Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ben was drunk when he first heard the news that the Empire had collapsed, so he didn’t really process it until morning. 

He was in an anonymous cantina on another small trading outpost moon, one with a name he didn’t bother to remember selling cargo that he didn’t bother looking at. The black market had boomed impressively under the Empire, and it felt almost ridiculous to be raiding ships for illegal cultural artifacts. Ben thought that they might be selling a crate of priceless Wookie wooden religious totems. He hoped the Core world human collector had fun cornering the market - they were about to be in real short supply. 

Fin Rak tugged at his sleeve, making Ben’s elbow jerk and slosh his beer around. Ben scowled, glancing left and ready to chew him out, when he saw what Fin Rak was pointing at the dinky holovid screen with unprecedented vigor. 

“Are you hearing that? Everyone shuddup - Ben, look - look at the screen!”

“Are you high?” Ben asked, irritated, slapping his hand away. “What’s -”

“Look!”

But the entire bar was looking. The cantina had fallen into a hushed silence, and the bartender was ratcheting up the volume on the screen as high as it went. Ben leaned back in his chair, vision swimming and eyes gunky, trying to decipher what was happening. The face on the screen was saying a lot of nonsense about military coups and troop withdrawal and temporary election of a Council as the power hand-off was completed and blah blah blah. 

“Wow,” Jokal chittered from Ben’s other side. “This might be bad for business.”

“Are you kidding?” Fin Rak cried. “Bad for business, whatever, but great for me . I might be able to go back to Ryloth - Ben, aren’t you Mandalorian? Aren’t you excited?”

“Uh,” Ben Kryze said, “Woo. Happy. Because…”

“The Emperor’s dead, man! The military and Rebel-Jedi Alliance pulled a coup on the whole thing! Isn’t that fantastic? Justice for Ryloth!” He turned around in his bar stool, jumping off and throwing up a fist. “Free Ryloth! Twi’leks Live In Liberty!”

Some of the bar cheered - probably the Twi’leks, who tended to go insane if you shouted slogans at them - before all of the bar started cheering, slapping each other’s backs and screaming. Some of them were moaning about lost profits. Some of the few humans in the cantina just shrugged and went back to their drinks.

Ben lifted a glass just to fit in. “For A Free Mandalore!” For good measure, he muttered the phrase in Mandalorian - thank you, Satine - before downing his drink.

Then he downed everyone else’s drink, taking advantage of the meaningless revelry, before falling asleep under a bar stool. 

Obi-Wan had the dream again. But he was always having the fucking dream. 

It was one dream or another with him. Maybe it was the half-garbled mention of the Jedi dregs that did it - sorry, ‘Rebel-Jedi Alliance’ - because he dreamed that he was in front of the Temple again, standing at the bottom of the steps. His speeder was idling behind him, hot and panting from his frantic run towards the Temple. Half his robe was burned off. He had applied as much emergency field first aid as he could on the ship to Coruscant, but every inch of his body still ached in pain. 

Every inch of his mind. Halfway to Coruscant, he had heard thousands of voices cry out in pain. Just for a second. Then silence. 

Maybe it was a dream within a dream: nothing of that day had felt real. The pain had been somebody else’s pain - the body that had been shot and beaten and hurt was somebody else’s body. He had to be somebody else. Why else was Master Anakin staring at him like that?

Master Anakin stood in front of him, robe whipping hard in the strangely harsh Coruscanti wind with his lightsaber angled at the ground. Torrent Company stood behind him, stiff at attention. Obi-Wan had held hope when he saw them - they would know what had happened to the 212th, why Cody - but there was something wrong with them too. Something vile. 

Master Anakin was staring at him again, with those sickly yellow eyes. He said the same things he always said. 

“I’m here to save you, Obi-Wan,” Master Anakin had said. “The Republic and the Jedi have put you in danger, tried to kill you. The Chancellor and I are here to protect you. Go back to the Twilight , I’ll explain everything later.”

Obi-Wan had believed him. Why did they make the 212th try to kill me? Where’s Master Qui-Gon? He left to find Dooku, what’s happening?

“My old master did not understand the truth of the Jedi’s treachery. He is on his way to confront the Chancellor now. He will be taken care of.” Anakin looked backwards, raising a hand at the elbow and forming a fist. The clones snapped to attention, and marched ahead of the both of them. He snapped his fingers at two ARC troopers by his side - Appo and Jesse, why was it so difficult to recognize them? - and they advanced on Obi-Wan. He couldn’t help but take a step back. “Take him back to the ship. We’re rendezvousing on Mustafar. Make sure he doesn’t see this. Obi-Wan, follow the soldiers.”

Squadron after squadron of soldiers marched into the Temple. The guards at the front tried to stop the first line - just to ask questions, demand explanations, but Obi-Wan watched in horror as two of the Torrent company shot them in the chest. 

Were they fake guards? Had the Sith infiltrated the Temple? Why did everything feel so putrid? Why couldn’t he feel the rest of the Order? Had the Sith done something to him, done something to Master Anakin? 

Appo grabbed his forearm, hands rigid and tough like his armor. Jesse grabbed the other. It almost didn’t even occur to Obi-Wan to fight them. The 212th had - Cody had - but that was just them , maybe the Sith had done something - they weren’t trying to shoot Anakin, it must have just been the 212th - then why -?

Obi-Wan had said something, voice choked by crushing terror. He didn’t remember what it was. Maybe it was just Anakin’s name. 

Anakin stepped forward, crouching a little in front of him. Obi-Wan hadn’t seen him in almost a week - Obi-Wan had gone with Master Qui-Gon to handle Grievous, as Master Anakin stayed on planet at the Chancellor’s request. His hair was limp and greasy and his skin was sallow, as if he had been in prison a long time. His eyes were yellow and blood-shot, and with his thick eyebags it seemed almost as if they were on fire. As if there was a fire, boiling underneath Anakin’s skin, consuming them all. 

“I love you, Obi-Wan,” Master Anakin whispered. He reached out a shaking hand and ran it through Obi-Wan’s hair. It was almost dripping with sweat, overheated with fever. “You’re not like the rest of them. You never abandoned me or told me I wasn’t good enough. I’m doing this for you, understand? For our family. Don’t you want that, Obi-Wan?”

Family - ?

“I’m finally going to have everything I deserve,” Anakin whispered. “Padme and you and the baby. We’ll live together and be happy. I’ll take care of everything standing in our way, everything that wants to hurt you and Padme and the baby, and then we’ll be so happy together. Doesn’t that sound nice? You want that, right? You want that.”

But Obi-Wan had just looked up at Appo, who stood so still. Obi-Wan had spoken to him. “Appo? Appo, what’s happening? C’mon, please, something’s wrong with the brothers.”

Maybe that was it, that one small thing. That Obi-Wan had ignored him. Anakin’s face twisted in rage instead, heavy and hot. It was a familiar look on him, different only in how it mangled his sallow and pale face. “Clones, clones, clones . What’s with you and the clones ? They aren’t your family, Obi-Wan!” He straightened, scowl distorting his face. “They aren’t real! See?”

He casually swiped out his lightsaber, not even looking, and lopped off Vaughn’s head.

Obi-Wan watched as the head rolled onto the ground, the familiar smell of burning flesh searing the air. Oz, standing behind him, didn’t even twitch. The body slowly crumpled to the ground. Obi-Wan felt violently ejected from his body, barely cognizant of anything happening in front of him. Almost none of it was even processing. It was nothing but a bad dream in a dream in a dream. The only thing he could understand was that nobody was anybody anymore. 

“See?” Anakin demanded. “They don’t care. I care. I’m doing all of this for our family, Obi-Wan.” He flicked a hand at the clones, making them stand at attention. “Take him back to the ship. Don’t let him escape.”

Appo and Jesse walked him away, turning his back to the heavy step-step-step of troops marching in formation across the battlefield. Obi-Wan let them, grateful only for the comforting feeling of Appo’s hand on his arm. 

“My dear and darling Benjamin! What a place to find you in, hm? What a sordid location. Well - not as bad as some other places you’ve nested. Do you remember the time I found you deep in a Wampa’s -”

Ben groaned.

He somehow managed to drag himself up, rubbing at his eyes with a filthy and sticky jacket sleeve. Someone had dragged him out from under the bar table, sticking him straight in the middle of a line of other lushes. Wives and girlfriends were dragging their partners away by the arm or the ear, nagging them away. But none of their hearts were really in it - Ben could hear the sound of partying outside, cheering and drumbeats echoing through the small trading outpost. A strange match to the dim morning sunlight filtering in through the grimy window.

“Hondo,” Ben groaned, “shut the fuck up …”

“I’ve heard that one before.” Hondo propped his hands on his hips. In deference to the early morning, he was only wearing his pirate tunic and baggy synthskin pants, tucked snugly into his boots. Bizarrely, he had a few colorful jewel encrusted necklaces draped around his neck. Not even the usual ones - these were the party necklaces. “But buck up! Haven’t you heard that it’s a holiday? I even gave the crew a day off! They haven’t had one of those since the last time this happened. Yes, yes. Big day, big day.”

Holiday? Ben struggled to remember the date. Life Day wasn’t for two months. “Can this big day have some water?”

“Excuse me? Who is the Captain now? Does the Captain fetch the crewmate water? Perhaps the crewmate should be fetching the Captain water -”

Ben got both of them some water, ignoring the also unconscious bartender. Maybe Hondo had talked him to death. 

As it turned out, Hondo really had given the whole crew the day off. Ben recognized many of his crewmates partying in the street, hand in hand with the dockworkers and smugglers and bounty hunters. The street vendors were frying meat as fast as possible, handing them out in small paper packets, and as he and Hondo walked down the street they saw that some enterprising workers had built a bonfire in the center plaza. The small and unimportant trading outpost, inhabited by a scarce handful of people and meant for nothing other than refuelling and trade, was alight with life and energy it had likely never seen.

“Inspirational,” Hondo swore, standing next to him. He elbowed Ben in the side, whispering from behind a hand. “Granted, I saw stuff like when this Empire rose too - maybe we just like a party, eh?”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said stupidly, looking back at Hondo. He was still trying to parse out his sodden memories from last night. Jokal had gotten him into another drinking competition, he had won an arm wrestling contest with the bouncer, there had been a public broadcast about a military coup, the Emperor’s assasination… “Wait. Did the Emperor die ?”

“Sure did!” Hondo said, as if he was bragging about another good score. The party raged around them as the skies lingered in unusual stillness. No ships came and went; no work was done today. “According to my sources, a certain Mace Windu struck the final blow. What an impressive man. Muscular. Turned me down, but I do not take it personally! Many are simply not ready for the hurricane winds of Hondo Ohnaka’s talent in the bedroom.”

Ben sat down, hard. 

His butt hit the dusty ground, his boots scrabbling against the dirt, and for a split-second he was there again. A phantom pain shot through his arm; his leg twinged with a blaster wound long since healed. The rotten smell of burning flesh. Ben sucked in deep breaths, feeling his chest shake. Dead. Dead? Dead! Somebody was whooping in the distance, growing fainter and fainter, and the phantom pains in Ben’s body settled into distant fuzziness. 

A boot gently collided with his ribcage. “Alright, alright, I won’t talk about my love life anymore. You harass me endlessly about it, I am honestly hurt. And you do not admit that I could teach you a thing or two! I am sorry to say, the first step would be to shave that womp rat off your face.”

“It makes me look older,” Ben said reflexively. Hondo’s endless rambling and the boot in his chest grounded him, and he reluctantly took Hondo’s offered hand to pull himself up. “You’re serious. Mace really killed him? Does that mean the Empire’s gone?”

“Complex political question that I am incapable of understanding,” Hondo said promptly. It was a fair response. He grabbed the lapel of Obi-Wan’s jacket and pulled him forward, peeling him apart from the overwhelming crowd further towards the space port. 

Ben could see the lumbering and misshapen pirate ship from where they stood, like a bulging metal tumor in the sky. G’rak had done a terrible patch job on the helm that was already peeling - Ben would have to see if he was embezzling anything. Ben was in charge of the books and balancing the budget, which was technically way above his technical rank and station. He also got paid more and was dragged along on every dangerous deal. It was definitely exploitation of child labor, up until five months ago when it had become exploitation of adult labor. It could have been Hondo working hard to keep Ben’s profile low, but - no, definitely exploitation of labor. 

“I guess it really is a holiday,” Ben said dizzily. “This means our markets are going to get changed up again. Think we’re going to spend the next few months trafficking ex-Imperial equipment?”

“Of that, I have little doubt. A pirate must keep on the cutting edge of the market. Supply and demand, you see.” Ben did see. Between his...military experience and his current piracy, he was pretty sure he could become an economist. But Hondo shot him a keen look, glimmering eyes sharpening slightly in the orange light. “But that is not truly what runs through your mind, hm? This news has great implications for you, my dear Benjamin.”

“That’s not my name.”

Hondo’s pebbled brow twitched. “Ben?”

“Ben’s Mandalorian, it’s not short for anything,” Ben said curtly. “I don’t even know where you got that from. That’s a made-up word.”

“All words are made up! I think I’m really onto something.” But Hondo just shot him that look again. It was almost thoughtful. Almost. “Regardless of your name. You know what this means for yourself. You could -”

A spurt of violence and aggression pulsed through the Force, far stronger than the usual background of aggression in every trading outpost, and Ben found his head snapping to their left. Hondo immediately shut up, following Ben’s eyes to see a steady stream of workers running towards the spaceport. Specifically, the military outpost at the spaceport.

Hondo grabbed the arm of a passerby Rodian, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you in such a hurry for?”

The Rodian shook his arm free, clicking at Hondo. “I heard we’re going to burn down the military outpost! Serves those stinking clones and their stinking taxes right! Come on, I’m going to show them a freaking inspection!”

Hondo and Ben looked at each other as the Rodian wriggled loose and set off at a run, picking up a stray bottle from the street. 

“Ben,” Hondo said, “don’t you dare.”

Ben set off at a run after the Rodian. 

It was hardly even a military outpost. Just a station, staffed by five Stormtroopers who inspected your cargo and made sure you weren’t smuggling anything. A small team of civilians took care of coordinating departures and arrivals. Apparently their arrival had been a huge pain in the ass for the smugglers, who had already reached a bribery agreement with the lazy Republic customs officials. They really only cared about what you were doing if you had sentients stashed in your trunk. Usually.

But the Stormtroopers were a pain in the ass. They were unbribable, attentive, and incorruptible. Some of them were starting to get phased out for other troopers recruited from actual people, which was always a big relief to smugglers, but most of them were just big boring robots. Their only saving grace was the fact that they were really fucking stupid, so it wasn’t too hard to get goods past them. It was still annoying, and personally offensive to those who resented the change. 

Everybody really hated the Stormtroopers.

A small crowd had already formed outside the outpost, yelling obscenities and throwing rocks or bricks. One of the troopers had already activated the basic force field around outside, but judging from the flickers and fuzzing it was cheap and old. If you craned your head, you could see the ghostly pale white helmets glancing out the window. 

Some workers were chanting for the troopers to come out and ‘face them like men’. Others were chanting death to the Empire, death to the soldiers. Others weren’t chanting anything, just throwing bricks and bottles in drunken joy and rage. 

Ben paused at the outskirts of the group, reaching up on his tiptoes to crane his head over the crowd. Unfortunately, his height had never quite come in like he wanted it to, but he was taller than any trooper. He had checked. Multiple times. 

When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Hondo hovering. He was tugging on the fingers of his thick glove, a subtle anxious tell. “Is it really time to go back to the ship? I believe you and I should go relax and have a few drinks. You, ah, look like you could use one.”

“Are they seriously trying to intimidate the troopers?” Ben asked incredulously. “Those monsters wouldn’t flinch if you fired a gun in their faces.”

“Ah. That is, shall we say, the problem. Something has...changed.” Hondo put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, pulling him back from the crowd. “Let us get out of here, Ben. This is a rather ugly sight.”

But Ben just shook him off. One of the troopers had come out from the outpost, holding a large rifle and waving a hand. He wasn’t wearing the helmet. 

It was as if a durasteel beam had smashed Ben in the chest. The Stormtroopers never took off their helmets, either. Smuggler’s myth said that they couldn’t. But he could see the trooper’s face, a little more weathered and a lot heavier. He waved a hand, gesturing for the people to move on. “This is no longer an Empire outpost!” the trooper barked. “Move on! We don’t want to hurt you!”

The crowd swelled in hatred and jeers. Ben froze, heart thumping in his chest. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Hondo said from behind him, almost exasperated. “It was a military coup. The clones rebelled! Amazing to see, truly. I wonder why -”

But Ben was already moving. He grabbed the first projectile he found - a brick, ripped from the hands of a Sullusutan. He pushed to the front of the crowd until he stood almost nose-to-nose with the force field. 

In tune with the rest of the crowd, inaudible among the pulsing waves of hate, Ben yelled, “Get out of here, clankers!” 

He threw the brick, as hard as he could. The other bottles and bricks bounced off the force field but Ben’s sailed straight through, his aim perfectly true. Of course it was true. Accuracy was the first thing he had learned back then - holding a blaster, shooting and shooting until his aim struck true every time. Large hands, wrapping around his smaller ones completely, guiding his shot. A smile. A ‘good job’. 

The brick hit the trooper in the shoulder, making him stumble. The crowd roared, and Ben whooped with them. Hot victory coursed through him, electrifying his nerves and sending him dizzy with excitement. He felt every inch of his body, heart beating in an ecstatic rhythm that let him know he was alive. 

The trooper looked up, regaining his footing, and met Ben’s eyes. They were brown, as always, deep-set and implacable. But something flared in the Force when he looked at Ben, and something lit up behind his eyes. 

Nothing had lit up behind the eyes of a clone in a long time. Nothing had flared in the Force when a clone saw Ben for a very long time. 

A large, coarse hand grabbed Ben’s arm, and he screamed. But it was just Hondo, expression solemn, and Ben let Hondo pull him away from the scene. 

 The minute they were away from the crowd Hondo cuffed him harshly on the back of the head, making him hiss. 

“Disappointing,” Hondo condemned, and Ben flinched hard. “Back to the ship with you, captain’s orders, chop chop.”

Ben knew better than to start arguing with him there on the street, and he reluctantly sulked after him back to the ship. The scene at the military outpost raged on behind them, but Ben knew better than to make it his problem. He hadn’t survived three years by making useless shit his problem.

The minute Ben walked up the boarding ramp into the rusty, misshapen ship, he felt the constant buzzing tension in his shoulders ease. Hondo smacked a button and let the ramp groan and racket up behind him, and at the final click Ben found himself sagging completely. The stale recycled air held the same metallic tang as all ships, but the Weequay’s Revenge had a unique cocktail scent of sweat, dirt, and leather oil. It was a pocket of something that was almost left of safety - where you knew the names of all the threats, and had bugged their coms and bunks months ago. Hondo allowed it, mostly because Ben always knew who was about to mutiny, betray, or double-cross. The cold hand of Ben’s intel network stretched wide and started at home. 

“Are you taking me off shore leave because of one dumb brick?” Ben bitched, following Hondo as he slung himself up the ladder out of the cargo hold. “Because I saw Fin Rak blow up a military outpost one time and you didn’t do shit about that .”

“Fin Rak is a grown man and I can dump him at any abandoned moon whenever he becomes annoying. You, however, I am stuck with.” 

Stuck with? Ben followed Hondo’s confident strides down the winding corridor, ducking around the open doors and scattered crates of batteries. “You didn’t exactly sign a contract here, pal. Just say the word and I’ll take the Negotiator and scram. Hells, I’d make even more money on my own.”

“This is the thanks I receive?” Hondo cried, faux-injured. He smacked another button, shepherding Ben into the cockpit before closing the door behind them. “These are the words of an ungrateful child?”

It was a large cockpit, with a small ladder tucked into the corner to give access to the front gunner pit. Weequay’s Revenge wasn’t nearly as impressive as Hondo’s first ship, which loomed cavernously terrifying in Ben’s memory, but it still easily boasted a crowd of thirty pirates. It would probably be less if it wasn’t for Ben. He had a way of getting them all out of trouble. Granted, he also had a way of getting them into it. 

“Three years! Three years, I have looked out for you.” He collapsed onto the large leather ‘captain’s chair’ in the aft of the cockpit, with the back of the chair scratched up from the talons of a recently deceased bird. In reality, it was just the chair at the coms table where Hondo could direct the action if he was forced to be in the cockpit. Man could fly, but he hated it. Said it made him feel bloated. “I have sheltered you. Nursed you back to health with my own two claws. Taught you everything I know. Demonstrated the utmost heights of masculinity, strength, and leadership to you! And this is how I am repaid. This -”

Ben collapsed in the pilot’s chair, kneading his brow as Hondo kicked his feet up on the comms table and went on and on and on. He could practically mouth along with it. Always prattling around like he single-handedly raised Ben from a penniless orphan on a swamp planet into a warlord. Please.

Years back, another pirate trying to suck up to Hondo asked him if Ben was his apprentice. It took three other pirates to wrestle Ben off the man. He wouldn’t be caught dead. 

“I thought you would be ‘repaid’ when I made back my bounty,” Ben asked sardonically. “Which I made back a year ago, by the way!”

“Ah! But you have yet to make back the charge of aiding and abetting a Jedi.” Hondo wagged a finger in the air. “In that sense, you are still obligated to my service.”

“That charge is death, Hondo.”

“So it may take a lifetime. Human lifetimes are short. You have, what, a good thirty years in you?”

“Then good news!” Ben said faux-brightly, clapping his hands. “I’m guessing it’s not illegal to be a Jedi anymore! So that renders my bounty approximately nil, and the charge for harboring me exactly zilch. Taking into account how I single-handedly negotiated you into captaincy of the pirate’s guild, I’d say that we’re finally even.”

Which had truly been done out of the goodness of his heart. It wasn’t as if Ben benefitted from a high profile. Everybody had acted so anxiously about it too, as if he really was Hondo’s apprentice angling for more political power for the both of them. Please. Ben had no designs on local politics. Too obvious. 

Wait. Did this make the Imp officers he had in his pocket worthless? Dammit!

But that just sobered Hondo, and Ben found himself faltering. For a brief, horrible second, he thought that Hondo really was about to kick him off. He understood that they were just bitching at each other, right? They were always bitching at each other. But things had changed. What if this really was it, and he really did want Ben gone this time? 

Why now? It had been the stupidest and most dangerous decision of Hondo’s long life to keep Ben around. The only reason he didn’t have an active manhunt was because Ben knew he had been marked KIA. None of it made any strategic or practical sense, no matter what Hondo nattered on about. Any benefits were outweighed by the very real drawback of treason. 

Ben wasn’t a big name. He wasn’t Mace Windu, Shaak Ti, or Ahsoka Tano. He definitely wasn’t Eeth Koth or Kit Fisto. He wasn’t even Quinlan or dumb, annoying, perfect Luminara. The only things that had ever been notable about Ben were either dead, traitors, or dead traitors. Maybe that was the advantage - an anonymous psychic war veteran was handy to have in a pinch. Especially one crazier than a cage of monkey-lizards. 

“Ben. I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Was that it? Ben snorted, leaning back and kicking up his heels on the console. He reflexively looked around for - someone to push them back down on the floor, but nobody did. He kept them up. “I knew it. There’s no way you’re only 105.”

“I’m not a day over 130,” Hondo said quickly, “but no. That’s not it.” He paused, drumming his fingers on his thick leather pants. It was difficult to read his expression - his skin was so tough and thick he wasn’t emotive in a way that humans found intuitive - but Ben read consistent hesitance in the Force. Hesitance? Hondo? “Do you remember the year when we had many missions on Mandalore?”

“Yeah, all those missions you didn’t let me on?” He had thrown a fit over it. Until he had met Satine. At which point Ben was perfectly happy. “What of it?”

“Those were…” Hondo tugged at one of his long braids. “I was doing a few favors for a few friends.”

“Uh huh.”

“Big favors. Not the kind of favors I normally do, mind you. As a pirate slash businessman, I do not necessarily hold the highest regard for the law! But I know better than to get involved with any...let’s say, organizations, that put us on the Empire’s radar. Or anything that would get you and my crew chopped up faster than you can say xenophobia. But a favor’s a favor...” 

Something cold creeped down the back of Ben’s neck. “Hondo,” he said slowly, “those missions for Mandalore weren’t...for the Mandalorian resistance , was it?” 

A guilty silence stretched. 

“Is that why you dropped me off with Satine and her dad?” Ben cried, dropping his feet to the floor. “I thought you were just funnelling them weapons so they could get them to the resistance!”

“I was!” Hondo said quickly, almost panicked. “You know us - we sell weapons, we do not care who uses them, eh!” Hondo was understating that - a giant market for ex-Imperial weapons were resistance groups. Unfortunately, few of them could pay well, so most of it went to organized crime instead. Some people tended to get more discounts than others, though… “But yes, our involvement was greater. Some of the men...well, you know some of our men. Everybody has their little bones to pick. For some of us they are quite large bones. So some of us did more than that. I know you did not want to be involved, so I simply did not involve you in any...more overt operations.”

Ben buried his face in his hands. Goes to show. Minute it’s even slightly less dangerous to talk about something, it all came out. “It’s a miracle you’re still alive, old man.” The full implications of what Hondo said abruptly hit him in the head, and he gaped at a very guilty Hondo. “Don’t tell me you were working with the Rebel Alliance !”

The Jedi-Rebel Alliance. 

The Jedi. The Order. Forty or fifty or mumble-something strong, they never revealed their numbers. Nobody even knew where they were headquartered. But they were brave, strong warriors, who never tired in their endless crusade for righteousness. Strong, wise, resilient, and faithful. They were devoted to restoring the darling Republic that always treated them so well, returning the balance of the always light and simple Force, and taking revenge on the Empire that slaughtered almost their entire order. The Jedi Order was thousands of years old. This would not be their first genocide, or their last. But they will prevail, because the Force wills it.

They made him sick. 

“A little bit,” Hondo said, as serious as Ben ever heard him. “For a while. But then you were growing into a man and taking a higher profile in our operations, and we were taking on new members, and...I couldn’t continue putting my crew at risk. I have mouths to feed. I couldn’t justify putting you at such great risk. Doing my due diligence in keeping you safe felt more important than a little self-important heroics. Despite how dashing a hero I can be!”

Ben’s stomach dropped. Hondo was looking at him steadily, expression set and firm. There was something in his signature that was disgustingly, terribly familiar, and Ben pushed it away as hard as he could. But Hondo was as Force-sensitive as a rock, and if he knew how sickened Ben was by the sentiment he did not show it. 

“You said I was your crewmate,” Ben threatened. He didn’t know why he felt scared. “I told you, we’re just crewmates. I didn’t join your crew expecting a - a loyal gang of buddies, you know.” Something horrible and hard cracked through Ben’s ribs. “You didn’t tell them I was alive , did you?”

“Of course not. Goodness, Ben, I didn’t go through such great effort to keep you two from each other for fun. You were very insistent in your terms. No huggies, no kissies, no disclosing to your ex-religious order that you are alive and kicking out of fear that they might give you huggies and kissies. You wrote it down and everything.” Hondo sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Broke my cold, withered husk of a heart, but I agree. Far too dangerous. I couldn’t believe the danger these people were throwing themselves into! No regard for their lives! Suicidally brave! Reminiscent of a certain young soul I could name.”

“Bite me,” Ben muttered. He crossed his arms tightly, pretending he wasn’t hugging himself. “I’m your crewman, not your pet parrot. I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself. It’s not your job to keep me safe.”

“Imagine if it was. I’d be terrible at it!” Hondo laughed uproariously, making Obi-Wan roll his eyes. Considering the many times Hondo’s almost killed Ben, he would certainly be a failure. “However, I believe I have been very successful in protecting you from yourself. That is why I must apologize, my boy. You trusted me in one thing, and I have betrayed that.”

Ben’s heart jumped in his chest, rising into his throat. He stood from his seat, fists clenching. “You didn’t.”

“I called Master Tano when I heard,” Hondo said, shattering Obi-Wan’s galaxy. “She put me on the line with Madame Amidala, if you can believe it! A real legend. I feel famous by proxy. They were very excited to hear that you were alive. Not happy with me, but - eh! They rarely are.” Hondo shrugged, as if it was nothing . “Madame Amidala cried. It was heartwarming. Although that may have just been the children I heard in the background.”

“No,” Ben whispered, “no…”

“There were people in that call who loved you very much, Ben,” Hondo said, “and I like to think of myself as a bad man with a good heart. I have protected you, as I have sworn to do, and I am quite pleased to have been able to fulfill that promise. But I will not continue helping protect you from yourself.”

Ahsoka, staring down at him with a stone face. Padme, her regal smile and bearing. 

There was a hurricane in his chest. A cold wind, gusting and twirling and battering down every hatch. He wanted to explode with it. 

