah, but our sterilization was probably chemical, or surgical,” Two-Oh said.

“That might not be 100% effective, either,” Dev argued.

“It would be a freak-chance,” Two-Oh frowned, crossing his arms.

“All I’m saying is that statistically there’s a non-zero chance that at least one of the millions of clones made for this war isn’t as sterile as the Kaminoans promised.”

“Enough,” Fox growled. “Lettix Demoni is the son of a Senator, and his parentage is not in question. I don’t want to hear another word about this. Understood?”

The men all clenched their jaws and pursed their lips as they nodded and returned to their work. Yarl put Fox’s datapad back on the workbench in front of him—he hadn’t even noticed that Yarl had taken it, he was so focused on Dev and Two-Oh’s argument and the stunning similarities of Lettix’s face to that of a third-year clone cadet. Fox tilted the ‘pad and his heart sank all the way to the bottom of his stomach.

“Send me that recording, will you?” Fox said quietly to Pivot once everyone was engrossed in their work again. “I think Senator Chuchi and I need to have a conversation.”

“Yes, sir,” Pivot said, concealing a smile.

Fox sat back in his chair and stared at his datapad, the image of Lettix’s face still swimming in his mind. But it was impossible. They’d been told, assured a hundred times: they were sterile and it was irreversible. It was impossible. Even if it wasn’t impossible, having a son with a Senator—a married Senator at that—would put Fox and Lettix in grave danger. If not by the GAR, then by Palo Demoni and his influence. Everything Riyo had worked so hard for could come crashing down around her because Fox didn’t know how to keep his deece behind his cod. And no matter how much Fox loved Riyo’s son, all three of her sons, he could never be their dad. He was a clone. Hraladar. A weapon and nothing more.

But the thought sent a thrill through him that there could be a chance. That Lettix could be his. And what Yarl had pulled up on his ‘pad only fueled that wild thrill of hope that surged through his chest.

Because Yarl had pulled up a GAR datasheet on Lettixes.

Or, “Pantoran foxes.”

Four months before the anniversary
Somewhere in open space, Outer Rim

Kyl’s shoulders dropped and he let out a long slow, relieved breath when the Indemnity dropped from hyperspace in front of his ship right on schedule. The dreadnaught might not be where he was born, or where he grew up, but to Kyl it was home. As soon as his ship touched down on the painted durasteel floor of his usual hangar bay, the stars above him stretched and expanded and they entered hyperspace again.

“Welcome home, Kyl,” the cool female flight controller’s voice said as Kyl disengaged the engines and powered down the ship. “Your presence is requested in the forward lounge.”

“And my prisoner?” Kyl asked.

There was a pause that made Kyl’s chest curl with anger. His master did not trust that he had told the truth, that he had the girl and was successful.

“Your prisoner is requested to join you as well.”

Kyl clicked his teeth, considering. His master might not have told the droid he had a prisoner. Or, his master didn’t trust him. He told the droid he would go directly to the forward cabins and tried to put the possibility of distrust out of his mind. Kyl was a good apprentice. His master knew he was a good apprentice, or he wouldn’t have sent Kyl on such an important mission.

Leia was awake and curled into the corner of her bunk when he opened the divider. Dark bruises from their fight had bloomed on her face. Blood was splattered on her clothes and smeared across her cheek and chin. Her hair was hanging in sad ringlets from her braids. And her eyes, those lovely dark eyes, glared out of the darkness at him with a depth he couldn’t fathom. He felt that he could stare into her eyes and see the universe within her. The Force rippled around her, a dark vortex of fear and determination. She cringed away from him as he unlatched the tether between her wrist binders and the bulkhead. He stared at her from behind his helmet, scrutinizing the scowl on her face, the dark anger in her eyes. So lovely. And so, so dangerous.

“We’ve arrived,” Kyl said. “I’m to escort you to my master. You can walk, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

Leia narrowed her eyes at him, still curled into the corner of the bunk. Coiled to strike. Kyl reached out to grab her arm, but she rolled away from his reach and kicked him, hard, in the side of the head. His helmet crashed into the bulkhead, and his head smashed against the padding inside. He straightened, nearly hitting his head on the top of the bunk, and turned to see Leia jump to her feet and sprint toward the exit. He growled, more frustrated than angry. He pulled on the Force around her ankle, and she fell on the ground with a satisfying smack.

“Where the kriff do you think you’re going to go?” Kyl asked as he sauntered to her side. He grabbed her by her upper arm and pulled her to her feet. She slumped in his grasp, and he had to use all his strength, plus a little help from the Force, to lift her. “We’re in Hyperspace, on my master’s ship. There’s no escape.”

Leia’s eyes flashed with fear, and for a moment he felt pity for her. He knew what it was like to be trapped. To be ripped from his home and forced into captivity. He understood the fear in her eyes. The helpless, powerless feeling. The future was unknown to her in this moment, something she could neither control nor predict. Kyl had felt that before, as a child taken from his mother and forced to work in the mines. But his master had saved him. And his master could save her, too.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kyl said, attempting to keep his voice calm and gentle. “And if you cooperate, I won’t have to.”

She stared at him, one bloodied lip curled in a snarl. He yanked the cloth gag back over her mouth, and she bit down on it, her snarl never fading. He kept his fingers wrapped around her arm and pushed her toward the door, down the ramp, and out into the hangar.

The workers—he refused to call them slaves—had already approached his ship to begin maintenance on it. Kyl did not look at them as they passed, even as they bowed at him. They made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to look at their faces and find someone he once knew. Or, worse, see his own past fear and despair mirrored in their eyes. Leia tugged on his arm as she tried to escape his grip. She looked around wildly at the workers, pleading with wordless cries from behind the cloth, hoping one of them might help her. Her fear and desperation were sharp in the Force. The workers, ever dutiful, averted their gazes and scurried off to their tasks. Kyl yanked on her arm. They had a long way to walk to reach the forward cabins, and he didn’t want to have to drag her the whole way there.

Leia walked on her own the rest of the way, although Kyl did have to drag her along more often than he liked. Workers pressed themselves against the walls and bowed to Kyl when they passed in the corridors, but Kyl kept his helmet forward. Leia stopped trying to plead with them after the first few unresponsive encounters.

Kyl tightened his grip on her arm. If she got away from him, it might be difficult to find her. The Indemnity was massive. Six kilometers long, nearly a kilometer across at its widest and half a kilometer tall, with dozens of crew cabins, hangar bays, cargo bays, meeting rooms, passenger suites, armories, and training rooms, not to mention the vast engine rooms, weapons housing, and mechanical access ports all through the ship. Kyl had lived on this ship and called it home for the past five years, but even he had not seen every part of it. It would be easy to get lost. And he didn’t want to lose his prisoner to the bowels of the ship now, when he was so close to delivering her to his master.

The forward lounge was a common space for the forward cabins, originally the officer’s cabins, but converted into a sprawling living suite for Kyl, his master and their companions. The wide double doors to the lounge were inlaid with cut emeralds, diamonds, nova crystals, and gold filigree. Despite the opulence, the sight of them filled him with warmth and comfort. This was his home. And behind those doors was his master, who would finally see that he had been successful in his mission. That he was a good apprentice. His master might even give him praise. The doors slid open slowly. Kyl’s heart thudded against his chest, wondering how pleased his master might be to see him with Leia in tow. The doors stopped with a low click, and Kyl pulled his prisoner over the threshold into the warm light and plush décor of the forward lounge.

The forward lounge had been built as a sort of social gathering place for the occupants of the forward cabins, but as the private living quarters of his master and their companions, it was both a living space and operations center for the Cult of the Sith. In the center of the room sat a large holocomm table, with tables for gathering and dining scattered around and plush chairs and sofas along the dimmer outer walls. Kyl’s master stood at the holocomm table with his brother, an image of the Temple on Malachor floating in the air between them.

“Master,” Kyl said, hoping his voice would not break as he addressed his master in this moment of triumph, “I have brought the girl, as promised.”

Lord Maul looked over his shoulder, golden eyes gleaming in the low light. A slow smirk spread across his lips as he turned to face them completely. Leia's shoulders rose as she curled into herself. Kyl kept a firm grip on her arm.

“And so you have,” Maul said, his voice cold and smooth like a blade. “you have done well, my apprentice.”

Pride surged in Kyl’s chest. He tugged on Leia’s arm to push her forward toward his master, who was scrutinizing her as if she were a piece of art. He heard the clicking of her throat as she swallowed, the sound escaping around the gag still in her mouth.

“You have her tied up like a prisoner,” Maul said, circling around them, still appraising her like something he would very much like to buy.

Kyl wanted to bite back that she was his prisoner. Leia shifted again, trying to turn and keep her eyes on Maul as he circled behind her.

“Release these bindings, my apprentice. She is our guest.”

Kyl almost growled. He used the magnetic key to release the bindings around her hands, then pulled down the gag from her mouth. He didn’t dare let go of her arm, however. She would run. He felt her intention in the Force as if she was screaming it at him. If he let go of her, let up the pressure even the slightest fraction, she would bolt out those gilded doors.

“Your attempts at placating me won’t work,” she said with the slightest tremor in her bold voice. “And your attempts to gain a ransom on me won’t work, either.

Maul’s sneer continued to widen as he listened. His gold eyes flickered yellow and red. Kyl could feel the amusement and eager excitement building within his master. He continued to circle them as she talked.

“My mother is a representative in the People’s House of the Confederacy of Independent Systems,” Leia continued, her voice growing stronger and her spine straightening, “and my father is a Jedi.”

“Oh yes, I know your father is a Jedi,” Maul said softly, stopping in front of her. She shivered, but kept standing as tall as her small stature would allow. “Not just any Jedi. The Chosen One. Anakin Skywalker.”

Leia flinched. Maul’s sneer widened further. “How do you—?”

“I know everything about your family, Leia Naberrie. I have made it my life’s goal to know everything about your family. You look extraordinarily like your mother. Amidala. The child queen of Naboo. She was as stubborn as you are. Foolish and stubborn.”

Leia shrank into herself again. The confidence she exuded into the Force earlier had vanished. Kyl smiled in triumph behind his helmet.

“It’s a pity you were forced to leave the Republic, really,” Maul continued. He reached out a hand and clamped Leia’s chin between his thumb and finger. She squirmed away from him, but Kyl held her in place. “You could have followed in her footsteps. You would have made a spectacular queen. The first Force-sensitive queen of Naboo. And one of the most powerful Force users in the Galaxy.”

“What do you want with me?” Leia asked, the boldness gone from her voice, leaving only trembling fear.

Maul considered her for a moment, his eyes still flickering yellow and red like firelight. “Nothing yet, princess,” he said, his voice soft and sinister. “For now, rest and heal. In time, you will help me save the Galaxy.”

Maul called for one of the workers hiding in the shadows to collect Leia and take her to one of the suites reserved for special visitors. Kyl’s stomach flipped as he realized her rooms would be right next to his. He let go of her arm only when the worker—a middle-aged Twi’lek woman with pale blue skin and downcast green eyes—grabbed her shoulder and led her past the holocomm table and hulking figure of Savage Oppress to the private living quarters beyond the lounge. Kyl watched them leave, trying to calm the sudden apprehension of having Leia so close and, if his master’s declaration that she was a guest and not a prisoner was to be followed, freely roaming around the place that he called home.

“Well, of all your bad ideas, this one is spectacularly disastrous.”

Kyl turned to see Ventress, tall and lithe and beautiful even in middle-age, unfold herself from where she was curled up in one of the chairs along the walls. The eyes of Quinlan Vos shined from the darkness of the chair next to her, but he made no move to get up. Ventress strutted toward Maul and Savage, sweeping her short blonde hair out of her face, her red-painted lips pulled into a sneer and her blue eyes bright with wicked derision. Maul snarled at her, but she rolled her eyes.

“Any child of Anakin Skywalker could destroy this ship with one hand tied behind her back and a grin on her lovely little face,” Ventress explained, her sneer fading into a grave frown. “She should be held in the Force-blocking locker. Or at least in the brig, where she can be supervised.”

“She is no danger to us here,” Maul said coolly.

“She’s the most powerful Force-user I have ever felt,” Ventress said, wrapping her arms protectively around her chest. All notes of teasing were gone from her raspy voice, replaced by dark sincerity.

“She’s untrained,” Kyl said. Ventress turned slowly to him, her upper lip curling into a snarl.

“You know nothing,” she hissed. “You’re a child. And you—” she turned her snarl to Maul, who watched her with cool contemplation, “—are a fool if you think she won’t try to escape.”

“I never said she won’t try to escape,” Maul argued, his voice still soft and sharp. “I said she’s no danger to us.”

“And what’s your plan on Malachor, then?”

“Grab the boy, and Kill Skywalker,” Savage piped up from across the holocomm table.

Ventress barked a humorless laugh. “You’re fools. Both of you.”

“There are four of us,” Maul noted, sweeping his hand from Kyl to Savage, “and only one of him.”

“He’ll have help; authorities.”

“We can kill CISA droids and Raxulon Security goons,” Savage huffed.

“And who will grab the boy while we’re fighting the equivalent of a Force God? The slaves?” Ventress asked derisively.

“Kyl will grab Luke. He’s proven himself by kidnapping Leia,” Maul said. Kyl stood up straighter, pride and triumph surging in his chest again. Ventress frowned at him, that same frustrated and almost sad frown she always gave him when Maul sent him on new missions.

“If Skywalker has Luke with him, at least,” Kyl said.

“Skywalker will not want his son out of his sight after Leia’s kidnapping,” Maul argued, anger rising in his voice.

“Don’t you think Skywalker would want to hide Luke somewhere safe?” Kyl asked.

“No. The boy will be there.”

“But—”

“Ventress is right, you know nothing,” Maul hissed. “We will continue with the plan as discussed. We will arrive at Malachor in four days. I expect you all to be ready.”

Ventress pursed her lips and turned her face away from Maul as he turned off the holocomm table and left the lounge through the gilded main doors. Savage followed him, leaving Ventress and Kyl in the low light.

“Ventress, will you do me a favor?” Kyl asked her cautiously. The look on her face told him she was angry and upset, and unlikely to do anything he asked, but he needed to try. “When we get to Malachor, will you sneak on their ship and grab their flight data?”

Ventress frowned at him. “Their flight data? Why?”

“Because if they don’t have Luke with them, their flight data might show a location where they left him.”

Ventress’ eyes softened and she sighed. She unwrapped her hands from where she was hugging her chest and pulled off his helmet. He let her, the only person in the Galaxy who he would let pull off his helmet for him, except maybe his master. She pursed her lips and frowned at him.

“You look peaky. Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry,” Kyl said sullenly. He grabbed his helmet out of her grip and tried to turn away, but she grabbed his jaw and scrutinized his face, much like Maul had done to Leia earlier. Except Ventress didn’t look at him like he was some rare artifact ready for purchase. She looked at him as if he was something broken that she needed to fix. There was a time when she was taller than him, and used to look down at him with that soft and sad frown or the barest of encouraging smiles. But over the past five years he had grown until now he was taller than her, and she didn’t look down at him anymore as she studied the bruises on her face.

“You’ve been travelling for over a week, and I know you don’t like those ration bars on the ship,” Ventress said matter-of-factly. “You need food, and then rest. I’ll have Miriella bring you something.”

Kyl scoffed but didn’t argue. Miriella was the worker assigned to take care of him, and she always added a sweet treat when she brought him food. He was looking forward to a hot shower and some real, warm food.

“I’ll get the flight data,” Ventress said softly, letting go of his face.

“Thank you.” He tucked his helmet under his arm and gave her a small smile before trudging toward the doors that led to his personal suite and the comforts he suddenly very desperately needed.

Quinlan stood by the door, dressed in his usual dark sleeveless tunic and trousers with that irritatingly affectionate half-smile and squeezed Kyl’s shoulder with one broad hand. “Welcome home, Kyl.”

Kyl dipped his shoulder so that Quinlan would let go. He didn’t want to be treated like a child. He heard Quinlan chuckle and Ventress scoff softly before the door closed behind him.

He paused in front of the door that led to Leia’s suite as he passed it. That Twi’lek worker was probably treating her wounds and making sure she was comfortable. He thought of her beautiful dark eyes, the raw power that rolled off her in waves, the curl of her hair, the flush of her cheeks.

Shame suddenly curled in his chest. His master had said to treat her like a guest, and he’d treated her like a prisoner. And now she probably hated him. He’d hurt her. Ripped her from her home and brought her here, where there was nothing but fear and unknowns.

Kyl walked away from her door with shame still burning within him. He needed to regain his master’s trust. But he wanted to gain Leia’s trust. Confusion tangled inside him, mixing with his curdling shame and he felt sick. Ventress was right. He needed to eat and to rest.

And in the morning, he would train to defeat the Chosen One.

Four months before the anniversary
Czerka Dreadnaught Indemnity, Hyperspace

Leia stared at the black and gold marble vanity in the fresher of her suite, pointedly not looking at her face in the mirror while the middle-aged Twi’lek woman brushed her hair. The ship was more opulent and excessively extravagant than any ship she had ever been on. She hadn’t even realized they were on a ship until the boy told her they were in hyperspace, and she saw the blue and white glow of it above her in that massive hangar.

She had been dragged across shining terrazzo floors with gold inlays, down corridors painted creamy white and lit by delicate crystal chandeliers. She'd cried out to workers dressed in matching gray uniforms, and had received no help. The workers exuded an anxious, perverse reverence toward the boy, an aching, cold kind of fear that made Leia's skin itch as their emotions were dragged into the swirling, dark abyss of her Force power.

The lounge the boy had dragged her to was grander and more beautiful than the sitting rooms in the Royal Palace on Lianna. Marble tables with intricately carved wooden chairs inlaid with gold and upholstered with embroidered fabric filled the huge lounge, while velvet upholstered chairs and sofas and chaise lounges lined the dark, fabric-covered walls.

But in the center had been those terrifying Zabrak men standing at the holoconsole—large enough to rival the one she’d seen her mother use at the Capitol building in Raxulon. She wasn’t sure how to feel about her encounter with the two men. She had been told that she was not a prisoner, despite all evidence to the contrary. But that Zabrak with the red and black skin had practically threatened her and her entire family just by knowing who they were. She could feel his malice, his cool hatred and anger. She wanted nothing more than to escape.

