hurt

For youngandfresh, can we maybe see Alpha-17 interacting with Boba and/or Din. Maybe he (or someone else) realizes something’s different and starts piecing things together?

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Tilting his helmeted head like a curious bird, Din let out a soft noise. “You weren’t joking when you said they might recognize your face.” He stated quietly as he turned his head to his companion, gently thumbing his shoulder against Boba’s.

Hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail, Boba just hummed quietly, arms crossed over his chest as he continued observing the clones beneath them as they trained.

Pressing closer, Din slid his arm around Boba’s shoulders. “What are you thinking?” He questioned worriedly.

Since coming back to the past, Boba had become even more prone to long silences of contemplation. Before, Din always knew what that meant, it had to do with the ruling of Tatooine or the other was angry at Din for yet another reckless move that they would have to talk about so Din didn’t scare Boba again.

Now however, even looking at Boba’s face with the baby fat in his cheeks, Din wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

So he asks.

He shifts until he’s standing in front of the other in the glass hallway, cups Boba’s cheek with his own soft hand and presses their foreheads together, smiling when Boba instantly closes his eyes and hums in pleasure at the affectionate and familiar touch.

Just for a few moments, he indulges them both with the keldabe kiss, rubbing the others tanned cheek with his thumb. Just as they did in the future, just with baby fat instead of scars and no stubble to speak of.

Oh and of course no beskar.

Din misses his beskar.

“What are you thinking?” He whispered quietly, watching as Boba opened his eyes to peer into his. The visor of the cadet helmets weren’t as black as Din’s old, (or was that new?) helmet, made it easier for people to see hints of his face but at least it brought comfort.

And like this, with Boba looking at his eyes, he found he didn’t mind that it was slightly sheer compared to his beskar helmet.

Arms slowly slid around Din’s waist, holding on as Boba usually did when he was feeling upset and Din let himself be brought closer until they were chest to chest. Physical touch had always been comforting to both of them, once they learned to manage the touch starvation they both had.

Trust had come easily between the two, maybe too easily, the touch starvation had been harder.

“How close my father is to being a dar’manda. How being back here, seeing everything again, reminds me just how far he went, how much he was lost…” Boba trailed of then sighed deeply. “And how much I still love him, regardless of what he’s done.” He settled on tiredly, his young voice sounding much too weary for his young face.

Not that Din couldn’t sympathize.

Seeing all this…

Well, Boba hadn’t been shy about telling Din exactly why Kryze felt so threatened by Boba, why the other insisted that Boba was not a mandalorian.

After all, the grandson of a mand’alor was quite the contestant to the throne and for the saber, one she wouldn’t want. The foundling of a mand’alor, Jango Fett of house Mereel… yes, Boba had the claim to the throne of the glass planet.

Though it wasn’t glass, not yet, was it?

Right now, Mandalore was a thriving planet, at least inside the domes, even if it was under the pacifist rule of Duchess Kryze.

Din didn’t know quite as much about this time period of Mandalore, there had been some basic history taught, of course. But the covert had focused more on the skills of survival, of their language, their culture and of course their foundlings.

History came second hand to that, to survival, to not letting the imps get another chance at wiping them out. Boba however had tried to fill in as best he could on quiet nights when Din’s curiosity got the better of him and Boba was in the mood to explain.

Talking about his father had been a harder subject for Boba, reserved for sober days of remembrance and the little Boba had managed to pierce together of his father’s past before Kamino.

But being here, Din could see why Boba was bringing it up as he looked to the rows and rows of black haired heads, so similar to Boba and yet all so uniform.

The word ‘decommission’ had never been as chilling as when Boba had explained to him, in quiet words, exactly what that meant here on this cursed ocean planet. Foundlings, children, were the most important thing in mandalorian culture… or at least they were suppose to be and Din still couldn’t understand how damaged someone could be to… to just discard clones of themselves, children.

Not when you kept one of them, raised them well and yet let others be put down, who were just the same as the one you kept.

“…I won’t say that he hasn’t lost his way,” He started quietly, feeling Boba’s hands grip the back of his tunic. “But… what’s lost can be found again, we’ll help him. Aliit, right?” Din smiled at Boba, watching the other stare at him before amber eyes softened and Boba nuzzled in like a reticent tooka wanting cuddles.

They might have stayed like that for a while if there wasn’t for a throat suddenly being cleared. The two time travelers separated but stayed close, Boba falling into position in front of Din and Din reaching for the blade he had hidden in his new belt.