“So what,” Ben whispered, his chest hurting too hard to name, “that’s it? You’re reuniting me with my family ?”

“See,” Hondo complained, “I knew you would get like this. Look, you’re rattling the chairs.”

“I don’t need my fucking family!” Ben yelled, his voice echoing harshly throughout the cockpit. Hondo winced, then yelped slightly as his chair jerked. The metal grated floor was rattling. “I knew you would betray me. I knew it! You’re on their side, you always were! You were just using me!”

“Yes, I was using you for the giant bounty I didn’t claim,” Hondo said, throwing up his hands. Wind roared in Ben’s ears. “You’re unusually rational for a young man, Ben. But at any mention of this , you turn into...this. It is sad! Don’t you understand?” Hondo rose from his chair, braids swinging in a cold gust of wind. “You can never heal from this if you keep running. It is highly against my nature to force any sort of confrontation, but I admit it is a bad habit. I would like for it not to become yours too. We are rendezvousing with the Jedi next week on Kallistos. You should go have fun with them, it’ll be character building.”

“I’m not going!” Ben yelled. “Like hell I’m running off with some Jedi representative . I’m not a child, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“You are not a child,” Hondo said harshly, “You are a bitter adult who joins angry mobs and throws bricks at men who have surrendered.” Ben winced, and he heard the ceiling creak warningly above him. “You know that clone was sentient. You know it was the clones who enacted that military coup, who have joined hands with the Rebellion. I do not know what happened, or why they are suddenly people again. But I have watched you act cruelly to enough clones for a lifetime, Ben. I know many old, cruel men, and I would not have that be you.” He softened slightly, stepping forward until he was standing in front of Ben. Ben wanted to reach out and - and what? “I only knew your Commander Cody for a few short hours, during which he hated my guts, but I know he would not have wanted that fate for you.”

The clones. The clones were with the Rebellion. Hondo told them he was alive. They had to be looking for him, the 501st and the 212th and every single one who slaughtered babies and the elderly and who tried to kill him - they were looking for him.

What? To finish the job? Ben had never understood what happened to the clones, what turned them into idiot machines who would as soon kill him as look at him. He didn’t care. Every time he saw one, he was consumed with a horrible burning rage. He wanted to hurt every one he saw. And now they were all friends ? He was supposed to buy that ? 

He had spent three years mourning and hating Cody. Every day of his life, he wondered if he was growing up into the kind of man that Cody would be proud of. The kind of person who Cody wanted him to be. But it was a moot point - all Cody wanted was him dead. 

“I’m not going with them,” Ben said, voice too hoarse to even scream. “I hate the Jedi, I hate the fucking clones, I hate - I hate you!”

“You’re off my ship, Ben Kryze,” Hondo said, and Ben felt his knees buckle. “Three months, at least. After those three months, you can make a decision about how you would like to spend the rest of your life. If your life is with the Order or if it’s with the government - if it’s on your ship or mine - you will always be welcome with me, do you hear?” Hondo’s expression softened, and he put his hands on Ben’s shoulders. “You are not like me, Ben. You deserve much more than what you’ve had. You’re meant for something far more than what you’ve seen. I would like for you to see what you’re meant for. That is all I ask.”

“Don’t sell me on that destiny shit,” Ben whispered harshly. “I have no destiny. I’m not meant for anything. Everything I have, I lose.”

“You can never steal from a true thief, because they will always steal it back. They could never take away what made you you , no matter how hard they tried.” Hondo squeezed his shoulders. “Steal your life back, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Make a life that they can never take from you.”

Ben licked his lips, his throat impossibly dry. Finally, he asked, “Are you going to go away?”

“I will be right here.” Hondo smiled down at him, and something in Ben’s heart broke. “They cannot take me away from you either. Don’t you worry. You still owe me money!”

And Ben leaned his forehead into Hondo’s jacket and cried as Hondo laughed, and after a while Ben found himself laughing too. 

Chapter Text

Ben was going to kill Hondo. 

He was a friend - an annoying, dramatic, irresponsible, and dangerous friend, but a friend nonetheless. Ben couldn’t trust him half as far as he could throw him, but that was the appeal of Hondo. He wasn’t offended that Ben spent every second waiting for the knife in his back. Apparently it was ‘good business sense’. 

Hondo had scammed Ben. He had stranded him in a Fyrnak pit on Anaxes. He had convinced Ben to use his holy and sacred psychic powers to float some pears and help him get laid. But he had never, ever snitched. Ben would feel betrayed if he was physically capable of the feeling anymore. But it was still infuriating. 

The ship departed two days after Ben heard the bad news, taking one day for celebrations and one day for getting the cargo loaded up and somehow taking off from the moon undetected. Ben spent most of it hard at work in his office, practicing his swordplay in moving meditation, or remaining sequestered in his room contemplating his existence. He was not sulking. He wasn’t sulking!

Doing the books was normally calming, but now it just made him anxious. Cara could take care of them just fine while he was gone, but he didn’t know if she could keep up with the workload. The galaxy practically didn’t have a government right now (which some political factions found a good thing - Ben half-agreed with them), so which laws and what sentences were they going to enforce? If Jaxum got picked up on spice again, would they sentence him to one year or five? 

Nobody knew. The galaxy had been crumbling under their feet for five years, but they were living in practically unprecedented times. There hadn’t been a new system of government in 1,500 years. For better or for worse. Now they were looking at five governments in five years. It felt almost apocalyptic.

 There had been no reason for so many Republicans to respond with anger and betrayal at the prospect of Seperatist succession. Democracies didn’t hold planets hostage, and it was perfectly legal in the constitution of the Republic - written in a language nobody had spoken for a thousand years - to secede. If it wasn’t for the Sith and some greedier capitalists, it could have been peaceful. But the idea of change was downright offensive to the Republic. They hadn’t known how to fight - only to buy and sell, force and coerce. Lazy, entitled, selfish, evil sentients that plagued the galaxy like locusts and crowed about democracy. It disgusted Ben. He’d had enough of their democracy for a lifetime. 

His Imp comm was ringing off the hook. It was the most secure comm he had - his others were for communication with other pirates, with his black market trade and commerce guilds, his intel network, his above-board business deals, and Satine - and as such he felt obligated to answer it. The guys made fun of him for owning six comms. Once. 

Mr. Kryze, Mr. Kryze, have you heard the news! The Emperor, dead! (Yes, tragic). You have to help me move my assets, the economy’s failing! (Yes, dictatorships did throw a wrench in the economy). They’re letting my colleagues swear allegiance to the new government, but I heard they’re going to court-martial me! (Yes, you did participate in the Ryloth thing). I’m an officer on an Imperial cruiser, the Stormtroopers have me in the brig - they killed my commanding officer! (That’s kind of what they do, yeah). 

“I bet everything I had on intra-planetary defense contracts,” Killian moaned. “Thousands and thousands of credits on the Genoshian lemstone mining! But we just received the order that we are returning all seized property back to its original owners! I’m ruined, Kryze, ruined! All that work making good with Moff Hastings, all for nothing!”

“Hm,” Ben said, making a few notes. It tracked with what everybody else was saying. Something about returning stolen property and removing slave labor from shipyard factories was unprofitable. “I’m guessing Moff Hastings received an impromptu tribunal.”

“They shot them!” Killian cried. “Every Moff and Grand Moff. Then they’re going through the rest of us and picking off who they don’t like! I don’t belong in the brig, Mr. Kryze. I’m innocent, I swear, I never did anything wrong - it was all just money, just trading! There’s nothing illegal about that!”

“There wasn’t anything illegal about that.” Ben was sitting at his dinky little table in his cabin - won through an elaborate series of bets - letting the small flickering hologram moan and bitch as he made his notes. He put his datapad down, looking straight ahead at Killian. “You’re an economist, Officer Killian. Business is built on risks and dangerous investments. You made a risky investment and it didn’t pay off. You bet your life on a military of traitors, and they betrayed you.”

“They weren’t supposed to betray us ,” Killian protested. “Moff Hastings said that they couldn’t! They’re too stupid! Why are they acting all smart all of a sudden?” That was a million cred question, and nobody had given Ben a straight answer yet. How could nobody in his intel network know? His Rebellion network had to know, but… “Look, Kryze, you’re a good man. You’ve always been a friend to me. You don’t care too much about the whole Mandalore thing, right - you know I wasn’t even involved in that. You’re neutral, you’ve always said so. Can’t you get me out of this? Pull some strings? All I need is my assets back and a safe house on a Mid-Rim planet. I’ll owe you big time, Kryze.”

Ben leaned back in his creaky chair, propping his boots on the table. He folded his hands behind his head and didn’t bother to hide the shit eating smile that stretched across his face.

He probably shouldn’t. For all he knew, power could change hands again next year or the year after that. Luminara could declare herself Empress. He wouldn’t put it past her. Just because he felt the hot rush of victory didn’t mean that he was safe. It was a bad tactical move to blow his identity now. He absolutely shouldn’t. 

“So when are they executing you, Killian?”

Killian blanched. “My - my tribunal’s next week.”

“They got you in solitary?”

“Are you getting me out of here, Kryze?” Killian demanded, almost hysterically. “They’re gonna kill me! I know it, they’re gonna kill me! You have to get me out of here!”

Well. He was a dead man anyway. Ben could risk it.

Ben picked up a datastick and flipped it between his fingers. “I’d have to say you’re correct, officer. Your war profiteering and insider trading was extensive, during both the Republic and the Empire. I’ve heard reports of five other executed military officers today - oh, sorry. I suppose I should call them traitors.” Ben grinned. He knew it didn’t look very nice. “I’d say that you’re only wrong on one account. I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“Kryze, please -”

“Despite my girlfriend’s best efforts, of course. I’m actually not sure what planet I was born on. I think it was Stewjon - I’ve had quite a few people tell me I look Stewjoni, something about the hair. I just can’t be sure, you know? After all...I was taken into the custody of the Jedi Order when I was only a few months old.”

Killian stared at him, horror flickering through every pixel of light.

“From one traitor to another, Killian,” Ben said lightly, “if I was you, I’d start praying to the Force. It might actually help out this time.”

He ended the call, and Killian disintegrated into a small shower of light. That was the last time he’d be seeing him. Pity that so many of his Imp contacts were about to become useless.

Ben spent the rest of the afternoon at the sim-range, squeezing off holographic blaster shots again and again until he felt himself finally sink into that calm meditation. He had once gone a month without meditating as a teenager, eager to prove that he didn’t need to carry anything of his old life, but after he accidentally blew down a building in a fit of pubescent rage he remembered that occasionally people had told him to do things for a reason. 

The first crew of pirates who had picked him up from floating dead in space, who had known full well Ben’s origins, had openly mocked the Jedi emphasis on peace and serenity in front of him - in their defense, Ben was pretty sure that most of them had been Seppies who were trying to cheer Ben up about his ‘defection’. They had continued mocking the peace and love thing until they saw what happened when Ben got angry, at which point they were suddenly great enthusiasts of peace and love and regularly encouraged him to remember his breathing. Sometimes Ben thought that the Jedi would have been better off if they occasionally bothered to remind people that they were terrifying. 

By the time he came out of the moving meditation it had been two hours, and he still felt keyed up and restless. The other pirates were practically jumping out of the way, muttering about how someone had pissed in his ration bars, but the only thing that seemed to scare them was the fact that Ben had rapidly grabbed Cara and Kipo and tossed them some light manuals on the work he had been doing and how to continue the work.

“Light manual? This is a kriffing textbook.” Kipo huffed, lekku twitching in agitation. “Are you ditching us to run off with your girlfriend again? Real dick move, Kryze.”

“I’m leaving for three months,” Ben said curtly, ignoring the way both Cara and Kipo’s eyes widened. “Try not to put us in the red while I’m gone, will you?”

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Cara demanded, grunting under the weight of the very light manual Ben had passed her. “You weren’t the Emperor’s secret apprentice, were you? Are those Republic guys coming after you for his Corellian bank accounts?”

“No, I missed the boat on that one,” Ben said, shooting them both his best glower. “If you touch my stuff while I’m gone I will know .”

Nobody doubted that. Everybody was far too polite to mention the psychic sorcerer thing, but mostly they were far too scared to fuck with the psychic sorcerer thing. 

So Ben bounced between the sim room, his office, and his cabin, working as hard as he could and thinking about as little as possible. When he couldn’t sleep at night he trained until he exhausted himself and fell asleep, at which point he woke up in four hours and did it all over again. 

Satine had, expectedly, been extremely busy. Ben had a robust network on Mandalore for fairly obvious reasons, and he had set up more than one meeting with Satine or her father. Apparently the entire planet was rioting, which was their favorite hobby. When the Mandalorians rioted, they rioted - it was like a sport to them. The nutjobs had two hundred planetary sports and they rioted whenever one of a million teams lost. It took almost nothing to get them beating each other with sticks in an angry mob. Last Ben had heard, the Imperial Academy had burned to the ground, Imperial colonialist settlers were being dragged out of their highly flammable homes, and the Grand Moff governor of Mandalore had experienced a truly messy public execution. Mandalorian style. Apparently you could still find bits of his intestines down the capitol streets. 

“I understand violence and blood is fun ,” Satine said crisply, detaching her earrings and beginning the arduous process of unpinning her hair, “but it’s damaging in the long term. The transfer of power is going to be bloody and unstable enough without devolving into good old fashioned Mandalorian death pit gladiator matches. We need stability and we need it now.”

Ben was lying on his bed, her small holographic figure flickering over his pillow. She was sitting at her vanity, where she took her almost hour-long personal beauty routine as an opportunity to make her personal calls. Typically, that was Ben. Neither she nor Ben had many friends ‘for fun’. 

“Not arguing with you there, but I suspect that the people have some social unrest they need to vent out,” Ben said wryly. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in thin waves, and he found his eyes following the motion. “How’s your father’s standing?”

“More popular than Pre Vizsla. Because we are a logical people who do not elect leaders based on who owns what sword.” Satine sniffed as Ben snorted in amusement. “At the end of the day, the people remember that the New Mandalorians had been against Mandalorian involvement in the war since the beginning, and that Death Watch cared more for fighting against the Empire than with the Mandalorian people.” She exhaled slowly, breath fuzzing on the comm. “The situation is uncertain. But that’s always the situation, isn’t it. Uncertain, uncertain, uncertain...it’s nothing but a euphemism for dangerous.”

“You can do dangerous.” Ben felt a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re the most dangerous woman on Mandalore - in a seat and behind a blaster. You’ll come out of this conflict on top again, just like last time.”

“Just like last time. And the time before that.” Satine gingerly replaced her earrings in a small box. She handled them like they were live bombs. They had been her mother’s. “The Civil War from when I was eight to ten. The year on the run when I was ten. Death Watch terrorism from ten to thirteen. The Clone Wars from thirteen to fifteen. And now the Empire from fifteen to eighteen. That’s over half my life spent in warfare, Ben. Almost as long as I can truly remember. I’m beginning to think it just isn’t worth it. Nothing can possibly be worth this.”

“Of course it’s not worth it. I’ve fought almost as long and hard as you have, Satine, we both know it’s never worth it.” Ben shrugged uncomfortably. Sometimes he loved talking about philosophy and politics and history with Satine. She made him feel like somebody he had once been, or somebody who he had once wanted to be. But other times… “But the galaxy’s full of people like you and me. I don’t think there’s anybody on Mandalore who hasn’t spent their lives and their parent’s lives and their grandparent’s lives fighting. It’s just how the galaxy is.”

“Ben, don’t you see? That’s the problem. Mandalorians have spent their entire lives bouncing from one war to another. And people who have only ever known war will turn around and find new chances for war every opportunity they have. People who have profited off one war will manufacture another. The economy will be built on war - and ours was built on war. On and on.” 

Satine finger combed out her hair, withdrawing sharp pins. Most of them were poisoned, but she handled them deftly as she continued talking. “I can’t ask pacifism of my people. The galaxy is far too dangerous and cruel, and I am proud of how we use our strength to protect the weak and vulnerable. But I can demand pacifism of myself . I can demand that the leaders of Mandalore take responsibility and bring a halt to this cycle of violence. A Mandalore where nobody profits off war, where my father and Pre Vizsla live in mutual disagreement rather than mutual destruction. If the leaders and people with power refuse to feed the machine, then the machine will break down. And there'll be no more children like you and me on Mandalore, Ben. Is that so wrong?”

Despite himself, Ben found a goofy grin spreading across his face. “You’ve been practicing that one? It’ll go well with your court.”

Satine flushed, her cheeks darkening in blue, before she started brushing her hair in long, even strokes. When she spoke, her voice didn’t falter. “We must make concessions so we may rebuild. It is not certain yet, but Mandalore is returning to isolationism. Beyond a few key trade networks, we shall have no place in galaxy politics for as long as we can. The Mandalorians are returning home, and we are staying home.”

What? Ben straightened in alarm. “But the New Mandalorians built their platform off participation in the Republic.” Satine shot him a withering glance. Ben realized what he just said. “Right. Well...good for you all. Withdrawing from this craziness sounds perfect right now. No more civil wars, no declaring war against others, no participating in anybody else’s banthashit wars. Sounds pretty damn good to me.”

 “Ben, come back.” Satine put the hairbrush down, staring directly at Ben for the first time. Her voice was as firm and sure as ever, but something else shone through the fuzzy line. “You said that you want nothing to do with the Jedi and the new government. Then come here . I can’t guarantee stability, but I can guarantee that you’d live in comfort and safety. My father loves you. He’d take you officially into our clan in a second.”

Ben felt his cheeks heating up, something warm twisting in his chest. “Satine…”

“Now isn’t a good time. Wait until our position is secured. If you wish, wait until I succeed my father in the Grand Duchy.” Satine’s cut-glass features softened, gentling into an expression she had only ever given him. “You’re the only person I could ever imagine as Duke-Consort of Mandalore. You’re the only one I would ever trust.” Ben opened his mouth, but Satine cut him off. “I do not ask for your hand until you can offer me your trust and loyalty. But for both our sakes, Ben - I hope you find yourself capable of that soon. I will wait, but a daughter of Mandalore does not accept half oaths.”

The thought of offering a half oath to Satine was...petrifying. Lamely, Ben said, “Yes, your grace. I’ll...consider it.”

“That’s what you said last time. Get your act together, Ben Kryze.” Satine huffed, but she smiled at him anyway. “Reconciling with the Jedi shall be good for you. Captain Ohnaka’s ultimatum will also be good for you. Their peaceful ways may be a good influence.”

“They were a terrible influence on me.”

“I’m the only good influence you’ve ever had.” Satine rolled her eyes, twirling her hair into a bun and stashing it under a sleeping cap. “If I had gotten my hands on you earlier, I could have had a true gentleman on my hands. Dashing. Diplomatic. Refined. Instead I get a pirate who runs half the Mid-Rim smuggling rings! I weep for the lost opportunity.”

“I don’t know,” Ben teased, “I think you just have a thing for Coruscanti accents.”

“I have a thing for men with Coruscanti accents who know their way around a debate,” Satine corrected, “and you, my dear, have only one of those things. Goodnight, Ben.”

“Goodnight, Satine.”

Two hours later, Hondo found him at the kitchen table with a jug of Corellian moonshine in his hand, muttering face down into the sticky surface.

He patted Ben’s back. “Your beautiful warrior princess propose to you again, son?”

“She wants me to get my act together ,” Ben moaned. “I’m incapable of getting my act together! I’m going to lose my beautiful warrior princess because I’m a flake ! Then she’s gonna shoot me because Mandalorian girls don’t stand for that shit!”

“Hey! It could be worse.” Hondo smacked Ben’s back in solidarity, making him grunt. “You could be a Duke of Mandalore. Imagine. You! A Duke of Mandalore! Hah! Ah, I amuse myself so.”

Nobody was any help. At all. 

Satine knew everything about Ben. She was the only person who did. It was impossible to hide from her: she had a way of seeing straight through you, past every bluster and brag and deflection, into what exactly you were trying to hide from her. Ben had tried to hide a lot from her, but he had never been successful. 

She knew where he had learned Mandalorian, why he spoke it with a strange accent interspersed with Basic military slang. She knew who had installed Mandalorian values into him, who had imparted the strange and misshapen ideals that they championed. He had received the culture fourth hand, the language just left of normal, and everything was so jumbled within him he didn’t know what to cut out and what to grasp onto with shaking hands. 

Cutting out the Jedi had been easy. He had been doing it since he was thirteen, eager to replace the values and morals that screamed at him every day that what he was doing was wrong. He had filled that void with methods of survival passed on by soldiers: how to shoot a blaster, how to defuse a bomb, how to wake up every day, how to care for each other. When Ben had tried to cut that one out, he had nothing to replace it with - and so he was empty. 

But, of course, he wasn’t successful. A desire for justice and peace weren’t so easily disregarded in a cold galaxy. Blaster bolts still had to hit their mark, and bombs still had to be defused. Ben still had to wake up every day, and he did not know how else to do it. 

Ben would chop himself up into smaller and smaller pieces, barter bits of himself that were no longer useful for pieces that were, but he could not choose to forget how to wake up every day and how to care for others. He didn’t even want to. 

Over the last three years, Ben had been one of the last bearers of Jedi culture. He had been the last bearer of clone culture - him and Boba Fett, wherever the brat was now. He was a walking graveyard of ghosts he couldn’t exorcise. A memorial and an altar, leaving him as the sole mourner pleading to traitors and victims alike if they were proud of him.

He didn’t know which one he hated more. 

Kallistos was a Mid-Rim planet, type 3B. 

The index system of was Ben’s own invention. It wasn’t an actual index system - he had those too - but it was the Mid-Rim flavor he used for his private diaries and notes. He worked quite hard on it. Heavily simplified, it went something like this:

Type 1 was Not A Shithole. Rich, fertile, and the denizens actually saw some of the profits. Agrarian, manufacturing, whatever - people were employed and nobody was crying too hard about it.

Type 2 was Kind Of A Shithole. There were resources. People were employed. Nobody was seeing any of the resources, and nobody was seeing any of the profits. A lot of mining and factory towns. Natural materials and manufacturing made for export.

Type 3 was Shithole. Most Type 2s became Type 3s eventually once manufacturing moved on elsewhere. A decaying corpse of a planet, grinding towards entropy.There were a lot of Type 3s. 

It wasn’t very complicated, but once you got down to it most places in the galaxy were the same. It was even Besh type, the second most common in the Mid-Rim: beautiful mountains that were busy being mined to death. 

None of this was obvious from the spaceport where Ben sat on a half-lowered boarding ramp, swinging his legs, but Ben’s mental index of planets was extensive. A soldier saw it all, and a pirate saw the rest. He had grown acquainted with Kallistos for a month during the war. It was some stupid mission that he didn’t even remember now. He was pretty sure that it had been a resource manufacturing disposal mission - right, this place had some unique mine, that explained why it was a Type 2. He was pretty sure that he had planned out the whole op and helped direct the forces on he ship.

A large, calloused hand on his head. A tug at a nerf-tail. A ‘good job’. That was all he truly remembered.

Most of the crew had dispersed, with strict orders to come back in an hour. This was a pit stop and a drop-off for Ben, so give him a big old hug goodbye before he goes. Oh, we shall miss him! What an asshole. 

Said asshole was standing on the ground next to him, the top of his dashing hat even with the half-lowered boarding ramp. Ben tried to ‘accidentally’ kick his hat off, making Hondo scold him again.

“We’ve been waiting for an hour,” Ben said flatly. 

“Yes, quite rude. Maybe they’re lost?”

“If they’re fifteen minutes late we can leave. Pirate’s rule.”

“Yes, but unfortunately we are not dealing with pirates.” Hondo tapped his wrist-comm, frowning. “Truly chaotic times we are living in. I hope they were not waylaid by any ne’er do wells.”

“What, like us?” 

Something snapped in the Force, and Ben felt his nerves jump. He looked up, and amidst the steady flow of ships landing and docking he saw a scuffed and sun-scored U-Wing slowly coarse down onto the docks. Its wings snapped and folded into a downward position, thrusters firing as it landed on the transport dock, and it shuddered to a halt.

Ben’s fingers clutched on the strap of his backpack. His duffel was in his lap. It wasn’t everything he owned - that was in five different safehouses scattered across the galaxy - but it was what he carried with him. More than he had ever carried as a monk, and more than he had ever lost. 

Both he and Hondo waited silently as a gangplank lowered, the ship compact enough that it extended straight onto the flyway. If anybody descended, Ben couldn’t see them through the mass of bodies. He continued waiting with Hondo. Since when were Jedi late …

“So,” Hondo said awkwardly. “Remember not to give them any undue trouble. I’m not bailing you out of jail again!”

“You’ve never bailed me out of jail,” Ben said, bored. “You always made me spring myself.”

“Yes, it builds character.” Hondo looked up at him, faltering just a little. “I ask only that you give this a fair shot.”

“Or what?” 

But Hondo just shrugged. “Or your beautiful warrior princess will never marry you! And that would be the real tragedy. Yes, that would be the saddest thing of all. It would be something that is your fault, and yours alone.”

“You know, I’m getting real tired of your intrusions into my love life -”

“Hey! Hey, are you my contact?”

A body pushed itself out of the mass, yelling and waving. It was a humanoid about Ben’s age, with thick dreadlocks loosely tied with a ribbon and a thin spacer’s jacket over a bare chest. He packed a visible blaster, concealed carry another, and had a vibroblade stashed in his boot. Ben recognized him instantly, but he didn’t seem to do the same.

Of course. Ben should have suspected. Only Quinlan Vos would show up to a three year reunion late. 

“I believe you’re my man,” Hondo said, crossing his arms and glancing up at Ben. Ben nodded, flashing a ‘secure’ hand sign. “Young, burly, badly dressed?”

“That’s what they all say,” Quinland said proudly as he walked up to the ship. He flashed a lightsaber hidden in his sleeve, proud and unashamed to show it to the entire port. “You’re Captain Hondo Ohnaka, right? I’m here to pick up my guy. They said that you had him.” He looked around the spaceport, obviously seeing Ben but his attention skipping right past him. “You didn’t leave him in the library, did you? Because it’s gonna take a week to peel him out of there. Seriously, where’s -”

Something fragile and powerful burst in Ben’s chest, sending warmth and choked affection coursing through him. He couldn’t help it, and he couldn’t restrain it. Ben stood up, head brushing the rim of the ship as he dropped his duffel on the ground, and without any hesitation he pushed forward and jumped off the gangplank.

Ben sailed in the air, as light as he felt, overcome by an emotion that he allowed to be simple. For just a second, just these two seconds, let this emotion be simple and easy! Let Quinlan just be Quinlan, the best friend Ben’s ever had, and let Ben dig deep inside of himself for somebody he had buried a long time ago. Quinlan looked up at him, eyes widening as he recognized the Force signature finally bared to the world, and Ben saw his own reflection in Quinlan’s eyes.

Ben crashed into Quinlan, the Force protecting them both. The other boy was physically pushed back several feet, boots skidding on the cement, but that didn’t stop him from crying out in joy and clutching Ben tightly around the middle. He spun him around, extending the moment of flight into a warm and tight embrace, and he burst out into disbelieving laughter. 

Eventually, Ben’s boots hit the ground again, but they didn’t separate. Quinlan clutched onto Ben’s jacket with a fierce, tight grip, his head buried in Ben’s shoulder. 

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan said, muffled into his coat, “you idiot…”

“Yes,” Ben said, “so you always tell me.”

They separated eventually, Quinlan wiping hard at his eyes. He grabbed Ben’s arms - Ben very quickly shook him off - and looked him up and down, eyes widening as he surveyed the damage. 

“I didn’t even recognize you. It’s like you don’t even exist in the Force. That’s some shielding you got there, Obi-Wan.” His eyes travelled up to Ben’s chin, and he pulled a face. “Brother. Who glued that womp rat to your face?”

“I’m gonna have to shave, huh,” Ben said, depressed. Satine would be so smug. She never forgave him for the beard. Or the mullet. But the mullet stayed. “Is it really that bad?”

Quinlan moved to clap him on the arm, but he dropped his hand quickly. “Give it another five years and it’ll look great. They say it grows back thicker if you shave it, you know.”

“You’re telling tales. That’s something people tell human men so they shave off their facial hair.”

“Star’s honest truth.” Quinlan raised a hand in an oath to the galaxy, before cracking a grin. “Just like the bantha shit sundae -”

“Shut up about that!” Ben hit Quinlan on the shoulder, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Why couldn’t he stop smiling? “You’re still taller than me. That’s so unfair. You’re still taller! Dammit. Dammit, man!”

But he was laughing too, and Quinlan easily slung another arm around his shoulder and squeezed him tightly, and Ben couldn’t help but hug him again. 

Faintly, he heard Hondo prattle on about something behind his back. Quinlan was sounding a little overwhelmed, so Ben reluctantly pushed himself off Quinlan and turned around. Hondo was holding out his duffel bag, braids swinging, and Ben grabbed it in embarrassment. 

