Chapter Text
Qui-Gon rubbed the pad of his thumb against his index finger, hands folded behind his back. He remembered a certain level of this, waking and sleeping at hours dictated by a clock rather than a sun or moon, but rarely did he spend so much time in a spaceship, without light or dark to guide him. It still felt odd that these fluorescent lights didn’t move like a sun, dimming and brightening as the sky did on Coruscant. Even if the length of days changed with each new planet he stepped foot on, there was always comfort in knowing that the light wasn’t perpetual, that it would wain eventually. Not here. It was early, judging by the clocks, though the halls looked no different than they had the previous night as he walked to his chamber. At least this room—the briefing room—was dark, as to allow the holograms to glow that much brighter. Qui-Gon kept tracing his fingertip along his thumb, eyes glancing between faces bathed in blue, all surrounding the circular table. Anakin, Obi-Wan, and three clones—one blue, one yellow, and one fizzing through the hologram.
“We’ll transfer all who are unable to fight to the Negotiator,” Obi-Wan said to the clone over the hologram. “Bring anyone who can fight onto the Resolute. Follow the directions already loaded into the navigation system and you shouldn’t run into any trouble, Commander Appo.”
The hologram nodded, barking out a curt ‘yessir’ before fizzling away. Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan’s gaze, still on the planet’s projection. His old padawan’s finger drummed, not gently, yet not exactly anxiously. Uneasily, perhaps. Warily.
The clone in yellow armour spoke: “Master Koon sent out the planets details earlier today. He believes the temple is on the neutral planet Nairousa.” A graphic appeared beside that of the planet—an article or essay of sorts, detailing the Republic’s knowledge of the planet. “We—”
“We should speak to their leader,” Obi-Wan said, straightening up, eyes not leaving the hologram, scanning. “See if we can get their permission to—”
“Even though they’re neutral, sir,” the clone continued, his voice taking on an edge. “They’re not peaceful. The last time the Republic attempted contact, we were forced out with a violent warning to leave them be. They probably treat the Separatists similarly.”
“Even so,” Obi-Wan said, almost dismissively, “We must still do the decant thing, which is to reach out. If they still are uncooperative, then we’ll take a stealthier approach. Have we pinpointed the temple's coordinates?”
The clone hesitated—the other one, in blue, nodded. “Yes.” a little red dot appeared on the holomap. “We don’t have access to the same scanning technology as the Separatists, but there are other ways of finding out this sort of thing. The Nairousans never build structures outside of their cities. Using our geographical scanners, we found an unnatural stone structure. There is only one on the planet, and it’s here.”
Obi-Wan gestured to the holomap—Qui-Gon took the opportunity to take in Anakin, who was watching his master from the side, arms crossed, eyes dark. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this appears to be a city,” his hand moves to a clump of darkened, elevated terrain, on top of which sat the red dot, “And this is a mountain. The other side seems to be uninhabited. If we can make camp there, we can hike up to the temple and avoid detection from the city. We’ll be in and out and the Nairousians won’t even know we came.”
Anakin arched a brow. “What if they have sensors? A defense system? Watchtowers? What if they take it as a sign of betrayal? That we’re intentionally deceiving them?” It was his turn to lean forward. “I say we go in strong. We don’t bully or attack, but we make our presence known and establish our intentions.”
Obi-Wan, for the first time, glanced away from the holomap. “From what we know about the Nairousians, their technology is primitive. Civilized, yet unadvanced,” He said. “It’s doubtful they have a detection system over rural or uninhabited areas, and as far as we know, they don’t have starship or flight technologies. Now, watchtowers,” Obi-Wan settled back, stroking his beard. “Yes, those may prove problematic. But if we take small ships down, or perhaps land in a more rural area, we’ll be able to avoid being spotted.” Obi-Wan sighed, bringing his hand away from his beard. “The baseline is, we’ve had no contact with the Nairousians for so long that they could have any sort of technology. No matter what we do—whether we go in guns blazing or not—we’ll be going in blind. It’s safer, and less provoking, if we attempt stealth.”