Clearly, they didn’t make an impressive view as a rather stocky clone, who reminded Din of adult Boba yet this clone seemed taller, just smirked at them with raised brows. He was familiar, not in the way all clones looked alike but Din felt like he had seen this one before.

“Alpha.” Boba greeted with narrowed, suspicious eyes, Din’s mind flashing back to the clone leading the group they had encountered after Boba taunted Priest.

“Bob’ika, Boba’s friend,” Alpha greeted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Saw you up here, came to invite you two to come spar with us if you’re interested.” He drawled, nodding his head to the left, where a singular group of troopers were sparring in another room.

Noticeably, most of them were looking up at them. Clearly waiting.

The question had Boba letting out a surprised little, huh, before he turned to Din, brows raised questionably to the other. Hesitating, Din mentally calculated the time before nodding. “The Jedi and your buir still has Grogu, he’s not to wake from a nap yet, so I don’t see why not. Training is good?” He stated.

A little snort escaped Boba at that, a fond smile that lacked those distracting scars crossing his lips as he turned back to Alpha and nodded. “Sure, but no funny business. I’ll break your bones if anything weird happens.” He drawled.

A short, barked laugh escaped Alpha and then he was of, moving down the hall with Din and Boba following along quickly.

Making sure to walk at Boba’s side, Din glanced between the two then down to the clones waiting for them. “Boba… who are they?” Din whispered quietly, leaning in to be quiet yet clearly by the way Alpha’s head jerked a bit, he still heard Din. “To you I mean, you… don’t listen to anyone else, I mean, except your buir.” He stated cautiously.

Boba raised his brow before shrugging slightly, finding Din’s hand. “They’re my batch mates. We were decanted together.” He drawled, his voice cracking slightly without an ounce of embarrassment for his hormones.

‘…Oh…’ Din turned his head back to Alpha’s back. ‘…They’re his vode. They’re the one he would have grown with if Jango hadn’t kept him.’

The difference was stark, from Alpha’s power build adult form to Boba’s much younger, smooth faced form and Din squeezed Boba’s hand.

He got a squeeze back, Boba’s eyes focused on Alpha’s back with quiet contemplation.

Aliit = Family

Buir = Dad

Bob’ika = Little Boba

AFrankTalk: if Boba thought that Din was beat up then, he’s going to be very unhappy when he sees him after saving Grogu.  And need a bigger medical kit.

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Landing in the Emperial light cruiser, Boba scowled darkly to himself as he got up and made his way through Slave 1.

Karking Luke Skywalker.

Of course the only Jedi in the known galaxy had come to the cruiser and of course Boba had to get a glimpse of the whelps face. ‘At least it wasn’t karking Han Solo. Not sure I would have held back if it was that karking asshole.’ He thought grumpily at himself as he lowered the ramp, eyeing the remains of the dark troopers laying around.

Bore all the signs of a Jedi having gone ham and Boba had to force himself not to shiver at the sight even as he hoped that the sight of Slave 1 had sent a stab of ghostly fear through the blond.

The Jedi might have been wiped out when he was still young, but he could still remember them and their powers. Even now, he couldn’t help but wonder how the other clones managed to win over them, how the Empire managed to wipe out most of them in just the first few days with the power they had at their disposal.

The thought disappeared however as the elevator opened, Fennec stepping out with a hand on Djarin’s shoulder with the Marshal following behind, the moff on her shoulder and Djarin’s helmet in one hand.

If Fennec hadn’t already commed him and informed him of the child being with Skywalker, he would have been alarmed but as it was…

Boba was already alarmed at the sight of a bared face if down tilted face, Djarin’s hazy eyes still visible as he stumbled along at Fennec’s guidance. “What…” He bit in his questions, simply took Djarin from Fennec and directed Dune to the carbonite chambers as he pulled the other bounty hunter with him.

It was clear he was karked up and Boba knows his ship and equipment better than Fennec, so she would get them out of the light cruiser and away from the damn princess and her Nite owls.

Guiding Djarin to the medbay of Slave 1, Boba furiously kept himself from looking too closely at Djarin’s face.

Not until he had permission.

Djarin and his group of Watch Children were practically religious about the helmets, so why the fuck was the other exposed?

What the hell had happened on the cruiser?

Boba wasn’t even sure he wanted to know as he carefully guided the other onto the medbed, feeling the vibrations of the ship taking of off, Fennec short words over the intercom telling them she was getting them out as Boba pulled a medkit onto the bed beside the man and popped it open for use.