The Twi’lek woman, Falda, who had led her out of the lounge and to this grand and opulent suite of hers, was kind and gentle as she helped Leia operate the bath and fetch clean clothes. Leia soaked in the tub longer than she should have. She was ashamed that she was enjoying the bath so much when she should be planning her escape. But the water was warm and fragrant and soothing on her sore muscles after being curled up in that dark bunk on the boy’s ship. And she knew that she could never escape if she was hurt and tired.

Once she was clean, Falda had put bacta on her bruises and cuts, pulled a soft linen nightgown over her body, and sat her down at the opulent marble-topped vanity in the fresher. Leia watched the woman through the mirror. It was clear that she and the other workers Leia had seen were slaves. They wore the same sad and exhausted expressions she had seen on clone POWs and natborn slaves. Falda’s hands, scarred and gnarled from years of labor Leia couldn’t imagine, had not been mutilated as the clone POW’s hands had. Instead, a square chip had been embedded into the back of her left hand. Leia had seen chips like that in other slaves, either on their hands or arms or embedded along their spines. She wished she was here on a mission to free slaves, rather than kidnapped and trying to free herself. Maybe she could do both. Rex and Echo had trained her how to fight, how to escape, and how to help free slaves. She could free herself, and maybe Falda and the others, if she planned carefully. But she needed more information.

“What ship is this?” Leia asked as Falda grabbed a comb from the assortment of hair tools and oils laid out on the vanity in front of her.

“This is the Czerka ship Indemnity,” Falda answered. She ran the comb through Leia’s curls, gently detangling knots she encountered. The scent of the shampoo Leia had used wafted from her damp hair, filling the air with the scent of flowers and citrus fruits.

“Where are we headed?”

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Falda said gently. “You will have to ask Lord Maul tomorrow.”

“Is that the name of that red-skinned Zabrak?”

“Yes. He is the Director of Czerka Arms, Lord of Dathomir, and Master of the Cult of the Sith.”

The word “Sith” sent a cold wave of fear over her body. She’d heard her parents talking about the Sith, about the old Chancellor of the Republic and his apprentice who led an attack on Naboo before her parents had ever met. The word Sith was never associated with anything good. In fact, her father—who was never afraid of anything—had fear in his voice when he mentioned them. And that was enough for Leia to know that the Sith, whoever they were, were frightening and dangerous.

Falda put down the comb and poured fragrant oil into her palm that she smoothed onto the ends of Leia’s hair. Leia took a few deep breaths, inhaling the nutty and floral scent of the oil. The feel of her fingers running through her hair and over her scalp was soothing. Leia closed her eyes as she breathed through her fear and thought of all the times she had sat with her mother as she ran her fingers through Leia’s hair. Her chest ached, suddenly missing her mother and the security of her home.

“What does he want from me?” Leia asked. She wrapped her arms around her chest protectively as she remembered the gleam in his gold-yellow eyes, like she was a prize he had just won. “He said that I would help him save the Galaxy, what does that mean?”

“My Lord Maul’s life mission is to free the Galaxy from the oppression of its current systems. He wants to restore the Galaxy to balance that has not been known for millennia,” Falda answered sincerely.

Leia could feel no deceit in Falda. Whether it was the truth—that Maul wanted to restore some kind of ancient balance in the Galaxy— or not, Falda believed it was. And if he was kidnapping politicians’ daughters, the “oppressive systems” he was trying to eliminate were almost certainly political. She wasn’t sure what the Jedi and the Sith had to do with any of it, though. But that was more information she could learn here. And that meant that her objective was no longer just escape. This was an espionage mission, now. And she would need to use all of Echo’s training to successfully complete this mission.

Falda brushed her curls and braided them into a simple plait down her back. Leia watched her, carefully expanding her Force senses out to feel Falda's emotions. Her mind was like a deep pool. Calm on the surface, only the slightest of ripples of anxiety and trepidation. But beneath the surface, something dark swirled and churned the waters of her mind into a whirlpool of fear and anguish. She smiled at Leia through the mirror, her pale blue skin creasing around her mouth, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Leia smiled back, her own eyes untouched by any real geniality.

“Thank you,” Leia said as Falda stood and replaced the stool she was sitting in to the corner of the refresher.

“You may ask for me using one of the comm panels on the wall if you need anything,” Falda said. She bowed her head, gathered Leia’s damp towel and dirty clothes and strode for the door. She paused at the threshold, and when she turned back to Leia, the deep pool of her mind became a frozen lake. “I would not think of escaping, if I were you. You are being treated like a dignified guest now, but my Lord Maul’s generosity is a shallow bowl rather than a deep well. He will not forgive you easily, and his retribution is swift and harsh.”

Ice washed through Leia’s veins as she thought of Maul’s sharp eyes, the roughness of his hands when he gripped her face, the malice and anger and hatred that burned within him. Leia nodded and said she understood. And she did understand. But she wasn’t trying to escape. Maul would take her directly back to her family. And she would have all the information she needed by then to bring Maul, Czerka, and the Cult of the Sith to their knees.

Chapter Text

Three years before the anniversary
Clone and War Refugee Colony, Outer Rim

Echo’s legs burned.

He stopped walking at a flat point in the trail, his right hand resting against a tree and his left resting on his knee. He didn’t want to look at his legs. He didn’t want to see the shiny mechanical joints or the droid’s feet. He heard their clanking fine without also having to see the damn things. But he needed to look at his thighs, the last remaining organic part of his legs. They ached and throbbed, a dull pain that reached down into his bones. He glanced over at the tree he was gripping. Shining black metal fingers scraped across the white bark and his heart rate skyrocketed. It took a couple deep breaths to remember those were his fingers, not a BX droid’s. He flexed his new fingers a few times, watching the joints and pistons work. It wasn’t perfect, and his mind kept telling him he was in pain, but it was better than having no hand at all.

He cursed under his breath as he rolled up the hem of his shorts to look at his swollen thighs. The skin above the crude metal ports was an angry red. He tried to ignore the dull shine of the metal and assess the condition of his skin, but his eyes landed on the new, inhuman part of his legs and he shuddered. Shame clenched his chest immediately. He should be grateful. He should be glad to be alive. He could have died in that explosion. He could have been captured by the CISA. He could be a slave right now. Dealing with temporary droid limbs was better than any of those things.

He was lucky.

Fives had not been lucky.

As he pressed the pad of his organic trigger finger against the hot and enflamed skin above the metal prosthesis port, he heard a soft sound that sent ice through his veins and bile shooting up his throat. He froze, his eyes sweeping the woods around him. He’d been told it was safe. The colony guard patrolled the land in ten klicks in every direction, and the planet had no native predators. At least nothing that would attack a human.

He heard the sound again—a sniffle—coming from his right and a little ahead. He crept forward, still crouched, his legs still screaming with pain. He groped his hip for his blaster, and his heart sank into his stomach as he remembered he had stupidly left it in his bunk.

There was someone sitting on a rock shelf that overlooked a small creek, facing away from the trail Echo was hiking. They were curled into themselves, head tucked between their knees. Echo’s foot landed on a stick, snapping it, and the being jolted upright, their face turned directly toward him. Echo froze, and stared into their face, adrenaline pumping through his veins, throbbing in his ears and eyes. It took a moment to recognize the wide, dark eyes and round cheeks. But when his mind finally caught up with his eyes, his body unclenched and he let out a long breath of relief. Leia Naberrie. Commander Skywalker’s daughter.

She blinked at him, her own anxiety subsiding as her cheeks flushed and her shoulders dropped. Freje, his new bunk mate, said the Naberrie family was here almost as much as they were on Lianna or Raxus. The twins were used to clones, had been around them often for the past four years. And even though Leia had only met Echo once—very briefly the last time the Naberries had been on-planet—she was instantly relaxed in his presence.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here,” Echo said, taking a step toward her. She looked so much like Amidala it was scary. If he hadn’t been on Mandalore during her birth and held her seconds after she was born, he would have thought she was Amidala’s clone. “Shouldn’t you be training with the Commander?” He was pretty sure he’d seen Commander Skywalker with Luke and Leia in the airfield, training with wooden sabers. He screwed up his face as he remembered that Skywalker wasn’t her Commander, he was her father. “Uh, your dad, I mean.”

Leia sniffed and wiped tears away from her round cheeks. “I can’t do it,” she bit out. “It’s so easy for them—the Force. It’s difficult for me. Different. Dad wants me to reach out but I don’t know how. He and Luke are so good at sabers and flying and I’m not. I can’t do it like they can. And they don’t understand.”

Echo stood helplessly as Leia devolved into tears again, sobbing into her knees as she sat curled on that rock. Small and alone. A pang of sympathy seared through his chest. He knew how she felt, to an extent. He understood how it felt to be surrounded by people who learned easily, while he struggled. He sat on a flat rock about a meter from Leia, his thighs still screaming with pain. He took a deep breath and extended his legs in front of him, letting his throbbing thighs relax. The forest was peaceful. Quiet, except for Leia’s crying.

“I struggled, as a cadet,” Echo admitted, not really sure why. Leia peered at him from over her knees. “Our training came so easily to my batchmates, but not to me. I was put in an infantry squad that struggled, too. They named me Echo, because I kept repeating orders that I was afraid I’d forget.”

“Echo…” Leia repeated softly, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. He was reminded of Amidala, who had the same expression in the fraction of a second it took her to recognize his face. Or, rather, everything but his face. “Aren’t you a captain?” Leia asked.

Echo raised his eyebrows, surprised that she remembered. “I am,” he replied, then added with a pang of sadness, “I was.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I learned to trust myself,” Echo shrugged. “And sixteen years fighting in an elite battalion doesn’t hurt either.”

Leia gave him a watery giggle, and he felt himself smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust myself like that,” she said, wrapping her arms tighter around her knees. “I don’t think I’ll ever learn to use the Force to fight like Dad wants me to.” She set her chin on her knee and looked out into the forest.

Echo knew he had no obligation to this girl. Commander Skywalker and Senator Amidala—he still wasn’t used to calling them Anakin and Padmé, even though they had insisted—had left the Republic long ago to raise the twins away from the Jedi, away from the war. In the past few months that he’d been on this planet, he’d been assured a hundred times that he never had to think about fighting ever again if he didn’t want. He was free. For the first time in his life, he was free. But his freedom came with a price. A sudden loss of purpose, of goals and ambitions. In this colony, he was not ARC Captain Echo of the 196^th or the 501^st. Here, he was just Echo. Injured. Alone. Purposeless.

But Leia’s predicament, as much as it was not his problem, opened a window where his injury had slammed a door shut behind him, cutting him off from everything he was before. She, like him, needed a different perspective in her training. Needed a new way to trust herself. Commander Skywalker might be furious with him, but if Leia agreed, Commander Skywalker wouldn’t turn her down.

“Why don’t I train you?” Echo suggested, the words suddenly absurd.

“You? Train me in… the Force?” Leia asked, confusion and skepticism on her face.

Echo chuckled and shook his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, the cold metal of his prosthesis sending a shiver down his spine as they brushed over newly scarred skin. “No, I can train you to fight, though. And your dad can fill in the rest. It might help to have a different perspective. I can teach you hand-to-hand, how to shoot a blaster, some espionage and spec ops, if you’re interested. I think you’d be good at it, if lightsabers and piloting don’t come naturally.”

Leia’s eyes brightened, and Echo’s chest flooded with relief. He needed this as much as she did. Maybe more.

“I’d love that!” she said brightly, her cheeks still shining with tears. “When can we start?”

Four months before the anniversary
Czerka dreadnaught Indemnity, Hyperspace

Leia followed Falda down the main corridor of the Indemnity’s forward cabins the morning after her arrival. She hadn’t really slept, rather she had fallen unconscious as soon as her head hit the pillow, and didn’t wake up until Falda touched her shoulder softly.

The room Falda led her to was another beautifully opulent room with creamy painted walls, the same blue, green, and white terrazzo flooring and crystal chandeliers. One wall had a transparisteel viewport that let in the dazzling light of Hyperspace. In the center of the room sat a long table of dark and glossy wood set with porcelain plates and golden utensils. Two figures she had not seen the night before sat at the table, a middle-aged woman with bone-white skin and short, pale blonde hair, and a man who looked remarkably like a clone at first glance, with dark hair and skin and muscular arms uncovered in his sleeveless tunic. But when he looked up at Leia’s arrival, she saw that he was not a clone, to her dismay. His angular face had a wide yellow tattoo across his cheeks and thin nose, and his brown eyes and cheekbones and chin were all the wrong shape. He smiled at her, a genuinely kind smile. The woman did not smile, rather she raised one eyebrow at Leia as she raised a beautifully painted mug to her lips.

Falda pulled out a chair for Leia across from the dark man and at the woman’s left-hand side, and Leia sat, straight-backed and chin high, like her mother taught her to do. She thanked Falda, who bowed to the table and left swiftly.

The long, dark wooden table was set for ten, and in front of her were platters of fruit and pastries and some kind of sausage. Another worker—presumably also a slave—appeared at Leia’s side to pour water in a crystal goblet and caf into a painted mug like the one the woman currently had cradled in her hands. Leia thanked him, too, and he bowed before disappearing again.

“You should eat something,” the man said with a smile. He stabbed a few pieces of fruit from his own plate and put them in his mouth in a show of good faith. Leia looked from the plates of food on the table to the woman’s icy stare and back to the man.

“Who are you?” Leia blurted, looking between the man and woman. They stared at her, two beautiful opposites: summer and winter, warm smiles and cold indifference.

“My name is Quinlan,” the man said genially once he had swallowed the fruit, “and this is Ventress.”

Ventress pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at Leia as a greeting and Leia was reminded of the queens and princesses she had met over the years: regal, indifferent, beautiful and cold and powerful. Quinlan smiled at Ventress, and when he wrapped his dark fingers around hers on top of the table, she did not pull away.

“You look exactly like your mother,” Ventress said, her voice raspy but solid like tree bark. “But the power within you… I haven’t felt power like that since I encountered your father so many years ago.”

“You knew my father?”

Ventress chuckled, and Quinlan smirked as he leaned back in his chair and took another bite of fruit from his fork. The door swished open, but Leia didn’t dare look to see who had arrived. She wanted to appear dignified, powerful in her own right. And dignified people didn’t care who walked through the door, even though Echo’s training was screaming at her to keep her head on a swivel.

“Yes, I knew your father,” Ventress said, stabbing a piece of fruit from her plate and smirking. “I tried to kill him on many, many occasions.”

Leia felt herself blanch. Quinlan chuckled again and rolled his eyes. A teenaged boy sat down heavily in the seat next to Quinlan, his eyes barely open and his sandy brown hair tousled from sleep. Leia froze. This was the boy who had bombed her school, assaulted and kidnapped her, then threatened her for ransom from her parents. She was right; he was young. Not much older than she was, she guessed.

“Good morning, Kyl,” Quinlan said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Kriff off,” Kyl grumbled, loading his plate with pastries, sausages and fruit. One of the workers appeared and topped off everyone’s mugs with fresh caf and water. No one bothered to say thank you except Leia, even though she had not touched her caf or the water in front of her.

At the sound of her voice, Kyl sat pin straight, his eyes landing on hers and his mouth clamped shut. His brown eyes were wide, and a blush painted his cheeks beneath a smattering of freckles. One gnarled and ugly scar divided his left eyebrow, and another slashed across his right jaw and dipped toward his throat.

“What’s she doing here?” Kyl asked icily. Leia rolled her shoulders back and stiffened her spine.

“She should be eating first meal,” Quinlan said, eyeing Leia’s still-empty plate.

Leia looked at the platters of food, and her stomach betrayed her by growling loudly. Kyl watched her as she reached for a pastry, not touching the food already piled onto his plate. His cheeks darkened when their eyes met, and he hastily looked down at his plate. He was wearing a thin white shirt—something he probably slept in—and she could see his chest rise and fall as he took several deep breaths. He was surprisingly muscular for a teenager. Thin and lanky like her brother, but with defined muscles in his arms and shoulders, muscles she only ever saw on clones who had spent their entire lives intensively training for war. She wondered if something terrible had happened to this boy for him to have such nasty scars on his face and muscles that rivaled clone soldiers.

In fact, as she studied her other two companions—who both looked about the same age as her parents—she saw that they, too, were scarred and muscular. And the looks in their eyes—there was something about the eyes of people who had seen war, a kind of haunted expression from lingering trauma and fear. She wasn’t sure if normal people saw that same look, or if she was more sensitive to it because she could feel the Force. But she could see and feel the trauma these three people carried behind their eyes. It would make her sad, if she wasn’t their prisoner.

“Kyl, I’m impressed you were able to capture Leia, much less keep her in your custody,” Ventress said, sneering down the table at Kyl. “She’s one of the most powerful Force-users I’ve ever felt.”

Leia took a bite of the pastry she had picked to hide her embarrassment. As soon as the flaky pastry touched her tongue it melted away, letting the sweet and spiced jam coat her tongue in an explosion of complex flavors. She closed her eyes and had to actively keep from moaning. It was delicious. Prisoner or not, she’d never been pampered so well in her whole life.

“I told you, she’s untrained,” Kyl said sullenly, stabbing at the sausages on his plate.

“I’m not untrained,” Leia snarled at him. 

“She could have escaped a dozen times but hardly used the Force at all.”

“Is this true?” Ventress asked, raising a thin, blonde eyebrow at Leia.

Leia swallowed, feeling very much like she was caught lying. The truth was that she was afraid to use the Force. She could feel it churning under her skin, a deep ocean of power she was afraid to explore. Her father had taught her control, taught her to use the Force that existed outside of herself. But her power was so much deeper and darker than even she understood. She struggled in training with her father and Luke because the Force was different for her. Darker. Sharper. The thought of tapping into that kind of raw, electric power frightened her. And so she focused her energy on training with the clones, fighting with weapons and her mind and her body rather than the Force. Those things she could control. The dark depths of the Force that swirled within her were best left untouched.

“She tried to influence my mind, and barely touched it,” Kyl continued. “And she tried to fight me to escape, but only bruised me.” He pointed to the yellowing bruise on his face. Leia's heart sank. She'd never hurt anyone before. Then again, she’d never wanted to hurt anyone before Kyl. She looked away from the intensity of Kyl’s dark eyes and scooped fruit onto her plate.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Leia asked.

“With the power you possess you should be able to kill me,” Kyl snarled.

“Maybe I didn’t want to kill you.”

“Then you’re a coward as well as weak.”