“But if they’re already suspicious, then why try to go behind their backs?” Anakin said sharply. Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan, who clearly wasn’t expecting there to still be room for discussion. “What if they are more advanced, and they detect us, and we’re jumped? Our men are safer if we go in strong and stop any kind of violence before it can happen.”
“But, Anakin—” Obi-Wan practically laughed, stepping towards Anakin. There was no humour in this laugh—Qui-Gon knew it all too well. It was the laugh of someone entertaining the whimsy of a child, and Qui-Gon suspected the habit of laughing like that was something his old padawan wasn’t aware he had. “That would ruin any chance of peaceful interaction.”
“But it would ensure our control over the situation.”
Qui-Gon still watched quietly, hands folded behind him. Anakin’s words from last night stuck with him—He had noticed it, Obi-Wan’s judgemental nature, but at the same time he recognized that none of it was directed at Anakin, not really. Qui-Gon stood by his words. He also noticed that Anakin, despite their conversation last night, didn’t seem to be perceiving Obi-Wan’s attitude in any other way than disappointed.
Obi-Wan tried again, calmer, “That would be counterintuitive.” Then, to one of the clones, “Once we get within range, see if you can secure a transmission with Nairousa’s president.” He glanced back at Anakin. “You and I will meet with her. If nothing comes of it, we’ll take a handful of transports and set up camp on the other side of the mountain range.” Anakin made to open his mouth, but Obi-Wan was talking again, crossing his arms and glancing from the floor to his padawan. “How is Ahsoka? Better, I hope. Will she be joining us, or going with the Negotiator?”
“She’s better,” Anakin said defensively. “And she’s coming with us.”
“Good,” said Obi-Wan. He sucked in a breath, which confirmed it to Qui-Gon: he wasn’t imagining things. The tension in the air, thick in the force, was real. “Any other news?” He asked the room. At no response, Obi-Wan nodded to himself, and left with a flourish of his cloak. Qui-Gon gave Anakin a quiet smile—a smile that said acknowledgment, understanding, empathy. Then he followed his padawan out into the hall, once again squinting at the fluorescent lights.
“I never will get used to it,” Qui-Gon tried for levity, stopping Obi-Wan in his tracks. He waited until his old padawan’s shoulders drooped, and the Jedi turned, wearily asking what he meant. “Time,” Qui-Gon explained. “It’s strange when there’s nothing guiding it but programs and numbers.”
A small, almost undetectable frown played at his lips. “Can I help you, Master?”
Qui-Gon stared at the scuffed floor. Patience was something he valued greatly. At the same time, he knew that sometimes patience did harm—sometimes, the last thing someone needed was the permission to stay in negativity, the permission to indulge temptations they didn’t even realize they had. And if his conversation with Anakin last night had shown Qui-Gon anything, it was that things had been festering for far too long. Some change only happens after a push.
“I think we should talk,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan stared at him, still. Finally, he clasped his hands together, and his frown grew.
“I disagree,” Obi-Wan’s voice was steady, lacking emotion or sway. “I think we have talked plenty, Master. I think I have nothing more to say. Or, rather, what I have to say would be unwise to give voice to.” He closed his mouth, jaw tense. “Perhaps, until we arrive on Coruscant, you can focus on your meditations. After all, this war isn’t yours to fight.”
Qui-Gon’s hands tightened together. How many times had he said it? How many times, since waking up on Naboo, did he have to convince Obi-Wan that he wasn’t some kind of—Qui-Gon found himself taking a slow breath, dispelling all these things into the Force. From his point of view, things had only gone downhill after his death—there was a rift between his padawans, clear as ever, a rift which was Qui-Gon’s duty to fix.
“Then, perhaps,” Qui-Gon stepped forward, opening one of his arms. It was more a gesture of offering than anticipation. Obi-Wan turned again, eyes darting from Qui-Gon’s hand to face and hand again. “We can talk about other things. My previous offer is still on the table.”