“Djarin, can I look at your face?” Boba growled quietly, squeezing Djarin’s thighs when there wasn’t an answer. “Djarin, you’re clearly hurt but you aren’t wearing your helmet, I swe-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Djarin’s voice was low, raspy and Boba felt his heart break at how lost it sounded. “You can look… the others… saw. I… you can look.” He repeated, voice trailing of.

‘The kark, the kark, the kark…’ Boba swallowed, closed his eyes and then looked up, meeting the hazy brown eyes of the other.

Djarin looked so very lost even as he couldn’t meet Boba’s eyes, either due to the clear concussion he had or because he wasn’t used to it.

So very lost and so very small, his face had blood on it, coating down the side of his neck and into his kute. At the sight Boba felt the air in his lungs freeze even as he was certain there would be more injuries below the beskar andkute. “…What happened?” He whispered, unsure if he meant the look or the injury.

The question had Djarin shoulders hunching, pulling up to his ears. “…I gave Grogu to the Jedi… I… accomplished my task.” Djarinslurred out.

Slowly, carefully Boba reached out to touch his neck, making a questioning noise. The touch had Din’s shoulders slumping though, leaning into it despite the pain it must have brought.

“Fought a dark trooper… it hit my head against the wall. A lot.” Djarinblinked at him before squinting slightly, as if the light was too much.

Three things became very clear to Boba in that moment.

One, Djarin was even more reckless than he had anticipated when he had taken the stormtroopers blasts head on, seeing as he had not informed anyone that he was properly injured and likely not that he had fought one of those karks of robots Boba had seen in the landing bay.

Two, the other was clearly very out of it, having given up his foundling. For all that it had been his tasks for months, it was also clear to Boba that Djarin had more than just cared for a foundling, he had loved the child.

Three, Djarin needed someone to take care of him, because right in this moment, the other was more than just slightly out of it, to the point he wouldn’t even do the basic of caretaking for himself.

This man had carried Boba’s armor out of the desert, had fought a krayt dragon for it, this man had gone to bat for his foundling and when push came to shove, when someone better equipped to train and protect him came along, had done the difficult choice to hand his child over.

So Boba would step in for now, when it was clear Djarin needed someone because this man had been the one to give him his armor back, give his father’s legacy back.

And just maybe, maybe Boba felt a connection to this man and maybe, just maybe he didn’t want to loose it before it had a chance to bloom.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out and slid his fingers through the others matted, sweat and blood slicked hair and drew the others face towards him, settling Djarin’s forehead on Boba’s shoulder.

A low, confused noise escaped Din.

“Shh… I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you heal.” Boba murmured quietly, Din’s gloved hands coming up to grasp at Boba’s breastplate, holding on as Boba slowly prodded at the back of the others head, feeling the broken and swelling skin.

It made him hiss with worry.

The amount of Force the dark troopers must have been able to exert for that to happen with a karking beskar helmet to protect the skull… kark, thank fuck Skywalker had dealt with them.

Reaching down, Boba quickly pulled out a tub of bacta. “This is going to sting and you’re going to need a water shower later Djarin, but we need to get bacta on that.” He rumbled out, feeling the other shift against him, his forehead coming into contact with Boba’s scarred neck.

“Din.” A soft, slurred whisper came to his ears and Boba paused in uncapping the tub, wondering if he had heard what he thought he heard.

Soft breathing was all he heard and swallowing Boba let out a small, questioning hum for clarification, holding his breath as he waited for Djarin to speak again.

“My name… Din Djarin. Its… its yours to use.” Din continued at the prompting, his breath washing across the scarred skin.

Swallowing thickly, Boba wondered if the other realized he had given Bobahis full name. Instead of doing him the discourtesy of questioning him, Boba set the tub down and raised his hand, cupping the back of Din’s head with his palm. “Vor entye, Din.” He whispered.

Without covert or foundling, Boba couldn’t help but wonder who was going to look out for this lost, doe eyed looking man with shockingly soft features behind the smooth metal of his helm.

The answer came to him as he stroked the others filthy hair. ‘Me. I’m the one that’s going to look after him. And woe be the one that harms him on my watch. I’ll smear them to the ground.’ Boba pressed his nose to the filthy hair, not yet daring to press a kiss to it yet needing to give him some affection before he continued taking care of the injuries of the lost one in his arms.

Vor entye = Thank you

I want to know what’s going on with Dooku in Dangerous Galaxy!

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Fixing his clothes first as he was watched by the room, Cody finally nodded to the trooper on the comm terminal, taking a deep breath as he focused on the platform, watching as Count Dooku came into view.

