There’s a karking Jedi at his table, in his ship and the Jedi is not dead.
No, the Jedi is quietly sipping shig at Slave 1’s table, watching Jango with predatory eyes, a damn dragon curled around his neck with his legs kicked out under the table lazily, ankle occasionally brushing against Jango’s own.
He’d call the other’s behavior almost arrogance if he didn’t know just how much power is in the other man’s shoulders and legs. Not to mention the karking dragon around his neck.
“Admittedly, when the Force told me to pay attention, I never expected this.” Kenobi drawled, settling the cup down on the table and yet cradling it still as he cocked his head.
Jango was grateful that Boba had obeyed and gone to the cockpit, though he was sure his son was still listening in. “What, thought me dead?” He sneered at the Jedi.
The man inclined his head. “You went to battle against Jedi, knowing what we could do. So yes, I saw Mace’s lightsaber pass through your neck,” His eyes flickered down to the prosthetic at Jango’s neck. “I can make a few guesses on your survival. I’m glad to see it actually.” He stated casually.
Mand’alor.
The other had called him mand’alor.
Jango suspected what the other wanted but… why?
Jedi were peace keepers and Jedi and Mandalorians had… strained relationships.
But here this Jedi was…
Kenobi placed his elbows on the table, watching him, eyes lidded before he snorted. “You know, I do wonder if you were simply desperate or coerced into working with Dooku, much less the Sith that leads him.” He drawled.
Jango’s lips tightened into a thin line but he said nothing, simply lifted his own cup to sip. How much did this Jedi know?
“Are you aware of my reputation?” Kenobi questioned, smirking when Jango brows simply furrowed, showing his confusion but also his wariness. “Ah, you don’t. Good, it means I covered my tracks well. See, in the temple, I’m known as the Council’s bloody hand,” Kenobi watched Jango closely, simply snorting when Jango reached for a blade at his hip. “I did undercover work, the most twisted and dangerous missions the Senate had. But I was good about keeping my identity hidden.” He drawled.
Well, that did… clarify a bit… Jango guessed.
Not simply a Jedi or even a Jedi shadow, but full on undercover work for the dirtiest of missions the Senate could send him on. Which Jango knew could be bad.
“It means I heard the whispers about why the clone army was really made for.” Kenobi continued, his voice now a tad bland, his face blank.
It took everything in Jango not to tense, even as he heard the telltale shift of the cockpit chair creak loudly, likely Boba getting up.
Kenobi didn’t react to the sound, simply stared at Jango. “…If anything of the morsels of rumors I heard were true, then I wonder what Jaster would say about this entire thing.” He stated darkly.
Jango slammed his cup down, metal twisting as hot shig coated his hands. He barely noticed the pain as he shot to his feet with a snarl, reaching for his blaster only to freeze when the dragon twisted up and hissed, fire in her open mouth even if it had not sent it at him.
Kenobi simply stared at him, his face still blank.
“…How dare you take his name in your mouth.” Jango snarled, keeping his hand away from his blaster as he trembled with rage.
Sitting back, pressing into the lounge couch, Kenobi snorted. “Considering I meet him and he tried to adopt me, I do actually. Seeing as he taught me the supercommando codex, I know what he taught you, what you were suppose to live by.” He drawled.
Jango felt unarmored, shaken, staring at this Jedi, who was claiming to have known Jaster. “…Lies.” He rasped.
Setting the cup down, Kenobi crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive reaction Jango knew in humanoid. He raised one copper brow then sighed, glancing at the ceiling of the Slave 1, as if praying for patience. “…Our language. Our leader. Our tribe. Education and armor. Self defense,” Kenobi stated in a steady voice, slowly returning cold eyes to Jango, reciting the resol’nare to Jango. “Beyond that, a code of honor, no grunt work, no killing for foot as the Kyr’stad, defend children and farmers with your life.” He continued in that steady, cold voice.
Jango could almost hear Jaster’s voice in his head, quietly reciting the same things, though more affectionately. Frozen as he was, the dragon seemed not to consider him a threat anymore as it settled down, pressing its snout into Kenobi’s neck.
“Honorable mercenaries, that’s what Jaster told me as he tried to adopt me after finding me on Coruscant, defending kids from the lower slums after I got lost from my creche group.” Kenobi shrugged, as if he wasn’t breaking Jango’s perception.