“Talk about other things?” There it was again, that laugh, before Obi-Wan pulled the Force over him, engulfing the tinge of something that he’d begun to lose his tight grip on. “I’m sorry, Master, but—”
“Please, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon felt himself soften. “Humour an old man.”
A look passed over Obi-Wan’s eyes, a look which nearly made Qui-Gon give up and withdraw. It was a look he’d never seen in Obi-Wan while the man was his padawan, yet had received more times than he could count in the past few days. It was obvious that this war had not been easy on Obi-Wan, obvious in the sluggishness of his movements, the slowness as he moved his face, turning his attention from one thing to another. It had begun to show in his grasp on the Force, the security and confidence with which he used the Force. And then something changed—perhaps the sleep had helped, though the bags under his padawan’s eyes begged to differ. Or maybe he’d had a late-night conversation of his own, similar to the one Qui-Gon had with Anakin. Whatever the reason, Obi-Wan relented and brought up a hand, rubbing his eyes.
“Talk about what?”
“Anything,” Qui-Gon heard himself say. “Cities. Planets. Historical discoveries I’ve missed. Tell me about this new world.”
Obi-Wan paused. “And then you will try, once again, to—”
Qui-Gon found himself practicing patience. “Obi-Wan, you—”
“We will talk, Master Jinn.” Obi-Wan held up a hand, taking a step away. “On Coruscant. After. But for now, with all that’s going on, I believe it may be best to take things slowly.”
The response was steadier, calmer, than the words Obi-Wan usually threw at him as of late. Despite his exhaustion and confliction, Qui-Gon determined, this choice was one of the few made while his padawan was in stable mind. It was because of that Qui-Gon found himself relenting, stepping back.
“Patience,” he said, “Of course. You remain much wiser than I, Master Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan nodded, almost as if he hadn’t really heard Qui-Gon’s words. “Thank you, Master Jinn. I shall…” Qui-Gon glanced over his shoulder—one of the clones, the one with yellow markings on his armor, had stepped from the room, staring into a datapad. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “I shall see you, Master Jinn.”
With that, Obi-Wan turned, continuing down the hall with haste. Qui-Gon was left, absently wringing his hands. The fluorescents buzzed softly overhead. Obi-Wan’s footsteps dimmed, getting further and further away.
Qui-Gon breathed in, flooding the knot in his stomach with air. Obi-Wan just needed time, that much was clear, but his discussion with Anakin last night had shown that, perhaps, time would only do Anakin harm. Patience, Qui-Gon reminded himself, exhaling. Patience.
- - | - -
Cody turned, leaving Qui-Gon alone in the hall, pretending he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Qui-Gon was still trying to get through to General Kenobi, and General Kenobi was still pretending. At least it hadn’t spiraled into an argument this time.
Not for the first time since his conversation with Rex, he found his mind returning to their discussion. It’s a shame, how loopy he’d felt at the time because now, his mind being much clearer than it was before, Cody found the memory fuzzy. He remembered bits and pieces, he remembered what Rex said about Kadavo, but it was hard to pinpoint exacts, details.
Cody winced as he rounded a corner, briefly stopping to touch his side. He wasn’t sure if sleeping has made it better or worse. On one hand, the sharpness was duller, and he hadn’t had to take as many pain meds as yesterday. On the other, the pain was more constant. The occasional jolts of hot, fiery pain, were replaced by a constant ache, just barely bearable, made worse as he walked—he had to limp slightly, keeping his weight away from his bad side.