Leia gritted her teeth as anger and annoyance rose in her chest. Within her, her power stirred, a slow churning of the vast ocean of darkness. She could feel Kyl’s anger, feel herself swallow it, embed it into herself. Next to her, Quinlan and Ventress watched with amusement that quickly slid to apprehension as Leia let her power rise, unhindered.

“Valuing life is not cowardice,” Leia said, her voice shaking.

“You allowed yourself to be captured when you chose not to use your power to kill me,” Kyl argued. He clenched his hands into fists on the table and snarled at her. His words were like a blow to Leia’s stomach, and she let out all her air in a huff.

“I did not allow myself to—”

“Then why didn’t you fight harder? Why didn’t you use all that training you claim you have?” Kyl snarled. His brown eyes were intense. Leia could have sworn they flashed red, the same way Maul’s had the night before.

Leia clenched her jaw. She didn’t know how to argue. She didn’t want to tell this boy that she was afraid. But she couldn’t think of any other excuse. The only thing she could think to do was use the Force to push his plate, goblet of water, and mug of caf off the table and into his lap. He yelped and jumped up, the food and beverages soaked into his white shirt and stiff black under-armor trousers. He snarled at her, a feral noise ripping from the back of his throat, and Leia stood from her chair with her fists raised and feet planted the way Echo had taught her.

“Enough.” Ventress’ voice cut through the room with the authority of a war general. “Kyl, quit antagonizing our guest.”

Kyl’s lips twisted like he wanted to protest. But after he glanced at Ventress he snapped his mouth shut, grabbed the platter of pastries, and stomped out of the room.

“Leia, I have no doubt your father taught you everything he could,” Ventress continued. Her voice had softened, but her eyes were still hard. “But I would also venture to guess that the things he taught you did not come easily to you. That there is a part of your Force ability he doesn’t understand, and would have no idea how to train you to use.”

Leia lowered her hands as she stared at Ventress. That was how she felt. She struggled training with her father and Luke because the Force affected her differently. Her father trained her the best that he could, but he didn’t understand how deep the Force went within her, how dark its depths were. And whenever she tried to explain, he thought she meant that her emotions were dark, that she was upset or angry or fearful. She was fearful, and her fear made her angry, but the Force within her wasn’t fear, or anger, or hatred. It was just deep. And she had no idea how to explain that to him.

“What do you know about it?” Leia asked, her voice not as derisive as she’d hoped.

“I can feel the Force within you,” Ventress said. She leaned forward on her elbow, and her icy blue eyes stared into Leia with an intensity that felt like a knife being driven into her soul. “It’s like a deep ocean, isn’t it? Like a vast darkness you can’t comprehend. A black hole in space, pulling in everyone’s emotions, filling you with everyone else’s fear and anger. Anakin tells you to reach out to touch the Force, but it keeps being pulled inside you, deeper and deeper until it’s embedded under your skin, and you can’t fathom ever reaching out to feel it.”

Leia swallowed. She could feel Ventress’ intensity like a hot blast of steam. Quinlan watched them with quiet curiosity. His mind was like a calm pond of certainty and trust. But Ventress’ mind was like a tumultuous sea, a swirl of conflict and grief and love and hatred. Leia couldn’t help but pull Ventress’ emotions into herself, the Force like a dark vortex, exactly like a black hole that Ventress described, pulling in emotions and embedding them under Leia’s skin until she could feel nothing else. Her fear rose in her throat, choking her. She didn’t know how to control this side of the Force. She could feel her power rising, feel the darkness churning and gaining strength, but she was afraid to let it fill her up, afraid to tap into it, terrified that if she used it, the power would consume her.

“Let it fill you up, Leia,” Ventress said, her raspy voice soft but commanding. “Don’t resist it. Let the power fill you to the brim, and then let it expand out.”

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, maybe it was the commanding lilt of Ventress’ voice, or the confidence she exuded into the Force, or maybe it was her own curiosity and desperate desire to calm the raging storm of the Force within her, but Leia closed her eyes and obeyed. She felt the Force rise within her, pulling the emotions of Ventress and Quinlan into her body, beneath her skin. She didn’t fight it. Instead, she used the Force within her and pushed out.

The swell of power was almost overwhelming. She could feel everything. The fear and apprehension of the workers, Kyl’s simmering anger, the ship operators’ calm resolution. And beyond the emotions of the crew, she could feel the ship itself, like a living being. Could feel the mechanics whirring, the engines burning hot and greedy, the power of the ship thrumming like a pulse that beat against her own. She could touch the ship with her mind, every part of it. She could feel it’s shape and power and weaknesses, could reach into its contours and rip them apart if she wanted.

Beyond the ship, she could feel Hyperspace. It vibrated against her mind, the same way Luke’s makeshift pod racer had vibrated violently under her fingers until they were numb. It was not a physical thing, Hyperspace, rather a rough passage carved out of time and space, and they squeezed through it.

And beyond, further out than she had ever dared push herself, lay the vast chasm of the Galaxy. Leia felt as if she could lose herself in the space between the stars. She could feel the Force as it flowed in the Galaxy. Could feel the way it carried life along its current. She reached out, felt the Force flow around her, within her. She could touch the galaxy and pull its Force within herself, swallow it whole, wrap it around her mind and drag it into the deep ocean of power of which she still could not see the bottom. She let her senses expand until the life of the entire Galaxy hummed against her skin, burned with the light of a thousand stars, orbited around her as if she was the supermassive black hole at its center. And in that moment, she felt that if she tried, she could reach out into the Galaxy and destroy it.

“Leia.”

The voice was like a dream, far away or underwater or muffled by cloth. She breathed deeply, and the Galaxy spun within her. The Galaxy was full of fear. It lashed at her insides, soiled the serenity she had created when she expanded her senses. She could feel the fear overtake her, overwhelm her. It sparked across the planes of the Galaxy like lightning. The Force swelled within her as she absorbed the fear of quintillions of beings spinning uncontrollably through the vast emptiness of the universe.

“Leia!”

The voice was sharper, but no clearer. Leia’s fear—no, the galaxy’s fear, stretched and burned within her. It filled her with heat, with sharp and arching pain. She felt it grip her throat, seize her body. She pushed out, out as far as she could go. The Force filled her with power, the fear in the Galaxy fueled its ever-expanding growth. She let it consume her, let it become her. She’d never felt the depths of her power but now that it was here, under her fingertips, she never wanted to let it go.

“Leia, focus!”

Focus.

Patience. Focus. Control.

Her father’s words echoed in her head, soothing the fear that had risen inside her. She took a deep breath, finding lungs she had forgotten about when her body became the Galaxy. She let go of the power within her, piece by piece, and floated to the surface of her consciousness. The fear of all the life in the Galaxy released its grip on her throat, and she breathed deeply to let go of the power. As she rose back to the surface of her own mind, she brushed across something bright and warm and familiar. She knew the Signature as well as she knew her own. Luke. His Signature was as bright as a thousand stars. She latched onto it, even as her power slipped out of her grasp. She could feel his mind, the concern and apprehension within calm power. He was like a beacon among the blackness of space. As she lifted out of the ocean of darkness swirling within her, she tried to reach out, tried to contact him with her mind, and thought she felt him stir in return.

When she had let go of the last of her power and settled back into her own body, she opened her eyes and gaped in surprise. The beautifully decorated room was in shambles around her. The plates and goblets and mugs had been tossed from the table and smashed across the walls and floor. Water and caf and smashed fruit were splattered on every surface. Quinlan had a chair in one hand, lifted and upturned to use the seat as a sort of shield. Shards of porcelain and crystal had embedded into the underside of the seat as if someone had thrown them at him. When he rose from his crouch, Leia saw blood on his cheek and arm.

Ventress stood to her right, her blue eyes like icy daggers as she stared at Leia. She, too, had cuts on her arms and cheeks, dripping fresh red blood down her bone-white skin.

“What happened?” Leia asked.

“You—” Ventress bit off her snarl and clenched her jaw. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning to Quinlan, who had set down the chair and was assessing his arm. “Are you alright, Quinlan?”

“Fine,” he replied, breathless. “You?”

“I’m alright.” She turned back to Leia, the intensity of her eyes calmed considerably. “You did this.”

Leia looked around, at the ruined upholstery on the chairs and the shattered fragments of crystal and porcelain scattered across the room, in disbelief. She hadn’t done this. She’d only done what Ventress had said, and tapped into the power within her and pushed out.

“I touched the Galaxy,” Leia said. “I felt its power within me. That dark ocean of power you described, it’s deeper than that. Stronger.”

Ventress let out a terse sigh and hung her head. She picked tiny fragments of porcelain out of her tunic where it had embedded into the fabric. Leia’s stomach twisted. If she had done this, she could have hurt Ventress and Quinlan far more than the speckled blood on their cheeks and arms.

“That would explain the rotational pattern,” Quinlan said lowly, shrugging.

“You tapped into the dark side,” Ventress said to Leia. An expression passed over her face that felt familiar, an expression she was sure her mother had given her a few times after she and her father and Luke practiced wielding the Force. “But you don’t know how to control it. Not fully.”

Leia swallowed. She’d worked hard to learn how to control the darkness within her. And she could, for the most part. She could use a fraction of it, swirl it with the bright Force from without, and use both to give her power beyond belief. But it was only a fraction of her power, and that frightened her. She thought of Luke, who found the press of the Force from without so grand it sometimes made him sick. The vast expanse of the Galaxy, past and present and future, the weight of all the power of the universe that swirled around them sitting on his shoulders like an immense weight. Their father encouraged them to tap into their power, to use both Light and Dark, but they were afraid. Luke, at least, could separate the vastness of the Light from himself. For Leia, the Dark Side was an ever-present vortex within her that she could not escape if she tried.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Leia said timidly, watching Quinlan pull bloodied pieces of crystal out of his arm.

“I will train you to control the dark side within you,” Ventress said.

Leia blinked at her, surprised. “Why? Aren’t I your prisoner? Your ransom?”

The corner of Ventress’ lip twitched upward. “Can’t you believe I would do this out of the goodness of my heart?”

Leia scoffed, and to her surprise Quinlan grinned at her, as if this was some joke they shared at Ventress’ expense.

“Alright, I don’t want you to hurt anyone, either. And unlike your father, who I assume has done a spectacular job training you,” she rolled her eyes at Quinlan, who smirked at her, “I was trained to use the Dark Side of the Force, and understand its depths. So, if you want to learn how to control the tempest within you, you’ll accept my offer.”

Leia bit her lip and looked from Ventress’ calm, slightly imperious gaze to Quinlan, who smiled softly and nodded in encouragement. She did want to learn to control the darkness within her. She wanted to use its power, to not be so afraid of it. She hoped that if Ventress could teach her anything, she could then teach Luke how to control his own Force burden.

And, maybe together, they could destroy this Cult of the Sith.

Ventress asked for an hour to clean the shards of dinnerware out of her skin and clothes before she met Leia for training. Falda led her to a room that reminded her of the sparring gym at the clone colony. The floor was covered in cushioned mats and the walls were bare, not even painted white like the rest of the ship. It smelled better than the sparring room at the colony, however. That room smelled overwhelmingly of feet and stale sweat. This room had the sharp smell of disinfectant cleaner, and the faint haze of floral perfume.

Ventress was already there, watching Leia with that cold stare, her bare arms crossed over her chest. She had a bandage wrapped around her upper left arm, and another across a cut on her cheek that was still shiny with bacta gel. When she unfolded her arms, Leia saw that her fingers were wrapped with bandages. Guilt clenched her chest again. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, hadn’t meant to destroy that beautiful dining room. So far no one had punished her. That didn’t mean this wasn’t a punishment disguised as training.

Ventress had Leia sit across from her in the center of the room with her legs crossed in front of her and her palms flat on her knees. It was a familiar pose, one that her father and brother liked to sit in to meditate. It made Leia’s skin itch to sit still so long.

“The Dark Side is accessed through your deepest emotions,” Ventress began. “The easiest are anger, hatred, and fear. Which is why it’s called the Dark. These emotions give the user incredible power, even if their own connection to the Force is weak. But, it’s very easy to fall to the Dark Side when using these emotions. And once Fallen, you cannot return to the light.”

“Then why are you teaching me to use the Dark Side?” Leia asked.

Ventress’ lips curled slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Maybe I want you to Fall,” she sneered. Leia felt her eyes widen. Her heart thudded in her throat. But Ventress chuckled and shook her head. “I’m teaching you how to use the Dark Side that’s already within you. To access the power you already have, and do it without Falling.”

Leia stared at Ventress for a moment. She felt no insincerity from her, no malice. “I know how to access fear to pull the Force from within,” Leia said.

“Good,” Ventress said, quirking up one eyebrow. “Show me.”

Leia shifted uncomfortably. “How?”

“Reach within, like you said.”

Leia gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Within her, the dark void of her power swirled, vast and endless and terrifying. But she used her fear, let it grip her throat and fill her body, and pulled on that power, the Force, within her. She felt it expand out like a dark mist, tendrils stretching and curling around her and outside of her, latching onto Ventress’ emotions, the shape of the room, the fear and anger and anguish that was thick among the slaves that worked behind the lavish rooms and corridors. The Force from within her stretched out like tentacles and pulled everything in, sucking like a black hole, The fear of the workers and Ventress’ surprise were pulled into her chest, beneath her skin, and turned into energy and power, raw and electric.

“Control it, Leia,” Ventress said, her voice everywhere and nowhere at once. “Do not let it control you. Feel the room around you, let yourself expand to fill it. Focus and sharpen your attention.”

Leia’s face scrunched as she tried to do as Ventress directed. She took a deep breath and stopped the Force from expanding, instead letting it concentrate, harden like a veneer over everything around her. Ventress’ emotions came into focus as she pulled them within her. Not just surprise, but awe and determination and pride. Leia could feel the emptiness of the room, but also the echo of past anger and determination.

“Good,” Ventress said, pride in her raspy voice. “Now, go further. Tell me how many servants are in the dining cabin.”

Leia expanded her senses, reaching out into the Force from without to find the dining room, the way her father had taught her, but Ventress smacked her forehead with the back of her hand. Leia opened her eyes and scowled at her.

“Don’t reach out,” Ventress said. “Use the Dark Side. The Force from within. Draw on your emotions.”

“Why? I’m just looking through the Force. There’s no need to use the Force from within.”

“Alright, don’t count the servants in the dining cabin, tell me their feelings.”

“Probably anguish and despair, since they’re all clearly slaves.”

Ventress’ lips curled into that sneer again, and Leia felt her anger boil inside her. “You don’t like that they’re slaves, do you?” Ventress asked.

“Slavery is abhorrent,” Leia said passionately. She’d seen too many abused natborns and clones rescued from slavery who had been abused, tortured, mutilated, and degraded. They could never live a normal life after being treated so cruelly. And Leia not only wanted to free every slave in the Galaxy, but make sure it never happened again. Her anger over the injustices of the Galaxy and the mistreatment of innocents filled her up, buzzed over her skin like electricity, raged within her like a tempest.

“Your anger fuels you,” Ventress said, her blue eyes alight with excitement. “Now use it. Use that anger. The hatred. Let it fill you up and expand. And tell me the emotions of the servants in the dining cabin.”

Leia grit her teeth and reluctantly did as she was told, maintaining eye contact with Ventress as she pushed the Force out of her body and expanded it through the ship. The dining cabin was not far from this training room, and in it were three workers. To her surprise, they weren’t in anguish. Two were practically joyful. Giddy. Their emotions were bright in the Force. The third was annoyed, but not angry or hateful. Leia closed her eyes and focused her attention on them, concentrating the Force in the other room. There were two droids helping clean. The brightness of the two workers’ joy filled the room, infectious. Leia pulled their emotions within her, let it swirl in the vortex and give her power.

“There’s—ow!”

Another sharp slap to Leia’s forehead snapped her out of her focus. She rubbed her forehead and scowled at Ventress.

“You should have seen that coming,” Ventress scolded. “I’m sitting directly in front of you, and I made my intentions very plain in the Force. But you aren’t focusing.”

“I am focusing,” Leia argued. “You told me to focus on the workers in the dining cabin.”

“You’re afraid to use the Force within you because you don’t know how to control it,” Ventress argued back, her brow furrowed and her lip curling into a snarl. “Your power is vast enough that you can be here, present in this place and time, and see and feel far and wide. But you need to focus.”

Leia huffed and grit her teeth, but reached within herself again. Her anger was easy to tap into, and she let it fill her up. She kept her eyes open, kept her attention on Ventress and the room around her, but expanded the Force out into the ship.

“There’s three workers in the dining cabin,” she said. “Two are giddy, and one is annoyed.”

“And in the forward lounge? Where you met Maul and Savage last night?”

Leia furrowed her brow and expanded her senses again. She’d never tapped this far into her power before. She was surprised to find how easy it was. But what she wasn’t surprised to discover was that the more she expanded her senses, the more emotions she absorbed. There were only two workers in the forward lounge, but there were at least ten in the cabins and corridors surrounding their training room, and another twenty on each level above and below them. Their minds were like a cacophony of noises and textures in her mind, and as she drew on her power from within, their Signatures were dragged deeper within her, until she could barely tell the difference between her mind and theirs.

“Focus, Leia,” Ventress said. Her eyes were bright and cold like glacial ice. Leia was drowning in her determination, her grit, her fear. “Sharpen your focus. Block the rest out.”

Leia’s power surged with her irritation, spreading far and pulling in the anger and joy and sadness and fear of every being on the ship. Her focus on Ventress slipped away, and as she felt the power overwhelm her, she reigned it back in the way she had done a thousand times before. Ventress frowned at her as she panted and trembled, the Force tucked safely back inside her where it couldn’t expand beyond her control. Disappointment flooded the room from Ventress, icy and sharp. Leia grit her teeth and balled her hands into fists, ready to block another smack to the forehead.

“Try again.”

They sat in that training room for hours. Falda brought them mid meal, but Ventress barely gave Leia any time to eat without doing some Force exercise or another. By the end of the day Leia was exhausted, sweaty and trembling and out of breath, even though she hadn’t moved from her spot on the mat. She didn’t feel any stronger, or more in control.

“You’re improving, but slowly,” Ventress said as she unfolded her legs and stood. Leia put her face in her hands and took deep breaths to calm the frantic beating of her heart and the trembling of her fingers. “Tomorrow we’ll try again. I recommend you meditate tonight, clear your mind. And get sleep.”