The man looked… calm, at ease, wearing his normal clothes, standing in a relaxed position with sharp eyes focused on Cody. “Ah, Vod’alor Kote. I must commend you on your… revolution. I did not see this coming,” The man smirked at him, seemingly impressed with what he saw. “Neither did I expect you to present an image fit to rule, your last display left a little to be desired.”

Honestly, if it wasn’t for his men, Cody wouldn’t have dressed up but this was good, even if it had taken Cody a while to get dressed as Tracker and Switch had insisted he couldn’t show to the meeting in just armor.

Something about playing the part as Vod’alor and honestly, Cody got it…but he didn’t have to like it.

So, he had waited until the two showed up with an outfit that didn’t make him look like just a common soldier among all his vode or like he was mimicking the Mandalorians. For all that they were based on one, they didn’t want to be Mandalorians, not anymore.

So, Cody had reluctantly dressed in the tight leather pants with matching black boots so polished they shone along with the tight long sleeved shirt. Thankfully though, there was armor to go with it, black greaves with silver designs and a good chestplate with the same black and silver details artistically painted in swirls and geometric designs and to cap it of, a blood red cape with silver fastenings.

It made him look dangerous, his belt containing obvious blasters and viroblades along with the hidden ones filling in that image.

Raising a brow, grateful the others had insisted he dress well, Cody crossed his arms slowly over his chest. “No, I imagine you didn’t… neither did Palpatine.” He drawled, trying to emulate the way he had seen Obi-Wan act when conversing with an enemy that wanted to negotiate.

Because that was what he suspected the other wanted, to negotiate.

Dooku paused, tilting his head before inclining it slowly. “Then you know.” He stated calmly.

“There was a reason we exposed him working with the CIS, we know.” Cody returned a tad dryly.

Honestly, not even half of Palpatine’s crimes had been aired to the public, if they had, there might have been calls for blood in the street for the Senate for not realizing it. And Cody would rather not have people like Bail and Padme in danger for being fooled by a man like Palpatine.

Letting out a low hum, Dooku stared at him, as if indecisive. “…Will the Jedi order’s service to the Senate continue? Will the clones be taking those services?” The man suddenly asked and if Cody had been holding anything at that moment, it would have gotten thrown at him.

As it was, Cody gritted his teeth so hard there was an audible click and he saw Helix wince on the other side of the room.

Dooku however, only cocked his head. “You must understand, I have to ask… there was after all, many reasons for me to leave the order…and not all of them had with disagreements for the future and the state of the order.” He continued, folding his hands in front of him and lacing his fingers.

Cody took a deep breath through his nose before shaking his head hard. “No. Those will not continue and if any of the Senators are discovered to be requesting them… they will be executed.” He stated sharply.

Dooku’s brows rose in surprise and slight disbelief.

“They have been warned. The Jedi council has been told to relay to all of their members to report any Senators that requests their services,” Cody continued darkly. “This has ended and anyone discovered to try and pressure the Jedi… will meet their end.”

Count Dooku gained an odd look, staring at Cody as if he couldn’t quite understand what was going on. “…Shockingly… I believe you, Vod’alor Kote, it is… good to know,” The man said slowly, a tad dazed sounding and Cody mentally sighed as he was reminded that this man was once part of the Jedi order, would have gone through the same thing Obi-Wan had at some point. Hell, Cody had discovered by looking at records that Palpatine himself had requested Dooku many times prior to his departure. “It also makes my job a tad easier.” The Count continued, oblivious to Cody’s knowledge and thoughts.

Rocking on his heels, Cody frowned slightly. “Your job?” He queried, mentally wishing for a large cup of caff, the kind with frothy blue milk in it and caramel syrup that Obi-Wan had given him on late night report work.

“Several leading members of the CIS wishes to speak with the new leadership of the Republic,” Dooku waved a hand. “They see the chance for more… equitable treatment now than before under new leadership.” He explained steadily, as if he moments before hadn’t been indicating the generational long abuse of the entire Jedi order, himself included.

This should surprise Cody but somehow… it didn’t.

Dooku had always been a calculated man in public from what Cody could tell, so that he could shuttle his emotions… well, it made sense.

But the CIS leadership wanting to talk to Cody… now there was a surprise.

Frowning faintly, he nodded slowly. “I see…” In a way, it made sense, new leadership, new chances after all and the CIS wanted equality for the outer and mid rim planets from the start. Unconsciously, Cody’s hand rose to rub his chin, Dooku watching him with curious eyes as the trooper, the leader in front of him, mimicked the gesture of his grandpadawan. If he had watched Dooku instead of thoughtfully staring slightly down, he would have seen the older man’s lips twitch in a faint smile at the gesture.