“The most touching reunion I’ve seen in my life,” Hondo proclaimed loudly. “Almost as touching as me and my ex-wife. Oh, we missed each other so. Thankfully, my aim is getting better -”

“Get outta here, Hondo,” Ben said, and he didn’t miss Quinlan’s slight flare of surprise at the way his voice slid back into the rough pirate’s accent. He hadn’t even noticed his words to Quinlan had twanged with a Coruscanti flair. “I’ll never forgive ya for this.”

“Ah, how blessed am I to have a young man such as yourself to keep me accountable.” Hondo clapped Ben on the shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I will treasure every second we are apart. Now, off with you! I have business outside of your loving embraces.”

“Paying back prostitutes ain’t business,” Ben snarked. Quinlan looked fairly bewildered. “I’ll meet you right back here, in three months, and I’m not -”

“Changing your mind, yes, yes. Ciao!”

Hondo squeezed his shoulders one final time, Ben gestured very rudely at him, and Hondo shot Quinlan a wink before he sauntered off. Ben watched him go, his lithe height disappearing into the crowd, and tried not to feel his heart sinking into his feet. 

Left. They always left. How many people had he seen disappear into the crowds? How long until -

“Man, Obi-Wan, I’m so fucking excited, man. You’re going to love the new place.” Quinlan tried grabbing his elbow again, trying to tow him away, but Ben jerked away violently.

“Stop fucking touching me, man.”

Quinlan stopped short, surprise boiling in the Force, but he quickly released it. “Sorry, dude. Anyway, it’s more of a HQ right now, but the planet’s real pretty. And everybody’s already talking about a permanent location! Some of us really want to return to some, like, ancestral Temples or whatever - but a lot of the other guys want to build a new place that’s just for us. That’s definitely me. You know how much I hate old buildings. Do you remember that one time in the 45th subfloor -”

On and on and on. Ben had forgotten how much Quinlan talked. His apprenticeship to a Shadow had been downright confusing to everybody who didn’t know him well. But a banthashit spinner of equal calibre knew that the best secrets were hidden in waves of lies, and another covert operative knew how much Quinlan could give the air of complete transparency while  keeping everything under his hair. A best friend knew that Quinlan talked when he was nervous. 

He chattered Ben’s ear off all the way back to the ship, brushing off any questions about refuelling. Quinlan’s eyes kept darting around the crowd anxiously, perfectly aware of his environment, and he pushed and pulled at the Force in regular pulses that Ben easily recognized as a hyper-aware watch for danger. It was regular and steady, almost reflexive. 

It wasn’t a method Ben used. Quinlan exploded and challenged while Ben hid. But they always had different coping mechanisms. 

The U-Wing was relatively new, especially for a mass-produced star fighter, but it had already seen some dings. Quinlan pressed a button on his comm gauntlet - almost identical to one that they had worn in the Clone Wars, and Ben fought a double-take as he saw it - and bounced on his heels as the gangplank lowered. 

“Everybody’s been flying the stars excited, man, you have no idea. Senator Amidala’s been so emotional. I don’t get why - that’s for later, never mind. I can’t wait to show you around. You know Katooni? She’s gotten so big. Petro’s right there with her. I can’t wait until we have kids running around again, it’s going to be great.”

Ben softly snorted as he followed Quinlan up the gangplank.

The ship was meant for transporting small squads of ground troops, and consisted of little more than a large stretch of space with seats and straps on either side of the wall. There was an entry leading towards a cockpit in the front, with open entrances to either side for the gunner pits. 

“Mission success!” Quinlan cried into the ship, raising his hands in victory. “I thought I was going to pass out right after picking you up, but I’m super wired instead. Sorry for the delay, we actually got waylaid by those damn opportunistic pirates. Are you, like, a pirate these days? That’s cool, I swear, but - how did that happen?”

“How did a lot of things happen.” Ben half-shrugged, following Quinlan further into the ship and into the cockpit. “Hondo and I go way back. Pretty sure I owe him my soul now, but I guess that’s a small price to pay for the great business opportunities.”

“Knowing you, man - way better if you don’t tell me.” Quinlan stepped to the side and knocked on the back of the pilot’s chair, cuing the pilot to swivel around. “Set course for Yavin IV! I’ll send a comm to the Senator and tell her that we’re on our way.”

“You got it.”

Ben halted in the door to the cockpit.

The pilot was a clone, casually dressed in yellow fatigues with a pilot’s cap jammed on his head. His hair was just barely grown out of regulation cut, and his face was smooth and unlined. Young. Younger than the rest. 

Ben’s hand jerked towards his belt, before he forcibly stilled it. The Force jerked around him, a hard emotional yank that matched his gut. The simple joy from earlier, so delicate and fragile, extinguished immediately. As it always did. 

“What’s that thing doing here?”

Both Quinlan and the clone turned to look at him. Ben didn’t bother fighting the sneer. The clone wasn’t armed - what was he going to do, monotone him to death?

“Uh,” Quinlan said. He and the clone looked at each other. The clone made an actual facial expression, which suspiciously resembled ‘I told you so’. “He agreed to pilot us?”

The clone nodded firmly at Ben in a military hello. He didn’t stand up and salute. “Name’s DA-0230. Nice to meet you.”

Nice to meet you. As if that serial number was a name. Little gods. “You’re a shiny,” Ben said, half-disbelieving. “Last batch decanted after you betrayed the Republic, right? What are you, ten ?”

“What are you,” the clone said, “eighteen?”

Something hot whipped in Ben’s chest, something that made Quinlan jerk back in alarm. The clone just stared Ben up and down, a ‘what are you going to do about it?’ expression written across his face, before he turned back around and went back to the console. 

“Okay,” Quinlan said, hands held up in a childishly placating gesture - like they were all Initiates and he was talking Ben down from fighting with Brock Chun again. “You gotta cool it with...whatever you have going on. I know the clone thing is confusing, but we’re working with them now! It’s great! Yay!”

“I am not working with those things,” Ben said, slowly and carefully and as calmly as he could. “The only thing I do with that is put them out of their misery.”

“Right word for it,” the clone said, not looking back. 

“Obi-Wan -”

And, somehow, Ben found himself yelling. “That is not my name! That is not my name, and don’t you dare call me it again!”

“Okay!” Quinlan yelled back, clearly confused as to why they were both screaming. “Just calm the fuck down, you’re poisoning the Force. Shit, Obi-Wan, this isn’t you!”

“How would you know who I am or not!” Ben screamed. 

Silence descended over the ship. Ben bit down hard on his tongue, and tried half-heartedly to remember the calming exercises. They had been so easy when he was eight. Guess eight year monk babies didn’t have a lot to be stressed about.

Reigning in his emotions felt like wrangling a bantha, especially with the clone just sitting and flipping switches in preparation for takeoff, but Ben finally managed to pack them back inside of himself. This was going to be problematic. People only tended to notice he was losing his cool when things started shaking. But a room full of Jedi would pick him out instantly as a failure and descend on him like a herd of nexi. 

This was a terrible idea. Fuck Hondo and fuck the Rebellion. 

Quinlan was looking at him. He kept it perfectly wrapped inside his chest, but Ben could feel it - a stormy mix of a thousand emotions. A thousand flavors of sad. Not angry or disgusted or judgemental. Just sad. 

“Just let me explain,” Quinlan said, “okay?”

And Quinlan explained. 

“You can’t be serious.”

The explanation carried them into hyperspace, the stars streaming around them into thin white blurs. They would ride the hyperlane for another hour before dropping them at Hiven 64, at which point they would make a series of confidential jumps that would put them at Yavin IV. It was a difficult and sprawling route, but that was definitely by design. It wasn’t as if Rebel HQ would squat at Chandrila. 

The pilot was resting at his chair, feet kicked up on the co-pilot’s seat and hat pulled over his eyes. He had his hands folded on his stomach and appeared to be resting while they were safe in hyperspace. Cody would have had his head . What programs were training them these days, Kiddie Playground Holovision? 

“That’s it! On the Force, the honest truth.” Quinlan grinned nervously at him. He was sitting next to Ben, backs pressed up against the smoothly vibrating durasteel plates of the ship. “Master Tano’s kicking herself for not discovering the truth about the chips earlier. You remember her and her conspiracies, right? Turns out that this was the big secret she had been chasing for years. One of them, at least. But we found out about the other one years ago.”

Yes, Master Ahsoka Tano’s grand odyssey for the truth. The investigation that got her framed by the Republic for grand scale terrorism, that cued her voluntary departure from the Order so she could travel the galaxy and root out the secret hand of the Sith. As always, she had just been a little too late. She should have begun her search at home. It seemed that was where all the worst journeys began. Or maybe just where they ended. 

The irony still got Ben. Imagine spending your entire life searching for the last legacy of the Banite Sith only to turn around to find it in the sickly yellow eyes of the child you were forced to abandon.

Ben’s mouth was dry, but he forced himself to speak anyway. “So they were brainwashed. That’s why they’ve been muted in the Force. Brainwashed...because of chips in their brains...in a galactic conspiracy...by the Sith...to kill all the Jedi...through giving a Jedi visions...to manufacture a war -”

“I know it’s insane, okay? Do the Sith ever have a normal plan?” Ben had to admit that they did not. “Master Tano and Rogue One managed to break into Kamino and deactivate the chips. It was instant. We never could have taken the military without them. Three years of work, and the tides turned in an instant.” Quinlan snapped his fingers, sparking in the Force. “We’re working with the clones and the Senate to try and dissolve the Empire. Things are getting out of hand already - that’s why we couldn’t pick you up for a week - but that’s your answer.” He softened, looking at Ben in something left of hope. “They never wanted to do it, bro. They had no choice. They were enslaved by that awful brainwashing monster, and we were finally able to free them. I know you’ve wanted answers - we’ve all wanted answers - and now we finally have them. This is it.”

Silence stretched between them. Ben felt fuzzy, mind far away. Chips and traitors and Jedi and conspiracies. His heart wrestled with it, struggling to parse out the tornado of pain inside of his chest.

Finally, Ben said, “So?”

Quinlan blinked, taken back. “ So? Obi-Wan -”

“It’s Ben.”

“ - dude, we know how close you were with your regiment. I remember how much you loved Rex and the 501st. I know what it's like to watch your family destroy itself - but for you, I know it was a whole other level. I’m not asking you to hug and make up with all of them, but they were loyal to us until the end. They’re still loyal to us, despite everything.”

The sentence was so strange, so incongruent with Ben’s reality, that he couldn’t help but bark a laugh. “That loyalty is a scrap of code. I knew them better than any of you. Trust me. They were never people. All you’re telling me is that we had been tricked into thinking that they were built to fight for us instead of against us. All I’m hearing is that we were pretty damn stupid.” Quinlan lashed shock and hurt into the Force before hastily releasing it, and Ben wondered what feeling he stained the Force with now. He knew it wasn't pretty.  “I never wondered why they betrayed us, Quin. I knew why. I just felt like an idiot.”

“Obi-Wan, you can’t be serious!”

“It’s Ben,” the pilot said. He didn’t open his eyes or move from his apparent nap. “And he has a point.”

“Come on, Thirty, you can’t possibly take his side in this!”

“I mean, it’s an oversimplification.” Thirty cracked his eyes open, looking at the two of them balefully. “And I gotta argue the sentient thing. But some of us young guys are arguing the loyalty thing pretty hard. Programming’s programming.”

“It’s not the point ,” Quinlan said, expasterated. Ben and Thirty shared a glance, before Ben promptly realized that they were sharing a glance and looked away. Thirty rolled his eyes. “ Ben , believe whatever gives you peace, okay? Whatever you and the 501st and the 212th have to work out, that’s between you. But if you try to kill any of them, we will stop you. That’s all I’m saying. Even if they aren’t sentient in the same way you and I are. They still don’t deserve what happened to them. None of us did.”

The ship abruptly dropped out of hyperspace, sending Ben and Quinlan jerking, and Ben felt his thigh brush against Quinlan’s. After all this time, it still felt grounding and real. How could it be real? How could having Quinlan by him be real?

Finally, as the ship rattled in preparation for another jump, Ben said, “I’m sorry about Aayla, Quinlan.”

But Quinlan just seemed tired. For the first time, Ben saw it: he was bigger and stronger and bolder, but the bags under his eyes were thick and profound. He had a thick blaster scar under his right pec, and a ropy burn that Ben recognized as a lightsaber scar curving around a ribcage. “Yeah, it was Bly. Right in her back. It was instant. She didn’t even suspect. She died never knowing who killed her. I’m glad...”

Ben was silent. Quinlan pinched the bridge of his nose hard. 

“As, like, a funny joke as a kid - whenever I saw some shitty street market rings, I would pick one up. Or even just a funny shaped branch on the ground. I would run over and give it to Bly, like a real little asshole, and tell him to man up and give it to my master. All the other guys would laugh at him, and he would get so hilariously embarrassed. By the end of the war he must have had - shit, a box of more than a dozen cheap little rings that I kept shoving at him. I just thought it was funny. But he saved every one, you know.”

There was no anger in the Force. Just a soft, steady resignation. The memories were bittersweet, wrapped thickly with thorns, but Quinlan didn’t seem to mind. 

“I joined the Rebellion because my one goal in life for years was to kill that son of a bitch. I meant to find him, kill him, then go die myself. It was what got me out of bed in the morning. Then four months ago, we’re raiding the Inquisitorial Academy - I got Fourth Brother, so suck it - and I feel him. He was just a freaking guard. Bly, a guard! And I felt…”

He trailed off. The ship rattled and jerked, making jump after jump to destination unknown. 

Some deranged impulse made Ben ask, “Where’s Bly now?”

“Well.” Quinlan turned and smiled at Ben - bright, sad, triumphant. “Hopefully he got out of bed today.”

They spent the rest of the flight to Yavin IV in silence, everybody stewing in their juices. Well - Ben and Quinlan stewed in their juices. Thirty seemed supremely unimpressed by the drama, and was far too busy doing a terrible job piloting.

 Ben half-expected them to land on Yavin IV without him realizing, but when they arrived it was blindingly obvious. The green, lush planet shone like an emerald in the inky black carpet of space, but the beautiful little moon was overshadowed by the looming fleet of Star Destroyers ringing Yavin Prime. Ben counted four - three older Venerator class and one new Imperial class. Amazing. He’d only ever seen an Imperial as they flew overhead, the first of the new fleet rolling out into the Core only six months ago. They looked radically different than the Venerator class, with bold and simple lines that reflected the typical Empire style of proud austerity. The Imperial style direction reminded Ben of the Bow House style that was popular on Staatlich, although it more closely embodied the spirit and form of the Brutalist philosophies of -

“Bro,” Quinlan said, as Ben realized he had been muttering to himself, “you are the only sentient alive who’d nerd out over military ships and obscure art movements simultaneously.”

“They didn’t say you were a freak,” Thirty said, impressed. 

“Nobody asked for your opinion,” Ben snapped at Thirty, who just shrugged. Who was this guy’s commanding officer? Could Ben get their serial number? He had a complaint.

The descent was long and slow, Thirty passing them through checkpoint after checkpoint as he rattled off ten different codes in extreme boredom. Quinlan hovered behind him, tugging at his gloves and tightening the straps. Ben just sat on one of the troop seats, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.

The artistry of ships had always been Gearshift, Redeye, and Kelvin’s thing. Not that they had really understood it. None of them had the words to describe what they felt, but it hadn’t stopped them from huddling on transports and talking lovingly about its curves. Ben had hovered at Gearshift’s elbow, enraptured by the impromptu Art & Architecture class happening in the belly of a troop transport. It had seemed a thousand times more interesting than the real Art & Architecture class he should have been taking at the Temple. 

He tried to banish the memory as quickly as it bubbled up, but it was almost impossible. Every one of those battleships were full of clones. Each ship typically held a battalion, which was around 580 men depending on the specialty of the battalion. But he knew Stormtrooper battalions sometimes held up to 800 men for planetary occupation - a single Star Destroyer, especially the larger Imperial class, could easily hold a planet. That was 2,320 men. Ben could survive 235 clones in an open space, and he could take five squadrons of Stormtroopers if he let loose, but even he would lose against 2,320 clones and a Star Destroyer. 

Something rattled in Ben’s chest. A clone was piloting the craft right now. He could crash them, kill Ben and Quinlan instantly. Ben had survived ship crashes before, but in deep space with no gear he didn’t stand a chance. Could he take him before he swerved the ship? Would Quinlan stop him? 

Maybe Quinlan was working with them. Maybe it was a trap. How’d he know that was really Quinlan, anyway? Maybe he was out for Ben’s bounty. He could be a fallen Jedi. Ben hadn’t checked to see if he was an Inquisitor, how could he be so stupid -

“ - coming?”

Ben startled, violently jerking himself back into his body. He looked around only to find Quinlan and Thirty standing at the lowered boarding ramp, looking at him expectantly. Ben hadn’t even noticed them approaching the planet or landing. How much time had he lost this time? 

How was he going to do this?

“Yeah,” Ben said, grabbing his rucksack and slinging his duffel over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Maybe he’d stay on base for two days before booking it for Mandalore. Maybe one day. Depends on how he feels.

Chapter Text

The first thing he noticed about the Rebel base was that it was busy. As he descended the boarding ramp, he was immediately met with a steady stream of beings running around like fathiers with their tails cut off. Mechanics were all dressed in various sloppy iterations of buttoned grey fatigues, stained with engine grease or waving a hydrospanner around. Ships roared around them, skidding into the runways with smoking wings. Every few seconds an emergency fire suppression droid roared its way down the hangar before turning around and attending another ship. Sentients in greasy overalls, pilots walking in groups with helmets under their heads, managerial staff holding clipboards and shouting, and a constant cycle of droids attending mechanics and pilots swarmed the hangar in a storm of life and durasteel sweat. 

 Ben decided extremely judgmentally that this was a sorry excuse for a military operation. Appo would have a conniption before spending the next two weeks whipping these people into shape. Stella Gerrera was the only commander he’d seen in the last three years who knew how to run a military op. It was disgraceful. 

These people run the government now. These guys. Stars. 

But as Ben walked down the gangplank he saw a slight hush descent over the crowd. The busy mechanics still ran back and forth, but there was a clear loitering group in front of the ship who were talking animatedly with Quinlan. They stopped short when they saw Ben, looking up at him with varying expressions of rising emotion. Parts of the crowd were wearing Jedi robes - was that Petro? - but a fair chunk of the crowd were clones. 

Ben slowly walked down the boarding ramp, meeting eyes with all of them. They flared bright and hot in the Force, as unique and vibrant as they had ever been. That was Lancer, right there, of Aayla’s men - had Tremors grown a beard ? It looked awful. 

The clones stiffened, and with quick precision they saluted. Dumbly, Ben saluted back. 

The crowd swelled, every other person in the crowd scrambling to get out of the way, as Ben found a small procession marching to greet him. He didn’t understand why everybody was staring at him. Why was there a procession? Had Quinlan told everybody ? 

But the answer to his question came soon enough, because Ben saw Padme emerge from the crowd with an entourage trailing behind her. Mon Mothma and Bail Organa were right at her heels, dressed practically yet finely, but Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away from Padme.

Part of him had expected to see her in tough soldier’s wear - the very image of a dedicated and hard working warrior. Part of him couldn’t imagine her in anything else than a Senator’s humble yet regal dress. Part of him remembered her over a small dinner table in her apartment, as she threw her head back and laughed with cheeks flushed from several glasses of wine. Anakin Skywalker had told a joke, and she found it the funniest thing in the world. Ben had rolled his eyes - it hadn’t been that funny. But Anakin hadn’t stopped telling her unfunny jokes, just to make her laugh too loudly. They had sent him home early that night so the adults could stay up and ‘talk’. Transparent. 

But Padme was dressed in both - a simple and maneuverable black bodysuit with a bright blue jacket and a blaster strapped to her side. But her cloak was rich red velvet, reminding Ben of pictures he had seen of her as Queen of Naboo - embroidered beautifully and stopping just short of trailing on the dirty floor. It was undoubtedly blaster and impact resistant, easily clasped over her whole body with a dark red hood lowered over her shoulders. 

It was a stunning, impactful sight - Padme’s specialty. Ben felt like a street urchin in his pants, tattered white tunic, and jacket. But Padme looked at him as if he was wearing the ornate gown instead, as if he was the most striking figure in the room, and her quick stride broke out into a run towards him. 

She didn’t crash into him like Ben had Quinlan, but she reached out a hand and pulled him in tightly. It almost robbed the air from Ben’s chest, and he let her pull him into an embrace so tight it felt like a vice. She was almost seven inches shorter than him and half his weight, but in that moment she seemed tall and strong - a desperate grab becoming firm and powerful, a hand on the back of his head pressing his face into her shoulder turning protective and strong. 

Ben had played bodyguard for Padme more times than he could remember. There had been at least five different assasination attempts, which had all driven Anakin insane with worry. But he had never felt as if anything could hurt her. She was invulnerable. He had never once doubted that she survived the Empire’s rise. She was an immovable object, as steady and sure as Cody. 

She released him, hands reaching up to cup his face. Her large brown eyes, normally so sharp and intent, seemed desperate - looking him up and down as if the dirt in his jacket would convince her that he was real. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Ben said weakly. He had the awful urge to apologize to her for the rest of his life. “I...got a little held up…”

“Late,” Padme said softly, in almost unconscious mimicry. “You’re right on time, Obi-Wan. Oh, Obi-Wan! I thought he’d - I thought he’d - Obi-Wan !”

Then she was hugging him again, and Ben found himself hugging her just as desperately, desolate at the thought of her sadness, as if a hug and his presence could make everything okay again.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, “I’m sorry…”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing, okay? You did nothing wrong.” Padme released him, and Ben saw that her eyes were dry and her face as composed as ever. He wasn’t sure Padme was capable of crying. Her makeup probably hid it. He’d helped Satine apply her makeup many times - it definitely hid it. “The only thing I care about is that you’re alive. Nothing else is important.” She turned around to the crowd, making a sharp gesture towards her entourage. “Dorme, take Obi-Wan’s things to his room. Quinlan, I want a full report from you before the day’s out. Thirty, thank you for your help, you may file your own report now. Bail, Mon, I want Obi-Wan’s input into our relocation plans. We need his military and tactical expertise on the movement orders. Everybody else get back to work, you have jobs to do. Obi-Wan, you have to be tired, but there’s some people I need you to meet first.”

“Uh,” Ben said, even as the crowd dispersed in seconds and Quinlan groaned. “I’m not sure if -”

“Just for a minute,” Padme said, face settling into an expression that Ben had never seen - or maybe that he had only seen once, a second ago. “They’re probably tired. Rex?”

And, as the crowd dispersed, Ben saw a single figure standing in the entourage. A Force signature rendered unfamiliar with time, whose echoes were part of Ben’s own signature in the Force. Who had spoken the Mando’a slang that Ben echoed; who was rendered unrecognizable by the sight of a toddler on his hip and another one clutching onto his hand. 

Rex looked a little harried, a little haunted, and a lot sheepish. One of the toddlers - with a sweet heart-shaped face and long brown hair that resembled Padme’s - yelled and tugged at Rex’s hand until he let her go, and she ran forward so she could leap and attach herself to Padme’s cloak. 

The toddler promptly launched into an impassioned tale of gibberish, which somehow made sense to Padme as she bent down and scooped her up. Padme nodded solemnly at the...story? Mission report? Complaint?...before kissing the toddler on the head. 

“Do you want to meet someone?” Padme asked the kid sweetly. Rex walked up, keeping the other thankfully sleeping blonde one on his hip. Ben’s eyes skittered from Rex, to Padme, to the children, to Rex, to Padme. “Hi, Leia. Do you want to say hello to my friend?”

“No!” Leia cried. “And then - and then a fish - came out of a tree - and the fish was aaagh! Mommy, I want red gummy!”

“The fish was a snack for her, and the tree was the Wookie on cafeteria duty,” Rex said, amused. He kept watch on Ben out of the corner of his eye. He barely seemed to be breathing. “They’ve both had long days. I was about to put Luke to bed.”

“Oh, we shouldn’t wake him up. Not that Leia doesn’t have all the energy.” Padme looked down at Leia again, bouncing her on her hip before turning her to Ben. “Leia, this is a really special man. He’s your uncle. Do you know what an uncle is?”

Leia stuck her fingers in her mouth and garbled something. She was fragile and small, like a porcelain doll. She looked as if she would shatter if you dropped her. “Uh…”

“You know what an uncle is. Your friend Cari has her Uncle Hoopa. An uncle is your mommy’s brother. So your Uncle Obi-Wan’s my baby brother. Do you want to say hi?”

Leia sucked on her fingers suspiciously before popping them out of her mouth. “Brother like Luke?”

“Yes. But Obi-Wan’s much younger than me. So he’s my baby brother. Like you’re my baby!” Padme bounced Leia, making her laugh. “Did you know you’re my little baby!”

“Mo mmy !” Leia shrieked. “I’m not a baby !”

“No, but you’re my baby,” Padme said indulgently. She put Leia down, smiling at Ben. She smiled at all of them with an odd and giddy sort of disbelief, as if she couldn’t believe that she was looking at all three of them at once. As if the two toddlers and Ben weren’t meant to exist in the same space simultaneously. She couldn’t stop looking at them. “I think you two want a little nap. Uncle Obi-Wan probably wants a nap too. We can all play together later. Rex, why don’t you give me Luke and you can show Obi-Wan to his room?”

“Uh,” Rex said, eyes wide. He glanced at Ben again, who had yet to make a facial expression. “Sir, I’m not sure if -”

“We all have very much to talk about,” Padme said firmly, holding out her hands for Luke. Rex reluctantly stepped up and gently transferred the toddler, who just gummed at his thumb serenely. Leia echoed the motion and put her thumb in her mouth too. “Ahsoka will come back from Alderaan tomorrow. Then we can all talk, and we can all catch up before we get back to work. Personal feelings aside, you two.”

Rex and Ben glanced at each other. Simultaneously, they thought, ‘fat chance’. 

“Yes, sir,” Rex said. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben said. He hesitated, the words catching in his mouth. He didn’t know why they tasted like failing her, but - well, he had failed her plenty enough already. “I...prefer Ben these days. So please call me that.”

Padme didn’t blink. “Of course, Ben. Do you have a new last name?”

“I go by Kryze,” Ben said, unreasonably embarrassed, “but that one’s fake, I’m not actually ...well, Satine wants me to, but - no, not yet - I mean, it’s fake! It’s fake.”

Padme did blink that time. Then she smiled, somewhat terrifyingly. Rex looked like he was about to have a stroke.“ Satine wants you to? Marquess Satine of Mandalore? My, you’ve been -” Something clearly occurred to her, and she gasped. “Don’t tell me that you’re the loser boyfriend!”

Ben groaned. “I should have known you two are friends…”

“Oh, boy, mister, we are talking after this.” But Padme just looked delighted, as if knowing atrocious details about her fake brother’s love life was the highlight of her year. Way to go on the discreet thing, Satine! “I’ll see you in the morning, Ben. Rex, thank you again. Remember what I said.”

“Yes, sir.”

Padme swept away, her attendants already flocking to her and shoving datapads in her face that she signed with one hand, the toddlers trailing after her and on her hip only adding to her regal dignity. She hadn’t been a queen in more than ten years, but she still carried herself like one. 

Sometimes Ben wondered if he was the same way. He and Padme had both been a commander and queen from around thirteen to fifteen. Did Ben still walk like a soldier? Did he still carry himself like a commander? Had he ever?

He had tried so hard to walk like Cody, to talk like Rex. He had always failed. But people in cantinas always asked him where he had served, and maybe that was answer enough.

Ben stood alone next to an uncomfortable Rex. He stood stiffly, with his hands behind his back - the familiar posture at odds with the long tan jacket thrown over the dark blue belted tunic. That explained why every clone had a little splash of color-coding on their colorless khaki uniforms. 

“So,” Ben said finally, reluctant to break the silence, eager to get the upper hand, “you work fast.”

Rex eyed him carefully. He was still refusing to look straight at him. “What does that mean?”

Ben just shrugged, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “A week and she already enlisted you as the nanny droid? Guess you have a good track record.” Ben paused a beat in faux-thought. “Well. Not that good.”

“I’ve been with the Senator for three years now.” Rex adjusted his jacket, a rare show of anxiety. “But that’s what I told her. I’ll show you to your room now.”

Rex showed him the way to the rooms. 

The actual administrative buildings of the Rebel base were cleaner than the hangar, and featured slightly fewer hydro spanners, but they weren’t any less hectic. The administrative staff and politicians didn’t run so much as speedwalked, but Ben knew a good political speedwalk when he saw one. Those long dresses and robes hid little feet paddling furiously. Padme was the master in turning speed walking into smooth gliding, mostly because she was so short she had to run to keep up with everybody else. Catch her in pants and it became pretty hilarious. 