“I…” He licked his suddenly dry lips, wishing he still had shig.
Kenobi snorted and pushed his cup towards Jango, watching him drink desperately of the still luke warm liquid, his hands stinging from the burning water from earlier. “…I wonder what he thinks about you being involved on getting the younglings of the Jedi order killed.” Kenobi stated silkily.
Jango froze, eyes wide.
He knew he was older than the other, this Jedi upstart in his home but at that moment, he felt young and dirty, as if the other was calling on something Jango had refused to think about.
“I wonder what he’d feel about all those children,” Kenobi nodded towards the ramp they had come out. “Wearing your face, becoming soldiers without a choice for anything else, fodder in a meaningless war, killed in seconds, harmed… denied their legacies… gar eyayah.” Kenobi was staring at him with narrowed, burning eyes.
For the first time in years, Jango couldn’t help but wonder if that was how Jaster would have looked at him too.
For what he had done.
His breath was too loud in his own ears.
Kenobi opened his mouth again. “Where is your honor, Mand’alor?” His tone was as smooth as a blade and dripping with venomous intent.
Carefully settling Din on the honestly lavish bed of his private room, Paz tried not to glance around too much.
Honestly, if he was right, then Din hadn’t quite decorated this place on his own, this reeked of someone wanting to spoil the beroya, without Din quite knowing how to do anything but accept the gifts he was given.
‘But its nice to know he’s been cared for.’ Paz couldn’t help but think, looking up as he heard a few quiet clicks and snicks. It was Fett, opening drawers and cabinets, finding clothes for Din.
Obviously familiar with the room.
Yup, this was the one that had likely bought in all the expensive and luxurious things of the room.
Din had a bad tendency to give away more than he should and keeping less for himself.
The entire tribe had been aware of it, it was one of the reason they put their best foot forward when Din returned from his bounties.
If they looked shabby, then Din was likely to only keep enough for the most basic of supplies for his own survival. There wasn’t a verd of the covert that hadn’t heard the medic grumble to herself about the amount of cauterized scars on Din’s body.
Something Paz had gotten to see when Din had been put into the bacta tube.
From toes to shoulder, Din had clear scars bearing the marks of the cauterize tool. Simply because the man kept as little bacta as he possibly could, giving all he could to the covert.
To the younglings of the covert.
Sighing internally as Fett continued rummaging around, Paz instead sat on the edge of the bed, gently patting Din’s leg. “Its good to see you awake verd.” He murmured, not quite bringing himself to admit just how worried he was.
Din peered at him, beautiful brown eyes peering over the dark veil of his robe. After a second, they curved in a manner Paz knew indicated someone smiling even if he had never seen this particular person smile. “I’m… gratified, to… see you Paz.” The man stated a tad awkwardly.
Snorting slightly, a tad bemused, Paz stared quietly at the other man, keeping his hand on the others leg. “…Din, I’m sorry.” He finally sighed, watching how the other tilted his head.
Like a puppy, curious, a tad confused by the state of his eyes.
“For what?” The other questioned, tone bemused behind the veil.
Paz could hear that Boba had gone still by the clothing drawers and cabinet, likely suspecting what Paz was apologizing for. “Well, for one, for trying to rip your bucket off you last we saw each other,” He stated a tad dryly, smirking when Din let out a small, amused snort. But the smirk faded quickly. “…But also for fucking up your stomach.” He stated a tad more quietly.
Brown eyes blinked rapidly at that before Din reached to his own stomach, pressing his hand to it with a low noise. “My stomach?” He blinked hard, eyes flickering a tad, as if he was trying to parse out what Paz wasn’t saying.
“When we found you,” Boba finally spoke, coming over with an armload of clothes in shades of soft blue and black. “It been two days at least, likely more and you were at death’s door. You’d lost a lot of blood and there was infection setting in, we had no other option but to set a bacta injection.” Boba low voice was as soothing as possible.
As if he was dealing with a skittish animal and not a trained mandalorian.
Din’s eyes turned a tad panicked before he took a deep breath. “…How bad?” He whispered, knowing the things that could go wrong with shrapnel in bodies and bacta.
Boba and Paz exchanged looks, both had been dreading this but there was no way around it. They had to inform Din about the damage to his body. What they had done to him, to save his life.