Falda led Leia back to her room, where a tray of food for lastmeal was waiting. Leia eyed the plush bed, feeling exhausted, but knew Ventress was right. She needed to meditate. And she needed information. She told Falda that she could figure out the bath and get herself into bed. When Falda asked if she needed anything else before she left, Leia asked for a datapad.

“To take notes on my training,” she explained.

Falda paused, her blue eyes scrutinizing her face. It was an innocent enough request. She hadn’t asked for a commlink or holonet access. Just a datapad. Leia’s heart thudded. As much luxury as she lived in here on this ship, she was still a prisoner.

“I will inquire,” she said calmly, then bowed before leaving Leia alone.

Leia smiled to herself as she ate last meal alone. Using the massive Force power that resided within her was useful, but it paled in comparison to the information she was gathering as she extended her senses. She could feel the ship. The corridors, the cabins, the crew, the weapons’ systems, the engineering. She was gathering information, just like Echo taught her. And once she had a datapad, she could record everything she learned, and maybe discover more.

Leia trained with Ventress for the next two days. They continued to practice expanding her senses using the Force from within, then moved to saber forms and fighting with wooden practice sticks. Ventress wielded her practice saber with ease, while Leia found it unwieldy and awkward. She never liked practicing saber forms with her father and Luke. She preferred blasters and hand-to-hand sparring.

But Ventress made fighting with a saber look beautiful. She was graceful, powerful, deadly. Leia forgot momentarily about her mission to collect information, suddenly overcome with the desire to learn to fight the way Ventress did. Her father’s ability with a lightsaber was amazing, but Ventress’ skill was artful.

Leia’s skill with the Force was improving as well, or at least she was becoming more confident that she could control the power she drew from within. And she was gathering more information on the ship, the workers, the crew, anything she could discover while they practiced expanding her Force senses throughout the ship.

At night, she jotted everything she could remember into a datapad Falda had given her. As she had expected, the datapad didn’t have the ability to connect to any communications. But she managed to disconnect the intercom in her suite and plug it into the datapad, and she spent as long as she could stay awake after last meal trying to break through the security of the ship’s network. It was difficult, and she didn’t know everything she needed to do break through without getting caught. She wished Echo could have taught her more.

She found, over the three days of training, that she liked Ventress. She had a cold, indifferent exterior, but underneath was passionate and sincere. Her lips would curl into a small smile whenever Leia did something right, or expanded her power a little further, and Leia worked hard to earn that little smile without realizing she craved Ventress’ approval. Occasionally, Quinlan joined them, and Leia liked him, too. He had a sunny disposition that was opposite Ventress’ icy exterior. Leia could feel how much they loved each other in the Force. Their love was like a shining beacon whenever they were together. Leia could close her eyes and, for a few brief moments, pretend that she was home, and it was her parents’ love that surrounded her in its warm and comforting embrace.

Kyl joined them for meals, once the dining cabin had been cleaned and repaired as if nothing had happened. He looked exhausted and beaten down, with new bruises on his face and arms after each day. Ventress fretted over him, scolding him for training too hard, for pushing himself too far. Kyl rolled his eyes the same way Luke and Leia rolled their eyes at their mother. The memory made Leia’s heart ache.

“How do you know my father?” Leia asked Ventress and Quinlan during lastmeal after her third full day on the Indemnity. Kyl had grabbed a plateful of food and slunk back to his room, a black eye blooming on his ashen face. With him gone, Leia felt more comfortable to ask the questions she’d had burning in the back of her mind since the first time she’d met the couple.

Quinlan glanced at Ventress, a smirk on his lips and an uncertain frown creasing his brow. Ventress sipped dark red wine from a crystal goblet and stared at Leia over the rim.

“Your father and I fought many times in the early years of the war,” Ventress said, her raspy voice was breezy and nostalgic, almost fond.

“You fought in the war?” Leia asked. She wondered how Ventress would have looked on the battlefield, all lithe grace and deadly power.

“Yes, for a while. I was Count Dooku’s apprentice and a leader in the CISA,” Ventress explained.

“Why did you leave?”

Ventress sneered at Leia over the rim of her glass. “Dooku tried to kill me.”

“Is that how you ended up here?”

Ventress pursed her lips and glanced at Quinlan, who was watching her with concern plain on his face. “I joined Maul at first because I believed in what he’s trying to do. After I lost my connection to the Force—”

“You lost your connection to the Force?” Leia had seen Ventress use the Force during their training. If she had lost her ability to connect to the Force, it must have returned. Maybe whatever had happened to Ahsoka had also happened to Ventress.

Ventress’ eyes were daggers of ice as she glared at Leia after her interruption. “Yes,” she replied slowly, her eyes narrowing. “As I understand, all Force-users lost their connection eight years ago.”

“I didn’t. Or my family.”

Ventress’ eyebrows raised and she and Quinlan exchanged another glance. “Well. Most Force-users, then. But I joined Maul because I truly believed in his cause, that he could restore balance in the Galaxy.”

“Do you still believe that?”

Ventress sighed and stared at where she twisted the stem of her goblet in her fingers, her gaze far away. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“So, why did you stay?”

“For Kyl,” Ventress said simply. “To make sure that Maul doesn’t kill him when he decides Kyl isn’t good enough to be his apprentice, or discards him when he finds another.”

Leia blinked, surprised. “Is Kyl your son?”

Quinlan snorted, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. The wine he’d just sipped dribbled down his chin. He looked at Ventress, wicked glee glinting in his eyes. Ventress frowned and shot Quinlan a scowl.

“He’s not my son,” Ventress said. “But he’s just a kid, and I would hate to see anyone treat him the way that I was ever treated during my apprenticeships.”

Quinlan brushed his fingers over the back of her hand, and Leia felt the rush of love and affection that passed between them. Her eyes stung as the feeling reminded her of being home, with her parents and brother, and how much she missed them. She wanted to escape, to see her family now. But she would have to wait. She wasn’t finished collecting intelligence. And if she wanted to keep other politicians’ daughters from being kidnapped, she needed to destroy Maul and his Cult.

“What about you?” Leia asked Quinlan. “How did you know my parents?”

“Oh, I was a Jedi.”

Leia felt her mouth fall open as she stared at him in surprise. She hadn’t felt Quinlan use the Force at all. She didn’t think that he could. And neither he nor Ventress had mentioned that he was once a Jedi. “Why did you leave?” she asked.

A dark expression passed over Quinlan’s face. His mind, which was always bright and warm, turned cold and dark with fear and regret. “It’s a long story.”

Leia was about to ask if Quinlan had lost his connection to the Force eight years ago, but Ventress cut her off. “I think you should get some rest,” she said sharply, standing from her chair. The icy look in her eyes suggested that this wasn’t a request.

Leia nodded, glancing at Quinlan before rising from her chair and turning toward the door. His eyes were still dark, but he gave her a small smile. She hoped that meant he wasn’t angry she had asked the question, even though it left his mind churning with regret and anger and fear.

“There won’t be any training tomorrow,” Ventress said when Leia reached the door. She turned, and saw a sad, conflicted look on Ventress’ face. “Stay in your cabin until Falda collects you. Understand?”

Curiosity pricked at the back of Leia’s neck, but the intensity of Ventress’ eyes and the sharpness of her voice convinced her to let it go. She nodded and left the dining cabin, where Falda was waiting for her in the corridor.

She heaved a sigh, relief flooding her body when she saw the door to her private cabin. Inside, a hot shower and plush bed waited for her. She still couldn’t believe that, as a prisoner, she had been afforded such luxury. She could get used to living like this.

When she opened the door to her suite of rooms, she stopped cold at the threshold. Sitting in one of the plush chairs by the faux fireplace, reading through her datapad, was Maul.

Leia immediately put her hands in her pockets, feeling for the datachip that contained the information she had gathered on the ship, the crew, and the Cult over the last few days. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that at least Falda would go through the datapad and read her notes. But she had found the datachip in one of the drawers in the suite—it had contained the personal diary of some Ambassador’s mistress, but Leia had wiped it clean after reading the words “wrinkly, flaccid trill,” and decided she didn’t care what secrets the woman had—and used it to store the information she didn’t want anyone to know she was collecting. Her fingers wrapped around the little piece of plastoid and metal, and relief washed through her like a wave.

“Ventress is teaching you well,” Maul said. His voice was smooth and slick. A cold finger of dread slid down Leia’s spine.

“What do you want?” Leia asked. Her own voice trembled. Maul set the datapad down on the little end table next to the chair and stood, and Leia’s body tensed. She took a deep breath and felt the power within her expand with her fear. She felt the Force, both within and without, swirl around her, within her, through her. She wasn’t afraid of its depths. If needed, she could gather the Force and all its power and use it.

Maul paced across the sitting room, toward the door that led to the bedroom. Leia heard the soft whirring of mechno-prosthetics as he walked. She shifted her feet, ready to pull on the Force around her to run or fight. Maul pivoted, continuing to pace. He glanced at Leia, and her fear surged, along with her power.

“It’s time I explained why you’re here.”

“Aren’t you holding me hostage for a ransom?” Leia asked.

Maul sneered at her, pivoting again when he nearly reached the door that led to the fresher. “Do you really think, after living on my ship, among my luxuries, that I need your parents’ money?”

“Political power, then.”

“Money is political power,” Maul chuckled.

Leia’s shoulders tensed. “What, then?”

Maul paused, and when he looked at her, his eyes burned yellow and red. Leia’s stomach curdled. Fear clutched at her throat, and her control of the Force slipped away as her fear mounted. The Force from without dissipated like fog in the wind, and her power from within, the dark and bottomless vortex that churned like an endless ocean, absorbed Maul’s anger and hatred and unbridled lust for power.

“You’re here to help me save the Galaxy.”

She’d heard him say that before. The night Kyl brought her on the ship. He’d said he wanted nothing from her yet, but in time she would help him save the Galaxy. And both Falda and Ventress had said that Maul—and the Cult of the Sith—had a mission to bring balance to the Galaxy. But she didn’t see how she, a fourteen-year-old girl, could possibly do anything to help.

“How?”

“There was a prophecy, long ago, that the Chosen One would bring Balance to the Force. Have you heard of it?”

Leia shook her head. She didn’t know that things like prophecies really existed, or that anyone actually believed in them. It sounded like superstitious nonsense to her.

“Your father, Anakin Skywalker, is the Chosen One. And he brought forth you and your brother. Light and Dark. Balance. For millennia, the Galaxy has struggled to maintain the ever-changing tidal flow of light and dark. Ever since the first Sith pulled away from the Jedi, there has been a war between the Light and the Dark. Even during the last thousand years of so-called “peace,” there have always been Sith to maintain the Dark and never let it be swallowed by the Light.

“But in those last thousand years, the Sith have been plucked from the Galaxy by the Jedi, one by one. Their arrogance and hubris destroyed the Force. Their righteous fight for the Light blinded them to their own impending downfall. They could not see that their desire to destroy the Sith would not eradicate the Dark, and would instead demolish the balance they so desperately craved.”

Maul paused in front of the fireplace and stared at the holographic fire. Leia hadn’t moved from her spot in the doorway. She watched Maul’s movements and listened to his story with bated breath.

“Eight years ago, the Jedi landed their final blow, and murdered Dooku, Lord Tyrranus, the last Sith in the Galaxy. And with his death, the Light finally overwhelmed the Dark, and the Force was snuffed out completely.”

Leia’s brows raised. “You say Dooku was the last Sith. Does that mean you aren’t a Sith?”

Maul turned over his shoulder to sneer at her. “I was,” he said softly. “But when Kenobi nearly killed me, my connection to the Force was damaged. And while I struggled and worked to regain my power, the Jedi dealt their final blow. And I, like the rest, lost my connection completely.”

Leia swallowed and tightened her fingers around the datachip in her pocket. “If all Force-users lost their connection, why can Kyl and Ventress use the Force?” she asked. She thought of Ahsoka, who had contacted her father when they were on Sesid, claiming she had regained her connection to the Force. Luke and her father had gone to see her, to figure out why it had returned, and maybe why it had disappeared at all. But Maul’s sneer made Leia think that he had the answer.

“I am restoring Balance to the Force, by bringing the Dark back to the Galaxy,” he answered. “With the return of the Dark, the Force will be in balance again. And the Force-users of the Galaxy will regain their connection. Kyl was the first. Ventress and the others have followed.”

“If you’re managing to bring back the Force on your own, why do you need me?”

“Because you and your brother are key to bringing Balance to the Force permanently. I have discovered how to unlock the secrets of the Force in Balance. I only need the key pieces: you and Luke.”

Leia shuddered when Maul said Luke’s name. The fact that he knew who Luke was at all made her sick to her stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need your cooperation. You will help me collect your brother, open the Temple of Balance, and save the Galaxy.”

“And if I refuse?”

Maul’s eyes burned red and yellow again, and Leia was filled with his rage and anger, swallowed up by the Dark Force within her.

“If you refuse, the Force will be destroyed, and the Galaxy along with it.”

Chapter Text

Four months before the Anniversary
Airfield, GAR Base, Coruscant

“You’ll stay with me, right?”

“Until the bitter end.”

Fives swallowed around the memory of a promise he’d made to Echo almost twenty years ago on Rishi Moon that had lodged itself in his throat. Ever since Cody had said Echo’s name on that holocomm two days ago, the memory had surfaced and those words stuck in his head. He repeated them to himself over and over. Until the bitter end. Until the bitter end. He had promised Echo that he would stick by his side until the bitter end.

But Fives had left Echo on Dulathia. Alive.

Fives gripped the collar of his helmet to keep his fingers from trembling. He wanted to be sick. He looked into the sky above the airfield, searching for the curvy shape of the T-series starship Cody was flying. The control tower had estimated they would land soon. Traffic in and out of Triple Zero was a mess. It took Fives three hours to drop from orbit that morning. Something about a terrorist attack on a power plant causing planet-wide panic and a backlog of bureaucratic bullshit. He’d hoped that as a Commander, he wouldn’t be subject to the red tape anymore. The Corrie who’d logged his flight path didn’t appreciate that joke as much as Fives thought. Echo would have loved it.

Fives’ throat tightened. He knew Cody would have preferred to promote Echo. But Fives had left Echo in the wreckage of that explosion. He’d stumbled to the starfighter, his body blazing with pain all the way to his bones, and when Echo hadn’t answered his comm, Fives had left. He’d flown away to save himself. He’d left. How long had Echo suffered in that burning pile of duracrete and metal? How long had he waited for Fives to pull him from the wreckage? At what point had he decided Fives was dead?

Bile rose into his throat again, coating his tongue with sour acidity. He clenched his jaw and leaned against the wall of the hangar behind him. What would he say to Echo? How could he explain himself? How could he ever justify what he’d done?  There was no way Echo could forgive him. He could never forgive himself.

He stood and paced along the short section of walkway between the airfield and hangar. His chest was too tight. His breaths were short and unsatisfying. Maybe he should leave. Maybe Fives was the last person Echo would want to see when he touched down on Triple Zero. He’d been gone for three and a half years. Why would he want to land and see Fives, the man who was supposed to be his brother and had instead left him to die?

Fives pivoted toward the barracks, his gloved fingers raking across his scalp. It wasn’t too late to leave. He could contact Cody later. Echo should get settled first. He should see Kix first, get some new armor. Decide whether he wanted to see Fives again at all. Being forced to see Fives as soon as he touched down now felt akin to assault. To be forced to face the man he’d once thought of as a friend, a brother, who left him behind to die slowly in the smoldering wreckage of their final mission. Fives couldn’t do that to Echo. He wouldn’t hurt Echo that way. He pulled his helmet back on as he hurried down the painted walkway back toward the barracks. The oxygen in his helmet kicked on, blowing cool air over his mouth and nose. But Fives couldn’t breathe. His throat was clenched shut and his heart thundered in his chest. This was for the best. He’d waited three and a half years to see Echo. He could wait until Echo decided whether or not he wanted to see him.

“Commander Fives.”

The clone voice crackling over his helmet comm made Fives jump out of his skin. He blinked as the vision in his prosthetic blurred from the flashing lights of his HUD.

“Your presence is requested at the airfield. Section 5-Dorn for arrival of Marshal Commander Cody.”

His presence was requested. Fives swallowed down his surprise and cleared his throat. “When will he arrive?”

“He should be landing now, Commander.”

Fives looked up into the sky in time to see a red and white Jedi Starship’s wings rotate around the central body as its landing gear extended from the keel of the ship. Fives’ heart sank into his stomach and pounded painfully somewhere near his navel. Echo was on that ship. And Cody had requested his presence.

He didn’t think about it anymore. He ran.

Clones shouted at him as he passed through the air field, his attention half on the organized chaos of ships landing and departing and cargo being hauled and clone squads marching across the hot surface of the tarmac. He’d never wished he wasn’t wearing his kama more. The stiff fabric weighed down his legs, making his strides sluggish and heavy, like he was dragging them through water. His throat was too tight. The oxygen blowing through his helmet was too cold and dry and stale and not nearly satisfying enough.

The T-9 touched down on the tarmac with a heavy thunk, and Fives’ feet would not go fast enough. He was two sections away, now. The ramp at the bottom of the ship lowered. Kriff the ramp had lowered the wrong way; he would have to cross the entire section to get to Echo. He picked up his pace. He could see the streaks of condensation that had run through the thin accumulation of space dust coating the T-9’s hull. His HUD flashed wildly, warning him about his racing heart and shallow breathing. He ripped off his helmet and tossed it onto the ground. A larty crossed dangerously close in front of him and his feet skidded as he tried to slow down.

Once the larty had passed with a blast of foul-smelling wind and a few expletives from the clone troopers inside, Fives sprinted, barely looking around him. There was someone descending the ramp. His gait was off. His armor was black. But when he pulled off the custom helmet, Fives knew exactly who he was.

“Echo!”

Fives’ heart skipped a beat. Echo turned. And Fives looked into the eyes of a man he’d thought was dead. Those familiar bronze eyes. His stomach lurched. Echo’s face twisted. For a fraction of a second, fear flashed through him. All the guilt he felt for leaving Echo behind expanded out from his chest in waves, like ice running through his veins. His breath caught. His heart stopped beating altogether.

And then, in a blur of shining armor and scuffling boots, Echo crashed into him. Fives’ arms wrapped around Echo’s chest, his weight and warmth far more familiar than any other being in the Galaxy. His chest heaved with sobs as Echo’s hand cradled the back of his head, warm and solid and real.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Fives sobbed into Echo’s neck. He smelled exactly as Fives remembered. That indescribable smell of his skin that Fives could differentiate from any other clone in the GAR.