He saw some Jedi - mostly younger, who nodded and smiled at Rex but whose eyes glanced over Ben. Despite Rex’s curious look, Ben wasn’t surprised - he knew how good his shielding was. Even the Jedi would see nothing but a spacer - if they were good enough, a pirate who was playing at a semi-innocent spacer.  He didn’t recognize any of them, and their Force signatures were too tightly controlled for him to recognize them in the Force. He swept past them as quickly as possible, pulling up his shields even tighter. He would have hoped that nobody would ever recognize him, and that he could melt into the Jedi-Rebel crowds, but Padme had made a bit of a scene...she can cause as many scenes as she wants, she’s earned it. Ben came by his melodrama honestly. 

There weren’t as many clones in the base as Ben had feared. There were still plenty, all of which Ben clocked as ex-officers or higher-ups in the GAR, but Ben guessed most of them were in the battleships docked around Yavin Prime. The hangar had a few groups of pilots marching around purposefully, who had quickly swallowed Thirty into their number, but Ben found Rex guiding him away from what looked like the administrative building closer to more secluded hallways. Ben had been expecting prefab dormitories in a separate building from the base like every other military outpost, not a room in a building.

“These are the high level administrative quarters,” Rex said, thumbing a lock on the door and letting it slide open. “You’re next to the Senator’s quarters. Mon Mothma’s across the hall, Bail Organa’s is on the other side. Half these rooms are empty half the time, so it should be quiet. Except for the screaming children.” Rex paused in front of the empty door - looking inside the room before looking back at Ben. Finally, he stopped and looked Ben straight in the eyes for the first time. “So do you want to do this now or later?”

Rex looked older. It was no surprise. He was older - six years, likely around his late twenties. Clones never grew bags under their eyes or sagged in exhaustion, but they seemed to carry it all in their shoulders. Rex’s shoulders were loose now, weighted down by time. Whatever he saw in Ben - whatever time he carried with him - it made him sad.

“Padme said I was debriefing tomorrow,” Ben said. 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Rex stepped away from the door, finally looking steadily at Ben. “You should go to sleep if you want to do it later. Or we can go to the training salle if you want to do it now.”

Ben stared at him. 

Finally, he said, “You weren’t with the 501st when they sacked the Temple.”

“No,” Rex said, “I was with Master Tano. My chip malfunctioned shortly afterwards.”

“Huh.” Ben peeked inside the quarters - not terrible - before shucking his bags and tossing them inside. “Lead the way, Rexter.”

Ben could win against Rex. It took a few years, but he could.

Rex had never once gone easy on him. Apparently it was a foreign concept on Kamino: you lost against your trainers every single solitary time you fought them, and you just dealt with that. Breaks, rest stops, work-life balances, and half-assing anything was also a foreign concept. 

Anakin and Master Qui-Gon hadn’t known this when they decided it was a good idea for Rex and Cody to take valuable time out of their incredibly busy days to teach Ben basic skills any physiological six year old on Kamino knew. They had both hidden it, but neither had been impressed with him or his formation skills. 

It had been both par for the course (Ben wasn’t naturally skilled at almost anything) and offensive (Ben scored over perfect in all of his tests as an Initiate). Ben hadn’t settled for anything less than the full Kamino training regime, and every other clone had just shrugged and decided that yeah, an intensive ten year military training regime packed into a year was a normal thing to inflict upon a child. Ben had been ecstatic. 

A few months in, Ben had fucked himself up practicing his hand-to-hand with Rex and passed out from exhaustion in the middle of training. They had been in the middle of a fight, and Rex accidentally hurt him - not badly, but combined with the exhaustion it put him in the med bay for a day. Anakin had scolded Rex but brushed it off as normal risks of training - sometimes Ben wondered what the fuck Ahsoka’s training methods had looked like - but it was the only time that Ben had ever seen Master Qui-Gon yell at Cody. Cody had stood there and taken it with a straight face. The sight of anybody yelling at Cody had been novel - it was Cody, he was the one who did the yelling. Ben remembered wondering if it was humiliating, or if Cody thought he deserved it. 

“He’s a child ,” Master Qui-Gon had said over Ben’s bedside. They had all thought he was asleep. “The most taxing thing he should be doing is saber practice. Not running him into the ground teaching him to be a soldier!”

“Yes, sir,” Cody had said. “Sorry, sir.”

“Come on,” Anakin had complained. “You dumped me in a war zone when I was sixteen and I turned out okay.” 

“And I made you turn in your lightsaber when you chose to stay behind, because that is not what a Jedi does,” Master Qui-Gon said evenly, with a particular flex of tone that meant he was narrowly refraining from snapping at Anakin again. “None of this is what a Jedi does. We don’t let military officers run our Padawans into the ground, training them to be child soldiers…”

“Oh, but it’s okay to leave me in a war zone?” Anakin asked, peeved. “Nice to know you’ve finally hit on perfect training methods the fourth time around, Master.”

“If you took some responsibility over your Padawan, I wouldn’t have to keep all four of you in line!”

“Keep me in line ? I’m a grown man! I don’t need you teaching my Padawan for me -”

“Then why do you keep making me -”

Their voices had trailed off, gracious enough at least not to fight over who got dumped with the Padawan on his sick bed. Cody and Rex had stayed behind, silently in place among the buzzing machines. 

“...but he is a soldier,” Rex had said quietly. “I don’t get Jedi sometimes.”

“Just do as you’re told,” Cody had said.

But Rex had never been good at that. He couldn’t even bother to obey Order 66. 

Of course, Cody was Cody, so he just yelled at Ben about over-exerting himself and put him on mop duty before diving right back into it. Or maybe Cody just knew Ben and knew that he wouldn’t have settled for - or managed to survive with - anything less. 

But Rex was one of the most skilled hand-to-hand fighters in the GAR - although every battalion said that about their leader - and it had taken a year until Ben could beat him in a fair fight with minimal use of the Force. Six months until he could beat him with the Force - that’s how good Rex was. 

Very few Jedi had trained against their clones as long or as hard as Ben had, even padawans. That was probably because most masters had taught their padawans instead of passing them off to the clones. 

Rex had probably grown better over the past three years. But Ben had too. 

The training salle thrust Ben furiously back into childhood. Half of it were blaster sims and floor mats, but the lines of saberplay mats and rows marked by tape were distinctive. Ben had only seen a few other Jedi running around - he wondered if most of them were on Alderaan - but he could feel their mark all over the room. The traces of sweat, hard work, and frustration. Peace and serenity and power.

It felt disgusting to see Rex standing among the Force imprints, an interloper into a sacred space’s facsimile. There were other Rebels in the room, even a young Jedi practicing a calming Shii-Cho, but at one look at Rex and Ben’s faces they all scampered out as quickly as possible. Pity - the clones and padawans would have taken bets. 

Rex tossed off his jacket as Ben fastidiously hung his own up, taking off his boots and de-arming. They started warming up in cold silence, foregoing a more intelligent series of exercises for some loose stretches. 

“So,” Ben said brightly, swinging out his shoulder, “how long had you been planning it?”

Rex just grunted, cracking his neck. “ Planning it?”

“I mean, I guess you weren’t looped in.” Ben’s fingers itched for his knife. He could finish it… “But one of the other 501st traitors must know, right? How long had Anakin Skywalker been planning the coup with the 501st? They had to have arranged everything so I was alone on Utapau with the 212th.”

Rex’s eyebrow ticked up. “None of us knew. It was instant. Cody got the Order, the switch was flipped, and he sent it out. Every switch was flipped. What Skywalker did was as much of a surprise to us as everyone else.” He grunted slightly. “Don’t think even Skywalker planned it, really.”

Wow. At least his genocidal mental breakdown had been consistent with his personality. Ben moved to one edge of the mat, and Rex moved to the other. They didn’t bother calling how many hits or the surrender method. What a joke. 

But Ben just found the anger swirling in his gut instead, churning hotter and hotter. “Don’t lie to me,” he said quietly. “Nobody wakes up one day and decides to mass murder their entire family. Some of you had to be working with him.” It was probably Fox. He had always hated Ben. He had always been off. “Anakin thought the Jedi had betrayed him, that they had tried to kill me. I bet he knew about the plan. I bet he knew what Cody had done. He - he thought he was protecting me. He wouldn’t have done it without a reason.”

“I don’t know about that,” Rex said, “your master was a real piece of work.”

“ Shut up! ”

Ben dived forward, world narrowing into the fight as he abandoned all defense and went straight for offence. Incredibly, Rex was surprised - whether he was surprised at an offensive maneuver from Ben, or if he hadn’t expected his remark to elicit such a strong reaction, he didn’t know. Ben tackled him around the middle, immediately trying to send him to the ground, and Rex reflexively tried pushing back against him and outmatching him in strength. 

But Ben wasn’t a scrawny just-barely-fifteen year old kid, and he held his ground. Rex adapted quickly, kicking his kneecaps, and Ben was forced to buckle to the ground. He grappled Rex down onto the floor with him, trying to pin him down into a submission hold on the floor, but Rex twisted around and almost threw him off. 

In the end, it didn’t last another minute. Ben took Rex down in barely three minutes - a minute better than his old time, but skilled fights never lasted very long - and he kept the submission hold until Rex slapped the mat three times. The familiar sound made him reflexively loosen his grip, but something in the familiar motions made something in him slide loose.

He was still pinning Rex to the ground. He felt dust against his skin, felt the sharp edge of sunlight warming the back of his neck. The ceiling almost looked orange - Ben felt his chest burn with a blaster bolt - grime coated his tongue - Cody -

“ - you’re on Yavin IV. Cody isn’t here, sir, it’s just Rex. Feel me in the Force. You’re on Yavin IV. Reach out and feel it in the Force.”

Following Rex’s instructions was instinctive. Ben stretched himself out in the Force, for possibly the first time in years, and effortlessly heard a dozen Jedi signatures passively respond in kind. A small sea of quieter, dimmer signatures flickered in his awareness, flaring bright and fading. Warmth surrounded him, the air laden with love and care, and Ben felt maternal and filial love burst close to his heart. A Jedi brother was close to him, feeling Ben’s reach. There was another sort of love beside him, worn into the ground by weariness and wariness but subsisting like stone no matter how time battered away at it. 

But it was just Rex, crouched next to him. He didn’t seem surprised - just patient, waiting for Ben to stop shaking. Ben hated him for it. 

The look on his face must have been clear, because Rex just sighed. “I’ve spent a lot of time around traumatized Jedi the last three years, kiddo,” Rex said, leaning back on his heels. “Most of ‘em didn’t have to escape from their garrisons like you did.” Left unsaid: because those Jedi had died. “But some of them did. You’re not alone in this.”

Whatever, man. Whatever. “How long was I out?” 

“Just a few seconds.” Rex shot him a strange look. “How long are you normally out?”

“Hours, sometimes? I don’t know.” Ben exhaled heavily, crossing his legs and leaning forward so he could drive his thumbs into his eyes. “It’s not like that. I just...I don’t know, go away inside? I don’t know. Leave me alone.”

“Never been good at that.” Rex sat down next to him, keeping one knee bent but stretching the other out. He stared up at the ceiling, looking at the flaking polymer. “You can beat me. You could have finished that in seconds if you had a lightsaber. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t surprise or trick you again. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not scared!”

“No shame in it. Seeing the face of people who tried to kill you is hard. It always takes Jedi a while to get over it. I’ve been working with some of ‘em for years and they still avoid me. Everybody goes through it, Boss.”

“I’m not everybody !” Ben snarled. “You know that!”

He wasn’t, and there was no denying it. Rex just hummed, and they sat there in silence for long, anxious minutes. 

Questions burned on Ben’s tongue. He wanted to cry and scream. He wanted to lash out with the Force and break everything around him - even Rex, even himself. He wanted to tear the base down. He wanted to hop on a ship and fly out of here. He wanted to beg Rex to bring everything back to the way it used to be - to when things had been terrible, but at least they were simple. It was so difficult being older sometimes. 

“Been talking with some of the boys this week,” Rex said, almost casually. “First time in years. First thing I asked the 212th, you know, and the first thing they asked each other, was which one of them had killed you. Not to...but we wanted to support. Or whatever. But nobody knew.” Rex shrugged, as if this was a normal conversation . “Got in contact with my boys...that was a whole thing...and I asked them too. Asked them if Skywalker did it.” He stopped short, the only thing so far that he had felt almost unable to say. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling harshly. “ They thought Appo or Jesse did. And Appo and Jesse couldn’t confirm, obviously, so...If Hondo hadn’t called us, we would have never known.”

They sat there in silence. Appo and Jesse’s names burned on Ben’s tongue, making his throat close up. Hondo hadn’t let him go back for the bodies. If he had just gone back for the bodies...they had to hate him. They hate to hate him for that. Cody would have never scolded him for it, ever, but he would have given him that disappointed look, because disrespecting the dead was worth more than any dressing-down could fix.

Was it his fault? What had he done? It made no sense, there was no possible way - but Ben had been at the center of this, hadn’t he? Ben and his dumb lineage. Ben and Padme and the babies. Anakin’s dumb family. Ben’s dumb family, and the click of thousands of blasters as they all turned on him. 

He didn’t realize what he was saying until he was saying it. The shame of it burned hot and fast in his throat, so awful he couldn’t bear it. Today was too much to bear. All of this, it was just too much. He wanted to sleep for a week. He was tired. He wanted to sleep forever. 

“Is it because you hated me?” Ben croaked. “Is it because you all hated me?”

“What? Ben, of course not.” A rough hand clasped onto the back of his tunic, and Ben opened his eyes to see that Rex had moved to squat in front of him. His heart felt like Padme’s, for a reason that Ben couldn’t understand. “This wasn’t - I’m sorry, but it wasn’t about you. Nobody ever wanted to hurt you.”

“Cody hurt me,” Ben croaked, hating the confession. “He hated having to work for me. He hated serving under Master Qui-Gon and Master Anakin, I know it - I know it! All that time when he just smiled and pretended he cared - he had hated me.”

But Rex just looked bewildered, as if he couldn’t possibly reconcile Ben’s words with the world as Rex knew it. “Cody was crazy about you, kid. He loved you. I don’t know what Skywalker told you -”

“He told me that he was doing it for me .” Ben balled his fists in his hair as hard as he could, straining himself apart. “He said that he was doing it because he loved me . So sorry , Rex, but I don’t need my best friend back! I don’t need you, I don’t need anybody, and the last thing I need is more homicidal men telling me that they love me!”

“Too bad,” Rex said shortly, and Ben shut up. “I’m here. Not going away ‘til I die. And when I go, Boiler is going to pop up right here and nag you to death. When we’re all atoms in atmo, your scummy pirate captain will still be kicking and making a nuisance of himself. Even if you hate us, and you never talk to us again, and even if we’ll never be friends again. I’m not ditching you again if I can help it. And wherever Cody is now, if he was here he would say the same thing. After he kicked your ass for the pirate thing.”

“I think the pirate thing is quite dashing.” Ben stopped short, realizing what Rex had just said. “Wait. What do you mean you don’t know where he is?”

But Rex just shook his head. “He’s MIA. Unless he died somewhere and the Empire fucked up and didn’t record it, we just have to assume he’s alive. But nobody can get in contact with him. Last we heard he was stationed in the Chommel Sector, but that’s all we have.”

The news stopped Ben short. He didn’t know how to feel about it. After spending so long bracing himself for a reunion with the one person in the galaxy he hated most, hearing that he wasn’t even here ...it should have been a good thing. It should have been great news. The last thing Ben ever wanted to do was deal with his problems. Cody was a problem, and now he could just - forget about it. He didn’t need some idiot reunion. The cute little dream of them hugging and everything returning straight back to the way it used to be was more like a nightmare. 

The way it used to be was a lie. Even if Rex and Cody hadn’t known, even if they hadn’t planned or wanted to betray them, their entire relationship had been built on a Sith lie. Their lives - Ben’s life - had been built on that lie. The lie that all of that murder and death meant something. The lie that the clones were loyal, that the clones liked the Jedi, that the clones were happy to serve. 

It was a lie that Ben had seen through, after a little while. But he had believed in Anakin Skywalker until the end. And he had believed in Cody until far after that. Those happy lies that childhood told you were ruptured with the truth that adulthood brought, and there was no return to the way they used to be. The past wasn’t dead - it had never existed.   

Confront your past, Ben. Deal with your past, Ben. He’d show them confront . He’d show them dealing with it . Ben could lie to himself until the sun turned white, but he’d show them the truth. The last thing he needed was a child’s love for a murderer. The last thing he needed was Cody, and he’d prove it. 

“I don’t need his damn love ,” Ben said harshly. He stood up, swaying on shaky legs, but he found steady footing as Rex rose too. “I bet he’s fucking hiding. Coward can’t even face me.”

Rex looked at him with a perfect soldier’s poker face that screamed, ‘ he’s the coward hiding from everybody?’. 

“I’m going to kick his ass!” Ben swore, clenching his fist. Rex gave him a doubtful look, but he ignored him. Ben grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his face, unhooking his jacket and blaster belt from the wall hook. “ Deal with it - I’ll deal with it! This is me dealing with it!” Ben slid on his jacket, flipping his collar, and a great idea occurred to him. “I’ll duel him. Then Satine will have to marry me!”

“What,” Rex said. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it after I reunite with the Jedi and we all hug and kiss and I’m baptized back into my monastic order,” Ben rapidly made up, backing out of the room and giving Rex a big thumbs up. “I’m definitely not going to - run off or anything. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business. Because we aren’t friends!”

“Yes, sir,” Rex said, straight faced. 

“Good!” Ben shouted, feeling a little as if he had lost the argument. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to dramatically swish his jacket out of this one. He missed his dumb robe. “If anybody asks, tell them I’ve resumed my quest to find myself.”

“Yes, sir?”

Ben swept out of the room, rubbing at his eyes, working hard to convince himself that if he just had a coat to swish then he would have looked very cool as he left that room.

In the end, he didn’t even unpack.

He changed into a fresh pair of tunic and pants and took a nap on his bed over the covers without taking his boots off. He rarely took his boots off at night and always slept in daytime clothes - a habit that mystified some, made others shrug, and aggravated Satine. It took three different tours of her home’s exhaustive-even-by-Mandalorian-standards security measures before he felt comfortable compromising and taking off his boots. His jacket was hung on her bedpost, always.

He woke up four hours later to another unfamiliar ceiling. He smacked the clock, making sure that it was the base’s night cycle, and scribbled a note on the table before grabbing his bags and heading out the door. 

It was a military base, so there were still people running around even at night, but the quantity was much lower and it was easy to wind into the Force and render himself practically invisible. He double checked his rucksack - datapads, comm, toiletries, money, smokes in the side pocket, check - before he realized that he had no food and that he had no idea where he was going. 

Having no idea where he was going had never stopped him before, but he sighed and headed for a small kitchenette he had seen before. It should be near the administrative officers, only a few hallways away from where he stood. Places like this always kept the kitchens stocked of snack and energy food, so he could grab enough for a day and bounce. That ought to keep him for until he figured out what he was doing. Definitely.

Ben carefully thumbed open the door to the kitchen, looking around to make sure that nobody was inside, before entering and taking off his rucksack. Time to -

“Obi-Wan?”

Somebody was inside. That somebody was Padme, who was sitting at a small table with a datapad and a cup of something that smelled very strong next to her. She was in nothing but a nightgown, with her curly hair unpinned and loosely bouncing on her shoulders. 

Ben froze. Padme froze. They stared at each other. Padme’s eyes narrowed. Ben started sweating. 

“Heading out so soon?” Padme asked mildly. 

Dammit. “I left a note?” Ben said weakly. He fought the urge to turn on his heel and walk straight back to his room. Stay strong. Hold your ground. Don’t show fear. “I’ll be back, I swear, but I have to go right now. I have something I need to do.” 

It sounded weak even to his own ears, but Padme just sighed. She clicked her datapad off and pushed it away from her, taking a sip of her strong drink instead. “Sit down, Ben.”

Ben sat down. 

She kneaded her forehead, and for the first time Ben could see how tired she looked. It seemed like that was a theme. Ben wondered if he looked tired, or if everything about him screamed fresh as a Ryloth tulip because he had spent the last three years kicking back and taking it easy. Ben made it a priority to keep the minimum level of stress in his life, and he usually delivered.

“I talked with Quinlan,” Padme said, and Ben immediately winced. “No, no, Ben. You have nothing to apologize for. You’re allowed to feel what you feel.” She looked down at her glass, circling her finger around the rim. “This is my fault, not yours. We failed you. Out of everybody, we failed you the most. I’m sorry.”

Oh, man. Ben abruptly felt like a huge piece of shit. “Padme, this doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s just my personal stuff, okay? It’s not you. I - you never did anything wrong.”

“Yes, everybody seems to think so.” Padme took a small sip of her drink, eyes far away. “Republics don’t fall from the actions of one person. Not even a Sith. Good men don’t lose themselves overnight. I’m not saying I could have stopped what happened, but I was extremely complacent. I spent years in the Senate condemning complacency to injustice and hatred. I found it as morally odious as committing these actions yourself. I’ve never been a hypocrite, and I would not start now simply because it’s convenient.”

“Shit, if you’re complacent then I aided and fucking abetted.” Ben eyed the bottle on the kitchenette counter, but when Padme gave him a withering look he quickly averted his eyes. It wasn’t as if he would get drunk. He drank as much as the next guy, but he always used the Force to metabolize the alcohol so he couldn’t get drunk - a trick Master Qui-Gon had taught him, improbably. Or probably. Qui-Gon had been eclectic. “You have any idea how many of them I helped escape the GAR? How many fake KIA tickets I pushed through? All the fake identities I manufactured? Who fucking knows who those charity projects went onto kill.”

Padme started a little bit, eyes widening in surprise. “You did? How? I never heard anything about that.”

“You think anyone knew?” Ben asked archly. At Padme’s look, he added, “Don’t tell me I should have told an adult. Nobody would have believed me. I didn’t trust anybody with it. I had to...I don’t know, be a hero.” Ben snorted, the ugly amusement hiding the regret boiling in his gut. Maybe if he had just told someone... “Guess I inherited some delusions of grandeur from my lineage.”

But Padme just shook her head, eyes furiously intent. “You were a child. You just wanted to help. You wanted to help people so badly, Ben. I remember loving that about you. I always thought you got it from…” 

The table descended into silence, Padme swirling her cup slowly. Ben wondered if she was thinking about heroes - about young queens and senators who fancied themselves crusaders, about soldiers who wrapped themselves in delusions of morality and heroism. They had all been so self-important back then. They had all been so certain they were right - everybody except Ben, who had frozen in his uncertainty. 

“I would have helped,” Ben said quietly. The lightbulb fizzed and crackled, overlaying the soft and distant thump of boots. “If they had wanted to turn against the GAR, against the Republic, maybe against the Jedi. I would have helped. I almost helped Anakin, I was just so confused. But they tried to kill me first. Guess we all made mistakes.”

“None of this should have been your job,” Padme said. Something about her was almost angry, but it was a tired and distant angriness - like an old meditation bead you rubbed smooth every day. “You were a child. It should have been our responsibility to protect you. We should have protected all of the children and clones fighting this war, but we lost ourselves in numbers and deals and politics. I thought whatever I had to think and believed whatever I had to believe just to convince myself that I was putting my trust in the right people and doing the right thing. Commander Cody tried to warn me, but I didn’t want to see it. And the Sith swept all of our casualties out of sight. ” She took a slow sip of the drink, eyes far away. “And then you were a casualty. The first casualty I couldn’t ignore. The first person Anakin killed who I couldn’t explain away. But it was too late.”

For some reason, out of some misplaced desperation, Ben found himself saying, “Anakin never wanted to kill me. He was - he thought he was doing the right thing too. He didn’t - he didn’t mean to hurt me, he just…” Ben found himself faltering. He just what? “Nobody meant to hurt me. They just did anyway.”

But Padme was looking far away, and Ben didn’t know if she heard him. “You were always the best of him. Such a good, compassionate boy. You loved them all so much. You loved us, although we didn’t deserve it.” She trailed a finger along the rim of her glass, avoiding his eyes. “Anakin always spoke of us as a family. You and I, Ahsoka and his mother - we were all a family. He was always so sweet and affectionate to all of us. Anakin always made you feel like the most important person in the universe. I loved that. Because love’s never bad. And love never hides things.” Something dark and shadowed fell over Padme’s expression. “Anakin was so afraid of losing us. So convinced that the good things in his life were conditional on him being...something, being someone. So I loved him unconditionally, like I loved the Republic unconditionally. And when you love someone, you rationalize away what they’ve done.”

“Wait,” Ben said, “what did he do?”

Padme told him about the Tusken Raiders. Ben sat there in dumb, muted horror. A lifetime ago, he wouldn’t even have been able to process it - today, it settled in as a horrible fact of life that slid in cleanly among all the others. 

And Padme was right. For just a second, he hated her too. How the fuck could anybody ever overlook that? How was that a mistake ? Padme had excused it as the anger of a tempestuous teenager - Ben was a teenager, Ben was that age, and he knew his anger was awful and dangerous but he could never imagine doing that. He knew he was a sorry excuse for a Jedi, maybe even close to Falling, but he couldn’t imagine…

“I kept the pregnancy knowing that he’d killed children,” Padme finished. She wasn’t looking at him, staring at a flickering light buzzing in the soft darkness. “Pregnant woman, likely. I reasoned that everybody made mistakes. I guess that’s true.”

It was too much. It was too much to even process. But somehow it wasn’t a surprise at all. That was the worst part. 

Somehow, all Ben could say was, “I always felt like a mistake he was trying to make up for. But I kept doing something wrong. I never knew what it was.” 

But Padme’s face just crumpled, in a strange and abstract sadness that Ben couldn’t feel, and she reached out to take his hand. Her hand was small and lithe in his, calloused with blaster training. It was why she always wore gloves - that, and contact poisons. “You were never happy with who you were, Ben. It was our fault. The war needed a more perfect soldier. Master Qui-Gon always wanted you to be a better Jedi, and Anakin always wanted a padawan who was just like him. You never got space to grow up into you.” She paused for a second, overwhelmed, and Ben looked away as his own throat closed up. “I spent the last three years believing you never got to grow up. On your birthday, your eighteenth birthday, I couldn’t stop wondering what kind of man you would have grown up to be. But I couldn’t imagine it. I just couldn’t imagine it…”

“I’m not that kid anymore, Padme.” Ben felt lost. Maybe he was lost - a forgotten memory, adrift in time, returning only to haunt Padme’s kitchen table. “I’m not a kind person anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

But she just squeezed his hand, offering him a weak smile. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re still young. You’ll find out who you’re meant to be. And whoever that person is, Ben - even if you don’t like him, even if he isn't what others want from you or what you expected - he will always be my family.”

Something awful wrung in Ben’s heart, awful sadness that crushed the breath out of him. His happy future, his journey to find himself - he couldn’t imagine it, any more than Padme could. Whenever Ben tried to imagine the future ahead of him, he saw inevitable failure after failure. He wanted a future with Satine, but he didn’t trust himself to take it. He didn’t know if he was even capable. 

“Family isn’t forever,” Ben said, harsher than intended. Padme didn’t blink. “It’s not even real. Just picking family from who you love - people stop loving each other all the time. You and the twins are a real family. Moms always love their kids, no matter what.”

Ben would not know, as he has never once even had a vaguely maternal figure in his life. Padme had always been a sister. He didn’t know what Anakin had wanted them to be. He didn’t even know what Padme wanted them to be. Maybe he only imagined mothers as perfect because he had never known any - because he only ever understood the way Anakin had worshipped Ahsoka. Maybe mothers disappointed too. Maybe nobody was safe from each other.

“Family is a choice,” Padme said evenly. She was looking him in the eyes, steady and implacable. Steadfast, as if this was the one thing she would never take back. But people always took it back. “My children do not have a father. They have their Uncle Ben, their grandparents Ahsoka and Qui-Gon, and my own family, but they do not have a father. Anakin brought good things into my life, but his story ended on Mustafar when Ahsoka euthanised him.”

It had been Ahoska?

“I can’t hide the ways Anakin has already hurt them. Through hurting me, through taking you away from us, and through sacking the Temple. But they will grow up and thrive in this new age, a new Republic where none of the mistakes of the past are repeated. This isn’t Anakin’s story anymore. It’s theirs. And it’s mine.” Padme looked at him, and Ben felt arrested. “Ben. I know you will find that story you’re looking for. It will be just as beautiful and safe as you deserve. And I am finally going to be an adult, and do everything I can to make sure that you live the rest of your life in peace. You don’t have to - you don’t have to speak to me again if you don’t want to. But I’ll make this galaxy a safe place for you. For my children, and all the children I haven’t met, and all the children I let die.”