“I feel it fair to warn you, Vod’alor,” Dooku suddenly interrupted the others thought process, Cody’s head jerking up to look at him. “Not all wish to, they will continue to fight and Grievous… he listens to no one. He wants to maim and he still wants to bring down Jedi.” Count Dooku stated seroiusly.

Okay, that did not surprise him but… “Why are you informing us?” Cody frowned at him.

Holding out his hands as if in surrender, Count Dooku gracefully shrugged. “To show my sincerity with this offer. I am merely the messenger for the other planets that do wish to speak with you. And Grievous is a lose canon… I worry for what he might do to certain… members of my lineage.” The words were uttered steadily in a cold tone, as if unconcerned.

But Cody got it.

Obi-Wan.

Grievous always tried to murder Obi-Wan and the realization hit deep and hard as he stared at Dooku. “…You do realize that if any of the Senators of the CIS were involved wi-”

“If you think I let them live long,” Cody was interrupted, Dooku’s lips twisting. “Then you’re more foolish than even Skywalker.” He drawled arrogantly, cocking his head.

For a moment, Cody wondered how much of that arrogance was a cover, a protection from the old hurts of the past.

Then he discarded the thought and nodded slowly. “I did notice there was some… missing members.” He smirked.

Cody got a smirk in return, Count Dooku shrugging slightly. “…They shouldn’t have touched the Order.” Was all Dooku said. The unsaid ‘they shouldn’t have touched my linage.’ Was in there somewhere.

To that, Cody had nothing to say. The two leaders of each factions continuing to make arrangement for later discussions, involving the leaders of the planets under the CIS that wished to speak.

Oh I have SERIOUSLY over-estimated my reading skills lately, haha: It’s taken me THIS long to refamiliarize myself with DistantPain! But, augh, it’s gotten EVEN BETTER!! Jango is back, and he’s in trouble with Obi! Obi-Wan is still terrifying, and I LOVE the way that Hondo and his allies respect him with well-placed fear! I can’t wait to see if they have further stories to tell! And oh do I LONG for Obi to have a heart-wrenching heart-to-heart with Ahsoka, maybe some flashbacks? Augh, so good!

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“If you think you’re special child, then you’ve overestimated how my thoughts work and what kind of past I have,” Obi-Wan stated casually as he continued slowly grooming Cotton’s feathers, smirking wryly at the startled squeak behind him along with the glowering emotions of hurt anger in the Force. “I react the same to every underage padawan I see in this war. You’re not unique in that regard.” He simply continued.

As long as he didn’t look at the togruta, he didn’t have to come face to face with her youth and his own traumas.

There was a rustle behind him, a shift and then the soft steps of a predator.

Obi-Wan was very familiar with how all carnivore species moved, not that many seemed to realize that people like zabraks and togrutas moved differently compared to for example twi’leks as herbivores or even humans as omnivores.

Ahsoka Tano had her predator steps, honed as most carnivore Jedi were, especially now in these battles.

“So you don’t… don’t hate me?” She questioned uncertainly from behind.

Letting out a small hum as he tugged loose a damaged feather, gently rubbing the area with a soothing coo to Cotton as she thumped her tail on the ground, Obi-Wan shook his head. “I have no particular emotions towards you padawan Tano. If anything, they lean towards positive as you’re quite skilled already and show the ability to adapt and learn. I don’t hold the master against the padawan.” He stated a tad more dryly.

Anakin Skywalker was many things, but at least he was a good master, his training of Ahsoka Tano wasn’t in question at all. Just his personal character.

Honestly, Obi-Wan never intended for Tano to feel slighted by him and maybe he felt a tad guilty about that but he was honest when he said that she was not the padawan he reacted to this way. His ptsd from Melida/Daan had an ugly way of showing itself and there was a very good reason he did not have a padawan.

Hell, the Halls had even strictly forbidden the council to send him one, citing his ptsd, so they couldn’t pull a Skywalker on Obi-Wan at least.

Tano shuffled a bit behind him, letting out a surprised noise when Cotton turned her head and started grooming Obi-Wan’s hair.

Used to it, Obi-Wan simply allowed the dragon to tug his hair into a mess as it was moved out of his mohawk and moved to the mane around his friend’s neck instead, pulling out the grooming brush to start working the dirt out and the oil in, keeping the fur a gleaming healthy shine. “…You really don’t like Sky-Master Anakin, do you.” She stated more than asked, uncertain but clearly she had seen enough to make some guesses.