Echo pulled his face away from where he had pressed it into Fives’ shoulder. His skin was scarred almost as much as Fives’. White lines spread like lightning over his face and into his scalp where they zig-zagged through his hair. Fives ran his gloved hands over Echo’s scalp as Echo touched the large scar on Fives’ cheek. His eyes were red and his lips trembled.

“You’re alive,” Echo said, his voice cracking with a sob. “I thought you’d died. You’re alive.”

“I’m so sorry, Echo,” Fives repeated. Happiness and guilt clashed in his chest. His heart pounded harder than before. He thought he might choke on the tightness of his throat. Echo shook his head, his red eyes rimmed with tears and a smile perched on his scarred lips.

“Don’t,” Echo said firmly. “Don’t. I’m here. You’re here. You’re alive. You’re alive.”

Echo pulled Fives into an embrace again. His cheek pressed against Fives’ jaw, and the warmth of his hand returned to the back of Fives’ head.

Fives felt his heart break as he stood there sobbing in Echo’s arms. His brother was here, alive after almost four years. He never thought he’d see his best friend again. He’d failed to stick with him before, failed to keep him safe and bring him home. But he was here at last, in his arms.

And he was never letting go.

Four months before the anniversary
Malachor, Outer Rim

The surface of Malachor was as bleak and desolate as Obi-Wan had always imagined. Jedi were strictly forbidden from travelling there, even centuries after the Sith had been destroyed. And Obi-Wan understood why. The place was heavy with the Dark Side. It pressed on his chest like a crushing weight. He found it difficult to breathe, to center himself. The Force was thick here, but it was not thick with life and serenity, Like Ahsoka’s moon was. This place was like stepping into a ray-shield. Sharp and electric and paralyzing. Anakin landed their ship in a vast flat plain pockmarked with holes. The scanners detected a massive cavern beneath the flat surface.

“The temple is in that cavern,” Ahsoka said darkly.

“How do you know?” Obi-Wan asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I read about it when I was searching for the Temple of Balance,” she explained. She wrapped her arms around her chest and stared dully at the sensor screen. “It’s the largest, and possibly oldest Sith Temple in the Galaxy. And it has stood here for thousands of years. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Padmé asked. Her brow furrowed as she watched Ahsoka with those wide, dark eyes.

“I don’t know,” Ahsoka said. She shivered and shook her head absent-mindedly. “The return of the Sith, I suppose.”

“Do we need to go into the cavern?” Padmé asked, turning to Anakin.

He frowned out the viewport at the flat and desolate expanse. “I don’t know. The sensors haven’t detected any other ships, in orbit or in the cavern.”

“Maybe we should wait here, then. Stay on alert,” Obi-Wan suggested.

“Show me the holo of the kidnapper again,” Ahsoka said. Obi-Wan leaned forward as Anakin pulled the little commlink from his pocket and started up the holo of the kidnapper, pausing the recording before it played. The kidnapper wore full Mandalorian armor, including a helmet that covered his face.

“Master, do you recognize the shape of that helmet?” Ahsoka asked. Obi-Wan frowned and leaned forward again. The helmet had the characteristic straight sides, domed cap, and T-shaped visor of Mandalorian helmets. But there were subtle differences in this helmet. The transparisteel at the top of the T was curved slightly, and the chin of the helmet was forked. He’d seen this helmet shape before, long, long ago.

“Death Watch,” Obi-Wan breathed, looking to Ahsoka for confirmation. She nodded, her eyebrows raised.

“What would Death Watch want with Leia?” Ahsoka asked. “They have Mandalore and they’re allied with the CIS. What would they want from the daughter of a CIS Representative?”

“And a Jedi,” Obi-Wan added. The Mandalorian extremists that had recaptured their home planet after assassinating Duchess Satine and violently ending her peaceful rule were not fond of Jedi. Their leader had declared the Jedi to be an affront to nature and a curse upon Mandalorians everywhere. It was perfectly legal under Death Watch’s Mandalorian law—which, by tradition, had no physical boundaries—to kill a Jedi on sight.

“Death Watch couldn’t know Anakin Skywalker is the twins’ father,” Ahsoka argued. “He wasn’t at the siege on Mandalore. And he’s just Anakin Naberrie now.”

“Alright. If it’s political, what do they want?” Obi-Wan asked. “He didn’t ask for money.”

“I don’t know,” Ahsoka sighed.

They all stared, silent and tense, out the viewport, as if a ship would descend from the sky any minute. But the view outside their ship was still as death. The sense that they were waiting for something terrible to happen crept into the cockpit like a fog. The suspense was suffocating. He had no idea who would drop from the sky, if it was Death Watch, or a clan of pirates, or a new Sith. But the waiting was excruciating.

“Ahsoka, you said you saw a rising darkness in your vision in the temple,” Obi-Wan said, breaking the silence but not the tension. “Did you see who?”

“No. I only saw shadows. They wielded crimson sabers, though.”

“What does that mean?” Padmé asked.

“That they use the Dark Side,” Anakin answered.

“They attacked you, Anakin,” Ahsoka continued, “and Leia and Luke. And I was the only one who stood between you and the shadows.”

“What does that mean?” Padmé asked again, her eyes as frantic as her voice.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Ahsoka said, wrapping her arms tighter around her chest. “I think it means I’ll have to protect the three of you from the rising darkness. To keep you from Falling.”

“Did you win the fight? In your vision?” Padmé asked.

Ahsoka bit her lip, and her eyes flicked to Obi-Wan. “No. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to protect them, only that the Temple wanted to show me what would happen if I failed.”

Padmé turned her wide, frightened eyes to Anakin, who stared back at her with a grim expression.

“It could also mean that you can’t do it alone,” Obi-Wan mused. Ahsoka nodded, and when she turned to look at Obi-Wan, her eyes were just as fearful as Padmé’s.

“What did you see, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan sighed, thinking back to that impenetrable darkness that had swallowed him when he entered the temple behind Ahsoka. Not even his lightsaber provided any illumination. “I saw a lot of darkness,” he said, closing his eyes and letting the memory play behind his eyelids. “Then, in the dark there was a doorway. With glowing text around it, like the text carved into the cliffs. But the doorway was shut, and there was no physical way to open it.

“Behind the doorway I could hear screaming. Screams of pain, calling out to me for help. I tried to push the door open, tried to slide it, tried to find a button to press or a key or something. And then I tried to use the Force. But it was… it was gone again.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and took a deep breath, remembering how the screams of pain had pierced through him like a knife, how he had felt desperate, confused, angry. The screams were heart-achingly familiar, he knew who was behind the door. But he couldn’t get through.

“And then—I don’t know what happened exactly. But I felt desperate. I needed to get through the door, needed to save—needed to save the person on the other side. And something inside me told me to reach within. To take hold of the anger and desperation and—and the attachment inside me and use it. And when I did, I felt the Force.”

He heard Ahsoka’s sharp gasp, but he didn’t open his eyes. He had known as he reached within that the power he had accessed was the Dark Side. It had filled him with raw energy, sharp and dangerous like electricity. But through his anger and fear was a different emotion. Attachment, love, a desperate drive to save the person he loved, all the people he loved. It rose within him and filled him until he felt he might burst, and then the Force from without, the Light side of the Force that he had known and used and understood all his life, swirled around him, mingling with that Force from within, ebbing and flowing and entwining until finally it all clicked together in the most glorious feeling he had ever known. He was power. He was serenity and passion. He was love and hate and anger and peace all at once. And with this newfound power he was able to swipe away the door as easily as they had been able to open the temple.

“When I let the Force from within gain strength, I was able to reach out again. The two entwined within me and around me, and then I—I opened the door. And then… I was outside again.”

It wasn’t entirely true. Before he passed through the door he saw the person within, bloodied and screaming in pain, clutching his leg where it had been crushed and burned. And Obi-Wan felt his affection and attachment surge again. He looked into those dark brown eyes and knew that all those feelings he’d pushed aside, the love and attachment and attraction and lust gave him a kind of strength he had never known before. If only he could let go of the dogma of the Jedi. If only he could step away from the Light.

“The temple taught you Balance,” Ahsoka said matter-of-factly. “How to reach within and without. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“There hasn’t really been a good opportunity,” Obi-Wan replied drily.

“Who was behind the door?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan turned away from their expectant faces as his cheeks burned. “I hardly think that matters.”

“It was Cody, wasn’t it?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and stared pointedly out the viewport. He could see the others exchange unsurprised expressions.

“You can’t deny it forever, Obi-Wan, we can all feel how you feel about him in the Force,” Anakin said.

“It can’t happen,” Obi-Wan argued, his throat tight. He didn’t want to admit how much he wished it wasn’t true.  

“Master, when will you see that your love for him is a good thing?” Ahsoka pleaded. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes again. “When will you see that it gives you strength? The Force itself has taught you how to use your love for him. Why won’t you accept it?”

“Because I am a Jedi Master and a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, and I have a duty to the Galaxy and to the men I lead to remain impartial and in the Light. Admitting how much I love Cody, that I love him at all would put us both at risk. I can’t, and I won’t risk his life like that. I have sacrificed too much to keep him safe and alive and I will not allow myself to succumb to my desires and Fall to the Dark Side.”

“You won’t Fall to the Dark Side, Master,” Ahsoka said quietly. “Not if you use Balance, the way the temple taught you. I can help you. I can teach you how not to Fall.”

“It’s not worth the risk, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said wearily. “Not during this war. Not when so many lives are at stake.”

Ahsoka clenched her jaw but did not reply. Padme placed her hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, and he returned his attention to the bleak landscape outside their ship. He hoped Cody was still safe. He’d sent a message that he was headed back to Coruscant, but didn’t say why. Obi-Wan hoped nothing would happen to him, but knew that no matter what, he would eventually have to let Cody go.

Just as the tense silence fell between them all again, the proximity sensor on the ship beeped, and they all leaned forward to look out the viewport. A single black gunship about the size of a larty descended the cloud cover, hovered above the rock in the center of the stone towers, then sank beneath the surface into the cavern. Obi-Wan watched silently, his heart thudding in his throat, until the ship had disappeared completely into the cavern below.

“I guess we’re going under,” Anakin breathed, starting up the engines again. Padme placed one hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and the other she had clenched into a fist on the back of Anakin’s chair. Ahsoka leaned forward in the co-pilot seat and watched the sensors, which tracked the ship as it descended into the cavern.

They descended through the same hole in the center of the stone pillars that the gunship had disappeared through. The cavern was not completely dark, as Obi-Wan had expected. Thin shafts of light filtered through the holes in the rock that made up the surface, illuminating black rock formations. Anakin swerved out of the way of something beneath them, and Obi-wan spotted a corner of a massive pyramid of white and black quartz, the outside reflecting the soft light filtering through the ceiling of the cavern, and the inside illuminated by a pulsing crimson glow.

The temple was beautiful, in its own way. But the further they sank into the cavern, the more dread slithered down Obi-Wan's spine. The Force pulsed in time with the crimson glow within the pyramid, thrumming against Obi-Wan’s mind like a heartbeat. His fear ratcheted. This was a temple unlike anything he had ever seen. This was where the Sith worshiped the Dark Side of the Force, where they drew strength from it. Their Force Signatures left a raw and angry impression in the Force here, even though their bodies had been gone for centuries. Obi-Wan shivered and breathed deeply, trying to cast out the fear prickling at the back of his neck, and instead draw on the serene peace of the Light, however little of it was available here.

The gunship set down in a clearing in front of the entrance to the temple, the doorway marked with towering columns of pulsing blood-red crystal. Anakin followed, and when the ship touched the ground, Obi-Wan felt his fear rise in the back of his throat, sharp and acidic like bile.

“Everyone remember the plan?” Anakin asked quietly, as if Leia’s kidnapper might hear them through the bulkhead. He looked at each of them, his face grim. Obi-Wan breathed away his fear again, and placed his hand on his lightsaber. Anakin looked at Padme last. Her mouth was set in a hard line, but she nodded. Anakin put his hand in hers as he stood, and together they made their way to the ramp.

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka stayed hidden in the shadows while Anakin and Padmé exited into the clearing between the two ships. The cavern beyond the gunship was massive, an entire world of its own. The sunlight filtering through the holes in the cavern ceiling looked like dazzling stars, sending soft beams of starlight down into the darkness of the cavern. Obi-Wan reached out into the Force and felt that same echo of fear and hatred and anguish he had felt as they descended. Something terrible had happened here. The imprint of it had been left behind like a stain. He glanced over at Ahsoka, who met his eyes with apprehension in her own. Her mind was troubled, but determined, and he sent reassurance to her through their Bond.

The ramp of the gunship opened, and the armored kidnapper emerged with Leia. He had the electrostaff pressed against her side and gripped her upper arm. She walked calmly with her eyes fixed on her parents. The bruising and cuts on her face had healed, and her hair was pulled back into a simple braid. She looked like she had been cared for in the last five days since the recorded message, although she was still wearing the cloth gag around her mouth, and her clothes were spattered with blood.

Anakin and Padmé stopped when Leia and her kidnapper paused. There were several agonizing heartbeats as everyone stared at each other in silence.

“We’re here, alone,” Anakin said finally. Leia tugged on her kidnapper’s grip, her eyes glued to Padmé and Anakin. “What is it you want?”

The kidnapper didn’t answer, and in the beat of silence that stretched to an eternity between them, Obi-Wan felt the presence of someone he had not felt in a long time. He curled into himself, disbelief and fear clutching at his chest. It was impossible. He had to be mistaken. Metallic clangs, heavy and even like footsteps, rang across the clearing from the gunship, each one striking at the fear building in Obi-Wan’s chest. And from the gunship, wrapped in robes of black, emerged Darth Maul.

“We want balance,” Maul sneered, his voice exactly as slick and cool as Obi-Wan remembered, exactly as terrifying as it had been in his dream. His red and black skin seemed to glow in the low light, thrumming crimson like the temple. His eyes were a deadly shade of yellow rimmed with red, and when he smiled—a wicked and terrible stretch of his lips across white teeth—a chill of dread slid down Obi-Wan’s spine.

Ahsoka stood from where she was crouched by the door, her muscles taut and her body perfectly still like the predator she was. Padmé took a step back, and Anakin wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Maul continued walking down the ramp, his footsteps clanking as loud as droid’s feet, sharp and metallic and unnatural.

“Maul?” Anakin asked, his voice a mingle of terror and bewilderment. Maul’s grin slid into a sneer as his yellow and red eyes focused on Anakin.

“It’s not possible,” Padmé gasped. “You—you can’t be alive!”

“Anything is possible with the Dark Side,” Maul sneered, “if you have enough hatred and spite and desire for revenge.”

“Is that what you want?” Padmé asked. Her voice was solid, but no less afraid. “Revenge? You can take it, do what you like with me, but let Leia go.”

Maul’s answering chuckle sent another cold wash of fear down Obi-Wan’s spine. “While my defeat on your pathetic planet did fuel my rage, you are not the object of my revenge.” Maul stepped forward until he was standing behind Leia and the armored kidnapper.

Leia flinched, trying to escape her captor’s grasp. A single tear slid down her cheek and soaked into the cloth that was tied around her mouth.

“And, as I said,” Maul continued, placing a hand on Leia’s trembling shoulder, “I desire balance.”

“Don’t touch her,” Anakin growled, stepping forward and placing his hand on his hip, where his lightsaber was hidden beneath the folds of his tunic.

Maul’s sneer turned feral. He dropped his hand from Leia’s shoulder, but stepped in front of her, placing his hand on his own hip. Obi-Wan also stood from where he was crouched by the ramp. The tension in the air was palpable. The hope that this might be a peaceful transfer of money or favors slid away with each dreadful second.

“If you want her back,” Maul said, his voice still cool and sharp, “You will need to go through me.”

Anakin was the first to light his saber, a flash of blue in the dark. Two crimson blades followed, one from Maul and the other from Leia’s captor. Then Ahsoka was leaping down the ramp, her own white sabers extended. Padmé shouted. Obi-Wan didn’t think about anything more than the arc of red light aimed at Anakin’s chest as he bounded down the ramp, extending his own saber.

It had been a long time since he had used the Force, and even longer since he was in a lightsaber duel. The Force here was dark, sharp and electric around him. As he reached out for it, it seeped into his bones and filled him with fear and anger. It was a struggle to draw on it without also pulling it within him, without letting his own fear consume him. He aimed for Maul, who had struck a fight with Anakin, his dual-bladed saber fully extended and spinning and swinging with the practiced ease of a Jedi Master. His blade clashed with Maul, and for an instant their eyes met, and he saw the excitement flit over Maul’s face before he pushed away.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Maul said, his cool voice dancing on the edge of sadistic mirth. “Perhaps I shall get my revenge today after all.”

“I killed you once,” Obi-Wan said, spinning his saber as he raised it above his head, “I shall do it again. Properly, this time.”

Maul laughed, cold and sinister. Another chill ran down Obi-Wan’s spine. He felt twenty-five years old again, watching Qui-Gon fall after being impaled by that same crimson blade. But he wasn’t a padawan anymore. He was a Jedi Master. And he had the Force.

“We shall see,” Maul sneered.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin as he felt his former padawan’s power rise with his anger. Their eyes met, and he knew what Anakin was thinking. They both lunged forward together, their sabers swinging down at Maul. Maul brought his saber up to block them, the sneer sliding into a snarl.

Obi-Wan focused completely on the fight in front of him. The swing of Maul’s sabers, Anakin’s movements, his own footwork. It felt like it had when they were young, when the war was new. Before Palpatine’s influence, before the twins were born, before the terrible incident that had torn them apart for the past twelve years. When they were friends and brothers in arms and there was nothing, nothing in this galaxy that could stop them.

Next to them, Ahsoka’s sabers were a brilliant dance of white as she fought the armored kidnapper. He was skilled, but felt young in the Force. Obi-Wan assumed he was Maul’s apprentice. Ahsoka was far more powerful than the kid. Her shoto hit its mark, slashing a bright red cut in the kid’s stomach between his breastplate and belt. He shouted out, and her sabers arced to deliver the final blow, but were stopped by a third crimson saber.