Ben couldn’t help it - he rose from his chair and hugged Padme tightly, hoping that it was promise enough. The weight of her sadness was overwhelming, the suffocating cloud that bore down on everybody somehow insufferable coming from her. 

Ben wanted to tell her that he forgave her. But he couldn’t decide if there was nothing to forgive, or if he hadn’t forgiven her at all. In her own way, she had been responsible for what happened too. Anakin had made his own decisions, but she had known . In a way that none of them had. 

In a way that they all had. Even Ben had known, but he hadn’t been able to accept it right until Anakin had slaughtered Vaughn like he was an animal. At that point in time, he had been - and that was Anakin too. But Ben had been a kid! It hadn’t been his fault, or his responsibility! 

It hadn’t been Ben’s fault, or Satine’s. It hadn’t been Steela’s fault, and it wasn’t her fault that she was now somebody almost unrecognizable in her bitterness and hatred. Whose fault was this? Could it please just be Anakin’s or the Emperor’s? Could it please be Ben’s?

 “I’ll come back,” Ben said, because nothing else would have been true. “I promise.”

He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the galaxy leaving Padme behind in that kitchen, but his inability to absolve her of blame was even worse. Why couldn’t he stop being selfish?

Ben stalked towards the hangar, throwing his rucksack over his shoulder and only realizing too late that he hadn’t picked up any food. Whatever. He was good at looking after himself. Ben Kenobi was always number one, and everybody else could suck it. Fuck everybody else, Ben knew how to keep himself alive.

Which was definitely an attitude Satine wanted in a future Duke and a future husband. A future father of her own children. Maybe Ben was destined to be a failure of a father too. He had such great role models. Let’s list them: an emotionally distant self-hating monk, an insane mass murderer, borderline non-sentient genetically engineered soldiers who tried to kill him...

She was better off without him. The twins were better off without him, and Satine’s future kids deserved a father who wasn’t nearly as fucked up as he was. 

Ben stewed in upset feelings and mangled hate as he silently used his keycard to unlock the docking mechanisms and open the loading bay doors. They creaked and groaned ominously, but the several mechanics working late nights didn’t even look up. Just another pilot, out on a midnight supply run. 

He flickered through the roster, letting the Force guide him to a suitable ship. He found his fingers lingering on a docked Kuat-model YT-209 freighter. It was small, but meant for longer hauls, and it would have basic ration stocks, a cot, and holonet link-up. Maneuverable, but typically only minor self-protective weaponry. Granted, it was a Rebel ship, so it was probably stocked to the gills with protective measures.

Good enough. Ben flipped the switches to undock the ship, listening to the clatter of the rails flattening out to provide the runway, and he quickly scanned the hangar until he felt a tugging down the hangar and to the left. He followed the sense, letting his feet overtake his brain, until he found the freighter. 

It looked just like any other Rebel ship - repurposed from local planetary militias or commandeered from large trading companies. Any Ex-Clone Wars gear was lifted, and there were plenty larger ships around that were distinctly Clone Wars. One ship with a wing crumpled in that highly specific way he knew used to be Wolfpack - Wolffe’s favorite maneuvers always banged up the wings like that. 

Ben jammed the liberated control box, letting the boarding ramp slowly ratchet down. He easily hopped up and grabbed the rim, swinging himself up and rolling into the ship before the ramp even descended halfway. Hondo was always on his ass about ‘drama’ and ‘you don’t have to look cool boarding a ship’. He didn’t understand cool. Hondo thought cool was his dumb hat.

The YT freighter was a YT freighter. He couldn’t count how many he’d robbed. He could navigate one and find the hidden smuggler’s nooks with his eyes closed - and finding the hidden cargo had usually been his job. Ben skipped the empty cargo area and dumped his stuff on the small booth seat, grabbing the wall rails and easily swinging himself towards the cockpit. He’d have to double check the fuel and rations and  inspect the gun pit and engine to make sure everything worked before takeoff, but these ships usually had an on-ship log of the latest repairs and broken shit. He’d be out of here before the day cycle, and then he could...decide what he was doing. He’d figure it out. It would be easy, probably. 

No more reunions. No more useless adults. It was Ben and only Ben, and he’d navigate his own destiny with an irreverent, casual attitude that made him always seem in charge of things. He was working on that very carefully. The beard was an integral part of it. 

There was a clone sitting in the pilot’s chair again. Incredibly, it was Thirty.

“What the fuck?” Ben yelled, startled despite himself. He hadn’t even felt him! Thirty was practically nothing in the Force, his presence just barely strong enough to be sentient - but that didn’t mean he should sneak up on him. “What are you doing ?”

Thirty had, apparently, been sleeping again - although there was no way he had slept through Ben boarding. He was slouched on the pilot’s chair, with his feet propped up on the co-pilot’s chair again. He opened his eyes and looked at Ben blearily, completely unimpressed. “Sleeping.”

“You have barracks ,” Ben cried, incredulous. “Get out of here, I’m using this ship.”

“Yeah, ‘parently. This is awkward.” Thirty yawned and sat up, cracking his neck. His pilot’s hat was still jammed over his regulation haircut, but Ben realized for the first time that his standard tan fatigues were completely undecorated. “Guess I’m not getting any sleep anyway. You check the fuel and I’ll do the pre-flight warm up.”

He couldn’t be serious. “Get out of here, trooper.” Ben pointed at the door, struggling for the military bark but finding it weak and pale in imitation to Cody’s effortless command. “This isn’t a two person mission.”

“This isn’t a mission? You’re just fucking off.” Thirty shrugged, as if him being here was orders from above and he couldn’t do anything about it, sir, bring it up with Captain Rex. “I’ll come along anyway. Pretty sure I’ll get bitched at if I let Padawan Perfect run off and get shot at again -” Padawan Perfect ? “ - and I got nothing better to do, so…” 

“None of this explains why you are sleeping in this ship,” Ben said, overwhelmed. 

“Probably because you’re stealing this ship,” Thirty said, as if that made sense at all. He was even serene about it, as if he was a venerated Jedi Master with a deep understanding of the Force instead of a ten year old Stormtrooper. “Are we going to get going, or are you gonna make a scene?”

“ Out .”

“No.”

They stared at each other. Ben was almost too confused and incredulous to be angry. Thirty didn’t seem angry or stubborn or steadfast or dedicated - just patient, as if he could sit in that chair forever and Ben could never remove him. Ben could remove him whenever he wanted. Thirty was far from Captain Rex. He wouldn’t last even one second. Less than that. The brother could barely even pilot. Leia was more of a threat.

Patient, as if he was waiting for Ben to realize what he already had. Since when was a clone more in touch with the Force than Ben was?

“Fine,” Ben snapped, throwing up his hands in defeat. “But don’t get in my way!”

“Aren’t Jedi supposed to be morning people?”

Ben stomped out of the cockpit, yelling behind him. “I’m not a Jedi!”

If Thirty said something, Ben ignored it. He did the pre-flight checks, silently stewing but unable to ignore the Force’s hand in this. If it was the Force, and not an upstart Stormtrooper knowing that Ben would pull a runner and deciding to follow after him. 

But why would he? The clone from a batch born traitors had no love or loyalty for the Jedi. Ben didn’t even know why he was here. It looked like he didn’t know either. There was no reason to run after a mean young man who had been nothing but awful to him. 

Clones. Brainwashed, barely sentient, irrational, stupid, stubborn…

Say what you will about Rebel professionalism, but the ship was ready to fly. Ben yelled “Clear!” as loud as he could, knowing the sound would carry - the acoustics in these freighters let you have a conversation from opposite ends of the ship - and after a few seconds the engines began to slowly roar in his ears. He grabbed onto a wall rail, clutching tight as the ship began to jerk to the left and begin its run. 

He liked to stand up for this. He always did. Everybody always thought he was crazy, but he could use the Force to steady himself. It was a petty, silly use of the Force, but he liked to think that the Force understood the importance of experiencing life as unfiltered as possible. Using it for lazy convenience was disrespectful, but Ben liked to think that it was no shame to experience joy through the Force.

And this was joy for him - the run off the ramp, slowly gaining speed, as if you were pumping your arms and running faster and faster as if you could jump off the ground and sail forever. And then you did - you jerked into a jump, and you never returned to the ground. You just sailed instead, faster and faster, higher and higher, until the ground ripped itself away and returned you to the encompassing embrace of infinite space. 

They burst out of atmo, darting between the towering Star Destroyers hemming them in like sentinels, and escaped from the claustrophobic mass of jungle and durasteel into the black isolation. 

The isolation did not last long.

“Okay,” Thirty yelled, “uh, where the fuck we going?”

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, because Ben did not know where they were going, he was obligated to share the story with Thirty. Not the entire story, because that was the story of his life. But the relevant parts. Most of which were the worst parts of his life, but whatever, everybody had the same worst trauma these days, he wasn’t special. Ben knew that he had problems, but he had never met anybody without problems. 

“So,” Thirty said finally. He was sitting in the pilot’s chair, and Ben was sitting next to him in the copilot’s seat. Ben could fly, and he was good at it, but his flying talents tended more towards crashing ships. Which was a very important and unique talent. Not many people had survived as many ship crashes as Ben had. “You’re looking for a single man in the entire Chommel sector, who is visually identical to millions of other men. And you have no idea where he is.”

“Right,” Ben said seriously.

“And this is happening because you hate your dad.”

“I don’t like that word, but yes.”

“Hate or dad?”

“It’s a very simple plan,” Ben said, instead of answering that question. “I know you weren’t made for tactical thinking, but even you can follow it.”

“So the plan is to duel him,” Thirty said slowly, because he was a shiny who did not understand elegant and effective plans, “and then kill him?”

Kill him? “Jedi don’t arbitrarily murder people we hate,” Ben said, insulted. Thirty gave him a face that clearly pointed out the contradiction, but he ignored him. “I’m just going to beat him in a duel. You know, establish complete triumph over my enemies.”

“Uh huh,” Thirty said. “And this will help you...how?”

This guy didn’t know anything. Stormtroopers were as dull as a box of rocks. Ben leaned back, kicking his feet onto the console. “Duels are an honorable method of conflict resolution with great significance throughout Jedi history. All of the greatest acts of Jedi heroism have been through duels. It’s about confronting your enemy, demonstrating unequivocally that you are superior in skill, discipline, and oneness with the Force, and resolving the suffering in the Force. I’ve engaged in duels against three different Sith, and demonstrated how the Light prevailed each time.” Master Qui-Gon had to save him from the Dooku fight, but the spirit had been there. 

“I think you’re spinning banthashit because you really want to punch your dad.”

“You’re disrespecting Jedi culture, Thirty.”

“No, I’m disrespecting you.” Thirty swiveled his chair and pulled over the navigation screen, tapping through it rapidly as he grabbed a datapad with his other hand. “I can’t believe all the vets keep going on about how you were the greatest tactical mind in the GAR.”

They what ? “They talk about me?” Ben asked, strangely anxious. “Really?”

“Kriff, they don’t shut up.” Thirty punched in the coordinates for the Chommel sector, spinning through the holographic map and scrolling past the planets. He tilted his voice into a grumbly pitch that was probably an imitation of the other clones ten years older than him, but with an unmistakably mocking tilt. “Commander Kenobi was brave on the field and a terror with a saber. Commander Kenobi once held a regiment of droids at bay for six hours and saved the lives of all his men. Commander Kenobi was so adorable and sweet. Commander Kenobi wasn’t like the other Jedi, he really worked to help us. Listening to them talk, you’re the original clone rights activist, which is hilarious considering what a bitch you are.”

“You’re not exactly pleasant to be around either, sunshine,” Ben snapped, before his words fully processed. “I - it was a different time. I was a stupid kid. All the clones talked about their Jedi like that.” He found himself faltering, wondering why the words made his chest ache. “And it wasn’t all their lives. We lost Mail.”

“Uh huh,” Thirty said slowly, but he thankfully moved on from the topic. “Well, here’s the Chommel sector. You got Behpour, Jafan, Carlinus, and Kreeling. And obviously the Naboo sector.”

“Well, we can’t go to Naboo,” Ben said instantly. “That’s way too dangerous.”

Thirty grimaced in agreement. “Last I heard, the 501st had that place on lockdown. They’ve been ignoring all the Rebellion’s calls. It’s making some stuffed shirts really anxious.”

That was hardly any wonder. The only thing worse than dealing with the genocide squadron of the Empire was losing track of them.

“No point in looking there,” Ben said breezily, with no ulterior motives at all. “Where else? Kreeling?”

 “Kreeling’s really just ocean, I don’t think we even had any troops there.”

Ben leaned back in his seat, stroking his beard in thought. It made Thirty roll his eyes, so he promptly stopped. “Behpour and Jafan are twin planets, right? They do, what...fine manufacturing?”

“Yep. Linens, looks like.” Thirty typed something into the datapad, squinting at the readout. “I had a squadmate who was stationed on Carlinus for ages. Highly populated planet, very mercantile, so huge Empire presence. I can see if Cody was stationed there.”

But Ben just shook his head. “Already looked for him in the Empire personnel files. Useless garbage. All we could find was Chommel. We made a lot of stops on Jafan - they had a big black market and resistance presence, so we double dealt a lot of weapons. Probably bought embezzled weapons from you guys, actually.” They both sat in mutual recognition of the stupidity of this odd-couple matchup. “Almost all our work in this sector was on Jafan. Naboo’s technically the hub, but…”

Went unsaid: Naboo had the highest density of Imperial presence in the Mid-Rim, with famously draconian anti-piracy policies. Not even Hondo went there. Even the Jedi-Rebel Alliance didn’t have a strong presence on the planet. They had learned their lesson, more or less. 

“The 501’st the biggest battalion in the Empire by a factor of three,” Thirty pointed out. “It was all boots on the ground, too. The Battle of Naboo was so embarrassing for the Grand Moff that it was practically just out of pride. Between all the Jedi smuggled off-planet and Amidala’s speech afterwards, it was every trooper in the system on deck.”

Both Ben and Thirty stared at each other.

“Huge Imperial presence,” Ben repeated slowly. “Held by the 501st.”

“The boogeymen of the Empire,” Thirty also repeated. “Didn’t the 501st and the Grand Inquisitor practically torch Theed rooting out Rebel sympathizers?”

Ben was well aware. He had no idea how many were still stationed on the planet and how many were on Yavin IV, but he didn’t want to find out. Kylantha served perfectly well as a puppet queen, but Ben knew for a fact that Nabooans had one true queen with bad taste in men. That probably made Leia and...the other one...honorary royalty, if you subscribed to certain schools of philosophical thought on monarchies. At this rate Ben was becoming an anarchist. 

“Stopping on Naboo is definitely our worst case scenario,” Ben said finally. 

“We’re definitely not doing it,” Thirty agreed, which was novel. “Didn’t you say that it was too dangerous?”

“That’s historically more of a suggestion for me.” At Thirty’s look, Ben hastily added, “I don’t plan for the worst case scenario, but it’s frequently the most convenient, and it usually happens anyway.”

“Oh, fantastic!” Thirty threw up his hands, jolting his hat loosely askew. “The military genius of the Clone Wars is incapable of an idea other than the worst case scenario!”

“You’re hardly coming up with anything!” Ben snapped. “What’s your great idea, rigorously trained soldier created only for warfare? What planet should we visit?”

They both stared at each other in mutual lack of willingness to disclose that neither of them knew what they were doing. 

Finally, Thirty said, “The Force is telling me we should go to Naboo.”

What?! “You’re Force sensitive?” Ben asked, alarmed. They had bred that out of the clones, it shouldn't be possible -

“Do I have to be?” Thirty asked. “Is that how that works? I don’t know how it works.”

“You have to be sensitive to the unifying energy!”

“Really? That sounds like gatekeeping. So, what, only Jedi get to talk to it?” Thirty swivelled around. “I think religion’s the voice of the people and should be accessible to everyone.”

“There’s billions of life forms in the galaxy who adhere to a variant of the Force's teachings!” Ben cried, unnecessarily upset. “The Jedi don’t hoard it!”

“Yeah, but it only tells you stuff? I think it tells me stuff.”

“It doesn’t tell you anything. Genetically , you don’t even have midichlorians. You’re about as Force sensitive as a rock.”

“Maybe the Force tells the rock things.”

“You don’t know anything -”

And somehow, the clone got Ben ranting about the Force the entire flight to Naboo. 

It had been years since Obi-Wan talked about the Force to anyone. More than three. Around four. That had probably been when Ben stopped paying attention to Qui-Gon’s numerous attempted lectures on the Living Force. Qui-Gon had tried hard to coach Ben through his strong connection with the Unifying Force, but Ben’s visions had been so upsetting and useless that he had started repressing them instead of ‘letting himself feel them’. If you could avoid thinking about bad things, you did. It was just common sense. 

That knowledge was lost, now. Master Qui-Gon had been a man out of place, but he had been incredibly wise too. He had been on the Jedi Council for a reason, even if everybody said he was unconventional. Ben didn’t get that - Qui-Gon had always seemed stuck in the rigors of the past. 

But the philosophies of the Force weren’t the philosophies of the military, and only one was useful to Ben at the time. When he was much younger he had loved useless and impractical things, but Ben had abandoned that childishness a long time ago. He had forgotten how much he liked talking about it. 

 Like a lot of clones - not Gregor - Thirty was a good listener. Unlike most of them, he was interested. Even as he piloted the ship, he asked question after question about the Force. Eventually the topic swerved to politics, which Thirty apparently had opinions on (“When you think about it, the movement towards extreme industry has turned all workers into machines, taking away from them independent autonomy so they don’t think and demand a position worthy of men”), and then to clone culture. 

It felt almost surreal to be explaining clone culture to a clone. It was the kind of thing that was passed down from brother to brother on Kamino. Once they got assigned to a battalion they formed battalion specific cultures (including, hypothetically, bullying your commander), but the pidgin and slang and values were all instilled early. Ben had learned them late. It felt wrong and intrusive to explain them to Thirty now, but for the first time he hung onto every word Ben said. 

He had to have been around seven - or fourteen, physiologically - when the chips were activated. Ben tried to imagine going to sleep as a fourteen year old and living a nightmare before waking up as a twenty year old. Forget about the barely four years of cognizant life you had actually lived, or how much of a life Kamino had given its children. The galaxy had to be so disorienting and confusing. The level of immaturity was incredible. Just an overgrown teenager, given a pilot’s license and left to run wild. No wonder he didn’t understand shit. 

Ben was in the middle of explaining the borderline religious significance of the buckets ( not helmets) when they hit Naboo customs. A beeping echoed through the ship, and Thirty learned over to hit the comms. 

“Imperial Air Authority hailing YT-209. State identification code, please.”

Ben and Thirty exchanged anxious glances. Show time. 

“Remember,” Ben hissed, even as Thirty anxiously jumped and started rooting around the cockpit, “they’ve put Naboo under military occupation but they haven’t put a complete embargo on trade. Call us an essential goods ship and we should be able to get on planet and fake being merchants.”

“Easy for you to say,” Thirty hissed, somewhat hysterical. “You aren’t the one dealing with troops who eat D batches for breakfast!”

“Easy for me to say?” Ben whispered, also somewhat hysterical but far more dignified about it. “Yeah, meeting up with my old battalion that became murder death killers is so easy for me -”

“Life’s hard! Stop whining!”

“ Whining -”

“State identification code, please,” the loudspeaker crackled, now sounding impatient. Which was the new worst case scenario. 

Thankfully, Thirty finally seemed to remember that they were in an urgent situation, which seemed chronically difficult for him. Everything in his life seemed equally mystifying, from religion to near-death experiences. He thumbed the comm, leaning in while pushing aside binders of flimsi. “This is Private DA-230 piloting YT-290. Identification code is...hold on, sorry…” He looked frantically around the ship before Ben silently pointed at a display on the console. Thirty read it out quickly, relieved.

Crackling silence stretched over the line, and Thirty and Ben exchanged more nervous looks. Ben leaned in, hissing in his ear. “You know I’m technically a pirate.”

“Queen Amidala’s your mom,” Thirty hissed. “What about me ? I quit the military!”

“More like a sister - and you’re a clone! You’re fine!”

“You think the others trust the D batches?” Thirty abruptly looked a bit anxious. Ben was forcibly reminded that he was a shiny, apparently given the shittiest possible training. This could be his second mission ever. Definitely the first rogue one. “This place is held by the 501st. They hate the -”

The comm clicked to life again. “Hailing YT-290. Your craft is not registered or authorized for entry.”

Shit. Essential ships probably had authorization. That objectively made sense, and was very inconvenient.

“Don’t worry, I’m the expert at improvising,” Ben whispered to Thirty. 

“Is that because none of your plans work ?”

“Just tell them we’re Rebels! We’re supposed to be on the same side, right?”

Judging from the look on Thirty’s face, he was fully aware that this may not help the situation, and in fact may make the situation actively worse, because the 501st haven’t opened up communication with the Rebels at all. 

And because Ben wasn’t a Rebel at all. 

But neither of them had space passports, and they were thoroughly out of ideas - which was usually when Ben’s plans were implemented. Increasingly panicked - was he really that scared of the 501st? - Thirty thumbed the comm again. “Hailing Imperial Air Authority. Uh, this craft is part of the Jedi-Rebel Alliance fleet. It’s been stripped of all identifiers. Please...verify our identity with Rebel Authorities.”

Immediately, the line responded. The operator was clearly a clone, and no matter his professional monotone Ben could hear the suspicion. “YT-290, what is your mission code?”

Ben and Thirty looked at each other. 

Wincing, Thirty leaned into the comm and said, “This is a personal trip, Imperial Air Authority.”

A long silence. Ben contemplated the fact that this was the stupidest possible time to die by 501st lasers. Thirty was cursing Ben under his breath. 

Finally, the line crackled again. “YT-290, please land and meet Theed SpacePort Authorities on ground. Prepare your documents and prepare for boarding.”

Shit. 

This was a pirate’s nightmare. This was about when an intelligent pirate ship would make a break for it. Hondo would normally try and talk his way out of this one, but half the time those negotiations ended up with Ben frantically mind tricking a squad of clones and then booking it as fast as possible. 

“So,” Thirty said distantly, as he slowly bypassed the stationed Imperial Star Destroyer floating above the planet and steered them for the space port, “clones have something they say before they die?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, “ ‘try not to die’.”

“Clever.”

“You’re a straight forward people.”

“Then you take after your mom,” Thirty muttered, and slowly ground their ship into the space port. 

Once they actually approached, it became obvious that the military had shut down the space port. There were clearly big ships docked, and smaller ships were inside the hangar, but the port was eerily silent and no ships flew in and out. Any essential shipments were probably being filtered through the palace. The planet was on lockdown, and not even the Rebels knew why.

A week ago, the prospect would have been terrifying. Today, now that Ben saw how the Rebellion was working on a shoestring staff and that they had no idea what the new government was going to look like and that each planet was having its miniature bloody revolution, it was petrifying. The military was the most powerful force in the galaxy right now - the same military that had imprisoned or executed all of their natborn officers. The only relief they had was the fact that all of the clones agreed on everything and they were all completely loyal to the Jedi-Rebellion Alliance. 

“Oh, no,” Thirty said, once Ben vocalized this. The ship shook as the tractor beam activated, and he sat back as their ship was reeled in. “We just all really fucking hate the Empire. That’s the only thing in common right now. CloneNet’s been arguing nonstop about the Rebellion.”

“Fantastic,” Ben said weakly, before pausing a beat. “CloneNet?”

“Clone HoloNet.”

“ What -”

“Yeah, we got a few 501st guys on the line there,” Thirty said blithely, ignoring Ben’s heart attack. “Those guys are crazier than a sack of womp rats. Violent as hell, too.”

The ship shuddered as it landed on the ramp, and the comm buzzed again as the operator requested they prepare for boarding. Thirty sighed and lowered the ramp, standing up from the chair and fixing his cap on his head. 

“If I die I’m telling all the other D batches on CloneNet that Ben Kenobi ain’t shit.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” Ben said sarcastically. He put a hand on his blaster, squeezing it tightly, before forcing himself to remove it. He found himself zipping his jacket securely instead, sticking his hands in its pockets. Thirty looked almost offended at the nonchalant showing. “Don’t concern yourself, my dear Thirty. If I can hold back a regiment of droids for six hours and escape single handedly from the entire 212th, I can make sure a bunch of baby killers don’t gank you.” Just to be an asshole, he winked at Thirty. “Have a little faith. I’m a legend.”

Thirty looked even more disturbed than before. “Never use that accent again.”

“Too attractive?”

Thirty made a face. “You’re smarmy enough without it.”

But the maneuver had worked, because Thirty stopped radiating terror in the Force when they descended into the cargo hold to meet the boarding party. Ben dug his hands deeper into his pockets, slowly ripping the seams open.

They stood a respectful distance away from the ramp as the boarding party came into sight. The first thing Ben noticed was that they weren’t wearing Stormtrooper armor - rather, he recognized the armor of the Naboo royal guard heavy artillery. Naboo didn’t have a military, so that was probably the closest they could find on-planet to armor. It was good quality, carrying definite sweeping and elegant design elements that echoed the sleek design of their ships and architecture. Very cohesive visual style, the Naboo. 

They were bare faced, holding large standard issue Empire rifles, and the armored tunic underneath their breastplates were dark blue. None of them looked very friendly, which is why it took Ben a second to recognize them as Cameron, Jinx, and Oz. 

So they were alive. Ben had wondered how he would feel seeing a 501st man again: if he would break away from his body, if he would have a flashback. If he would cry or scream. But he could only think about how much older they looked, how much harder. How bad it felt that they weren’t smiling at him. Jinx always smiled at him, even when he was being an awful nuisance. 

Thirty saluted quickly. “Sirs! I’m DA-230, Rebellion pilot. If you call the Rebellion command, you can confirm my identity.”

“We did,” Cameron said shortly. “You’re registered as a freelancer, DA-230. Not a Rebellion pilot.” What ? Since when - the little asshole didn’t even have a commanding officer! “And this ship was reported as departing unauthorized a few hours ago.”

“That’s an administrative error,” Thirty said promptly. “If you wait a few hours, upper level administration will confirm authorization. Senator Amidala herself authorized this. We’re - er, diplomatic overtures.” She technically hadn’t, and no sane person would inflict Ben’s brand of diplomacy on anybody, but whatever. Ben approved of Thirty’s creative bending of the truth. 

Unfortunately, the 501st men didn’t. “Banthashit,” Oz said shortly. Oz had always been rather blunt. He looked at Ben, who just raised his eyebrows at him. “Who’re you?”

“Spacer,” Ben said shortly. Thirty shot him a panicked, ‘just tell them you’re Obi-Wan Fucking Kenobi!’ look. “We didn’t do anything wrong, officers. We’re just looking for someone.”

Oz scoffed. “A D batch and a merc don’t have the right to be looking for anybody.” Thirty bristled, but the 501st ignored him. “Spacer, what’s your SSSN?”

“Don’t got one.” Jedi were legally a self-governing entity, which meant that they held the same legal status as many other tribes among the Republic and weren’t strictly citizens. He had a Jedi ID code which served the same purpose, but he didn’t feel like giving it. A great deal of Republicans in the Outer Rim didn’t have SSSN or birth certifications.

But Ben, of course, was no Jedi. There was no room for a Jedi here, not amidst a thunderstorm of Jedi killers. There was no room for a spacer or a pirate, for the scum of the galaxy who existed so law enforcement could push them around and feel good about it. There wasn’t even room for a Rebel - but Ben couldn’t imitate a Rebel even if he tried. 

Ben could be whoever he needed to get out of any situation, parcel out every piece of himself and use it all. He had worn a million hats just to be anyone other than himself. What face could Ben wear to get them out of this? Who was the safest man to be?

“A bounty hunter,” Cameron said to Jinx, who nodded. “With a rogue Stormy.”

“Just because I’m a D batch doesn’t mean I’m a traitor,” Thirty said angrily. Angrily, to the 501st - like an idiot . “I’m a clone the same as you.”

“Sure you are, Stormy. I’ve heard enough.” Jinx raised his hand, and Cameron raised his rifle as Oz unclipped a pair of electrocuffs from his belt. “We’re taking you into custody.”

“On what charge?” Thirty demanded. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Who cares?” Jinx panned. “Move and we’ll shoot. Hands up, Spacer.”

Ben had heard enough. His focus narrowed and sharpened, and he fell smoothly into his battle focus. The family who murdered children fell away, and the 501st shone in doubles: the enemy, his men, the fascist military, his subordinates. 

“If you insist,” Ben said.

He raised his hands. Four different metal pieces flew out of his opened pockets with them, as if he was dragging them along on a string. They flew through the air, and Ben held his hands in the air as the pieces floated in place directly between them. They screwed, snapped, and clicked into place, and Ben clapped his hands together to hold their assembled form in his fists in his favored defensive pose.