Pulling his chin up and giving his head a small shake, Cody continued: first stop was the bridge, to let the officers know to be on the lookout for an open channel to Nairousa. Then, Cody found himself taking the familiar route to the medbay. The last thing he wanted to do was have another run in with Funny. But considering the quickly-approaching mission to Nairousa, Cody thought the three of them—Funny, Rex, and himself—ought to have a conversation. He’d mentioned it to Rex after the meeting (while General Kenobi and Qui-Gon had slipped into the hall), and expected the Captain to be waiting for him in the medbay. It was just as he expected—the stench of sanitization and blood tinted the air as Cody stepped into the medbay, still crowded. He beelined for Funny’s ‘office.’ Somewhere in the confusion after Kaiscen, Kix and Funny had ended up on the wrong ships. So, Funny had taken coop in Kix’s office, and Kix in Funny’s. Cody found Rex already inside, who gave him a nod.
“Commander.”
“Rex.” Cody settled beside the door, glancing around the room. Funny wasn’t there yet, but one of the boxes in the corner was open, and Cody caught the familiar glint of yellow-painted armour. He found a smile playing at his lips. He turned to Rex again, clearing his throat. “How are you feeling?”
It was a broad, open-ended question. Rex could answer it any way he liked.
“‘Lot better,” Rex said, scratching the back of his head. “Clearer. Still don’t remember what I saw at the temple, but I feel better.” Rex glanced at Cody’s side. “You?”
“Better,” Cody repeated. “Is Funny…”
“He’s coming,” Rex said, “Finishing up in surgery.”
Cody brought his eyes to the door. “How’s Ahsoka feeling?”
“A lot better,” Rex said with a smile. “She’s down in the training hall, actually, sparring with a brother. Seems to have lots of energy. Hard to believe she…” Rex hesitated. “Hard to believe.”
Cody felt himself nod. Part of him wanted to tell Rex about his discussion with Ahsoka, but a larger, smarter part told him not to. Ahsoka hadn’t told Rex about her misgivings towards Anakin for a reason. They were her feelings to work through. Cody was about to open his mouth, about to say something about how he couldn’t wait for all this to be over, but the door swooshed open and Funny strode in, slipping off his lab coat, which had new, dark stains down the front. At first, his eyes were on Rex. When he noticed Cody, he paused for a moment, then pulled on a smile.
“Oh. You’re both here.” He bungled his coat into a ball and tossed it to the side. “What’s this about? Have bad news?” he gestured between them with a pen. “Because you both look grim. Then again, you always look grim, so—”
“Everyone’s going to Nairousa, to another temple.”
“What? Another one?” Funny paused, staring at Cody, a chuckle escaping. “I think that’s a really, really bad idea.”
“So do I.” Cody glanced at Rex. “We. But if they say we’re going, we’re going.”
“Okayyy…” Funny slumped into his chair. Cody saw it, the hesitance whenever he met Cody’s eyes, like he was expecting something to happen that never did. He was seeming to settle. “So… how come you two are in my office, then, if there’s nothing we can do about it?”
Rex stepped towards the desk, arching his brows. “‘Cause those di’kuts are our responsibilities. And yours, especially, as CMO. Whatever happens out there—because something will happen—we’ve gotta prepare for.”
“Our General’s come first,” Cody said, holding their gazes. “We need to be on the same page about this. Our Generals, then the men, then the mission, then us.”
Funny blinked, smile flickering. “Yeah. Okay. Of course.”
“Which means you’re not pulling any banthashit, Funny,” Cody hissed. There it was, the look in his eyes, some kind of mix between resignation, surprise, and embarrassment. “If none of this kriff was going on with Jinn and Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, you’d’ve been in the brig a week ago. We have no time to entertain whatever’s going on with you, so if Rex or I even think that you might—”
Funny held up his hands, laughing. “Kriff, okay, okay, Commander, I get it. And, for the record, I agree! Whatever happens,” he repeated, “the Jedi come first. That is basically my entire job, you know.”
Cody sighed, doing his best to do what General Kenobi always said he did. Ground himself, release his feelings into the Force. It was damn hard. Rex, too, pulled in a breath, looking away from Cody for the first time since Funny entered. “We keep an eye on our Generals, on Jinn, and we don’t let that temple mess with us again. We know what to expect this time, so there are no excuses to...” to break? To let it get to you? “No matter what we see, we keep it together.”