Obi-Wan didn’t have time to balk. He turned back to Maul, his mind reeling. The third being, now fighting an equally bewildered Ahsoka, was the massive and terrifying Savage Oppress. Obi-Wan, like the rest of the Jedi, had assumed Oppress was dead. He had disappeared without a trace after murdering several Jedi, dozens of clones, and the King of Toydaria. But now he was here. Obi-Wan wondered for a moment, before re-focusing on the swing of Maul’s blade, if he was not on Malachor and was, instead, in hell.

Anakin cursed as he dodged Savage’s saber and blocked Maul’s in the same step. “Savage? I thought he was dead!”

“We thought Maul was dead, too,” Ahsoka said, deflecting the young apprentice’s downswing and side-stepping Maul’s saber as they formed a wild and deadly circle of swinging blades and scuffling feet. Clouds of black dust rose and swirled into the stirring air.

“Anyone else hiding in that ship who should be dead?” Anakin asked Maul as he forced his saber in a deadly downswing at Maul’s head while Maul parried Ahsoka’s saber. Obi-Wan side-stepped the apprentice’s crimson blade—he looked badly injured and his fighting had become sloppy and desperate—and meant to strike Savage on the same swing, but his blade was caught by yet another lightsaber. The clash of their sabers, blue against red, sparked bright white in the dark, and illuminated bone white skin and ice-blue eyes.

“Ventress?” Obi-Wan asked, thoroughly bewildered. He was sure now that they were in hell. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Dooku and Palpatine rose from the clouds of black dust swirling around their knees.

“Did you miss me, my dear?” Ventress purred, her lips pulled into that hauntingly familiar sneer.

“I will miss the peace of mind I had when I thought you were dead,” Obi-Wan said, readjusting his stance. He felt the Force pull behind him, and he turned in time to see Savage’s saber swing for his head. He stepped out of the way, catching both Ventress and Savage’s sabers as they crossed millimeters in front of his face.

“The boy isn’t here,” Ventress said as she slid her blade across Obi-Wan’s and swung it again to block his strike. Obi-Wan frowned, unsure who she was talking about.

“We’re not finished,” Maul growled at her.

“Oh, I think we are,” Anakin growled back. He stabbed his saber, where it sliced across the outside of the apprentice’s arm. Ahsoka blocked the swing of Savage’s saber as it arced through the air toward her. The apprentice screamed and fell back, and Obi-Wan’s saber sliced through thin air as Ventress retreated from their circle of swinging blades. He barely blocked Maul’s blade as it landed millimeters from his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Ventress growled. Maul snarled, but parried Obi-Wan’s saber once more before he turned and ran toward his ship. Somewhere nearby Padmé screamed. A blaster fired. Green bolts deflected wildly. One landed in the cloud of dirt at Obi-Wan’s feet. Five figures ran for the black gunship, with Padmé running after them, firing green bolts from her pistol. Anakin chased the group as they fled back up the ramp into the ship. The last thing Obi-Wan saw before the ramp was raised was Leia’s wide brown eyes turn back to look at her mother. The gag was gone, her binders removed, and her face, while pulled into a distraught frown, was not fearful.

“Get to the ship!” Anakin screamed. He pivoted and sprinted back toward their own ramp. Padme stumbled, and Ahsoka wrapped an arm around her waist and ran with her. Anakin lifted the ship off the ground as Obi-Wan stepped onto the ramp and slapped the control to close it as soon as he was on board. He passed by the little sitting room on his way to the cockpit, where Ahsoka held Padmé in her arms. Padmé’s cry echoed through the ship, raw and horrible. It was the sound of pure grief. Obi-Wan had heard it too many times during this war. But this sent a devastating pang through his chest. Leia was alive, but she had been taken again by Maul and his crew of once-dead Sith apprentices.

R2D2 beeped and whirred as Anakin pushed the ship through the darkness in pursuit of the gunship. “Leia’s still on that ship,” Anakin said, to the droid or to Obi-Wan, he wasn’t sure. Obi-Wan settled into the co-pilot chair as R2 activated the weapon’s systems. “We have three trackers. I can get us close, but you’ll have to fire.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in his throat. The display in front of Obi-Wan indicated that the trackers had been loaded, and were ready to fire. They breached the cave ceiling, the brightness of daytime temporarily blinding him. Anakin pushed the engines hard enough they whined. R2 beeped in warning, but Anakin cursed at him under his breath. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and let the Force swirl around him. He blocked out the sounds of Anakin’s frustration, the thick waves of anger and fear that flowed from him in the Force, the sounds of Padmé’s crying, even the sounds of the proximity alarm squawking in protest as they neared the gunship.

Obi-Wan fired. The gunship swerved. The tracker went wide. He cursed.

And then the gunship began to fire at them.

Anakin banked hard to avoid the red laser fire, but two managed to hit their shields. The gunship swerved again, more erratically this time, as if the pilot had knocked into the yoke and the ship had begun to careen out of control. Anakin let out a string of impressive curses only a clone could appreciate, and pulled hard on the yoke to avoid the gunship's fire. R2 squealed as the ship jerked them from side to side.

“I know, Artoo. But I’m trying not to get Leia killed, too,” Anakin answered R2’s protests through gritted teeth. Obi-Wan felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He hated flying.

The gunship took a dive toward the surface, and Anakin turned the ship so violently that Obi-Wan was pressed into his seat. He clung to the controls in front of him as if they would keep him from falling through the floor. The gunship fired at them again. Obi-Wan tracked the ship’s movement and fired the second tracker.

But the gunship shot straight into the air, and by the time Anakin was close enough that Obi-Wan could fire the third and final tracker, they broke the gravity well of the planet and disappeared into hyperspace.

There was a tense moment where they stared out the viewport into the blackness of space, at the emptiness in front of them where Leia had been just seconds before. Ice flooded Obi-Wan’s veins. And then the air felt thick, almost solid. Rage and pain and sadness and fear seeped into his skin like a poison. Anakin’s hands shook where they grasped the yoke. R2D2 let out a single, sad whine, and then Anakin’s rage exploded.

Obi-Wan and R2 were both thrown against the bulkheads. Anakin’s pain was like solid wave after wave of ice that slammed into Obi-Wan, knocking him off his feet and keeping him pinned to the wall. His lungs contracted and he couldn’t breathe. R2’s squeals of protest were lost beneath Anakin’s own scream. Obi-Wan tried to reach out for the Force to stop his friend, but there was nothing except pain and hatred and anger.

And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Obi-Wan fell heavily to his knees and gasped for air. Ahsoka’s boots thundered into the cockpit, and Obi-Wan looked up to see her wide and fearful blue eyes flit from Anakin to Obi-Wan to the empty viewport in front of them.

“What happened?” Ahsoka asked frantically. “Did you get a tracker on their ship?”

Anakin slumped in his seat, his hands on his face. Ahsoka met Obi-Wan’s eyes, and her face fell as she read his broken expression. Obi-Wan hung his head. They’d failed. He had failed. He was here to redeem himself after the mistakes he’d made twelve years ago, and he had failed.

Four months before the anniversary
Hyperspace, Outer Rim

“You could have killed them!”

Leia struggled against the arms restraining her, kicking her feet as hard as she could, with as much of the Force as she could muster, toward Savage’s horned head. The blue and white glow of hyperspace illuminated the cockpit and gleamed off Savage’s yellow eyes as he snarled at her. Ventress had captured her arms in a tight grip after she attacked Savage for shooting at her parents’ ship, and no matter how hard Leia struggled, Ventress held too tightly for her to escape.

“I did what was necessary,” Savage growled back, his deep voice dark and menacing.

“You didn’t need to shoot at them!”

“They had their weapons locked on us; they would have done nothing less!”

“You’re lying! They wouldn’t!”

“They are our enemies—”

“They’re my family!”

“Leia, enough.”

Maul’s harsh voice cut through Leia’s argument like a sharp blade. She placed her feet back on the ground, not pulling against Ventress’ hold as she stared at Maul.

“I’m here, on my own free will, to help you restore balance to the Galaxy,” she said, her voice shaking as she tried to keep it at a reasonable level. “And all I ask in return is that you not hurt my family.”

Maul’s eyes flashed yellow and red as he hissed, “I will kill anyone who wants only to kill me.”

Leia’s power rose inside her like a tidal wave of rage and pain. She wouldn’t let Maul hurt her family. Not if she could help it. She let her power explode out of her as she released her anger, pushing Ventress off her back as her grip was released. Maul and Savage were both pushed from their seats. The ship rattled dangerously. Maul grabbed at his throat as he gasped for air. Leia pushed her power onto him, solidifying the air around him and pushing it away. His eyes bulged with the effort to breathe. She felt a wild elation course through her body as she watched his face flush and his lips turn purple. She could kill him now. She could literally steal the breath from his lungs, crush his ribcage, snap his neck. She could feel his body in the Force, fragile and vulnerable. It wouldn’t take much more than a twist of his spine. She snarled and wrapped her consciousness around his neck, squeezing with a pressure not unlike her own fingers.

And just as that wild elation rose to a fever pitch in her mind, just as her consciousness had grabbed hold of his throat and begun to suffocate him, something sharp slammed into her back, knocking her to the ground and breaking her focus. The air relaxed, the gunship stopped shaking, but Leia’s power still surged with her fear and anger. She turned over her shoulder as she tried to stand. Savage had the electrostaff in his hand, and he swung it at Leia’s chest again, the tip alight with purple electricity. It slammed into her torso and electricity surged through her body, replacing her power with sharp waves of pain. She screamed and writhed on the ground, unable to control her body, or feel the Force, or stop the electricity from seizing her muscles.

Savage lifted the electrostaff and the pain subsided. Leia lay on the ground, panting and sobbing. Her skin buzzed from the electricity, her muscles ached from the strain. She lifted her head as she heard Maul’s metallic feet clicking on the durasteel. She had fallen out of the cockpit and was laying on the ground in the main hold. Maul snarled down at her as he took the electrostaff from Savage. Leia’s fear ratcheted, and then Maul was jabbing the staff into her back again as she screamed and writhed on the ground.

When he had decided she’d had enough, he released the electrostaff from her back and knelt at her side. “Without your brother, you are useless to me. So, you will do as I say, and you will not argue, or I will treat you like the prisoner you are.”

Leia sobbed and slid away from Maul into the corner. She curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees and shrinking into her herself as much as possible. Maul turned away from her to Kyl, who was sprawled on a few seats that had been folded down from the bulkhead, clutching at the lightsaber wound on his abdomen.

“And you,” Maul snarled, pointing the electrostaff at Kyl. The boy looked at Maul with terror plain on his pale face. “You are a pitiful excuse for an apprentice.”

“Maul, that’s enough,” Ventress growled, stepping between them. Maul shoved her aside as he stalked toward Kyl.

“I expected you to be better,” Maul hissed as he loomed over Kyl, holding the electrostaff menacingly close to his chest. “I expected you not to get yourself nearly killed! You have the Force! Why didn’t you use it!?”

Kyl opened his mouth to protest, but Maul hit him across the face with the electrostaff instead. Ventress growled another warning to Maul, who ignored her as he knelt down next to Kyl.

“You will find Luke Naberrie and bring him to me,” Maul hissed through gritted teeth. Leia's stomach clenched at the sound of her brother’s name. “And if you fail me,” Maul lit the electrostaff, “it will be the last thing you do.”

“Yes, my master,” Kyl choked. Leia felt sudden, unbidden pity for Kyl. It was clear the boy looked up to Maul. And all Maul had done was threaten and abuse him.

Ventress knelt at Kyl’s side once Maul had closed the cockpit hatch. Leia tucked her face into her knees and listened while Ventress spoke softly to Kyl.

“She got you good,” Ventress said lightly. Leia could feel Ventress’ concern for Kyl, and Kyl’s fear and self-loathing and guilt. 

“I failed,” Kyl said through gritted teeth.

“You’re still alive. There’s not many sixteen-year-olds who could fight Ahsoka Tano and say the same.”

“I don’t even know who that is,” Kyl growled.

Leia almost laughed. Kyl was lucky that Ahsoka would rather disarm and capture an adversary than kill them. She’d taught Luke and Leia as much, that to be strong in the Force came with certain responsibilities. Responsibilities she wasn’t sure anyone had taught Kyl.

“Besides, we didn’t get Luke,” Kyl lamented. Leia lifted her eyes from behind her knees, vaguely aware of the wet spot spreading on her trousers from the tears still escaping her eyes.

“He wasn’t there,” Ventress said. “I did, however, get their flight data.”

Leia’s heart lurched. She didn’t know Ventress would do that. That flight data would lead them directly to Luke, whether he was on Raxulon or Lianna, or still with Rex on his and Ahsoka’s moon. And if they found Luke before she could put her plan in place, that would put everyone in danger.

She rested her forehead on her knees and slid her hand to her pocket, where she had stashed her mother’s commlink after stealing it. She could send a message to her father, let him know now that Luke was in danger. She glanced at the cockpit. Would they know if she tried to send out a communication? Would it even connect while they were in hyperspace?

She hoped her mother still had the datachip she’d given her. She didn’t have much time to explain what it was, why it was important. But it contained all the information they needed to know to execute her plan. She could only hope they would listen to her message soon and keep Luke safe before the Indemnity showed up on Lianna and destroyed everything and everyone she loved.

“How will I find him?” Kyl asked quietly. Leia closed her eyes and expanded her senses into the Force around her. Kyl’s fear and guilt seeped into the vortex of Dark within Leia, and she swallowed it, letting it fuel her power like Ventress taught her.

“We’ll start with the flight data,” Ventress whispered. “But I think Leia will be our key to finding him.”

They paused, and Leia had the distinct feeling they had turned to look at her. She breathed through the sudden wave of apprehension from both Ventress and Kyl.

“I don’t think she’ll cooperate,” Kyl whispered. Again, Leia had to keep from laughing. She would cooperate, but on her terms.

“I’m going to talk to Maul,” Ventress said after a beat of silence. “Don’t move too much or you’ll dislodge that bacta patch.”

Leia waited until the cockpit door had closed behind Ventress before she looked over her knees and across the dimly lit hold at Kyl. He was slumped against the bulkhead, his armor removed and his arm wrapped protectively around his middle. A bacta patch peeked through the burnt hole in his under-armor suit. He looked vulnerable. Injured and scared and alone. And Leia was about to use every trick she had ever learned to exploit that vulnerability. If you have a weapon, Echo had told her, use it.

“He doesn’t trust you.”

Kyl stared at her, his eyes dark in the low light of the hold. “What are you talking about?”

“Maul. He doesn’t trust you.”

“He trusted me enough to capture you,” Kyl argued, a snarl pulling at his lip. “And he trusts me enough to find your brother.”

Leia said nothing, but she raised one eyebrow and smirked as if to say, really?

“What the kriff do you know anyway? Nothing. I’m a good apprentice. My master has taught me well. And I’m going to prove to him that he can trust me with any mission.”

“You wouldn’t need proof if he trusted you,” Leia said smoothly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kyl growled. His mind was a swirl of anger and fear and—best of all—doubt.

Leia smirked again, put her forehead back onto her knees, and pushed away the triumph that fluttered in her chest. Her parents had the datachip, she had a communicator, and the seeds of doubt and distrust were sown in her enemies. Her plan was set into motion.

And now the real work would begin.

Chapter Text

Message Recorded 23-02-07 21:35 SRC

(7th day of Second Month, year 23 of the Great Resynchronization Calendar. Nineteen years, six months and four weeks after the first battle of Geonosis, at 9:35pm Standard Raxus Calendar)

Hi, mom and dad. If you’re listening to this, then I’m on my way back to the Indemnity, and you’re probably wondering why.

The people who kidnapped me call themselves the Cult of the Sith. They’re led by some scary Zabrak named Maul. There are others here, too. Ventress and Savage and Kyl and an ex-Jedi named Quinlan.

Maul approached me tonight and said he needs me and Luke to ‘restore Balance in the Force.’ He said that after the Jedi killed Dooku, the Force disappeared because there was too much Light. And that he’s been restoring the Force by bringing back the Dark Side, but he needs Luke and I to finish the job. I think he’s barvy, and he wants to take over the Galaxy. And for the sake of democracy, peace, and order, I can’t let that happen.

Either way, they have a lot of money and a lot of nerve, and they’re coming for Luke. I’m going to try to take them down from the inside. But I need you to help me. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll keep Luke out of their hands and destroy this Cult of the Sith. You’ll find everything you need on this datachip.

I’ll send you another comm later, once I can mask my signal. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. You and Rex and Echo taught me well.

Keep yourselves and Luke safe. I love you.

Three months before the anniversary
Lianna, CIS, Outer Rim

Sunshine, bright and clear and warm, bathed the flagstones and garden plants in the courtyard at the center of the Naberrie family estate. A pair of birds sang in the single tree in the south-western corner. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, and a set of chimes jingled, a soft song with no melody. In the center of the garden was a sparkling pool filled with floating flowers and lazily swimming fish. And, sitting at the water’s edge on the sunbaked flagstones, Obi-Wan and Luke meditated in peaceful silence.

Obi-Wan basked in the peaceful feeling of love and serenity that surrounded him. Even with the grief of Leia’s absence and the stress of Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and Rex’s presence these past few weeks, the estate was saturated with love and warmth and comfort. It was a feeling Obi-Wan often associated with the Jedi Temple and his childhood as an initiate. It was the same feeling he’d recognized when meditating at Ahsoka’s homestead. And, although he had spent many years denying it, it was the same feeling he had whenever Cody was at his side.

Next to him, Luke radiated with the Force. It swirled around him, bright as a star. Obi-Wan could sense Luke’s power, as vast and broad as it was, pulsing around him. He had not felt power like that since Anakin was his padawan, and they practiced reaching out into the Force just as he and Luke were doing now. Luke, like Anakin, had a tendency to draw on his emotions and pull on the Force from within, as well. As they meditated, Luke reached within, accessed some bright emotion Obi-Wan associated with attachment, and began to swirl it with the Force from without.

“Do not reach within, Luke,” Obi-Wan admonished softly. Luke huffed, annoyed. Obi-Wan’s lips twitched up into a small smile. So like his father was at that age.

“But I can access more power by reaching within,” Luke argued.

“That is not the exercise,” Obi-Wan said. “We are reaching out only. As far as you can go. Feel the flow of the Force around you. Do not let your own emotions and feelings influence it.”