Setting the clothes slowly down on the bed, Boba sat on the other edge of the bed. “When… when I sat the injection, the bacta healed around the shrapnel,” He answered slowly, Din’s eyes focused on him. “It was… it severed sixty percent of your stomach, closing the injury around the shrapnel. The med droid says you have basically a gastric sleeve instead of a normal stomach now.” He explained carefully.
Din stared at him, eyes slightly wide.
Boba picked up the blue shirt, showing Din the sleeve and then tightening it, making the esophagus and then a section that was suppose to be the stomach that was left. “This basically, since the bacta healed where the cut was. The med droid had to remove the section that was cut away, clean away stomach acids and… just everything.” He finished explaining.
Paz had almost thrown up as he droid had explained to both him and Boba that it had to extract the part of the stomach that had been mostly severed, along with removing pus, blood and stomach acid that had filled the open cavities of Din’s body.
Brown eyes stared at the sleeve, flickering them over where Boba was showing Din’s ‘esophagus’, the new size of the ‘stomach’ and then the ‘intestines’. It was basically all one long line now as the med droid had explained to Paz and Boba.
Shifting, Din reached up, rubbing at his face then he nodded. “I… I see. That… okay. I… that means I have to go on a special diet… doesn’t it?” He whispered, snorting shakily when Boba gave him a surprised look. “I’ve heard of sleeve stomachs before, generally for rich core worlders of course but… yeah.” He breathed out heavily and then hid his face in his hands, shaking slightly.
Overwhelmed.
Paz didn’t know what to do.
He was good at comforting younglings, keeping verd together in battle but… not this.
But Fett apparently was.
Because he instantly dropped the sleeve and reached out, pressing his hands steadily down on Din’s shoulders, thumbs pressing into the clavicle. Paz absently noted he wasn’t wearing his gloves.
Instantly, Din’s hands shot up and he wrapped his hands around Boba’s wrists, shaking still but focusing on gripping the wrists offered to him, his thumbs visibly pressed to the underside, getting Boba’s pulse.
“That’s it, deep breaths verd’ika, in,” Fett murmured deeply, taking a. obvious, deep inhale. And Din mimicked it. “And out,” A deep exhale and Din mimicked once more. “Repeat those for me.” The King of Tatooine murmured.
And as told, Din did, eyes trained on Boba’s face, his eyes focused on the man.
Slowly his trembling eased, though they didn’t fully disappear. Slowly, his eyes closed, dipping a bit forward as he gentled his grip on the other’s wrists. “…Vor entye.”
Only nodding, Boba let out a small sigh. “For now Din… don’t think about it. We can talk about it after you washed and slept… yeah?” He rumbled quietly, smiling slightly when he got a small nod. Carefully, the king helped Din to his feet. “I set a shower chair into the fresher, I’ll help you in, but will sit out here. That alright?” He got another nod.
Paz felt quite useless as he watched Boba slowly guide him into the fresher, Din stumbling slowly along while leaning on the other man. ‘…He needs rest, anything else can come after Din has rested.’ Paz decided firmly, knowing how exhausting bacta tanks could be.
Had to draw something for @mandofury‘s ‘sneak-attack’ post – because it was hilarious. Whilst I was drawing it though I couldn’t help but imagine Din seizing upon this as a teachable moment, if not entirely the right one.
Pouring a full glass of whiskey, getting the actual good shit for once, Cody let out a deep breath as he stared out of the barracks office window. Honestly, this office had never felt safe to him with its giant window, felt too much like someone could snipe him in the back, just like the Chancellor’s blasted office but… just for tonight, he felt he deserved it.
Just like he deserved the good whiskey.
It had been a gift from Obi-Wan, a full two years ago now and Cody had extremely slowly been savoring it.
The bottle was almost empty.
Just one more glass left in it and Cody reverently placed it on the desk, staring at the amber liquid before picking up his glass and stepping towards the window, taking a slow sip of the burning liquid as he stared at the Rotunda.
Tomorrow was the day.
Tomorrow it was make or break it for the GAR and the Jedi order.
Cody knew that should the vode fail, the ramifications of it would hit the Jedi too, as they were suppose to be in ‘control’ of the army.
Every trooper involved would be put down, executed, the ranks refilled by other clones.
Cody’s hand tightened on the glass and then he sighed deeply. No, he couldn’t think that way, they had to win, there was no other option, not with what was on the line.