  He snapped the lightsaber on, letting the crystal blue blade blaze to life, covering Thirty in a perfect and impenetrable defense. 

“Don’t touch him.”

The 501st men jolted, Oz’s rifle relaxing and Jinx jerking backwards. “Sir,” Cameron said, always the most observant, “that’s -”

“A hell of a way to treat your commanding officer,” Ben said coldly. “My men hold a planet like this? With no respect for your fellow men?”

All three men snapped to attention, saluting. Their presences in the Force exploded with - something, but Ben didn’t stop to interpret it. He didn’t stop to interpret their faces - the wonder, the something . 

“Sir!” Jinx cried. “Commander, you didn’t say it was you -”

“You three don’t recognize a Jedi until they pull a lightsaber anymore?” Ben demanded, and Cameron flinched. “You’re a disgrace. Who’s the commanding officer of this port?”

Jinx stiffened. “Sir, I am!”

“Great. So when I call Rex, I get to tell him that you tried to arrest the commander.” Ben pointedly reached for his comm, making everybody blanch. “Unless you want to run and arrest Rex too? Are you going to serve Cody a subpoena?”

“I can’t believe it,” Cameron muttered, “it is him…”

“What, so I’m a liar now too?” Ben snapped, and Cameron blanched. “The nightmare squadron of the Empire hanging around here with their mouths open! You spend all your time sitting on your schlebs polishing your rifles?”

“No, sir!”

“Wow,” Thirty whispered, “so that’s why you’re a bitch.”

“Fantastic. I don’t even want to know what’s become of the 212th.” All three of them winced. Ben deactivated his lightsaber, disassembling it with a thought and sending all four parts back into the lining of his jacket. He walked forward, ignoring how the clones jumped to get out of his way, and descended the boarding ramp as Thirty tripped over his feet to follow. “Jinx, who’s the highest ranked officer on the planet?”

“Commander Echo, sir!” Jinx quickly moved to follow him as he strode down the space port. Ben frantically pretended that he knew where they were going. Just keep it professional. Keep it professional, they weren’t Rex or Cody, they were just your men - Echo - “He and the other officers are headquartered in the Queen’s palace.”

What? Ben looked at him sharply. “What, are you keeping her captive?”

“Not - anymore , sir, we’re negotiating Naboo independence.”

“Without any involvement from the Jedi-Rebel Alliance?”

Jinx was silent. Thirty, quickly keeping up on the other side of Ben, quickly elbowed him in the side. He ignored Cameron’s offended look. “The guys on CloneNet say that the only natborns they’re working with are the Gungans and the local Naboo freedom fighters. Who don’t really have a lot of negotiating power. Everybody’s wondering if they’re just, like, gonna keep the planet. Dunno what they’d do with a planet, but that’s what they’re saying.”

“You snitch ,” Oz hissed, not nearly as quietly as he thought. Oz had bad hearing from an old grenade injury, which occasionally made him hilarious. Almost as hilarious as ‘snitching’ on a possible attempted military occupation . 

“And why would Echo want to keep the Jedi-Rebel Alliance off planet?”

Jinx worked his jaw, gripping his rifle tight in a subtle show of anxiety. Anybody else would have missed it. Jinx was always smiling in Ben’s memories. “Rebels don’t much like us, sir.”

“So you’re keeping the planet because they hate you so much.”

“Nobody said we’re keeping it, sir,” Jinx said, almost defensive. “We’re negotiating.”

But Ben just arched an eyebrow at him, channeling Qui-Gon’s calm authority as much as he could. “And how aggressive are these negotiations?”

Jinx winced. 

It was a good thing Ben already thought anarchy was a decent galaxy-wide political system, advocating for abandoning a wider ruling body altogether and letting the planets sort their own shit out, because that was quickly where the galaxy was headed. 

If the military didn’t cooperate with the Rebels for command of planetary governments, then the Rebels couldn’t do shit about it. If the 501st couldn’t bear to stand beholden to anybody else ever again, then they would hold military dictatorship over Naboo until the other clones mobilized against them. If they would. Ben couldn’t believe it, but that was an if. He didn’t know if the other clones liked or trusted the 501st. Were they moustache-twirling clone supervillains? He didn’t know anymore.

Ben stopped short, sending the entire entourage screeching to a halt. Thirty tripped over his feet again, but Ben didn’t pay any attention to him. He just stared at Jinx, at the face of a horrible mass murderer who looked just like anybody else. A mass murderer’s face and an innocent shiny’s face were just the same - except, of course, for how they weren’t the same at all. Jinx’s face today and Jinx’s face three years ago weren’t the same at all. 

“Then what are you negotiating for ?” Ben asked, ignoring Jinx’s obvious surprise. “Peaceful withdrawal of military forces? What, are you trying to squeeze them of plasma before you go? You could. You could squeeze these defenceless people for as much as you wanted, just like the Empire did.”

Cameron started, expression unsettled. What, was he surprised ? Did they even know what they were doing? “Sir, we wouldn’t do that.”

“Then are you trying to control who gets installed as leader of Naboo?” Ben asked, ignoring the growing discomfort and strange shame of the three clones. “Unless you want to declare Naboo military property and secede it from the new government, you’ll have to allow a natborn to take political command of the planet. So who will it be? Will you keep the puppet Queen Kylantha in power - hold her reigns, maybe? Or are you okay with a Rebel leader sweeping in and taking credit for all of your hard work? Will you swap out one master for another?”   

All three men bristled, and Thirty actively punched Ben in the arm to make him stop talking, but he just brushed him aside. Ben stepped forward and Jinx properly stayed in place, looking up at Ben for the first time. Let him look up. Let him see - see Ben, see what the 501st were doing, see the awful and deteriorating situation. 

But Ben just continued talking, lowering his voice until it was durasteel soft. “But you would never do that. The 501st that I knew would never take the easy way out.” Ben stepped back, looking over all four men and watching the way three of them stiffened in attention. “So the 501st leaps into the fray without a plan again. Cody would dress you down halfway through the Corellian run. What happens after troop withdrawal, men? Will you join the Rebellion? Sign on as Naboo’s personal army - whether they want you or not? Space pirates? I hear piracy’s fun.” He looked directly at Jinx, pinning him down. “Or would you rather wait for someone to tell you what to do? You clearly don’t know what to do without it.”

Sheer panic bloomed over Jinx’s face. Ben suspected nobody had asked him what he would choose to do in a very long time. Maybe ever. “Sir, none of that is what we want.”

“Then what do you want?” Ben asked patiently. “What are you going to do, Jinx?”

But it was a cruel question. Jinx didn’t know. 

From the back, Cameron shifted uncomfortably. His rifle clacked against his armor. “Commander. If you took command again, you could figure it out.” 

“Even if you’re a Rebel,” Oz volunteered. “If you’re General of the 501st…”

“Please don’t give this guy a planet,” Thirty said, pained. “He’d blow it up in a day.”

“Shiny, if you don’t start showing some respect -”

“I can’t become General of the 501st,” Ben said patiently. “My girlfriend would get mad at me. Why don’t you all take me to the castle and we talk about this? Like civilized gentlemen instead of vengeful droids?”

All three men saluted, chorusing a “Yes, sir!”. Ben was tired already. This hadn’t been the plan. He had wanted to go undercover. What was undercover about a military escort and an audience with the queen? This was making him feel all important or something. 

Did the 501st know that their venerated Captain was babysitting? They were occupying a planet and Rex was babysitting. Ben wondered morbidly if they all defaulted to murder as a solution these days. 

But Ben no longer held automatic respect from these men. They clearly hadn’t even reached out to the Jedi - there was no guarantee that they held any loyalty anymore. He wouldn’t be the first, or the one thousandth, that they had killed. The Rebellion clearly didn’t know that the situation on Naboo was this fraught. He wondered why the Queen didn’t call for help, but she probably didn’t want to stir trouble. Puppet rulers were like that. Ben would know. 

The 501st had changed, so deeply scarred from their experiences that Ben almost couldn’t recognize them anymore. Three years of brainwashing or not, you didn’t sack the Jedi Temple and torch Theed and walk away the same person. After that, you would always know that you could - that you could win, that the scary thing known as the outside world couldn’t hurt you anymore. You’d do anything to keep power and to keep feeling powerful if it was the only barrier between yourself and crippling fear. 

But some things never changed. The clones had only ever understood power, so he’d show them power. 

Ben kept his head high and his posture regal as he followed Jinx out of the space port, ignoring the way every passing clone jumped and saluted as they saw him. 

But Thirty just jogged closer and leaned in, hissing at Ben. “What happened to finding Cody? Sir?”

“Don’t you start calling me sir, it’s weird.” Ben pinched the bridge of his nose, pretending the other men weren’t listening in. “And Cody would kill me if I didn’t settle this extremely politically dicey situation. So he’ll have to wait. I don’t want him kicking my ass when he sees me again.”

“I thought you were duelling him anyway. Sir.”

“Stop calling me sir!”

Ben had been on Naboo a few times since the fall of the Republic. 

As he told Thirty, it was a little dangerous. The 501st weren’t the forgiving, generous, or non-murderous type. Jax had told him horror stories about how they murdered pirates in the street before Hondo smacked him. 

As the homeworld of the Emperor, Naboo was expected to perform perfect compliance with the new regime because anything otherwise would be embarrassing for the Emperor. As the homeworld of Queen Amidala, the famous leader of the Rebellion, Naboo had to be made an example of. As the homeworld of the legendary decorated war hero Jar Jar Binks, who left the Senate three years ago so he could travel the galaxy acting as a planetary savior and was notably venerated as a god by the Ewoks, the Empire also sought to punish the already historically oppressed Gungans. Not that they needed the excuse. Legendary xenophobic people for absolutely no reason, those Imperials. Guess fascism always needed a scapegoat.

This high state of tension left the 501st busy and left Ben avoiding the place. He had never dared to leave the space port, even when Hondo put them on shore leave. It had once been a safe haven for Jedi - Ben remembered Hondo debating if he should drop him off at Naboo, a very long time ago - but nowadays it wasn’t a safe haven for anybody. Ben least of all.

But Ben used to visit Theed a long time ago, with Padme and Anakin, and it hadn’t looked anything like this.

The awe-inspiring, grand towering spires still stood, but they walked past the bombed and gutted building after building. Two 501st men were standing guard outside a particularly large one that looked like it could have been thousands of years old, who both saluted eagerly as Ben walked by. He saluted back, but he wasn’t really looking - there was a gigantic, stretching empty lot beside it, holding nothing but a short half-skeleton. Ben remembered that lot - that had been a gorgeous spire, winding high into the sky. The block around it was nothing but empty lots too - had that been where it fell?

They must be in the financial district. There were thick streams of professionally dressed humans walking around, all of which were giving the 501st procession a wide berth. Several of them turned their heads. Many buildings were cordoned off. Where was the partying, the celebration? The Empire was over. 

Ben stepped forward and tapped Jinx’s shoulder plate. “Wasn’t there a library around here? Tall, swirly?”

 Padme had loved that library. They only had one afternoon on Theed before they had to report to the castle and then return to Coruscant, but she had dragged them both to the street markets and the library. Anakin hadn’t been interested at all, but Ben had loved it. Padme had showed him the wealth of legal histories and they had nerded out together. For that afternoon, Ben wanted nothing more than to be a Naboo lawyer and read legal textbooks all day. Ben still knew quite a bit about the law, but mostly in terms of breaking it. He had mostly wheedled so many Theed trips out of Padme so he could stock up on exclusive imports for the clone black market.

Jinx’s expression didn’t change. “Third building to go, sir. SOP.”

Of course. Legislative buildings, hospitals, cultural and intellectual centers. “We never did that in the GAR,” Ben said sourly. He looked around the streets as they entered the political district - the thin population, the way every functioning shop’s windows were strictly boarded. There was something cold and desolate about Theed. It had been so happy and full of life when he had been here with Padme. “We didn’t occupy planets like this.”

But Jinx just hesitated. Almost cautiously, he said, “Jedi-lead combat divisions typically weren’t stationed on planets for long-term occupation.”

“Of course they weren’t.” Ben sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Naive to the end, Ben. “It was always the natborn officers and their troops. Political appointee carbon-headed swords up their ass. How many of those turned over to the fuckin’ Empire, again?”

“Half, sir.”

“An Empire of traitors,” Ben said evenly. “No wonder it fell so quickly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Not even offended . Insulting another clone’s loyalty had been fighting words. They didn’t even care anymore. Galaxy was gone to shit.

There were troopers absolutely everywhere, but that was nothing in comparison to the castle. Two were stationed at the bottom of the huge fleet of steps, with another in front of the lift. Clones lined the giant fleet of steps, and four more stood at the doors. With the extra guards patrolling the grounds, the elegantly decadent and powerful building looked more like a prison. It probably was. 

The four standing at the base of the steps snapped to attention as Ben approached, faces expressionless. Clones were fairly expressive - buckets did your djarik face for you - but he had barely seen a facial expression from any of the 501st so far. It was a strange comparison to Rex, who moved and acted as casually as an officer natborn. Even a strange comparison to Thirty, who had spent most of his life brainwashed but who couldn’t keep a djarik face to save his life. Guess you didn’t have to do a lot of the heavy lifting when a chip in your brain did it all for you. 

“The Commander’s resuming temporary control of the battalion,” Jinx barked, and all of the men nodded firmly. Thirty looked as if he couldn’t decide between terror or disbelief. “Keen, go tell Longshot to convene the officers. Zeer, go collect Kylantha.”

Ben’s heart jumped into his throat. “Longshot?” He fought down on the sudden rush of terror, trying to pull his calm and focus tighter around himself like Padme’s cloak. “What’s a 212th man doing here?”

Keen and Zeer looked at each other, radiating ‘ you gonna tell him?’ in the Force. Oz and Cameron expectantly looked at Jinx, who was clearly regretting command. 

“The Empire didn’t maintain the battalions,” Jinx said slowly. His eyes were skittering left and right, away from Ben. “Most clones were placed in regiments without regard for their battalion. But the 501st and 212th were...notorious, so we were kept together and combined. A regiment of D batches was added a year afterwards.”

Well, Ben thought dizzily, that explains why the 501st were so famously large. Now that he thought about it, he remembered something like that: the 501st, legendary legion of Imperial boogeymen. What a joke. Qui-Gon would...

“What’s the 212th doing in a famed coalition of Jedi killers?” Ben asked snidely, crossing his arms. “They couldn’t manage to kill either one of their Jedi.”

All of the men looked away silently.

Something boiled in Ben’s chest. His chest fought him, trying to heave and pump air into his lungs so he could run, but he stayed where he was. He needed to fight for this respect. They wouldn’t automatically give it to him. “A crack battalion in their combined efforts couldn’t kill one padawan,” Ben pressed. “I see that the Empire really put their best men on the terrorism squadron.”

Stiffly, Jinx said, “We can recall the 212th men to the Star Destroyer, sir.”

“Don’t bother. We’re all on the same side now, aren’t we?” Ben grinned faux-brightly, turning his pumping heart into cheer. “Lead the way, Jinx.”

 Just what he needed. A killer death squadron of his least favorite people in the galaxy.

Ben waved away any suggestion of a larger military escort, but as they climbed the steps they found themselves hemmed in by clones standing stiffly at attention. Their attention and deference felt claustrophobic. It pressed down on Ben’s chest, making it hard to breathe. His lightsaber was fully assembled in his jacket, but could he deflect from every angle?

Thirty tugged at Ben’s sleeve, somewhat frantically. 

“Commander Cody was part of the 212th, right?” Thirty hissed. “Maybe he’s -”

“Not now , Thirty.” Ben shook his sleeve loose. “We have to handle this first.”

“What, so you can go on your power-tripping spree?” Thirty tugged again, much harder, and he pulled Ben to a halt. Ben let him, stumbling only slightly.

The 501st men around them bristled in outrage, but Ben just waved them off. “I need to talk with my pilot, you go ahead.”

“Sir -”

“That’s an order.”

They went ahead, Cameron shooting glances over his shoulder the entire way. 

Ben rounded on Thirty, fighting to keep his temper in check. Anger at somebody, anybody . “What do you think you’re doing? Stop undermining me in front of my men!”

“ Your men?” Thirty asked incredulously. It was impossible to ignore how nervous he was - how his eyes darted all around them, at the 501st men everywhere, at Ben. “What happened to your rogue space pirate schtick? Were you lying to me about looking for your clone dad?”

“Are you serious?” Ben demanded. His arms were trembling, and he clenched his fists hard to make them stop. “You’re the one who lied to me about working for the Rebellion ! You’re a rogue!”

“That’s not a crime!” Thirty hissed, even though it definitely was. “I’m not going to fall in line with those buckethead jerks who have a hard-on for the good old days. And I’m not falling in line with you just because it makes you feel safe. I didn’t come along to join a military op!”

“I don’t know why you came along at all,” Ben said harshly, and he turned his back on Thirty as he resumed climbing up the ridiculously tall flight of steps. “Go home, Thirty. Go back to your fantasy about a free life.”

There. He was finally rid of the annoying asshole who asked way too many questions. Feel safe . What a joke. The rest of the men wouldn’t grab at him - if they did, then he would know that they were traitors all along, and he could root them out.

If he stayed with the 501st, then he could see once and for all who among them were still traitors. They were all traitors. But he could see who was dangerous , and he could take care of the dangerous ones -  

But when Ben stood at the unnecessarily large palace doors and let the clones swing them open for him, he heard Thirty quickly screech to a halt next to him. He had followed him.

“Whatever happened to going home?” Ben whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“The Force told me to stay,” Thirty whispered back. 

“That’s not how the Force works!”

But Thirty’s muted and subtle Force signature rang with worry and anxiety like a siren, and Ben didn’t know what to make of it. Was he scared of the 501st? It was only rational, but Ben thought he was making a good show of having the situation under control. The 501st guys clearly thought he had it under control, which was the important thing. They were clearly desperate for anybody to walk in and tell them what to do, which was arguably what had kicked off this whole problem in the first place. 

Ben leaned over, elbowing Thirty’s side. He hadn’t comforted anybody since...years, but it couldn’t be that hard. “Don’t worry. I’m a Jedi. I won’t let them hurt you.”

But Thirty just shot him an incredulous look. “It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Before Ben could ask him to elaborate, the palace doors swung open, and then they both had bigger things on their minds.

Thematically, the interior of the Naboo palace was unnecessarily grandiose. The ceiling stretched above them hundreds of feet, forming a beautiful dome with patterned sunlight streaming in below and giving the stone walls a warm sheen. The far side of the entrance chamber boasted a gigantic, gorgeous transparisteel wall that showcased the waterfalls and churning ocean visible over the cliff face. If Ben looked up, he could barely make out artistic detailing and a gorgeous fresco painted on each dome in the vaulted ceiling. How amazing - to create what had to be a gorgeous work of art, likely depicting an important cultural or religious moment to the Naboo, and accept that almost nobody would ever be able to see its detail. Useless art that enriched the lives of everybody who stepped inside. Ben ached to live that sort of life - one where uselessness was celebrated, and beauty existed outside of the curves of ships. 

When he looked down, he was confronted with reality. The place was crawling with troopers, so many that he couldn’t fight the instant buzz of anxiety in his ears. Some of them were just standing guard, but others were walking around the castle or standing in groups talking amongst each other. There were a few natborns in the room, all dressed in identical softly colored robes, but they all...seemed to be teenage girls...

Jinx, Cameron, Oz, and the other troopers accompanying them were already standing in the middle of the room, talking furiously with another group of troopers. They all stopped the second they saw him, interest and shock and something undefinable flaring in the Force, but Ben quickly quenched their connection in the Force. Using the Force in front of these people felt wrong. Sacrilegious, if that word meant anything anymore. If they could just be soldiers, then - it wasn’t fine , but - Leia, her sweet little face, shattered and melted from a blaster bolt -

Ben locked it down hard. All of the men, in perfect sync, straightened and saluted. 

“At ease,” Ben called. “What is going on here?”

“Master Jedi. Welcome to Naboo.”

Suddenly, two of the teenage girls were in front of him. They were wearing different robes than the rest - long and draping, with a hood that covered most of their faces. The colors were soft and dusky, like twilight slowly descending over the beautiful Naboo lakes. 

Both bowed in sync, the visible corners of their faces expressionless. 

“I’m not a Jedi,” Ben said, irritated. He crossed his arms, forcing himself to ignore how every trooper in the room was staring at him. Pirate’s worst nightmare. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, at your service. Just call me Kenobi, please. I’m here to help with the power transfer between the Imperial Military and the Queen.”

“Certainly. We’re honored to have a former Jedi’s diplomacy.” The left teenage girl bowed again as the right stood back. “Queen Kylantha is hosting peace talks now. We will introduce you to her. Follow us.”

Well. It had taken three years of piracy to appreciate it, but Ben had spent most of his life garnering instant audiences with planetary rulers. Maybe he carried that air around himself even now: the air of somebody who had spent most of his life very important due to sheer coincidence and the Will of the Force. It must have galled Cody, the highest ranking officer in the clone arm of the military, to be forced to salute to a snotty brat like Ben. It’s a miracle he didn’t try and kill him sooner. 

The throne room was exactly as Ben remembered it: a long antechamber with rows of ornately carved stone benches that curved into a circular area with another beautiful window facing the oceans. There was no throne - just a simple long desk where the Queen sat among stacks of datapads and flimsi. She was attended by three more handmaidens, standing behind her and sorting through various documents as they talked between themselves. There were a few chairs pulled up to the desk, which couldn’t be typical. But there were at least ten clones in the room - three sitting at the Queen’s desk with two natborns beside them - and that couldn’t be typical either. 

“Your highness, we’d like to introduce Obi-Wan Kenobi and Imperial retinue.”

The queen was dressed more practically than Jamillia, wearing tan pants and a light red jacket made out of similar thick material. Her white facepaint matched the ornate braid wrapped inside a wire headpiece, and the sole concession towards Naboo royalty grandiosity was the twilight blue velvet cloak wrapped around her shoulders and cascading onto the floor. Ben noted wryly that she was dressed a lot like Padme. 

Ben bowed low to her, repeating the traditional Naboo bow from Jedi to Naboo royalty from sheer muscle memory. “Thank you for granting us an audience so quickly, your highness.”

Kylanthia stood up, bowing in response. “It is an honor to host a decorated hero of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan Kenobi. What business does the Jedi-Rebellion Alliance have on Naboo?”

“I’m not strictly here with the Rebellion,” Ben said, somewhat ruefully. Maybe he ought to lie - but you can’t lie to a queen , come on. Even if she was...perhaps fourteen. 

But Kylanthia didn’t miss a beat. “How may I assist the Imperial army, then?”

The clone next to her stood up. It was no effort at all to recognize him - between the unnaturally pale skin, the cybernetic hand, and the flashing headpiece, it could only be Echo. Echo, who had been so stiff around Ben until he got smashing drunk at ‘76 and ranted to Ben for ten minutes about how adorable he was. It had been terrible. Rex hadn’t stopped laughing. Appo had recorded the whole thing. 

“Commander,” Echo said, and it was impossible to ignore the tinge of wonder. “They said, but I didn’t - you’re alive, Commander?”

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Ben said shortly. “You’re in charge of the 501st here, Echo?”

But Echo didn’t seem to process anything Ben was saying. He was just looking at him - almost blankly, almost afraid. “You’re alive, Commander?” He looked at the clone next to him, and it took Ben a second to recognize him as Coric. Denal was on his other side. The clones had really put the three nerdiest ones in charge. “Am I…”

“No, sir,” Coric said. He looked away from Ben, squeezing his hand tight on the table. “No, it’s him.”

“I asked you a question, Echo,” Ben said.

That snapped Echo to attention. He could never stand the insinuation that he was doing anything wrong. “Yes, I was appointed by 501st vote. Boil’s my second, and he is currently stationed in atmo. Commander, are you with the Rebellion?”

“We’re not just handing the reins of this to the Rebellion,” Denal said shortly. He had a long, ropy scar stretching from the corner of his mouth to his ear. “We’re negotiating the handover. We’re not going to give up all advantage here.”

“I’m not with the Rebellion,” Ben said shortly. “I’m a pirate.”

“Sir!” Echo cried, scandalized. “That’s illegal!”

“You have not changed.” Ben fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, deeply missing his robe’s drooping sleeves where he could stash his hands and look refined. Ben’s leather jacket was cool, but not refined. “Don’t worry, Denal. I’m not here to tell you all to fall in line with the Rebellion. I’m simply here to negotiate. It’s my specialty.” 

For good measure, he grinned winningly. The 501st men leaned back in terror. Some of the teenage girls looked a little dazzled. Still got it. 

But Echo was screaming anxiety in the force, despite his calm face. Ever since they had rescued him from the Citadel, he had issues emoting due to the damaged and unhealthy skin. It peeled and cracked on his face. Only clone who moisturized. “You’re not with the Jedi anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said, “would you imprison me if I was with the Jedi or the Rebellion? Torture me? Kill me?”

Silence stretched across the throne room, but Ben kept eye contact with Echo. He could see it - the thousand calculations running in his mind, the relentless flipping through reg after reg and finding nothing. He was in unprecedented territory, a brand new galaxy where one man did not fit.

Ben Kenobi had no rank. Ben Kenobi was a civilian. The Commander commanded nothing. Did not compute. Did not work. 

But Echo had only ever relied on the rules because it made him feel safe. So long as you followed the rules things would be okay. The longnecks on Kamino wouldn’t decommission you, and you would be safe in battle. In the end, Echo always went with what made him feel safe. Or what scared him the least.

“Our complete loyalty is to you, Commander,” Echo cried, saluting. Every man in the room rattled and clanked, copying him. Kylantha cocked her head. “We will protect you with our lives!”

Great. So Ben had a battalion now. This was fun. At least they wouldn’t kill him. Probably. “Yes, thank you for holding off the violent legions of teenage girls for me,” Ben said, making a show of rolling his eyes. In reality, Ben was uncertain that he could take this particular legion of teenage girls, but he would rather die than admit that to the Imperial military. He turned to the Gungan, who was eyeing him with no small amount of suspicion. “I’m neutral in this conflict, sir. Can you fill me in on the situation?” 

The Gungan sitting next to him licked his lips in a self-moisturizing motion, his ears flapping. “If the Naboo and the Gungans follow the Rebellion, we can re-establish peace on Naboo and secure a position in the government.”

“Naboo liberated itself,” the woman next to him argued. She was the first adult woman Ben had seen so far - all of the palace staff seemed to be teenage girls, from the housekeepers to the aides and political staff members. That hadn’t been the case with Queen Jamillia, right? “The Rebel government might freeze us out for standing as Imperial Loyalists during the war.”

“ You pledged Imperial loyalty,” the Gungan said shortly. “We fought to the end.”

“Standing under Imperial occupation is not the same as pledging loyalty,” Denal said, irritated. “The Rebellion and new government will want Naboo, for the same reason that the Emperor did. You’re famously friends of the Jedi, the homeworld of Queen Amidala, and a mercantile hub. The new government would force or pressure you to join.”

 “And what,” the Gungan snapped, “ you’ll protect us?”

“No,” Coric said shortly, leaning back. “The Rebellion will have to bargain with us to have you.”

The tension in the air ratcheted up, all of the clones in the room standing stiffly as the two natborns exchanged glances with each other. Only the bustling teenage girls seemed unbothered, continuing with their chores or their documents. 

Kylantha, the Imperial appointed puppet queen, didn’t even blink. “Naboo will be cooperative in facilitating the military withdrawal. How that withdrawal is negotiated is at the discretion of the Jedi-Rebellion Alliance and the Imperial military.”

“The Jedi-Rebellion Alliance won’t stand for forced military occupation of Naboo,” the Gungan said throatily. “Hasn’t most of the military pledged allegiance to the new government?”

“Most of the military hasn’t agreed,” Coric said.

“ Naboo won’t tolerate military occupation,” the woman said, expression hardening. “We have a personal defense force, and you are without support!”

“Serena.” Kylanthia blinked slowly, tepid and calm. “The time for bloodshed is over.”

“The time for Naboo freedom is now,” Serena said furiously, standing up. “Naboo is not a planet of passivity. We protected ourselves during the Battle of Naboo, and we will protect ourselves against all would-be oppressors now.”

“Thanks for filling me in on the situation,” Ben said mildly. Thirty looked disturbed at Ben saying anything mildly. “May I interject and address the queen?”

“You may,” Kylantha said. Her voice was even, but there was something strange in her expression - or maybe strange was the wrong word. It wasn’t cold and haughty, or calm and regal. Ben had spent his entire life around masters of the djarik face, from Jedi to soldiers, but Kylantha’s thick white makeup didn’t conceal a calm stoicism common to the Naboo queens. It simply held nothing at all. It was a nothing expression. Much, seemingly, like Kylantha. 