“Yes, okay, understood,” Funny said again, almost sinking in his chair, but his smile was still broad. He was looking at Cody again, still fiddling with his pen. “How’s the wound, Commander?”
“Fine.” Cody felt his teeth clench. Maybe it was the ache in his side, maybe the lack of any restful sleep, or maybe he was just downright losing it, but Cody was unable to stop himself from spitting out the words: “Once we get to Coruscant, after all this is over, we’re going to launch an investigation. Don’t think that we don’t know you lied, okay? We—”
“Hey.” Rex gave a look that made Cody remember his rank. He cleared his throat and nodded, rubbing his eyes. Rex took the opportunity to point at the box in the corner. “When’d you find the time to do all that?”
Funny didn’t seem to understand at first. Then it dawned on him, and he shrugged, smile loosening. “Oh. Well, you know, I’ve never been in a regiment this long. Never, uh, had the opportunity to paint my armour or anything.” He shrugged again. “I made the time.”
Not for the first time, Cody found himself at an impasse. Anger, sympathy, distrust, and pity all battled for providence. Maybe it was still the pain medication making him fuzzy, or maybe he needed more sleep, or maybe… Cody sighed, continuing to rub his eyes.
What he wanted was a break.
“Send anyone unable to fight to the Negotiator. Kix will deal with them there,” said Rex. “Anyone good enough to carry a blaster is coming with us.”
Funny nodded, sinking into his chair, steepling his fingers. He seemed to think for a long time before nodding, clearing his throat, and sitting up. “Yes, Sir. And, er, for the record,” he glanced at Cody. “I’m not a traitor. And,” he continued before Cody could interrupt, “In my medical opinion, I’d send you, General Kenobi, and Commander Tano on the first ship back to Coruscant.” He held up his hands. “Just letting you know, so that when someone gets hurt, it’s not on me.”
Anger, sympathy, distrust, pity, respect, brotherhood. Cody stared at the door, where the scent of blood wafted in from.
“Let me know when everyone’s where they should be. And make sure you’re ready for anything that temple, that planet, throws at us.” Cody heard himself say. “I have a bad feeling about all this.”
- - | - -
The blue hologram hissed and crackled, worse than usual. Just as they’d expected, the Nairousan’s didn’t have as advanced technologies as that of the Republic’s cruisers. Obi-Wan watched the President, a tall woman named Hajeh Less, fiddle with her display, audio crackling in and out. Obi-Wan’s hands gripped tightly behind his back, thumb digging into his palm, the rest of him still. Hajeh Less was tall for a Nairousan, a touch larger than Anakin’s height. Sleek fur ran with the curves and points of her long face, and her eyes were squint and thin, glossy pupils flickering from dashboard to the Jedi and back again. She moved sharply, with intention. It contrasted with her refined, frilly suit, which gave her an air of class and nobility rather than elected-government-official. Obi-Wan found that rather little of him was paying attention to the President. Instead, his eyes had softened through the hologram, focusing on the wall opposite.
Qui-Gon, again, offered to talk. And again, Obi-Wan had shot him down.
He felt his eyelids drift shut. A good Jedi would have accepted Qui-Gon’s offer, attempted to let go of these feelings. A good Jedi would have been honest, a good Jedi would have collected himself, breathed, surrendered to the Force.
And what had Obi-Wan done if not indulged? But every time he’d spoken with Qui-Gon before, the conversation had ended in argument, guilt, shame, the realization that Obi-Wan was in the wrong, that he was failing, that he had failed. The idea of doing it again, continuing this cycle of pain and—and it just seemed… he just couldn’t do it.
A bad Jedi, and a coward, too.
“Hello,” Hajeh Less said, backing away until her hologram showed her full frilly suit. Her Basic was broken, but her accent was easily understandable. “Apology for the delay.”