Between the vode that would brought in to replace those that were ‘decommissioned’, to the Jedi that would suffer censure and regulations, likely more abuse, after the ones protecting them now were gone.
A shudder when down Cody’s spine at that.
Fox had come by, grabbing the strongest of the moonshine they had, the type that could strip paint of ships and just… chugged it.
Apparently several natborns, among those Tarkin and several Senators hadn’t kept their hands of off the vode either. Several Guards had finally stepped forward, coming to Fox to tell him what had happened and what they had been hiding.
The ball was rolling in that direction now.
More vode would step forward in the next weeks to months, of that Cody was sure.
Once they started to feel safe, secure that there would be no consequences for talking, for getting help.
‘The white hat slicers should have set up by now,’ Cody savored another sip. ‘Full comm’s knockout, a blackout over the whole of Coruscant except for the vode taking care of the traffic.’ Cody glanced up at the skyline. If ships weren’t being directed, people would start being suspicious up there, so Cody had ensured that several comm ready vode, Hot Lips and Radiohead among them, would be stationed in the traffic centers.
It would keep the ships at bay, floating up there, various excuses prepared so they wouldn’t be suspicious until it was to late. To late for the Senators to send an emergency message out, too late to stop the vode.
To late to stop the coup.
Though Cody had considered contacting Dooku at this point, strange as that was. He had disregarded that idea as soon as it came, just because the other was killing CIS Senators that had once been Republic, didn’t mean he was on their side.
His comm crackled and Cody let out a low noise of surprise, hand clenching on the glass as dread echoed through him. Had there been an incident?
Quickly, Cody pulled it from his belt and answered, setting his glass down on the desk. “Commander Cody here.” He murmured.
“Vod-Commander, its Wooley, you have a guest,” Cody paused at that, blinking. “Its General Kenobi, should I send him to you or would you like to come down for him.” Wooley questioned, and by the way he had corrected himself, Obi-Wan must be right there in front of him.
“I’m in the command office. General can come right up as he wants.” Cody assured the other, letting Wooley know that anything incriminating was hidden away.
“Right away sir.” Wooley chirped almost cheerfully.
It didn’t take long for the door to open, a robed Obi-Wan slipping into the office, glancing about the room curiously. Cody had dimmed the lights slightly, knowing it be easier on the Jedi eyes and had fetched another glass.
Before Obi-Wan said anything, Cody held up the bottle as he took note of the soft swish of the others robe on the office floor. “Interested General?” He smiled at him, putting on ice his need to ask for the others health.
He already knew that Obi-Wan would not answer him, not now, maybe not for a weeks.
So instead he offered a drink.
Lips quirked at that and Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “That does sound quite pleasant.” The Jedi agreed softly, slowly walking over to stand at Cody’s side, accepting the now filled glass.
Seeing as it had been a gift from Obi-Wan, it felt quite fitting for him to get the last glass and drink it with the Commander.
“Any special occasion Commander?” Obi-Wan asked, watching Cody pick up his own drink.
Pausing a tad at the question, Cody eyed the Jedi.
They both knew that the other was aware of what was going to happen, even if Obi-Wan didn’t have the timeline. But both were ignoring what the other knew, plausible deniability, closing their eyes so things could happen.
Vod’alor Cody was going to keep it that way until the end, until the solution was presented and both the vode and the Jedi were safe from Senators greedy, torturous hands. So he shrugged and gave the other a smile. “No, just… hoping for a new day.” He stated easily.
Obi-Wan tilted his head, the neon lights of Coruscant spreading shadows on his face. It was easy to see the dark bags beneath his eyes at that moment, see the start of crowfeet. But also the small flash of hope in the others eyes.
“A new day…” Obi-Wan glanced out, looking to the Rotunda.
Cody watched him in turn before lifting his drink, smiling when Obi-Wan looked back to him at the move. “K’oyacyi.” He murmured in a steady voice, trying to grow the hope he had glimpsed in green eyes.
A surprised huff escaped Obi-Wan at that, eyes flickering quickly back to the Rotunda and then settling firmly on Cody once more. “K’oyacyi… Vod’alor.” Obi-Wan clicked their glasses together, his smile turning a tad shy in the face of Cody’s surprise.
Unable to find more words, Cody simply stepped in closer and reached out, carefully tucking his hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s head and pulling him down into a light forehead tap, Obi-Wan following willingly, even closing his eyes.