Ben bowed to her, the image of Jedi propriety. “In that case, allow me to formally apologize for the Imperial 501st Legion. They have acted disgracefully towards Naboo in the last week.”

Everybody in the room was looking at him. It made the back of Ben’s neck prickle, sending the Force surging with anxiety. Kylantha just blinked, her own signature in the Force so muted it may as well not exist. “No apologies are necessary, Master Jedi.” Or, from the slight bent in her tone, welcome. 

But Ben wasn’t really talking to her. He turned around instead, facing the 501st. More had leaked into the room - news of his arrival spreading thick and fast. They were all gawking at him, caught in something Ben refused to see. Let them see him. Let them see the boy they couldn’t kill, and the man he grew up to be despite all of them. 

“The 501st has lost its pride,” Ben said to the room, loudly and clearly. The ancient acoustics sent his voice bouncing, lending it far more regal grandeur than he could ever have achieved by himself. It made even the small queen seem older, almost in charge. “It has lost every quality that made the 501st and 212th the greatest garrisons in the GAR. The finest soldiers, snipers, and tacticians were within its ranks. Where are those men now? Do they hide in the shadow of their former greatness?”

Ben pitched his voice louder, firmer. Say it like you meant it. Maybe the worst part was that he did mean it. “Or do they mistake their talent at violence and brutality for that greatness? Are the 501st now composed of fools? Violence is nothing but the dregs of your greatness. So the 501st and 212th scrape the bottom of the barrel, glorifying the crumbled ruins of something that once had meaning.” He locked eyes with a stone-faced Echo, before slowly looking back over the crowd.

“That would make you a fine match for the Jedi. But I would call it disrespect for those of us who never lost sight of who we used to be. Men like Master Qui-Gon Jinn, who died protecting those ideals from the Emperor. I can accept traitors losing their pride - but I cannot stand by as you disgrace the memory of your only true General like this.” He swallowed, wondering at which point in his speech he had stopped spinning banthashit. “I would not disgrace what he stood for. I will not leave Naboo until this conflict is resolved. I swear that on whatever honor the 501st have not taken from me!”  

Silence fell over the throne room, Ben’s last words echoing and dying. His head was buzzing faintly with incredulity that he was even here, that he was speaking these words to these people. That he was going on and on about ideals he didn’t believe in anymore, a childhood fantasy that he had long since grown out of. 

Ben had lost his pride too. He didn’t know how to get it back, or how to be the kind of person who did. He didn’t know why this shame burned so hot and bright in his heart, or why he couldn’t help but feel as if he had only been speaking to himself. He didn’t know if the 501st and 212th had stolen his honor as a Jedi, or if he had let them.  

But every clone was looking at him, and something in them was standing straighter. Good. Being a murderous brute was fine, you just had to have values about it. 

“One may say even the Republic worshipped barren seas,” Kylantha said mildly, raising a great deal of questions. “It is an honor to hear the wise words of a Jedi again. No apology necessary from our ambassador.”

“Still not a Jedi.” Ben yawned, loud and obnoxious. “I’m going to take a nap and get back with all of you. May my associate and I borrow a guest room, your highness?”

Coric stood up abruptly, armor rattling. “Sir, quartering in our barracks is more secure -”

“When I need you to protect me from the teenage girls, I’ll let you know,” Ben said, and Coric quieted. A bit too quickly. “And if you put a guard outside my door I will not be happy. I’m not thirteen anymore.”

“But you wouldn’t stop sneaking out,” Denal said lamely. “You almost sleepwalked off the bridge…”

“Is everybody ignoring the pirate thing?” Echo hissed to them. “Who let him be a pirate? That’s completely unsafe, we execute pirates!”

“Don’t worry,” Ben drawled, “Hondo was with me, I was fine.”

“ Hondo Ohnaka ?” 

“That’s why he looks so grubby,” Denal leaned back, sweeping a hand over his face. “The Commander’s not meant to be a civilian…”

“A handmaiden will escort you to your chambers,” Kylantha said, before Ben could bring up the murder thing again. “We hope you can help us all come to an amicable solution, Mr. Kenobi.”

“It’s my specialty,” Ben said. He winked experimentally. Kylantha did not seem impressed. Damn. 

The handmaidens were not talkative, and barely visible. They all held a serious, grave air about them. Thirty followed him silently as the handmaiden led them through the winding walls, guiding him through airy and beautiful stone corridors as teenage girls hurried past them. Eventually Ben recognized the diplomatic wing. Padme had never stayed in these during her visits - she had her own room, which was yet another example of how hilariously popular she had been. She had laughed about the diplomatic wing rooms. Apparently they were bugged and armed to the gills, like a fancy deathtrap/spyware combo. Nabooian specialty. 

“You will be staying here for your visit.” The handmaiden paused in front of what Ben was pretty sure was the most boobytrapped room , bowing at him. “I will be attending you for your stay. Please only ask any staff member for Hale. We will hold dinner at 2000, but you may request a meal in your rooms at any time.” She turned to Thirty, who was craning his head and looking everywhere trying to take everything in at once. “We’ve prepared the attached bodyguard room for you. Please ask us if there’s any additional security requests you’d like to make.”

“Oh! Oh, no, I don’t work for this guy.” Thirty laughed awkwardly as Ben sighed and the handmaiden blinked sleepily. “I’ll take my own room, thanks. Whatever you have free.”

“That can be arranged. Almost all of our rooms are free.” The handmaiden bowed again, unlocking the guest room door and opening it for them. “A staff member will find you when the room is prepared. We hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. Kenobi, DA-230.”

They both bowed back and watched the handmaiden glide off.

“Why are they so creepy,” Thirty whispered to Ben. “I didn’t tell them my name!”

“The Royal Naboo spyware network’s unparalleled,” Ben said, bored. “Ignore what I said earlier. Every staff member here will kill you in the blink of an eye and knows twenty ways to do it.”

Thirty shot him an alarmed look. “They’re human teenage girls.”

“You haven’t been around a lot of human teenage girls, have you.”

The guest room was, of course, decadent. Beautiful, artistic, elegant, stunning, etc, etc. Ben was too tired to care. He flopped on the immaculately made bed, probably dirtying it in ways beyond repair, and stared up at the ceiling. Thirty, fascinated by luxury, was already poking through the mini-cooler and making impressed noises at the mineral water. Natural spring water in Naboo was the most delicious in the galaxy. Ben would know: that shit fetched an astronomical price in the clone black market he had single-handedly run. But Padme, he just loved visiting your home and learning about your culture! I want to be just like you when I grow up!

What a spoiled kid. All he had to do was smile and he could get away with anything. Cody had fought a losing battle with him. All grown up, and the spoiled kid had become...

“I’m not gonna be able to sleep,” Ben whispered, rubbing his eyes. He tired out easily. Some days he always felt tired. Other days he felt extremely wired, staying awake for days at a time. “Can’t imagine sleeping in a palace full of that …”

“This is the most surreal day of my life,” Thirty proclaimed, snapping a cooler shut and untwisting a mineral water bottle. “What was with that speech? Everyone was acting like it was the new gospels of Iego, but I didn’t get a word you were saying.” 

“Because you don’t understand them, Thirty,” Ben said, impossibly tired. He hadn’t slept much last night - imagining too many anxious scenarios over which Jedi would shank him - or, worse, cry over him.  “Clones...they need something . Just something to keep them going. Like anybody, I guess. But clones were always proud of being clones. Their talent. Their skill. Their Jedi.” Which was pretty damn rich of them, considering. “The 501st and 212th were the best, and they were damn proud of it. They aren’t unorganized like this. Seeing what they’ve become is just pathetic.”

“Yeah, leaving their team jerseys at home and forgetting to root for the murder death squadron’s pretty embarassing,” Thirty said, missing the point tremendously as always. “And none of this has anything to do with Anakin Skytrotter or whatever, obviously.”

“If you say that name again I’ll kill you,” Ben said, remarkably calmly considering the circumstances. 

“Sorry, forgot he’s persona non grata or whatever.” Thirty clearly realized a second too late that this was also a maimable offense. Stupid but not suicidal, he quickly changed the subject. “Honestly, it’s not as if any of us have had personalities over the last three years, but CloneNet’s always talking about how genocidal the 501st are. Cannot believe they all worship you. No wonder you have such a big head.” He took a sip of the water, before sputtering in surprise. “Kriff, this is good! This is supposed to be water? What do they put in it, plasma? Rich people!”

“They’re monsters,” Ben said tiredly (“Rich people?”). He turned his head, staring blearily at the giant and perfectly polished crystal mirror, bordered by a carved metal frame with golden curlicues. He looked so dirty and matted and tired. “You know what they’re doing. They aren’t thinking this through strategically. If they were smart, they would wait to guarantee an alliance with the other clones before making systematic and simultaneous movements to occupy their stationed planets. But they aren’t thinking like that. They’re angry. They feel cheated. They want to assert power, and they’ll do it however they want. Because they can.”

Thirty lifted his eyebrows, muttering into his water. “That sounds familiar.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” Ben rubbed his eyes, pressing down until hyperlane streaks burst behind his eyelids. “I can’t believe I promised to fix this. Qui-Gon’s making me do dumb shit from beyond the grave. I don’t know what to do. Kylantha follows where the wind’s blowing, the natborns are oppositional, the clones are furious and irrational. Lot of good their loyalty does me when their itchy trigger fingers are jumping for genocide.”

“I still don’t see how this is our problem.” Thirty sat down in an ornate chair, kicking his feet up on a beautiful carved stone side table. “We’re just here for Cody! Let’s just get Cody and skip this creepy palace with its creepy teenagers! If you hate those 501st goons so much then leave them to their crappy politics. That’s my vote. Those fuckers hate guys like me. I’ve never killed anybody. They can’t say that.”

“Excuse me if I can’t leave Naboo under military occupation by a battalion of killer clones who hate every natborn!” Ben hissed, sitting up in bed. Every muscle in his body ached. Why? Why was he so tired? Why was his heart beating so loudly in his chest? Why was he hyper-aware of everything - desperately feeling out for the dozens of warm clone signatures in the palace before flinching back, as if burned?

“You sure as kriff left the entire galaxy under military occupation for three years,” Thirty said, and Ben stopped short. Thirty huffed anxiously, tightening his grip on his bottle of water. “Maybe the only good clone to you is one who does whatever you want and takes the shit you heap on him. Yes sir, sorry sir, we love you sir. Then you get to act as important as you want and take out your hypocrisy on everyone else.”

“Shut up,” Ben hissed. “That’s not true!”

“Or maybe you’re just as afraid of the 501st as I am,” Thirty cut in ruthlessly. “And if you aren’t the holier-than-thou hardass commander then you’re just an idiot teenager surrounded by baby killers and the family who tried to kill you.”

The beautiful mirror with the golden frame began rattling. The nightstand began shaking.

“Shut up!” Ben said, and he didn’t realize he was yelling until he felt the words tear themselves from his throat. “Can’t you just take orders for once?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sir , but I don’t have to.” Thirty spread his hands out sarcastically, but Ben could barely see it. He was tangling his hands in the comforter instead, slowly ripping it into pieces. “I don’t even work for the Rebellion. I sure as hell don’t work for you. I promised myself that I’m never working for anybody else ever again, and I’m not breaking that promise for anybody. And if that scares you, then that’s not my problem.”

The mirror shattered. 

Crystal flew everywhere, sending Thirty instantly jumping away from the chair and skittering away from the exploding mirror. Ben curled up, letting the Force guide the shards fly out and away from him. They tinkled against the delicate crystal chandelier, sending it swaying dangerously. 

And finally, Ben got what he wanted - Thirty, scared, standing in the corner. Thirty, looking at him as if Ben could kill him at any second. As if Ben would always win, and there was nothing Thirty could do to him. Not even betray him, not even rip his heart out, not even love him. 

“Thirty,” Ben whispered, every ugly emotion inside of him screaming, “I can’t. I can’t.”

Whatever Ben couldn’t do - whatever words were stuck in his throat, choking him - he couldn’t say. But Thirty seemed to know, because he just sobered. Ben felt a hot flash of guilt and shame. Master Qui-Gon would be so embarrassed - human Jedi younglings stopped breaking things in tantrums when they were five standard. Cody would have killed him for this. Good commanders didn’t terrorize their men. Strong, professional people didn’t throw tantrums. Soldiers weren’t scared. 

“I know,” Thirty said. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Before Ben could say anything else - before he could reject it - the door slammed open. Two clone troopers stood at the door, giant rifles held at their shoulders, ready to aim and fire. They instantly registered the shattered mirror, Ben’s red face.

Ben couldn’t help it - he screamed, scrabbling back in his bed. They were going to enter his room. They were going to shoot him, this was it - they’d get Thirty, they’d get him, he knew it, he knew it - 

“Sir!” One of the troopers cried. Ben fought the urge to cover his head, to run. “What’s wrong? We heard a sound -”

But Ben’s fear was too awful, too much, and it burst out of him in a terrible rage. Or a terrible hurt. He didn’t know anymore. “I said no guards outside of my room!” Ben screamed. “Out, right now!”

“Sir,” the other guard protested, “what -”

Ben swept a hand, sending the crystal rattling. Some of them rattled into the air, flying harshly into the wall or skittering across the floor. Some of them jerked towards the clones before falling. Others exploded. Ben wanted to explode.

“ Out !”

The troopers got out. Thirty gaped at him, as if he had very narrowly escaped death. 

“Er,” he said, “does that include me?”

But Ben couldn’t care anymore. He curled into himself, drawing his knees around his chest and hugging them tightly. His heart wouldn’t slow down. “Out, out, out…”

“Right. Uh. Sleep tight!”

Ben heard the door slam. He felt the motion sensor lights darken, and the room descended into comfortable darkness. 

It took a long time before he stopped hyperventilating, before he lay down. He didn’t get under the covers or take off his boots. He only stood up to lock the door, dragging the largest chair he could find over and pushing it underneath the handle. His boots crunched against crystal, screeching harshly into the stone floor. 

But maybe it was for the best - Ben could barely sleep with the clones flanking him and pulling him into their sucking depths. He would never have been able to sleep with that crystal reflecting his own image back at him - dirty, haggard, tired. Hateful. Scared. 

Ben dropped into uneasy sleep, although he wasn’t certain how.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stood in a dark space.

It swallowed him and stretched on forever. It was infinite nothing, black emptiness. He stood on a floor - cool black tile, polished and clean - but its gleam reflected infinity as the darkness swallowed all light. 

The only thing in the darkness was Padme. She was sitting at her desk in the Senate, a long time ago. Her hair was wrapped in that cylindrical-flat hairpiece, and her thick robes obscured the tired hunch of her back as she sorted files through three different holographic screens. 

There should have been a chair beside the desk, where Obi-Wan would sit and read and kick his legs. Master Qui-Gon did work in the Senate sometimes, even though he hated it. Padme liked to watch him and teach him about politics. She said he was an adept student, which made him happy and proud. 

But the chair was gone, and Obi-Wan was far away. Instead, Cody stood in front of her. He was in his old trooper armor, standing stiffly and uncomfortably in front of Padme. His bucket was tucked under his arm, which was probably why he was uncomfortable. Cody hated interacting with natborns without his helmet. Rex said Cody had social anxiety, whatever that meant. Cody had stomped on his feet. 

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Cody said awkwardly. “I understand how busy you are.”

“I understand that you’re far busier,” Padme said. She swiveled away from the screens, focusing in on Cody. Both their gazes were equally intense, although Padme hid it behind a sweeter smile. “Do Master Jinn or Knight Skywalker have a request for me?”

“No, ma’am, this is...a personal matter.” Cody made a face, clearly despising the words ‘a personal matter’. “I’m not sure if you’re the right person to bring this to. But I couldn’t think of anybody else.”

That alarmed Padme. She had nothing to do with the military, and Cody didn’t have personal matters. “What happened? Whatever it is, Cody, I’ll advocate for you and your men.”

“I know. I...trust you with this matter.” Cody clearly bucked himself up, exhaling heavily. Obi-Wan had never seen Cody so afraid to broach something. Normally he did or he didn’t. Whatever Cody did, it was with utmost surety. “I’m worried about General Skywalker. He has begun acting erratically on the field. I can provide examples and mission reports if you’d like them. I understand that this is typical for him, but impulsivity is growing into recklessness.”

It was subtle. But Padme paled, just slightly. She hitched one breath, before smoothing it out. She held Cody’s gaze just a little too long. “Well,” she said finally, “that’s Anakin for you. His methods are unconventional. Has the casualty rate of his missions grown higher? Your artillery?”

“No, ma’am. They’re lower than ever.”

Padme’s eyebrow ticked up. “How has this negatively impacted his performance?”

“It hasn’t,” Cody said stoically. 

It was clear in Padme’s face - ‘if it’s not affecting his performance, then why do you care about it?’. All Cody cared about was the GAR and the war. He didn’t give a damn about any Jedi’s personal life. Almost any. But nobody important knew about that. “Then...can you specify your concerns?”

Cody started, then stopped. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he said, “I’m concerned about Commander Kenobi, ma’am. His relationship with General Skywalker, I mean. I’m in charge of overseeing Commander Kenobi’s military training. He’s highly adept, but he isn’t made for it. He’s...sensitive.”

Padme’s mouth tweaked into a smile. “Don’t tell him that. No teenage boy would ever want to hear it.”

“He’s like General Skywalker that way,” Cody agreed, and Padme shrugged in concession of the point. “They’re similar in a lot of ways. They have a strong sense of justice. A desire to always help. Recklessness. Self-sacrificing heroism. But they don’t understand each other. General Skywalker...forgive me if this is impertinent, ma’am. But he is reckless with Obi-Wan. I fear he may hurt him.” He shifted uncomfortably as Padme’s expression intensified. “There is always risk in battle. We are doing everything we can, but General Skywalker has...different priorities in the field. And...emotionally...Obi-Wan and Anakin are sensitive, ma’am. I’m afraid they might hurt each other. I don’t know how to prevent it.”

“That’s a natural part of every relationship,” Padme said gently. Cody’s mouth ticked. “A master and padawan relationship is highly tumultuous. Goodness knows Anakin and Master Qui-Gon fight enough. I believe in their ability to resolve any conflict. And I believe in your ability to keep Obi-Wan safe on the field. Anakin can be reckless, but he never means any harm.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Cody said quickly. Did he believe his own words? The darkness yawned wider, leaving the senator and the clone alone in time and space. A cold rift was opening between him and Padme, but he was frozen in place. “But I don’t believe General Skywalker was ready for a padawan. Especially not for Obi-Wan.”

Padme smiled sweetly. “Who cares what you believe, Cody?”

“Anakin knows Obi-Wan loves us,” Cody said. “He resents it. It’s as if he thinks you can’t love two people at once.”

“Obi-Wan’s not your son.” Padme tilted her head and widened her eyes in faux-curiosity. “You don’t get to choose what happens to him.”

“I don’t get to choose anything.” Cody gripped his helmet tightly. His arm was almost shaking with tension. “If I could choose a single thing, I’d give him a better life than this.”

“You could never give him that,” Padme said simply. “What is your fantasy, Cody? Your happy family? Your brothers together, free of war? You and Rex side by side forever? Obi-Wan, growing up happy and free - loving only you ? You don’t even know what that looks like. You think of a life after the war and see only a yawning black expanse. Infinite nothing. Inconceivable to your direct and simple mind. A weapon can’t free a child from war, Cody. He’s better off with Anakin and Qui-Gon.”

“I can’t stand this,” Cody said. “I just can’t stand this anymore.” 

Padme nodded at him in dismissal. “Good soldiers -”

“Kriff themselves, yeah, I got it.” Cody clicked his heels and salued. “Thanks for nothing, Senator.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the refined and professional Senate office. He walked down the halls of the Senate building, brushing past the sentients in fine robes and fluttering finery, and ducked around the running aides and frantic legislators. He passed portrait after portrait of important human after important human, smiling down at him like indulgent grandparents. So important. So powerful.

Cody found himself angry. It wasn’t a new feeling. Clones had decreased levels of aggression and resentment, but it was impossible to entirely breed out anger from a genetic human. Humans could feel a thousand different emotions for a million different reasons, and in some humans it would only ever feel like anger. Jango had been one of them. It always simmered low and steady in Cody, like a burning ember, but it never truly went out. He didn’t know who he was without it. If he was anybody at all.

 If they could have bred that anger out, they would. Maybe that made it his. 

“He’s unstable,” a senator said, walking past Cody without sparing him a glance. “We can’t trust him. He’s a wild card.”

“You can’t trust anybody in this galaxy,” another senator said, young and fragile. “But I believe in the Jedi. I think he can help us.”

Cody walked faster through the Senate building. Everybody worshipped General Skywalker. Rex had a giant blind spot for him. He spent a lot of time around him, and he was perfectly aware of how he could get - but he was perfect, he was amazing, he was the best. Why did everybody fall for it? Power wasn’t strength. Bravery wasn’t courage. But how could a clone profess to know the meaning of those words better than a Jedi?

“He’s angry,” a tall sentient said. He was dressed in a brown robe that trailed along the bottom of the floor. “He’s in danger of falling.” 

“Who isn’t in danger of falling?” A shorter boy said near him, jogging to keep up with the other sentient’s tall strides. “Who can be pure and good and serene in this awful fucking galaxy?”

None of this was good for Obi-Wan. He grew more and more uncomfortable with the other Jedi and natborns every time they landed on Coruscant for shore leave. Obi-Wan’s greatest dream in life was to be a hero soldier, the same as every other young clone, and it drove Cody crazy. The war might be Cody’s entire life, but it wouldn’t be Obi-Wan’s. Any being who made the perfect soldier was a sorry excuse for a sentient. Cody couldn’t protect him forever. What would Obi-Wan do without him? He needed him.  

Or maybe it was Cody who needed - a desperation churning in his gut caught in endless desire for something it could never have. Clones owned nothing, not even their own bodies or their own feelings, and they were happy with that. The sheer act of desire was shameful disloyalty. But Cody wanted, and he could not help it. He couldn’t even understand it. He thought of Obi-Wan, and ached with wanting so terrible that it brought him to his knees, but his mind was so direct and simple it could not even comprehend what he wanted. 

“How can you still believe in the Jedi?” A young girl asked another. 

“I can’t live without something .”

Cody stepped onto a catwalk. Huge cylindrical generators towered above them, churning and humming like the infinite Naboo oceans. The catwalks stretched on deep into the depths of the generators, and the distinct electric odor made Cody’s nose tingle. It was the scent of plasma generation, a highly dangerous and volatile substance process. Ray shields flickered on and off around him, protecting each generator block from the others exploding.  

Cody stepped forward, craning his head around and taking in the generators, before stopping. He turned around, looking down the catwalk until he saw a flickering figure among the ray shields. 

“Obi-Wan,” Cody breathed. 

Obi-Wan’s feet ground against the catwalk, the heavy reverb of the generators making his sternum shake and his fingers tingle. His robe dragged along the floor, his soft boots scored by the hash marks of the metal grate. He clenched a lightsaber in one hand, the elegant and civilized weapon shining in the black expanse.

But Cody just stared at him. As if he was the most familiar thing in the galaxy. More so than his own face - as familiar as a lightsaber rolling on the ground, and an instinctual knowledge of where it fell. 

“I killed you,” Cody whispered. His hard and intense face broke into something desolate and broken. Something Obi-Wan had never seen. “Why won’t you stop haunting me? I killed you!”

Obi-Wan activated his lightsaber, its snap-hiss cracking the emptiness. 

“I’m sick of this dream!” Cody cried, lashing out a hand. “If you’re a Mandalorian god of revenge, then kill me! If you’re here to take me to the afterlife, then take me! Take me to wherever failures go! Take me to wherever men who murder their children go! I’m ready for it!”

Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber, dropping into the preliminary Ataru stance. But Cody didn’t raise his blaster. He just stood there. Powerless, sidelined. 

“It’s not my fate to duel you, Obi-Wan. I won’t do it.” Cody’s expression was twisted in something that Obi-Wan didn’t understand. A pain that he had never felt. “My fate is nothing but infinite sadness. Strike me down; I won’t fight you. And I didn’t teach you mercy , Obi-Wan!”

He hadn’t. That had never been Cody’s job. He had never once showed Cody mercy - not in training, not in death. And Ataru was an aggressive stance with no defense.

Obi-Wan ran forward, holding his lightsaber out to the side, before smoothly launching into a great leap. He raised his lightsaber over his head, wondering what he was doing, feeling great and fantastic regret, screaming in rage -

His lightsaber collided with a ray shield, and Obi-Wan screamed again as the shield threw him aside. He rolled on the catwalk, scrabbling out with his hands in a desperate attempt to cling onto the durasteel grids with his fingers, but he couldn’t get a grip. His padawan braid swung against his cheek, the hairs tangling in the durasteel. A red lightsaber flared in his vision like a starburst before fading, echoed by a man’s desperate scream. A scream that sounded exactly like his, resounding in time.

Obi-Wan slid off the catwalk, falling into the infinite nothing, split in two as he plummeted downwards.   

Ben jolted upwards, screaming.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

A girl was bent over him, leaning back only just in time so he didn’t crash into her. She stared at him expressionlessly, big dark eyes shining in the dim moonlight streaming in from the window. “Don’t scream. It’s just me.”

Ben bit down another scream, swallowing it. Just a teenager. She was dressed in the draping twilight blue handmaid's outfit, the hood down to reveal her circular and young face. Closer up, Ben could see how short she was - bony and small, pale skinned and with monolid eyes. Baby fat still lingered on her cheeks, and her glossy black hair was pulled into two looped braids behind her head. 

Oh, kriffing fantastic . 

“Your highness.” Ben’s hands drifted to the pockets of his jacket, jamming his hands into his pockets. “What are you doing in my room?”

“How do you know I’m her highness?” The Queen said glibly. Ben stared at her, unimpressed. “Right. You can call me Blanche.” Was that...her name, or…? “Follow me.”

Oh, Ben wasn’t going to like this.

But he got out of bed anyway, grabbing his blaster belt and clipping it around his waist. It was the only weapon he didn’t sleep with, because he wasn’t a fucking idiot. How had Kylantha - Blanche - gotten into his room? The chairs at the door were undisturbed, and he would have heard her enter. How had she snuck up on him? 

Had he been trapped inside that strange vision? It felt like that. Ben had never had a vision like that before. Normally they were almost straightforward images of the future. Sometimes they were scenes from the past, played in detail far too great for simple memory. But this one had been different. A mix of dream, nightmare, vision, and prophecy. It felt like a warning. It felt like he had been in somebody else’s dream. Somebody else’s nightmare. 

Dreamwalking wasn’t unheard of in the Force. Some masters had demonstrated great skill in it, including Master Sifo-Dyas. Ben, with his strong connection in the Unifying Force and intrusive visions, had sometimes dreamwalked when he was much younger. But the few times had only been with Quinlan - they could practically induce it by holding hands as they slept, which in retrospect had to be fucking adorable - and a few times with Bant. Physical and emotional closeness were vital. Was Cody…?

Blanche stood in front of the shattered mirror, carefully minding the crystal, before pressing a hidden switch and silently swinging it open. She glanced back at him, cool as ice. “Are you coming or not? I want to go back to sleep.”

Ben came with her, following in her footsteps as he ducked into the secret passageway. Because of course there was a secret passageway. Did he expect there not to be? 

The corridor was far larger than he expected. Most secret passageways were practically crawlspaces, which was why his two giant masters always made him go through them. Send R2D2 through the vents for once, Master . But these secret passageways were the size of normal corridors, large enough that four people could comfortably walk side by side. White electric lights set into the walls glowed faintly, illuminating their path down. Ben sleepily smacked his comm, only to see that it was at way at the wrong end of the day.

“Is there any particular reason you woke me up in the middle of the night cycle for a field trip, your majesty?” Ben asked, trying not to sound cranky and failing. “Couldn’t this have waited for morning?”

“I would rather have this meeting without your honor guard present.” Blanche didn’t look back, braids bobbing in the dim white light. “Everybody knows that the most productive meetings happen at 0300, anyway.”

The claustrophobic stone walls of the secret passageway loomed over them, solitary and proud. “Is this your definition of a meeting?” 

“How do you think I get anything done?”

Ben was glad for the light - he would have tripped over a million things in the passageway if he hadn’t. It was crammed with stuff. Art, mostly, although there were just as many huge bookcases holding thick books. Rows of file cabinets lined the walls, and giant box after giant box seemed to hold even more books. Paintings leaned against the walls, shadows dancing across gorgeous figures. 

“You saved some of it,” Ben muttered. “So Naboo’s cultural heritage wouldn’t be completely destroyed.”

“We only saved the irreplaceable cultural artifacts.” They walked past a tall stack of what had to be boy band magazines. “This was where my predecessor hid the Jedi. If it wasn’t for the mole, nobody would have ever known that they were here. This palace is half secret passageways and hidden rooms. They’re impossible to access if you don’t know how.”