Luke took a deep breath, and Obi-Wan felt him expand his sense out, rather than inward. The Force tugged on his mind, pulling a thread between himself and Luke. They’d been training together this past month on Luke’s request. He wanted to learn how better to control the Light Side of the Force, how to draw on it without using Balance. And while Obi-Wan was happy to oblige Luke’s request, he could see and feel Anakin’s trepidation. Anakin didn’t want Obi-Wan to teach Luke how to be a Jedi. The Jedi had done nothing but take him from his mother, force him into a mold he could never fit, and thrust him into a war he was never trained to fight. And when Anakin found peace and happiness in his love for Padmé, the Order expelled him, and then tried to tell him he was not fit to raise his own children. Obi-Wan had played no small role in that. He understood Anakin’s rage and anger. He understood it more now that he had lived among Anakin’s family for the past month. And so, when the Force pulled on his and Luke’s minds to create a Bond, Obi-Wan pushed it away.

“I can feel Leia,” Luke breathed after a few moments of peaceful silence.

A thrill of hope surged through Obi-Wan. They had been searching for Leia since they found her message on the datachip she left with Padmé on Malachor. As heart-wrenching as it was to know that Leia had chosen to return with Maul and his Sith cronies, knowing she was still trying to tear them down had invigorated them all. They had been working tirelessly over the last five weeks to locate Leia and develop a plan to rescue her and take down Maul at the same time. It helped that Leia had been able to send a few communications containing detailed information on the ship she was on, Czerka’s security capabilities and protocols, and Maul, Ventress, and Savage.

And Quinlan, Obi-Wan reminded himself. He was still shocked to hear that Quinlan Vos, one of his oldest friends, was still alive after being presumed dead for the past six years. Obi-Wan had so many questions for him. Had he faked his own death to leave the Jedi? Was he a Dark Sider, now? He’d struggled in the past, after the Council’s misguided attempt to assassinate Dooku had forced Quinlan to work with Ventress, leading to Quinlan’s brush with the Dark Side—and subsequently, Ventress’ presumed death—but Quinlan had seemingly recovered from the entire ordeal. His death had been a serious blow to the Jedi, and to Obi-Wan. To hear he was alive… He wondered if this was how Echo had felt, hearing that Fives was alive after years. So, while the others were focused on finding and rescuing Leia, Obi-Wan was hoping their search would also lead them to Quinlan.

“Can you sense where she is?” he asked, his voice breathy with anticipation.

“No, only that she’s out there, and she’s alive, and she’s… well, not safe, but not in danger.”

Obi-Wan took a breath to release his disappointment into the Force. He reminded himself that it was incredible Luke could feel Leia in the Force from across the Galaxy at all.

“That’s alright,” Obi-Wan said gently. “We’ll bring her home soon enough.”

The brightness of Luke’s Signature dimmed as he released his connection with the Force. His mind became a swirl of apprehension that then embedded itself into Obi-Wan. He looked over at Luke to see him fidgeting with the stitching of his sleeve.

“What’s troubling you?”

“I’m just nervous, I guess,” Luke shrugged.

“About the plan?”

Luke shrugged again, then sighed as he looked out over the pond in front of them, his arms flopped over his knees and his spine curved. “I trust Leia, and I know you and Ahsoka and Rex have been working with my parents on it, but I’m still worried something will go wrong.”

“No one can control the future,” Obi-Wan said, pushing away his own lingering feelings of apprehension and doubt. “And it would be foolish to try. You can only trust in the Force, and trust in yourself.”

“But what if we fail?”

“Then it is the will of the Force, and we will trust ourselves to deal with any outcome.”

“That… doesn’t make me feel better.”

Obi-Wan chuckled and Luke gave him a weak smile. “No, I imagine it doesn’t,” Obi-Wan said. “But you’re not alone. You have your parents, and Ahsoka and Rex, and me, of course. And hopefully we will also have the support of the Jedi, and perhaps the GAR.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw as he and Luke both looked out at the peaceful surface of the water again. Anxiety swirled inside him and he breathed deeply to clear it. He had what felt like a monumental task ahead of him, asking the Jedi Order to help the Naberrie family. Asking was not the hard part. He had asked the council to make difficult decisions for the past twenty years. It was the decisions he asked himself to make no matter the Order’s answer that was far more difficult than convincing a council of aging Jedi.

“Can I see the Jedi Temple?” Luke asked, pulling Obi-Wan from his thoughts. Luke’s eyes were bright and curious when Obi-Wan turned to him. A pang of nostalgia gripped him as Luke’s expression made him look identical to Anakin at that age.

“I don’t see why not,” Obi-Wan answered, stroking his beard.

“What’s it like? Dad doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“The Temple? It’s quite large, one of the largest buildings in its sector on Coruscant. But it’s always full of Jedi, or it was before the war. There are gardens for meditating and training rooms and a massive archive. Anything you might need is there. Hot food, a bed to sleep in, someone to talk to, a place to be alone and a place to be with others. Everyone who lives there is a Jedi and was raised by Jedi. There are no strangers, no enemies. It is always peaceful. And there is no better place to return to after a long mission or punishing battle.”

“Sounds like home,” Luke said warmly.

Obi-Wan hummed. “Yes, I suppose it is my home. And the home of every Jedi.”

“That’s my favorite feeling to draw on when using the Force from within.”

Obi-Wan turned back to Luke, surprised. “What feeling?”

“That feeling of ‘home,’” Luke said. “It’s that feeling of safety and comfort. Just like you described.”

Obi-Wan’s brow creased, thinking of the feeling that bloomed in his chest when he thought of returning to the Temple after weeks, or even months away. He had always thought of the Force from within as the Dark Side of the Force because it required dark emotions, like fear and anger and hatred. But the feeling of home was not dark the way that fear was. And how could the Force drawn from an emotion so peaceful as the feeling of safety and comfort of home be considered dark?

“You use that feeling to draw on the Force from within?” Obi-Wan asked.

Luke nodded. “You reach within, and think of the feeling of home, of family and… and love. And you let it fill you up and mix with the Force from without. And that’s how you create Balance.”

Obi-Wan frowned and turned away from Luke’s earnest face to study the surface of the water. The fish swam beneath the wide leaves of the flowers, lazy and unconcerned with the world around them. They were home here. Safe. Comfortable. Untroubled. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let the feeling fill him. He thought of the sunlit hallways in the Temple, of the sounds of younglings laughing and Jedi talking, of the quiet tranquility of the gardens and the noisy cacophony of the mess hall. He let that feeling of safety and comfort and love spread, warm and soft, through his body. And there, deep within, sparked the Force. It grew with his emotion, spreading tendrils of warmth and light through him. As he sank deeper into his thoughts of the Jedi he grew up with, of the ones who had raised him and taught him and learned beside him, he let the Force expand, feeding on the desire to protect, to be safe, to be loved.

As he let the Force fill him, another, brighter emotion seeped into his mind as his thoughts turned from his cozy quarters in the Temple to Cody’s face, of the softness of his hair, the warmth of his body pressed against him as they shared a bunk. And the Force, which before had grown soft and slow like the dawn, suddenly blazed with power. It sizzled across his skin like fire, burned within his belly like a thousand stars. He choked on its power as it expanded from within him like an explosion he could not control. He thought of Cody as he had seen him in the ancient temple, as he had been two years ago on that fateful battlefield, bleeding and broken and dying. The Force within him raged and grew with power as fear and anguish replaced any warm and happy emotions he had felt before. He could save the ones he loved, could save Cody from death. He just needed more power, more control.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan gasped and opened his eyes as Luke’s soft touch on his shoulder pulled him away from the fear and lust for power that had consumed him. As quickly as the Force had exploded inside him, it shrank back again into nothing. He breathed deeply and let the serenity of the Light Side of the Force surround and flow through him.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said to Luke, who was watching him with a concerned frown on his brow. “I have spent my entire life suppressing the Force from within.”

“Like you always say to me,” Luke said softly, “it takes practice and patience.”

Padmé called that mid-meal was ready from the kitchen behind them, and they both glanced over their shoulders. The soft sound of laughter and the clinking of dinnerware floated into the courtyard from the kitchen. As much as Obi-Wan could sit and meditate and learn with Luke for hours, he knew they needed a break. Luke’s stomach growled loudly, confirming his suspicion.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said sincerely. “I think you have taught me more about the Force these past five weeks than I’ve taught you.”

“I’ve learned a lot from you,” Luke said, smiling warmly. Again, Luke’s face reminded him of Anakin at that age, and a pang of nostalgia shot through his chest. “I hope to learn a lot more.”

Obi-Wan smiled back and watched as Luke jumped up and strolled into the kitchen. Obi-Wan let the warm feelings of family and love surround and fill him again, but he did not dare reach for the Force within. While Obi-Wan was teaching Luke how to use the light side of the Force, Luke had been teaching Obi-Wan how to use Balance. The ancient temple had shown him how it was achieved, had shown him the awesome power and euphoric harmony that Balance in the Force could create. But he had fifty years of Jedi teachings to un-learn, and so it took practice. Practice and patience.

“Master Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan turned toward the sound of Ahsoka’s voice as he stood. He could just barely see the stripes of her lekku standing in a doorway to his right through the shade of the portico.

“It’s customary for a padawan to bow to his master when they part,” Ahsoka smirked as Obi-Wan approached her.

“Luke is not my padawan,” Obi-Wan said.

“No? You’ve been training him for the past month.”

“Yes, on Luke’s request. But I don’t think Anakin would approve if I officially took Luke as my apprentice without his permission.”

“He’s still not speaking to you?”

Obi-Wan’s chest tightened. “No. And I don’t expect him to. I have failed him too many times.”

Ahsoka frowned and placed her hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “He’ll come around. He just needs time.”

Obi-Wan gave her a tight smile, but his guilt did not subside. Ahsoka gestured for him to follow her, and he took a deep breath to release the guilt and sadness building within him before obliging.

He followed her through the hallway to the room they had set up as their planning office, that Obi-Wan suspected used to be the children’s play room. There was bright finger paint still smudged on the walls and floor and the closet was stuffed full of children’s crafting supplies. Now, a portable holoconsole sat on a wooden desk, surrounded by scraps of flimsi and datapads.

Rex stood at the desk watching a holo as it played on the console. He glanced up when they entered the room, and the familiar shape of his face made Obi-Wan’s stomach flip momentarily. But despite all their similarities, Rex was not Cody. Obi-Wan breathed away his longing for someone he could never have and focused on the content of the holoprojection instead. A lone figure in familiar Mandalorian armor—Death Watch’s preferred armor style—crept through the woods that surrounded the clearing toward Rex and Ahsoka’s empty cottage.

“You had a visitor,” Obi-Wan said, raising an eyebrow at Rex.

“About twelve hours ago,” Rex affirmed with a nod.

“The apprentice again?”

“He must have copied Anakin’s flight data on Malachor somehow, if he knew to look in Raxulon and at our cottage,” Rex said to Ahsoka as she joined them at the desk after closing the door behind Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka nodded slowly and stroked her chin with her forefinger and thumb, her elbow propped on the arm folded across her chest. “Maybe Ventress snuck onto the ship while we were distracted by Maul.”

“Do you think he will come here next?” Obi-Wan asked. “If he’s using Anakin’s flight data to track down Luke, this would be the next logical place.”

Ahsoka and Rex exchanged concerned frowns. “It’s possible,” Ahsoka said slowly.

“Maybe we should wait for him here,” Rex suggested.

“What good would catching the apprentice do?” Ahsoka asked. “It might tip Maul off that we know he’s looking for Luke.”

“We could use the kid as bait,” Rex said, gesturing to the holoprojection. “It would keep him from visiting other places that might have been on Anakin’s flight data.”

Rex and Ahsoka exchanged another concerned expression, and Obi-Wan knew they were talking about wherever the freed clone POWs were being kept. His personal feelings about the clone POWs aside, he didn’t want them to be found by Maul and his apprentice.

“Surely Anakin wipes his flight data after visiting other places,” Ahsoka argued.

Rex chuckled humorlessly. “You’d be surprised.”

“Regardless, I think it would be best to go ahead with Leia’s plan,” Obi-Wan said. “That way we can take down Maul and rescue Leia at the same time, in a situation we can control. Hopefully with support.”

“I can let the Naberrie family know they may need to relocate for a little while,” Ahsoka said.

“And I’ll let—” Rex clenched his jaw and glanced at Obi-Wan.

“The clone POWs?” Obi-Wan suggested with a smirk.

Rex nodded and scratched the back of his head sheepishly as he responded, “Yeah, I’ll let them know to expect company. Or maybe I should go there myself.”

Ahsoka shifted uncomfortably and frowned at him. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

“I’m not needed on Triple Zero,” Rex said lowly to Ahsoka.

“I need you there, Rex,” Ahsoka replied, her voice soft and warm. “It will be okay.”

Obi-Wan suddenly felt like he was intruding, and returned his attention to the holoprojection, where Maul’s apprentice exited the cottage and crept through the woods toward their workshop shed further along the tree line. He heard the soft whisper of Rex and Ahsoka’s lips as they kissed and he was grateful the lights were low so that neither of them could see the flush he could feel creeping over his face.

“I’d better go warn them, then,” Rex sighed. He nodded to Obi-Wan tersely before leaving, a wave of agitation following him through the doorway. Ahsoka let out a long, even breath and leaned onto the edge of the desk, staring at the holoprojection with unseeing eyes.

“Is Rex concerned about going back to Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asked.

“He’s worried about reuniting with the other clones,” Ahsoka explained. “Echo didn’t talk to Rex for three months after he was found. And the only reason I think he did was because he could see the good Rex was doing first-hand. I don’t think the others will be so accepting.”

Obi-Wan nodded. Cody had explained that the other clones were still angry at Rex for leaving with Ahsoka ten years ago, and livid with him that he never returned. If Cody’s reaction to being reunited with Rex—a swift punch to his face—was an indication of how Rex would be greeted by the other clones, Obi-Wan understood why Rex would be hesitant to return.

“Are you worried about going back to Coruscant?” he asked.

Ahsoka shrugged, but Obi-Wan could feel her slight trepidation and anxiety in the Force. “I want this plan to work.”

“As do I,” Obi-Wan sighed, crossing one arm over his chest and stroking his beard. They watched the armored apprentice on the holoprojection give the clearing one last cursory sweep before disappearing back into the forest. A moment later, his ship rose from the trees south of the clearing and disappeared out of view.

“Are you nervous to go back to Coruscant, Master? Or are you eager to return?”

“I’m ready to go home,” he answered truthfully. He thought of the feeling of safety and comfort he had used to access the Force from within, and then the bright, burning feeling that had emerged when he thought of Cody, who had become a different kind of home to him. “And, I must admit, I am eager to see Cody again. It’s been a long time since we were apart for this long. I miss his presence.”

Ahsoka snorted and smirked.

“What?”  Obi-Wan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nothing, Master,” she said, shaking her head. “At least one of us is excited to see the other clones again.”

“Are you not? There are a handful of men who were under your command still alive.”

“I am, but I’m worried about how they’ll react to Rex. And between that, the plan to rescue Leia, and Padmé’s peace negotiations, I’m not sure if I should feel excited or apprehensive. There’s a lot riding on this trip.”

Obi-Wan hummed and nodded. “I understand. I’m also nervous about the plan to rescue Leia. And apprehensive about asking for help from the council. Or, rather, I’m apprehensive about the plan if the Council says no.”

“And what will you do if the Council says no?”

Obi-Wan sighed and met her eyes, which were intense as she stared at him over the holoprojection between them. “I will do whatever it takes to bring Leia home safely.”

Three months before the anniversary
GAR Military Complex, Coruscant

Fives stood at the briefing holotable with his bucket cradled under his arm, and watched data being uploaded into the terminal by Echo.

Fives could hardly believe that Echo was really here. For over three years he’d believed that Echo was dead. He’d grieved for those years over the loss of his closest friend and brother. There wasn’t a single day that went by when he didn’t think of Echo. Only recently had the sting of loss subsided and been replaced by the dull ache of acceptance and the happier memories of their time together.

But Echo was alive. Alive and grinning as Jesse teased him about not remembering how to use a GAR holoconsole. Alive and breathing and talking and laughing, heart beating and muscles moving. Gloriously, wondrously, amazingly alive.

Echo turned to him, his brown eyes bright in the harsh florescent lights. His brand new set of GAR armor gleamed, fresh blue paint bright against white and gray plates. He’d said something, asked a question. But Fives wasn’t listening. He was staring, still studying all the new lines and scars that spider-webbed across his face and through his hair. He was still marveling at the way his pulse beat beneath his skin, at the flush of his cheeks, the smooth and almost natural movements of his mechnoprostheses. Over the last four weeks that they had been back on Coruscant together, Fives hadn’t left Echo’s side, but he sometimes still needed to reach out and touch Echo to make sure he wasn’t a dream or hallucination or trick of the light made up by his prosthetic eye.

But it was Echo who placed his hand on Fives’ shoulder now, a small frown creasing his brow. Fives’ chest, which had been tight since Cody told him Echo was alive, became impossibly tighter. He swallowed, unable to breathe, choking on the happiness and surreality of having Echo here, beside him, alive.

“You okay, Fives?”

Fives wanted to crack completely open. “Yeah, Echo,” Fives replied, his voice breaking on the name, “I couldn’t be better.”

Echo grinned at him, and in that grin Fives could see the amazement in his own eyes, their mutual belief the other had been dead this whole time, the incredulity that they were both together again, at last, after almost four years apart. He gripped Echo’s wrist, lost in the familiar color of Echo’s eyes, the warmth of his smile, the comfort of his presence.

Someone cleared their throat and Fives remembered there were others in the room, waiting for Echo’s briefing. Fives tore his eyes away from Echo’s face—he had that familiar embarrassed grin Fives never thought he’d see again—and focused on the holoconsole in front of him. Jesse had a small smile on his normally gruff face, and winked when Fives caught his eye. Cody—always Marshal Commander and never just Cody—nodded at Echo, a sign for him to begin the briefing.

“I’m glad you could make it here in person,” Echo said, grinning at them all. “And I’m glad to see you all alive.” Jesse nodded, the corners of his eyes creasing as his smile widened. They hadn’t wanted to have this conversation over commlink, and while Fives was able to take a starship back to Triple Zero to see Cody and Echo straight away, Jesse and the 332^nd had to assist a rescue op that turned into a blockade buster and ground battle to retake the planet from sudden and unexpected CISA control.

“We’re glad to see you alive, Echo,” Jesse said thickly.