Pausing, Cotton’s beady eyes on him, Obi-Wan mulled over that before shrugging. “Its not quite that easy. I consider him a hypocrite of the worst sort, who, by the friendship to the Chancellor, is often given more leeway than many other Jedi are ever allowed. His marriage to Senator Amidala also puts the entire Order and the Senator herself in a very delicate position, for when it is found out, things will go wrong.” He pursed his lips tightly.

There was also the Tuskens.

Oh, Obi-Wan wasn’t stupid.

He wasn’t one of the temple’s shadows but he was the only one to encounter a Sith in a millennium. When he had gone down for emergency shuttle repairs on Tatooine, he hadn’t expected what he had found…

But he had recognized the Force signature, the bodies turning cold with saber marks and the coldness of the Force left behind. The flashes of rage and pain leaving behind an imprint of coldness in the desert.

If it hadn’t been for the war breaking out only days later, Obi-Wan would have made a lot more fuss of it.

A genocide of an entire tribe.

He pursed his lips at the memory before sighing and shaking his head. “He’ll get us all in trouble, sooner or later. All we can do is limit the fallout of his selfish decisions.” Obi-Wan stated a tad bitterly, rubbing Cotton’s muzzle when the dragon let out a low rumbling noise and pressed her face into his shoulder, Tano behind him shifting in nervous agitation and an undercurrent of desire to defend her Master.

Yikes, is Din on any kind of medication? Vitamins? With a stomach like that, you’re suppose to be taking multivitamines at least, cause your body is taking up less food, so there’s less of what you need like iron and calsium.

Posted on av swmoddy

“Medication?” Din mumbled, shifting slightly on Boba’s couch, enough so he could look at the other. Earlier, Din had a dizzy spell and when he had almost fainted in full armor, Boba had sent everyone out of the throne room and pulled Din, Fennec and Paz to his office.

Fennec had stayed long enough to listen to Boba’s marching orders, assure herself that Din was fine and then she had set of with a harsh look in her eyes.

In the meantime, Boba had settled his arse in front of the terminal and Paz had simply settled on the couch and dragged Din down with him, carefully helping his dizzy covert member out of his armor, stacking the pile carefully on the caff table stationed in front of the L shaped sectional couch.

Then he had removed his own thigh armor.

Honestly, Din felt a bit stupid for not realizing what Paz was up to until his head was laying on the others lap, Paz slowly rubbing at his back and side with gloveless hands.

It had been tense at first, the sensation of being touched always feeling so startling but seconds after, he relaxed into it, the sensation of warm, comforting hands making him melt into the couch and Paz lap despite feeling a tad stupid wearing only his helmet.

He was actually drowsing when Boba spoke.

The King of Tatooine nodded slowly, frowning slightly at the terminal before looking at Din. “Technically, vitamins but yes, also medication. I noticed you have issues eating if something too spicy or greasy gets put in front of you. Acid reflux being common then but even on days you take it easy, you seem to have it a lot, right?” He raised his brows, corners of his mouth turned down in displeasure.

Din wanted to whine at the sight, he hated disappointing Boba and he knew the other was disappointed that Din hadn’t told him this himself. “I mean… yeah, I just… I didn’t want to be a-”

“If you call yourself a burden, I will literally bury you in sand,” Boba threatened with a small growl and Paz squeezed Din’s neck in slight warning, likely agreeing with Boba’s assessment. Then the man sighed deeply. “Din, we want to help you, but to help you, we need to know when something is wrong.” Boba stated more calmly.

Din knew the other two felt responsible for Din’s stomach issues, since they sat the bacta that severed his stomach to pieces.

But they had saved his life, he couldn’t see it that way, as blame.

But guilt never was logical, that much even Din could agree with.

So he sighed and nodded slowly. “Okay so… there are medications that help?” He stated a tad uncertainly, wondering why Boba had also mentioned vitamins. Was he suppose to take that too?

Jutting his head towards the terminal, Boba leaned back in his chair. “According to the holonet on those cosmetic places on the core elite, those that take gastric procedures for reasons often end up taking a drug called pantoprazol, which reduces the acids in their stomach. It helps you basically be able to eat mostly a normal diet.” He explained carefully.

Blinking, Din sat up at that. “A… normal?” He carefully but hopefully voiced. “Normal by core standards or…” Din licked his dry lips.

Tapping his fingers on the desk, Boba shrugged. “Not wholly sure here but what I can dig up seems to indicate that there are some pretty spicy meals you can eat while taking this drug. And that sometimes your body has to go through a first time dumping syndrome, whatever that is, for it to get used to certain dishes.” He glanced at the terminal screen, eyes flickering over the text before nodding, as if to confirm what he just said.