“K’oyacyi Cody…” The Jedi whispered, voice a tad more desperate, Cody lightly scratching at the others scalp with his nails in silent reassurance as they held onto their glasses.
K’oyacyi = 1. *Cheers!* 2. Can also mean: *Hang in there* or 3. *Come back safely.* Literally, a command; *Stay alive!*
Watching his master and the captain talk together, Obi-Wan fiddled awkwardly with his robe, needle held tightly between index and thumb as he sat outside his tent in lotus position.
He was going to mend a hole in his robe but had gotten… distracted if he was honest.
The clones were distracting, despite trying to modulate their thoughts a tad for the Jedi sake, it was difficult for most to ignore them when their thoughts flashed so loudly sometimes.
Especially for him.
Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why, but everything about them made his very soul seemingly sit up and take notice. Hell, even Jango Fett had produced that reaction, so maybe it was something to do with Jango, as the original template?
But so far Obi-Wan just hadn’t had time to figure it out and being around his former master made it hard too.
Don’t get him wrong, he loved Anakin but uh… Anakin could be a tad overprotective. And if he learned that Obi-Wan was attracted to basically the entire GAR and they were seemingly attracted back, then Obi-Wan would never get a moment of privacy while on campaigns.
It was just how Anakin was.
Obi-Wan couldn’t quite blame the other man really.
Anakin took on Obi-Wan on just days before he turned thirteen, his face a scowling storm, muttering something about interfering goblins and old masters before gently leading Obi-Wan away from a transport to Bandomeer.
The masters had sent Obi-Wan away.
Then Knight Skywalker had come for him, finding him on the transport bay, moments before boarding the Monument, offering him an apprenticeship with him.
It had taken… weeks, if not months, before Obi-Wan had felt secure in his position as Anakin’s padawan.
After all, he had been sent away before he turned thirteen, for reasons he at the time didn’t really understand. He had seen passionate and even angry Jedi before, so why was he so much worse?
Anakin had finally told him, years later, that it was Grandmaster Yoda’s fault, that he had intended him for his linage, but through Qui-Gon Jinn.
Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to make of that.
He liked his grandmaster well enough, he guessed, but… the idea of being apprentice to a man that disregarded visions so obviously when Obi-Wan’s skills laid in precognition and prophecy…
It didn’t sound like a good match.
Anakin had apparently figured it out, which was why he had come for Obi-Wan on the platform. Supposedly, there had been several Knights and Masters interested in teaching Obi-Wan, who had been discouraged by Yoda since he wanted him for Qui-Gon Jinn.
Learning that had been… difficult.
Anakin knew that and due to that knowledge, had been protective from the get go, keeping his padawan close to him and stressing about every little injury and hurt.
Then Melida/Daan happened.
It was an ancient conflict, it was supposedly easing a bit when Anakin and Obi-Wan were there, mostly to refuel and get a look at the planet.
The war had been going on, only a lull between battles in a conflict that had beeing on for far too long.
Now with a plague added.
With destroyed waterlines, waste and corpses piling, disease had become a plague on the world and in just half an hour, Obi-Wan had become separated from his master after a bomb hit down too close for comfort and Anakin had been unable to land again after evacuation when he realized his padawan wasn’t on the ship, the planet put under quarantine.
Obi-Wan lowkey blamed R2 for Anakin not realizing he was there, if he was honest.
Not that Anakin didn’t try, but under the threat of being shot out of the sky due to the plague to avoid spreading it, there wasn’t much even an ace pilot like Anakin could do.
The fourteen year old still spent over a month on a plague and war infested world, fighting with the Young, who wanted the war to end.
It felt like the right thing… but everything had gone so horribly wrong so fast, just when peace seemed to be in sight.
Anakin hadn’t let his padawan out of his sight for weeks after that, growling at anyone that made a comment about Obi-Wan fighting in a war.
‘But it came in use, didn’t it?’ Obi-Wan thought a tad cynically, peering at his master and the captain again, only to look away quickly when he found amber eyes looking at him in return, his cheeks burning.
He felt hungry again and felt the same hunger reflected back at him.
‘Why… no one else reacts to them like I do… why are they making me so hungry…’ Obi-Wan swallowed thickly and glanced up through his lashes, breathing a tad out in relief that Rex was no longer looking at him. ‘I need to figure this out.’
SWpromptsandask 