“I know this briefing is nearly four years late, but someone—” Echo smirked at Cody, who pursed his lips, unimpressed “—reported me as KIA.”

Fives’ throat tightened again. It wasn’t Cody. It was Fives. He had left Echo on that planet. Assumed he’d died when they couldn’t find his body. Fives hadn’t even thought someone else might have found him and removed him from the rubble. Hadn’t thought to declare him MIA, to hope that he might still be out there in the Galaxy, alive and grieving him, too.

“I won’t apologize for doing my job,” Cody said drily, and Fives wanted to throw up as his guilt thrashed in his stomach violently. Cody shouldn’t have needed to report Echo KIA. Fives should have stayed on that planet and pulled Echo from the rubble himself. It was a wonder Echo could stand to look at Fives at all after what he’d done, much less joke about it. But Echo laughed, warm and genuine and familiar, and Fives’ guilt was soothed momentarily.

Echo pulled up an image of the symbol, the same symbol that he and Fives had started seeing almost eight years ago on every mission, at every rebellion, after every terrorist attack. The shape of it, an inverted chevron topped with a crescent and bisected with a single line, sent a shiver of dread down his spine. Cody narrowed his eyes at it and crossed his arms. Echo’s teasing and easy banter melted away into sharp professionalism, something Fives was never able to achieve, and he began the briefing.

“Fives and I surveyed the abandoned petroleum refinery on Dulathia after intelligence collected data that there could be a rebel cell using it as a base of operations, to gather supporters and organize an uprising. While we understood the objective was to collect intel on the rebels and sabotage their efforts, Fives and I were also testing a theory. We believed that this symbol was being used as a call to rebellion and a symbol of terror to those who supported the Republic. If these rebels also had the symbol somewhere near their base of operations, we would confirm that it was not just a random scribble of lines and curves, but that it meant these rebellions were organized and comprehensive, rather than just unrest on war-weary planets.

“Fives has already given you his report of the incident; he went down to the refinery floor while I searched the offices upstairs. And while Fives was unsuccessful in finding any evidence of rebel base operations, I did. I heard voices coming from a communications room on the top floor of the building, and when I went to investigate, I found this symbol painted on the wall next to the doorway.

“I also found three beings in the communications room, one of whom we all believed to be dead. Asajj Ventress, Savage Oppress, and a male Zabrak I didn’t recognize. They had a map pulled up on a holotable, but before I could decipher what the map was of or what they were talking about, I was spotted by the unidentified Zabrak and chased by Savage, who cut off my arm—” he raised his ungloved mechno-prosthetic right hand, wiggling his fingers so they danced in the light, “—and they ran away. I suspect they also set off charges that caused the building to explode. I was knocked unconscious in the explosion and later pulled from the rubble by a pair of anti-slavery operatives.

“I spent several months in recovery, and given the nature of my situation, I had convinced myself that what happened at the refinery was better left in the past, and tried to move on to better pursuits.”

Echo swallowed and looked down at the holoconsole, his lips tightening minutely. He’d told Fives that after the prostheses had been installed, crude and inefficient as they were, he felt his life as a soldier was over. He thought Fives was dead, he was badly injured, and he was stranded on a planet with clones who couldn’t return to the GAR even if they wanted to. POWs-turned-slaves that had been freed by Rex and Ahsoka, lying low on a planet in the outer rim, mutilated and tortured and broken. Echo knew he couldn’t come back to the GAR. But he had to do something. So, he started rescuing clones with Rex. And while it wasn’t what he was made to do, it was better than doing nothing.

“That is, until about a month ago. Rex and I were on a mission, where I saw crates painted with this symbol at the home of the Senator of Sesid—”

“What were you doing at the Senator of Sesid’s house?” Jesse interrupted.

“Running a rescue mission,” Echo said smoothly. Jesse frowned and crossed his arms, but Echo continued on. “In the past, Fives and I had associated the symbol with rebellion, not the CISA. But I didn’t think too much of it until a couple weeks later, when I received this holo from Rex.” He pushed a button to move to the next holopicture in his presentation. Fives saw Jesse snarl, and he knew it wasn’t because of the red and black face now filling the air above the holotable. Echo may have forgiven Rex, even befriended him again, but Jesse, Fives, Appo, and the few remaining men of Rex’s original 501^st battalion still hated him for leaving and choosing not to return.

“This is the Czerka Jerk,” Jesse said, glancing first at Fives and then at Cody. “He’s the director of Czerka Arms. How did Rex get a holo of him?” Fives didn’t miss the derisive way he said Rex’s name.

“This is the Zabrak I saw in that refinery comm-ops with Ventress and Oppress,” Echo continued with a nod, “And Rex obtained this holo from the Naboo Security Force, from the Battle of Naboo.”

Jesse frowned, confused. It was the same face Fives had made when Echo first told him about the holo’s origin. “We’ve never fought on Naboo,” Jesse said gruffly.

“No, not in this war,” Echo explained. “The battle of Naboo was a skirmish between the Trade Federation and the Naboo thirty years ago. It was the event that got Palpatine elected as Chancellor. And while now we know Palpatine orchestrated the whole thing, at the time they believed the attack was being led by this man. A Sith Lord who called himself Darth Maul.”

“Why haven’t we heard about him before now?” Jesse asked.

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Cody answered. “General Kenobi says he cut the man in half, and that he fell a hundred meters down a reactor shaft.”  

“But that is definitely that Czerka Jerk,” Jesse asserted, pointing at the holo as he leaned his other hand onto the edge of the table. “He can’t be both dead and Director of Czerka Arms.”

“Could he be a clone?” Fives suggested. Echo and Jesse blinked at the image, the possibility dawning on them. They were all clones. And while Jango Fett wasn’t dead, he very well could be, and they would all still have his face.

“I don’t think he’s a clone,” Cody said, shaking his head. “I think the Director of Czerka Arms is Maul, because of what General Kenobi told me about his most recent mission.”

“What mission?” Jesse asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you and the general went to visit Ahsoka.”

“We did. And then Skywalker showed up.”

“Commander Skywalker?” Jesse asked, amazed. Again, his face mirrored the bewilderment on Fives’ face when Echo and Cody told him weeks ago. But that was all Cody would discuss until Jesse and the 332^nd returned from their battle. He’d said the situation was delicate, that the plans were shifting and changing, and—when he was finally honest—that he didn’t have all the information just yet.

“The same. Ahsoka had also asked him to visit,” Cody said, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “But while he was there, his daughter’s school was bombed, and she was kidnapped by someone wearing Death Watch armor claiming to be part of an organization called the Cult of the Sith.”

Fives gaped at Cody. He had been there, on Mandalore, when the twins were born. They all had. After what happened between him and the Order, they never faulted Anakin and Padmé for leaving. They understood how precious the twins were. They had each held one of those tiny babies in their arms and marveled at the life their commander had helped create. And they knew their old Jedi Commander well enough to know that if anything happened to the twins or to Padmé, Anakin Skywalker would tear the Galaxy apart.

“General Kenobi and Ahsoka went with Skywalker to Raxus, and then to Malachor to retrieve Leia,” Cody continued, “When they arrived, they were met by the Death Watch kidnapper, Darth Maul, Savage Oppress, and Asajj Ventress. And Maul not only recognized Kenobi, but tried to kill him for revenge.”

Fives let out a long, slow sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. Jesse closed his eyes and leaned against the edge of the holotable. All thirty of his years were visible in the exhaustion on his face. Three people they had assumed were dead, alive and well and kidnapping children. If people were going to return from the dead, he wished it was more brothers, instead of villains.

“What does Maul want with Leia?” Echo asked, his voice as bewildered and exasperated as his expression.

“He wants both twins, apparently,” Cody answered, his stiff voice straying into weariness. “All we have is intel Leia was able to send in short comm bursts over the last five weeks from Maul’s ship. But he claims he wants to restore balance to the Force. Leia thinks he wants to take over the Galaxy. Either way, he needs to be stopped.”

“So, what does this have to do with the symbol?” Jesse asked, gesturing to the holoprojection of Maul’s face. “Maul was wearing the symbol when we met him, but what does that have to do with Skywalker’s twins and the Force?”

“I don’t know yet,” Cody said, shaking his head. “That’s why I wanted Echo to meet with you both, so he could hear what you saw on that dreadnaught, and maybe we could figure it out together.”

“You’ve been here for weeks, Fives,” Jesse said, smirking at him through the image of Maul’s face, “You haven’t briefed Echo, yet?”

Fives scoffed, glad the lights were low so no one could see the flush that bloomed on his cheeks and ears. “I have a job, too, Jesse,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I did tell him about our meeting on the Czerka dreadnaught, and with Ohnaka.”

“I don’t know how any of it’s connected, if at all,” Echo sighed. “Czerka is an independent corporation, they sell weapons to anyone with money, rebels included. It’s not surprising to me that they would take advantage of unrest on Hwatte to gain control of those thorilide mines. He clearly set Xhell up as a puppet Prime Minister so we wouldn’t look in too closely.”

“What about the crates with that symbol painted on them?” Jesse asked. “You saw them on Sesid, we saw them on the Czerka ship, and Fox caught Ohnaka’s men with them on TZ.”

“What was in the crates Ohnaka’s men had? Weapons?”

“Random shit like canned vegetables and furs and datapads” Jesse answered. “Some were illegal to import to TZ, and some were smuggled in to avoid tariffs. But no weapons.”

“Do you know what was in the crates on Sesid?” Cody asked.

“Not a clue. My guess would have been weapons. The guards were armed to the teeth. We made it out by the width of a blade.”

“You think Czerka gave them those crates?” Cody asked, narrowing his eyes at Echo. “Or were they confiscated?”

Echo frowned and leaned back on one hip. “I didn’t think about them being confiscated. The Senator’s castle grounds were vast and well secured. It would be the perfect place to hide confiscated rebellion weapons.”

“But that would mean there’s rebellion in the CIS, too. And they’re coordinating with rebels on our turf,” Jesse said gruffly. “Feels unlikely.”

“Space travel exists,” Fives sneered at Jesse, who rolled his eyes. “Czerka has to be supplying the rebels. Like Echo said, they’ll sell weapons to anyone with money. That’s how the crates got on Sesid.”

Cody nodded and typed into his datapad. Fives wasn’t sure at what point Cody started trusting him to be the one to solve mysteries and pull random data into a cohesive story, but it made a thrill run through his body every time. “And Ohnaka’s crates?” Cody asked without looking up.

“Ohnaka’s men were probably caught with the wrong crates at the wrong time. Our contact said they were bullied into smuggling for Black Sun, not Czerka.”

“So, how does Leia fit into all of this?” Echo asked.

“Or Death Watch and the cult?” Jesse added.

“Mandalorians are hired as mercenaries all the time,” Fives said, thinking fast. “Maul might have outsourced kidnapping Leia since he was on Hwatte with us.”

“Leia said Maul, Oppress, and Ventress call themselves the Cult of the Sith,” Cody answered. “Makes sense, since they all used to be Sith apprentices.”

“So, what? He’s using Czerka to bankroll his obsession with taking over the Galaxy?” Jesse asked, raising an eyebrow at Fives.

“Must be.” Fives smirked at Jesse. “It’s a good business, arms dealing. A lot of money, no morals required. Perfect job for a dead Sith.”

“Alright, to summarize,” Cody began, the weariness sitting heavily in his voice now, “Maul, Ventress, and Oppress are trying to take over the Galaxy together, some kind of Force nonsense or maybe political takeover, who knows. But Maul is bankrolling this using Czerka Arms, which is supplying weapons to the GAR, CISA, and the rebels. The symbol is some kind of organized rebellion crest, potentially in both the Republic and the CIS, and Maul painted the crest on crates delivered to the rebellion, just like GAR crates have the Republic Cog.”

Cody looked around, and they all nodded in agreement. It made sense. All of it made sense. Fives didn’t like it; they had their hands full with the CISA already, and adding an organized rebellion onto the list of enemies would only make their lives more complicated.

“I have a meeting scheduled with Fox next week. Jesse, I want you there to help me present this to him so we can get the Guard caught up with our side of this investigation. Fives and Echo, help him prep a report with everything you know. Jesse, let your men have some leave while we’re here. They deserve it. Any questions?”

“Sir, what about Leia?” Echo asked.

Cody sighed. “Leia is still with Maul. She’s safe, as far as we know. And she has a plan to trap Maul. General Kenobi is bringing Skywalker and Tano here to help him execute the plan. He’s hoping the Jedi and GAR will be able to help as well.

“Skywalker and Ahsoka are coming here? To TZ?” Fives asked. Cody nodded, and Fives felt excitement surge through him. He and Jesse exchanged wide grins.

“Just Anakin and Ahsoka?” Echo asked.

Cody grimaced. Fives felt his stomach fall. He knew what Cody was going to say.

“Padmé and Luke are coming too,” Cody said. He shifted uncomfortably, and his eyes flicked between Fives and Jesse before he added, “And Rex.”

Fives clenched his teeth. He should have known. He should have known that traitor would come along with Ahsoka. Across the table, Jesse’s face twisted into a vicious snarl and his hands tightened into fists.

“Did you tell him he’s not fucking welcome?” Jesse growled at the table. Echo shifted uncomfortably.

“He’s organized a plan to help save Leia and capture Maul, and he’s coming whether you like it or not,” Cody said stiffly. Jesse’s hard eyes flitted from Cody to Echo.

“I suppose you’re excited about this, since the two of you are buddies again,” Jesse said to Echo, his voice thick with derision.

“It took me a long time, but I’ve forgiven Rex,” Echo said coolly, crossing his arms over his chest. Fives’ stomach curdled.

“How could you forgive him?” Jesse hissed. “After everything he did? He deserted us. He left us to die. On Radnor—”

“You don’t have to remind me about Radnor. I was there,” Echo snapped. “And I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry at him for leaving. But he stayed away for a good reason, and I think you should at least hear him out.”

“What reason could he possibly have for deserting us?”

“The CIS is selling clone POWs into slavery, and Rex has been rescuing them for the past seven years.”

Jesse balked, and Fives felt the same mingled horror and confusion that flitted across Jesse’s face. When Echo had told him about the slaves, about how they were mutilated and tortured and abused, he didn’t know how to feel. Angry, that they were being enslaved. Happy that they were rescued. Angry that Rex didn’t bring them home. Happy that Echo had not been one of those unfortunate brothers captured by the CIS. Angry at himself for being the reason he nearly was.

Jesse rounded on Cody, his lip curling back into its snarl. “Did you know about this?”

“I found out when Rex told me,” Cody explained, a frown settling on his brow again. “I’m still pissed at him that he’s kept it secret from the GAR all these years.”

“Because now they’re safe and free, which are two things life in the GAR could never give them,” Echo growled. “I’m proud to rescue those POWs, proud to set them free. And I will continue to free my brothers until the war ends, and forever after, if I must, until every one of our brothers is free from anyone who might oppress them.”

Silence fell, heavy and thick between them. Fives clenched his teeth and stared at where his hands were balled into fists on the edge of the holotable. That heavy, slimy, guilty feeling settled in his stomach again.

“You sound like you’re eager to go back,” Jesse hissed.

“Maybe I am.”

“Echo,” Fives gasped, unable to stop the name before it fell from his lips. Echo’s words were like a knife in his chest. When Echo turned to him, his anger fell away into mingled regret and confusion.

“Fives, I—”

“If you go back,” Jesse said, his voice low and dangerous, standing straight-backed with his hands in trembling fists at his side, “Then you’re no better than Rex.”

Echo swallowed and pressed his lips into a grim line. Fives could just barely see the angry flush of his ears and the sheen of tears welling at the corner of his eyes as he stared at Jesse.

“Let’s worry about the rebellion and rescuing Leia Naberrie, and then we can talk about rescuing clone POWs and what to do with Rex,” Cody said, smoothly cutting through the icy tension that had formed between Echo and Jesse. “General Kenobi will arrive in a few days. Have your presentation ready for Commander Fox by Primeday. Dismissed.”

Jesse turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, running his hand over his shaved scalp as he disappeared out of the door. Cody nodded grimly at Fives and Echo before he followed, limping slightly. His injury had healed significantly since Fives had seen him last. But he suspected that since Kix left TZ, Cody was avoiding his physical therapy appointments again.

Once the door closed behind Cody, Echo leaned heavily against the holotable and sighed. Fives studied his face, the scars that spider-webbed across his cheek and forehead and through his hair, the sun-tanned lines around his eyes and mouth, the familiar cut of his jaw and color of his eyes. Echo looked at Fives out of the corner of his eye, and Fives’ stomach churned. He’d just gotten Echo back, and all Echo wanted to do was leave.

“Will you really go back?” Fives asked.

Echo closed his eyes and pressed his fingers and thumb into his temples, hiding his face in his palm. Fives swallowed down the guilt and anger that rose like bile in his throat.

“I don’t know, Fives,” Echo sighed.

“I thought you were happy to be here.”

“I am happy to be here,” Echo said earnestly. “I never thought I’d see you again. I never want to let you out of my sight.”

“And yet you want to go back.”

Echo sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. Things are different, now. I’m different, now. I… I need time to think.”

Fives nodded slowly, anger still churning in his stomach, hot and thick like lava. Echo gave him a soft smile, his eyes imploring. Fives returned the smile, but it felt tight, forced. He wanted to throw up. This was his fault. He’d flown away from that refinery, flown away from Dulathia. He’d missed Echo every day like an ache. Would have given anything to see him again. He was still Fives’ best friend, his brother, his twin. But now that he was alive, now that he was back, all Echo wanted to do was leave again.

“We should get some food,” Echo suggested, collapsing the holoprojection of Maul’s face and pulling his data stick from the console. He stepped away from Fives, toward the door, but Fives caught him by the elbow. His new armor shined in the slowly rising lights, his paint heartbreakingly familiar.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Echo,” Fives said sincerely. His chest felt too tight again as Echo looked at him with those familiar bronze eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Echo turned and stepped into Fives’ space, placing his hand on the back of Fives’ head and touching their foreheads together. It was a gesture they did a lot in the early days of the war, when their chips were freshly removed, and they were constantly plagued by fear and anxiety. Fives instinctively took a deep breath, and heard Echo do the same.

“You’re my best friend, Fives,” Echo whispered. He pulled his forehead away, and Fives opened his eyes to see Echo staring intensely back at him. His chest felt impossibly tighter. “No matter what, that will never change.”

Fives smiled and nodded, but his stomach churned all the same.