Din swallowed thickly at that, the idea of being able to eat tiingilar without feeling like crap making his mouth watering. “…Okay, where do we get that? The pantos thing?” Din rasped out, leaning into Paz hand when it came up to squeeze his shoulder.

Boba just waved his hand. “I’ll have it shipped in, get Russal to ensure its safe. But another thing is that you need vitamins Din,” Boba stared at him. “You fainted today and the blood sample I sent Russal says your anemic and you are in severe deficiency of several key vitamins. Its why you’re having dizzy spells and today you almost fainted. I imagine you’re having other symptoms of those vitamin deficiency that you just haven’t told us.” He growled slightly.

Din hunched in before turning and hiding in Paz, letting out a small, unhappy whine when he heard Boba sigh loudly. “You’ll be going onto both the pantoprazol and the vitamins as soon as we get it Din, this isn’t punishment but please, we can’t stand to see you like this.” Boba’s voice was gentle but Din still felt the need to hide as he clenched his burning eyes shut.

“It will be alright verd’ika. We’ll help you. You just have to let us help…” Paz murmured, his arms wrapped tightly around Din’s body. “Just… please let us help Din.” He tacked on, even through the modulator his voice sounded a tad desperate.

Din wished he could take of his helmet, press his face to Paz chest or neck and just disappear for a bit.

Still, he nodded, the metal scraping against each other, not wanting to disappoint his friends.

Verd’ika = Little soldier

Can we see what happens next in SecretWeCarry? Do the clones ever figure out the prisoners responsible?

Posted on av swmoddy

Letting out a deep sigh as he eyed the report Fox had sent him, Cody rubbed at his stubbled jaw. He finally had the name of the prisoners that had jumped ‘Hardeen’ in the showers, but the only thing was…

Two of them were already dead, had been killed in a riot in the prison and could not be touched much to Cody’s consternation.

The other three involved however were still alive and still in prison, though there had been a few attempted escapes on the three’s attempt, enough to bring them up to the high security levels to prevent them from getting out.

After what had happened to ‘Hardeen’, Fox had also transferred more guards to keep an eye on them and had isolated them from the general population.

Violent prisoners such as these couldn’t be allowed among the general population after all.

‘Five people, five people jumped and assaulted my General…’ Cody stared at the images, two humans and three aliens. ‘He would have tried to fight them but without his Force powers against an overwhelming number…’ Cody’s wanted to put his fist in their face that moment.

The three survivors were one human, one zabrak and a twi’lek and all of them had a long rep, the human actually already had rape on his record and the longer Cody stared at their mugshots, the more his stomach curled with disgust.

‘…Death is too good for them.’ His lips pulled into a snarl before he let out a deep breath, sitting back in the chair of his office. It was practically a small storage but it was okay enough to do the requisition and other paperwork a commander had to fill in for the GAR without input.

The other times he would work with Obi-Wan in his quarters, for things the other had to sign of on and such. Obi-Wan’s office wasn’t much larger but the desk was good to sit at and Obi-Wan had a water boiler to make tea in his office.

He often actually made enough hot water so Cody could have caff, having a jar of instant caff stashed with his tea. It never failed to warm Cody and he suddenly wanted to go see his General.

‘But Obi-Wan is resting and that’s how its going to stay, resting, recovering.’ Cody reminded himself sternly.

Obi-Wan was actually doing somewhat better these days, despite the loss of the fetus and the attack by the CIS. If Cody was to take a guess, the constant attention from not only the medics but also General Skywalker was doing him a galaxy of good.

Along with the troopers own brand of care.

Helix, as the CMO, had sent out a priority message for most of the higher level command to read, to arrange for someone to visit Obi-Wan for an hour every five hour throughout the day cycle and evening cycle, to keep him occupied if he needed conversation.

Always a different clone, always for different reasons.

Obi-Wan needed human interaction and he had always been happy to speak with his troopers since the get go, happy to learn what he could of the troopers unique sign language or about the things they learned, even if some of it made him sad. Or he liked to teach them the things he knew.

He knew that both Waxer and Boil visited him and got language lessons, their visits often lasting longer than the hour the medics had asked for.

No one had the heart to send them away though and when Obi-Wan showed signs of tiredness, the two would make themselves scarce with believable white lies.

Cody too visited for more than the required hour, sometimes not talking at all and simply sitting at Obi-Wan’s side, holding his hand as the two read novels from a pad each. Sometimes that was all Obi-Wan needed, human contact but not a lot of talking.