“It’s quite alright,” Obi-Wan pulled on a smile, speaking slowly. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, this is Anakin Skywalker. Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, my Lady, we—”
“Please, no continue,” she said curtly, calmly, eyes narrowing. Obi-Wan closed his mouth, exchanging a glance with Anakin, who’d barely said a word to him all day. “We no do want contact. We appreciate be left alone, Kenobi, Skywalker. No Jedi come to Nairousa, no Republic, no war. Yes?”
Obi-Wan exhaled. “Yes, of course, my Lady, however—”
“We don’t want to ally with you, or involve you in the war,” Anakin but in, “But we think your planet has something important to us Jedi.” he brings a hand to his heart. “Important.”
Hajeh moves her eyes from Anakin to Obi-Wan, then gives her head a sharp jerk. “Apology. Nairousa no contact, no ally, no war. Nothing. Jedi no place on Nairousa. You come here, you disobey, Nairousa enemy with Republic. You come, we force to kill, understand?” That last bit was said with bite, with an immovable passion that cemented the result of this conversation: the Nairousians were not going to budge. They tried a moment more, but whether the signal with Nairousia was lost or purposely disconnected, only the President knew. As her image fizzled away, Obi-Wan slumped against the table, rubbing his temple. It was Anakin who broke the silence, turning away from the table.
“There! You see, Obi-Wan?” He huffed, beginning to pace. “They know we’re coming, now. I bet they’re preparing defenses as we speak. We’re—”
“Better that than going in and storming a city, Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s outburst surprised himself, too. He quickly straightened up, shaking his head, “I apologize, Anakin, I didn’t—”
“Why are you so afraid of being a General, Master?” Anakin stopped, eyes drilling into Obi-Wan’s. “This is war. In war, we need to make tough choices. Do you know how many of our men are injured? Dead? If we had gone in, taken them by surprise, we could have locked the city down and ensure they couldn’t attack us. We could have gone in and out of the temple like that. But now? Now they know we’re coming, now they think we’re weak, now they—”
“Anakin, do you hear yourself?” Obi-Wan almost laughed. “We are not soldiers, and we are not Generals. We are Jedi. Jedi do not—”
“The Jedi are what the galaxy needs.” Anakin pushed past. “And right now, they need strength and hope. Our men need to have confidence in us.” He paused in the doorway. “Ahsoka is in the training hall, brushing up. I’m going to join her.” His gaze hardened. “I suggest you do, too.”
And then he was gone, leaving nothing but an empty doorway. Obi-Wan sank against the table again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. A headache pounded behind his eyes. What he needed was sleep, but whenever he closed his eyes, he jerked awake again, heart heavy, breath short. A full night's rest would only come if he spent the night in the medbay, with an IV drip keeping him down. Obi-Wan exhaled, staring at the dark ceiling. It was strange, how simple the war had been before all this. Of course, it had felt overwhelming at the time, but this?
Obi-Wan shook his head, willing his body to move, push away from the table, follow Anakin, get his mind off of… everything.
It took him a while to muster the energy to step into the hallway. At first, as he walked, his mind was aflutter—it was miraculous, how completely he managed to shroud all this in the Force, prevent it from bleeding into the world. Then, his thoughts quieted, till he was thinking about little apart from the act of walking, and where it was he was walking to.
The pit in his stomach, however, and the headache behind his eyes, did not lessen.
This all must be leading somewhere, Obi-Wan told himself, stepping into the training hall. This must be happening for a reason. The Force wouldn’t bring Qui-Gon back just to torment his former padawan, that much Obi-Wan had become sure about a while ago. Yet again, Obi-Wan asked himself why he couldn’t just let go, move on, treat Qui-Gon with respect, curiosity, like the Master he’d been. And again, he found himself at a loss for an answer. His words with Funny echoed in his ears.
I don’t feel in control of my own mind.
A realization like that, typically, should come with some kind of answer. And yet Obi-Wan was still without one, stuck with the realization, the knowledge, the guilt, and yet unable to figure out what to do about it.
Ironic, he thought with a humourless smile. A Jedi Master clouded by emotion. That’s what all this was. Ironic.