After everything Obi-Wan had gone through, he needed positive, reinforced contact.

That was why Cody often held the others hand or let Obi-Wan rest his head on his shoulder.

‘But he has to rest now, Band-aid sent out a ship wide message about him being asleep.’ Cody reminded himself, focusing back on the mugshots, narrowing his eyes faintly.

Fox had promised to keep them alive… for now.

‘Your days are numbered… just you wait. You live for now.’ Cody bared his teeth in vicious smile, knowing the prisoners days were numbered.

He’d make SURE of that.

I love your Sightlessbird series! There isn’t enough master!ani padawan!obi fics around! any chance for another installment??

Posted on av swmoddy

Pulling his padawan’s boots of off his feet, Anakin couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him sleeping so deeply that he didn’t even twitch. The kid had been shacking up with whatever trooper caught his fancy from the 501st for the last few days, sparring and getting into competitions to the point he almost fell asleep in his food.

And when they were busy, he went for any trooper that was of duty.

To be frank, Anakin was rather certain that Obi-Wan had charmed at least half the ‘adult’ clones and was friends with the ‘child’ clones, all of them finding common ground, with the war, being raised able to fight, with high expectations.

It was amazing almost, but Obi-Wan hadn’t been having a single nightmare or vision since he arrived on Kamino, generally too tired out for either as he extended the Force to ‘see’ or to further his skills when he was meditating or sparring with Anakin.

Seeing how Obi-Wan had been withdrawn and having nightmares prior due to the murder attempt, Anakin was almost ready to get down on his knees and kiss the ground the troopers walked on.

Almost.

But for now, he settled on carefully getting Obi-Wan out of the most restraining or uncomfortable of his clothes.

Boots, socks, belt, sash, hair tie and outer tunic, leaving the boy in his leggings and sleeveless turtleneck.

Still no twitch came, despite Anakin touching, lifting and tugging lightly to get him undressed enough to be comfortable.

That done, he settled the blankets over the boy, stroking his hair gently out of his face. “…Sleep well padawan, dream of chocolate tarts and cups of tea.” He teased gently before getting onto his feet and turning the lights off with a wave, stepping out into the apartment the longnecks had given him and Obi-Wan.

Pausing at the name he had used for the kaminoans, Anakin wryly pulled at his own curls. ‘I’ve been spending too much time with the troopers.’ He thought amusedly before grunting and quickly silencing his comms when they started chirping.

Behind him, the door still open, he could hear Obi-Wan shift slightly before settling again, Anakin quickly reaching into their bond and sending a soothing, calmness down it, pressing Obi-Wan back down into a deep sleep.

It worked and Anakin closed the door tightly, breathing out and checking who the hell was calling him.

‘…Padme.’ Anakin stared at the number then sighed deeply, rubbing at his face with his mech hand as the comms continued vibrating in his flesh hand.

Since last seeing her in the Rotunda, Padme had upped her calling and at this point, Anakin was getting real tired of the constant calls if he was honest, even as he understood why.

After all, they were married still.

He still loved her.

Things were just so… damn difficult.

Finally, Anakin let out a deep sigh and answered his comm instead of dismissing as he had the last several weeks. “…Hello Padme.” He murmured as she flickered into view, settling down on the couch as her blue shape peered back at him, wearing what was clearly Senate robes, her hair down.

She must have come from the Senate not long ago, having pulled her hair out of a do but not removed her dress.

“Hello Anakin…” She stared at him, eyes flickering over his face almost desperately.

‘She missed me.’ Anakin swallowed thickly.

He had missed her too.

But he had realized things while he was away from his wife, things he… wasn’t sure how to feel about. Things that were impacting the already falling apart marriage to the woman he loved.

Anakin wasn’t sure, but there was a heaviness in his chest as the two stared at each other, a realization he wondered if Padme already knew.

‘We never should have married that young…’

Distant pain- obiwan wishing for mand’alor fett and now he sees jango alive– is he going to help make mand’alor fett a reality? Or an alternative option for the clones? I love your writing!!

Posted on av swmoddy

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.

Gar eyayah = your echos

Severed stomach: Din will learn about his stomach now, won’t he?

Posted on av swmoddy

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.

Beroya = bounty hunter

Verd = soldier

Verd’ika = little soldier

Vor entye  = Thank you

Is there anything new in #dangerous Galaxy. Hopefully the Troopers are just about ready to take out the rest of the Senate. Thank you for writing.

Posted on av swmoddy

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!*