A button on a mirror didn’t seem that secure, but Ben kept that one to himself. “You haven’t mentioned where we’re going yet.”

“Damn, you want me to hold your hand?” Blanche sidestepped a large marble statue, cuing Ben to hastily follow after her. “We’ll get there when we get there. We’re taking the secret passageways because your clones don’t like us wandering the palace by ourselves at night.”

They don’t like it. Great. Why didn’t anybody care about what Ben didn’t like? “Do the army’s preferences control a lot of how this palace runs?”

“So far as they know, yes.”

“So far as they know? Your majesty, I hope you aren’t doing anything dangerous -”

“Dangerous?” Blanche stopped short, turning on her heel and glaring up at Ben. It shouldn’t have been intimidating without her makeup, but somehow her bare face made her seem much more threatening. Kylantha would blink; Blanche would snarl. “The runaway pirate drops in unannounced during my peace talks, after three years of military occupation, and tries to tell the captive regent what’s dangerous or not? Do you wish to tell me what’s inside my wardrobe, too?”

Whoops. Ben held up his hands placatingly. “I just wanted to help give you a little bit of leverage, my lady. You and I know exactly how dangerous the 501st are, better than anyone.” Blanche’s lips pressed together into a thin line - not in agreement, not in disagreement. “The Naboo Rebels and the Gungans couldn’t win any fight against the 501st and we both know it. The monarchy’s ceded a lot of power, and -”

“I have ceded nothing.” Blanche stepped forward and tilted her chin up, glaring directly up at Ben until he had to fight the urge to lean back. “Let me get one thing straight, Master Jedi. Just because I haven’t run away from the responsibilities I did not ask for and the position I was not permitted to refuse so I can go play space pirate does not mean I am a spineless coward. The only act of cowardice would be jumping in front of a blaster rifle and making this the problem of some other poor woman.”

Ben stepped back carefully. “I don’t think you’re a coward, your highness.” He truly didn’t. He knew a soldier when he saw one. “I’m just saying that your policies seem to be pacifistic, and you’re not committing to any side.  Are you, like, biding your time, or…?”

“Sacred depths, my policies are not the issue right now.” Blanche turned on her heel and continued striding down the hall, leaving Ben working to catch up with her. “Queen Kylantha’s words and Queen Kylantha’s policies are two very different things. Serena and Boss Klim can bray for Naboo freedom and inspire our people all they wish. Nobody looks to me for inspiration. My people look to me to keep them safe.” She glanced to the side, expression pinched and intent. “But safety without freedom is just another cage, so I will take whatever risks I must to keep us independent. If the old Republic understood that, then we wouldn’t have had a dictatorship for three years.”

“We were under a dictatorship far before that,” Ben said, slightly depressed. “Don’t look at me. I was your age. What was I supposed to do about any of it?”

“By yourself? Nothing.” Blanche’s robes swept along her feet as the passageway began to slide into an increasingly steep incline, leaving Ben’s boots to slide on the stone and search for purchase. “With people you trust to be on your side? Much more.”

“I can’t imagine you trust anybody.”

“Why do you think I can’t do anything?”

One of her handmaidens had been the mole. The betrayal must have cut into her heart. He knew that Padme had trusted her handmaidens above all else. To have somebody who acted as a member of your person betray you must have felt like stabbing yourself in the heart. It would probably be less painful. 

The ramp curved downwards, the number of items disappearing as the ramp grew steeper, until eventually they both slid to a stop at a small circular pit with a ladder bolted over the rim. Blanche easily swung herself onto the ladder, dropping like a rock into the depths, but Ben hesitated. 

He reached out with the Force, cautiously searching for any signs that this was a trap. He elected an electric shock of warning, or the sinking gut feeling of danger, but he didn’t sense anything dangerous underneath. Only lifeforms: dozens of them, packed closely together, oozing misery and despair in the Force. A dozen more lifeforms, barely recognizably only by their beating hearts and the Force emitted by their living bodies, with no imprint of sentience.

Ben slid down the ladder, wondering if he was descending into the planet’s core.

He found himself landing in an extremely small closet, barely larger than the ladder, with a door swung out open into a larger stone room. He exited the room, turning around to see that the door was identical stone to the wall - if he shut the door, it would be impossible to distinguish it from the wall. More secret passageways. But he shouldn’t be surprised: a secret passageway to the palace dungeons made sense.

The room was large and skinny, with a hallway corridor stretching out and leading towards a guard station and a staircase. Ray shields separated the corridor from the cells, flickering electric-green barriers that made Ben’s heart jump. Identical to the ones in his vision - ones he had never seen before today. 

Blanche was already standing in front of one of the cells, talking seriously with the people in one of the cells. They were of varying sizes - some of them were clearly solitary, while others held groups of people. The group Blanche was speaking with were all talking over each other, trying to get her attention as her expression slowly darkened. 

“Calm yourself,” Blanche said, voice durasteel. She beckoned at Ben, cuing him to step into sight. None of the prisoners looked impressed. “I’ve brought a Jedi. He’s going to help us.”

He was? But every prisoner smiled in relief, their gratitude and joy shining in the Force. They were all humans, most of them dressed in what looked like official uniforms. Some of them were wearing Imperial uniforms; others were dressed like businessmen. 

At Ben’s silent shock, Blanche looked up at him and blinked sleepily. “These people were my palace administrative staff. The highest ranking politicians in Naboo outside of the parliament, which was dissolved when I took office.”

So that’s where the adults went. Ben bowed at them, who mostly bowed or curtseyed back. “I’m sorry to meet you in these circumstances, then. I hope nobody has been abused too badly.”

“Master Jedi!” An old man stood behind the ray shields - the same old man who had been speaking to Blanche earlier. “Are you here to help us? Are the Jedi Order going to remove the clones from the planet?”

Uh. Ben did not want to over-promise anything. He really had no idea what the Jedi were doing. The only Jedi he had spoken with the last three years was Quinlan, who was never a good barometer of what other Jedi were up to. “The Rebellion’s negotiating the situation now,” Ben lied through his teeth. They’d find out eventually, right? This was literally Padme’s own planet. “I promise the Queen’s priority is minimizing bloodshed.”

“The Rebellion’s clone troopers will remove the 501st, right?” Another woman asked eagerly. “That way there’s no bloodshed. We can all be back to normal in weeks, I bet. Your majesty, you have to get us out of here soon.”

“The clones warring against each other is your definition of ‘no bloodshed’?” Ben asked incredulously. “The queen is trying to preserve all life now, not just the Naboo.”

“Reconstruction will already take years. Maybe a decade.” Blanche nodded firmly at him. “Another drawn-out planetary conflict, on top of the damages from the Clone War that still scar our planet, will set Naboo back decades. There is a way to resolve the matter diplomatically with the clones. Naboo will take up arms only if all negotiations fail.” 

In that moment, in the shine of Blanche’s eyes, Ben saw a little of Satine in her. Maybe a little of Padme too: the implacability, sure as stone. The implacability in tractability, and the deep understanding of pacifism that bubbles from a wellspring of a lifetime of violence. 

He wasn’t certain if it was good or bad. Ben’s heart screamed that pacifism was avoidance, that refusing to fight allowed oppressors power and left the planet open to exploitation and invasion. But Blanche was confronting this issue head-on, in her own way - as fluidly as Naboo’s placid rivers but as frozen and cold as ice.  

“None of you will be punished for swearing allegiance to the Empire,” Blanche continued, and the crowd slowly quieted. “You made decisions that kept the Naboo ruling Naboo, if not in power, and I know we all rebelled in whatever ways we could. We must all submit ourselves to investigations and interrogations, but those of us who did not willingly participate in rights abuses have nothing to fear. I, myself, will be resigning once Naboo is stable.” 

That wasn’t a surprise. Blanche wasn’t democratically elected. She had to feel like a fraud right now. She also probably severely did not want this job. Queen was normally a jumping-off point for a highly successful future career for young Naboo politicians - those who it didn’t burn out - but he had the sense her political career was over after his. He wondered what she would do instead. Maybe become a pirate. 

“I look forward to our reinstatement,” the old man said. Fear snaked across the faces of one or two humans in the back, who began whispering to each other. “We all eagerly look forward to lifting this heavy burden from your shoulders, Kylantha.”

Blanche blinked. 

“Where did I say that I was reinstating you?”

The cell fell quiet. 

 “Sorry,” Ben said pleasantly, “can I talk to you for a second, your highness?” 

She shrugged, and Ben quickly shepherded her away to the other end of the cells. Blanche easily leaned on the guard station, but Ben couldn’t stop from pulling at the cuffs of his jacket. Blanche raised a finely manicured eyebrow, waiting for him. 

Finally, Ben hissed, “You’re firing every politician ? You can’t do that! Don’t you have a prime minister?”

“The Empire dissolved the position three years ago, and I have no intention of reinstating it at this time. The Empire said that they were installing the Grand Moff to fulfill the role of the prime minister, but after the old queen displayed too much independence they deployed the 501st to seize the planet. They assassinated her. I am not so willing to give up what little independence we have so easily.” Blanche’s eyes tightened, expression steady in its implacability. “Much like the clones, I have no desire to swap one cage for another. Power transitions are vulnerable periods, and all those old people in that cage are carrion-fishers anyway. Grand Moff Panaka was the worst of them, taking all of the power and leaving me as figurehead, and they’d elect him King if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s in the cell over there.”

“I’m surprised he’s not dead,” Ben said bluntly. “You hear about what happened to the Mandalorian Grand Moff?”

Blanche smiled thinly, yet with real amusement. “I watched all the videos on the HoloNet. It was cathartic.” Terrifying, but alright! “We are currently in negotiations with the Imperial military over which court he will be tried under.” Which, of course, decided his fate: Naboo didn’t have capital punishment, but the military sure as hell did. “I’m not trying to seize absolute power here. I’m in the process of reassembling the parliament.”

“You control parliament!”

“Have you seen my palace, Mr. Kenobi?”

Ben stopped short. Of course he had. But he knew what Blanche meant. “You don’t have any adults working for you.”

Blanche nodded sharply. “I negotiated it. The Empire wanted to strip the Palace of Naboo of all its staff, but I convinced them that Naboo loyal to the Empire would rule more efficiently than outsiders. They believed me: Grand Moff Panaka was an exemplary officer.” Her lips curled into a slight sneer before she forcibly tightened them again. “When the clones took control of the palace, I convinced them to take into custody every sentient who had ever sworn allegiance to the Empire and then sort them out later. But none of my girls had ever sworn allegiance to the Empire. No need. Their parents were loyalists and if they misbehaved their families would be extinguished. Mine were made an example.”

“Blanche…”

But she didn’t falter. “My palace has no greedy and corrupt politicians. Nobody within it has sought an office or money. We are staffed by those who took responsibility for their people, who sacrificed themselves so nobody else would have to make the choices they made. I will not be an absolute monarch. I will hire experienced politicians from the Naboo Youth Political Organization.” That was the young politician pool. Almost every Queen had held a high position there before their election. “Young, dedicated girls who have grown up in warfare and who strive for peace. I will have no more grown adults commanding me, Mr. Kenobi. I will not be condescended to, controlled, or shattered ever again. Our wars and battles will be fought out of necessity and never for profit. All we want is to be children again. And we will sacrifice that childhood so other children may retain it.”

Ben felt lost. Blanche was a head shorter than him, but she glared up at him with such ferociousness that he was frozen in place. She couldn’t be older than fourteen - younger girls were more tractable, or so idiots thought - but she carried the same heavy burden on her shoulders as Satine did. As Ben did. 

Ben never trusted anybody, and he never put his faith in anything. But he could put his faith in his own face staring back up at him, in the ghost of a sensitive child who had deserved better and the trooper who could not give it to him.

Finally, Ben found himself saying, “Is an idiot teenager acceptable?”

Blanche huffed, crossing her arms. “You landed on my planet searching for your father, and you involved yourself with your greatest fears to help us. You’re an unstable jerk but you’re probably not an asshole.”

“You did bug our rooms,” Ben said, depressed.

“What? No, Thirty told me. He’s quite nice, really. We had dinner together. I lent him my favorite Space BTS album.”

“You what -”

“Clones are big gossips. I have a lot of dirt on you now.” Blanche faltered, just for a second, as if Ben wasn’t caught up in vividly imagining what kind of embarrassing childhood stories the genocidal death fascist squadron were telling their captive monarch. They hadn't told her about Rotta the Hutt, had they?! “I know you feel as if you cannot trust yourself to undertake this task. But that’s why I think you can. If you cannot trust yourself, then trust me. And...I cannot trust myself, so I will put my trust in you. Sometimes that’s  the best we can do.”

“Why?” Ben asked, exhausted. “Why would you ever want a fuck-up wash out like me to help you? I couldn’t even help myself.”

“The Force brought you here to help us,” Blanche said simply. “It did not bring Mace Windu or Ahsoka Tano. It brought you. It is a tremendously difficult thing to help yourself, Mister Kenobi, but it is far easier to help someone else. And I know you haven’t given up on wanting to help people. I’m incapable of changing my own situation, but I can still save my people. Sometimes saving others is the only salvation we can get.”

Was that the purpose behind her peace? Pacifism wouldn’t bring Blache’s parents back to life, and saving a planet wouldn’t soothe Ben’s broken heart. Nothing ever would, and nothing would ever fix Ben - not a New Republic, not reunions, not love. Not hurting people, or yelling at them, or acting nasty just so you could feel safe. 

If Ben could make just one other person safe, or fix one problem for one planet...would it be enough? If he could just stop hurting people, hurting himself, would he allow the comforting flames of pain and bitterness to die out?

“I’m not as brave as you, your highness. But I...want the same thing you do. I want the Naboo you dream of. I’ll help you where I can.”

“You aren’t a very brave person,” Blanche said plainly, making Ben wince. “But you do have courage. I will help you where I can too. Look over there.”

She pointed towards another large cell, pressing a button to soften the ray shields and allow visibility into the cell. 

It was full of clones in Stormtrooper armor. Ben jumped, jerking back and putting himself in front of Blanche, but she just put her hand on his back. He saw why in a second: none of the clones were moving. 

“They won’t hurt you,” Blanche said. “Go look.”

Ben couldn’t help himself. He slowly approached, heart thumping in his chest. But it was as if they couldn’t see him. Their faces were blank, solid and unmoving. Some sat on a bench, while others were lying down on a cot, but they were as still and placid as an inactive droid. None of them had a signature in the Force. Of course, it was far from the first time Ben had seen clones like this: it reminded him of their existence as brainwashed Stormtroopers. Their signature was slightly more active than the Stormtroopers, and their postures and faces were less rigid and controlled than the Stormtroopers, but there was clearly nobody home. 

Ben turned back to Blanche slowly, feeling sick. “Does the 501st know -?”

“Of course. They’re the ones who placed them here. They thought it might be more comfortable than the Star Destroyers.” She stepped up to stand next to him, surveying the crowd. “Master Ahsoka was successful in deactivating every chip. But some of the clones didn’t wake up. Small numbers, many unidentified and unknown, but every battalion is hiding clones like these. The 501st had the highest quantity. They aren’t homicidal or obedient. They aren’t even responsive. They just sit here, mostly.”

“What are the 501st going to do with them?”

For the first time, Blanche looked sad. “The 501st finds them dangerous. It’s difficult to ascertain if their chips are completely off. We don’t know if they would grow homicidal at the sight of a Jedi. Regardless of that, the clones find it cruel to keep them alive. Us Naboo would care for them for the rest of their lives, but…”

“No clone would do that. Not from cruelty or callousness, but they prefer death over a brain-dead existence. It’s a pride and shame thing.” Ben shrugged uncomfortably. Some of the clones were far too quick to decide an injury made their lives worthless, but a lot of their culture wasn’t healthy. “No comment on if it’s good or bad or not. But to them, it would be...the closest thing to mercy they know.”

“You said you were searching for your Commander Cody,” Blanche said softly. “Do you see him here? I thought about it for hours, but this was the only place I can think of where a clone would go unreported.”

Ben looked. 

They were all wearing identical Stormtrooper outfits, completely indistinguishable from each other. Cody’s only distinguishing feature was his scar, and Ben searched desperately for it. But there was nobody inside with a scar like Cody’s. One had a long, ropy lightsaber scar curving down the side of his face. Another one had half their face burned off. Another’s forehead was scored with a deep cut. Others had faded scars, barely visible.

Their Force signatures were identical. Nothing. Barely alive. No spark of personality, no sense of self. 

“I can’t,” Ben whispered. “I can’t even tell. I don’t even know…Cody...”

Blanche kept her small hand on his back, clutching it tightly, and she helped hold him upright as Ben crumpled under the burden passed down onto him, caught in the cold and claustrophobic grip of his own failure. 

Chapter Text

Ben had forgotten how negotiating was all meetings. Meeting after meeting after meeting. 

Master Qui-Gon had been one of their top negotiating experts, and when Anakin and the 501st had been deployed to do something overly dangerous Obi-Wan had frequently been assigned to the 212th so he could help Master Qui-Gon with whatever fire he had to put out that day. Yet again, Ben had taken his tutelage under one of the greatest Jedi masters in the order for granted. He had been half-convinced that the only reason Master Qui-Gon was so good at uniting people was because he could always unite them in hatred against Qui-Gon Jinn. 

As usual, Ben hadn’t learned what he was meant to. He had turned around and started running an intel and blackmail network a galaxy wide. It had been disastrous when he had to burn his old network at 15 and start over again as a pirate. Ben was a little worried that he had always been terrible. 

But the long memories of negotiation and diplomacy over state dinners seemed far away now. Most of his childhood memories of the Clone Wars were hyper focused around the battles and long stretches of time spent in deep space. Satine said it was the trauma or whatever. Of course, Ben barely remembered a lot of the battles he had participated in too. They remained in his memory as a strange stretch of time: they landed in a city, they moved to take the city, there was a long and confusing smear in his memory, and then it was all done. Sometimes there were bright, exact images in his memory: a caved-in head, an explosion, a droid. But that was it. 

Ben didn’t remember Utapau very well most of the time. He regained his memories in fits and flashes - whenever he saw a specific kind of plant or bird, when he heard the crackle of a certain brand of radio or a certain tone of voice. It was always sudden, unexpected, and extremely unwelcome.

This, of course, left negotiations stressful, because it was impossible to realize ahead of time what clones were just uncomfortable to work with and which ones absolutely set him off. He never knew which of the 212nd he could bear to be in a room with until he saw them, which of the 501st filled him with hate so blinding it made tables shake. 

The first half of the day was entirely occupied catching himself up on the state of the arguments. The Gungans needed funding for repairs and rebuilding very badly, and Kylantha and the Nabooan rebel Serena instantly agreed to give whatever they could spare. What about the Empire? Well, the 501st weren’t the Empire, and the Rebels had seized the Empire assets. But the clones had access to the supply stores, didn’t they? Couldn’t they share those with the Naboo?

“What do we get in return?” Vill asked. His countenance was just as harsh and cold as usual. Nice to know some people haven't changed. “We aren’t obligated to just give it to you because you ask.”

“Those are our resources that the Empire stole from us!” Serena snapped.

“So go seize the Imp’s personal assets,” Lick shrugged. He was smoking desperately and gratefully. “We don’t want their crap.”

“What do you want?” the Gungan - Boss Klim - asked. “You need to cooperate if you want our help separating from the Empire!”

What did they want? 

“You know what we want,” Coric drawled, snatching one of Lick’s smokes and ignoring his hiss. “We want to be free. And we need the resources those shitheads left us with - money, supplies, weaponry - to enforce that.”

“We aren’t thieves, Coric,” Echo said, making Coric shrug. “We can’t withhold food from people who need it.”

“They ain’t starving,” Vill complained. “They’re just sitting here asking us to give them free stuff.”

“Yeah,” Licks said, hyped up. “As if we’ll do what they say just because we’re clones!”

“We all respect each other’s autonomy at this table,” Kylantha cut in, shooting a significant glance at Ben. “All three groups at this table have had a history of violence and oppression towards each other. Especially us natural born humans towards both the clones and the Gungans. We must come to an accord that leaves each party with what they need - not only what they want.” She eyed Echo significantly. “It may be helpful to place our duracrete, achievable desires on the table and then negotiate from there.”

“That’s a good idea, your majesty,” Ben said, standing up from the table. Man, he needed caff right now. “Echo, why don’t I help the 501st decide on a plan?”

The clones stood up with them, metal clanking. “Yes, sir,” Echo said. “We’ll rely on your expertise.”

Ben and Kylantha exchanged looks, effortlessly communicating - please do.

They broke, Ben fighting hard to keep the Jedi glide instead of the patented Hondo Ohnaka escape sprint. He missed his robes so much. Kriff all of it, he was getting a trenchcoat . That would do it. It would hide his lightsaber even better. He could swish. There were no downsides. 

He convened with Echo in the back of the throne room, desperately wanting to stuff his hands inside his sleeves. But Echo didn’t seem as interested in whatever stance he was holding. He was just looking at Ben instead - analytically and sharp, in the particular way he never had before his time as a prisoner in the Citadel. The three years hadn’t dulled him - it seemed as if they had just made him sharper. He still carried himself differently than the others.

Before Echo could say anything, Ben said, “Echo, can I ask you an invasive question?”

“I get a lot of them,” Echo said wryly. He turned off his input feed, pulling up his datapad instead. “Let me guess. You’re half-dead and cybernetically enhanced, why did they keep you as a Stormtrooper?” Ben shrugged ruefully. “I wasn’t a Stormtrooper.”

Ben jolted. “You what ? Then the chip -”

“They removed it while they…” Echo waved his metal hand. “You know. I was on Naboo for alternate business a week before the fall of the Empire. Once the chips deactivated, I met up with the men. That’s why they asked me to lead - I was the most clear-headed, so to speak.”

Okay. Way to mention that earlier, Echo. Just typical. “Then what were you doing for three years?” Ben asked incredulously. 

“Bad Batch business.” Bad Batch business ? They never let Ben know anything about Bad Batch! It had been the most frustrating thing in the galaxy to him as a kid - not even his intel network could get anything about it! And they still weren’t telling him ? He was an adult, dammit! “Commander, neither of us are in touch with the men’s experience right now. We’ve thought differently for a while, but this is...beyond a matter of cognition. They’re angry.” He sobered, looking intently at Ben. “You’re angry too. None of us are ourselves. I’m finding projections of future outcomes...unreliable.”

“Then trust in the Force,” Ben said. It was almost funny, how deeply Echo sagged in relief when he heard that. Ben wished he could feel the same. “I know it’s difficult for all of us to approach this fairly. We’re all bringing a lot of pain to this table. But it’s like Kylantha said: the goal is resolution of that pain, not stretching it out further out of spite.”

But Echo didn’t seem convinced, as if he heard what Ben wasn’t saying. “Sir, why are you here? The clones haven’t allowed our status with Naboo to become public knowledge yet.” He paused a beat, thinking on it. “Although I do remember your intel network…”

Ben fell quiet. He looked around, watching the other groups of clones talking. Some were more animated than others. Some didn’t talk much at all: just sagged against the wall, staring into space. Lots of 501st clones were like that: if you walked around the castle you would see several of them just sitting on benches for hours, utterly still. Some of them smoked. Others just stared. 

Echo had been one of the highest commanders in the 501st, just behind Appo. Since his capture he had been put on leave, supposedly shuttled into a support position. Supposedly. He hadn’t at all, but Rex and Cody had stonewalled him hard on what he was actually doing. But Echo would still nod gravely at Ben, no matter what happened. He never bent, never broke. Until he did. 

“I was looking for Cody,” Ben said quietly, and Cody startled. “I wanted to...I heard that the Chommel sector was the last place he was seen.”

Echo was silent for a long second. Finally, cautiously, he said, “Any clone would agree that you’re entitled, sir. I’m afraid that I can’t be of much help. It’s impossible to tell if he was with the 501st or not. But if I may speak...personally, sir. In my time as a covert special operative, I’ve grown well acquainted with vengeance. And in my experience -”

“Why does everybody think I want to murder Cody?” Ben said, exhausted. Echo made a ‘you mean you don’t want to murder Cody?’ face. “I just...I just need to resolve this. The anger you talked about. I’m so consumed with it that I...don’t like who I am. I thought it might help.”

“I see.” Echo paused a beat. “In that case, my calculations project an 80% probability that he was stationed with the 501st. Apparently the men’s contact with each other was highly limited, and most could only identify the numbers of a few of the clones they worked with. None of them could identify Cody’s presence.”

“Right. Of course.” Ben pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “Have you identified the clones in the palace dungeon you have? Any luck there?”

Echo blinked hard. “How did you - right. Kenobi Intel Network.” He looked down, expression tightening. The dry skin on his face flaked and peeled with the movement. “Some. Not all. It...didn’t help. When I ran the analyses, a pattern emerged among those men, which made it worse.”

A cold stone sank in Ben’s gut. “What pattern?”

Echo sighed, flicking on his readout visor. “Most of them had been on executioner squads. Jedi killers down to the man, almost all of them repeat offenders outside of the Assault on the Jedi Temple. Three of them had been on the squadron that torched...ouch. I have more detail if you...right, never mind.”

Ben couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. 

“Sorry about that,” Echo said awkwardly. “Hunter always says...never mind. Rex was always giving me a hard time for upsetting you when you were a kid, did you know that? I made you cry once when I told you about how Domino Squad died. Does that cheer you up? Nostalgia? Remember when Hardcase -”

“Be quiet,” Ben said. 

“Right.” Echo coughed. “Some of their friends want us to put them out of their misery soon. As soon as these peace talks are over.”

This wasn’t Ben’s decision. He couldn’t tell them how to handle their own wounded, their own dead. He had given up that right a long time ago - or maybe it had been taken from him. Maybe he had only ever pretended he had it. “Then let’s finish the peace talks,” Ben said rotely. “You need to solidify what you want. You’re trying to function semi-democratically, right?” Echo nodded cautiously. “This is only my counsel as a washed-up Jedi, Echo. You all do have a lot of bargaining power. But you don’t have all of it. Bring the officers of the 501st together. I’ll help you draw up a list of demands. You bring them to the table and negotiate for them. I know the others just want to take what they want, but I hope you and I can steer them towards something peaceful.”

Echo sighed, scratching at his head. The readout flickered and scrolled lines of text before he turned it off. “Right. That’ll be fun...but we should.” He pressed a button on his arm comm, ringing it twice before a small holographic figure popped up in front of him. “Waxer, come in.”

“Echo, sir!” Waxer snapped a salute. Ben felt his stomach sink again. “How’s the Commander? The Commander’s really there, right? CloneNet won’t shut up about it. Everyone’s saying he’s rugged now, sir! Is he really rugged? Is he eating enough? I can’t imagine anybody’s been making him eat enough. Boil’s really worried -”

“I would not have made you all stay up on the ship if he wasn’t here, Lieutenant,” Echo said, aggravated. “Get Boil and Crys down here. We’re drafting up our demands for the Naboo. They’ll be working with Vill and I.”

“What about the D batches?” Ben asked.

Echo glanced up at him as Waxer asked loudly about the other person on the line. “What about them?”

“They’re 501st too, aren’t they? Are none of them officers?”

“Yeah, two of ‘em. Sir, they have nothing to contribute. Forgive me for saying so, but they’re exceptionally stupid.”

“What do you mean sir?! Echo, is that the Commander on the other end?”

“Invite them,” Ben said firmly. “They’re inexperienced and young, but their fresh perspective can be valuable.” He faltered slightly. “That was what Master Qui-Gon always said about me. I was always offended. I don’t know why.”

“You wanted to be an adult very badly, sir,” Echo said (“That is the Commander!!!”). “Agreed, then. We’ll meet you in the Green conference room in two hours. Hopefully that’s enough time to get ready.”

“I was born ready,” Ben lied. 

That could have gone worse. There was no way Echo would have been difficult , but he was a chronic freak. Ben remembered the thing about Domino squad. He remembered it very well. 

See? They don’t get people. Never have. Soulless monsters. Always making him cry over them dying. Always tricking him into caring. 

Speaking of monsters. 

It took a while, but he found Thirty standing with a group of other clones in a courtyard of the castle. Somewhat unusually. Thirty barely even interacted with the other D batches. He was holding a smoke dubiously as the other clones egged him on to start smoking it. Great. Classic clone peer pressure. They’d call you a loser for anything . One week you were a loser for eating bugs, the next week you were a loser for not eating bugs. After the 501st caught Anakin munching on beetles they turned very pro-bug eating, but the point stood. 

“Thirty!” Ben called, walking up. Thirty startled, almost dropping the smoke, as the other troopers froze. They all straightened and saluted at him. The one next to Thirty elbowed him. Thirty still did not salute. “At ease. I used to get all of you those smokes, I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“You what ?” Thirty asked, still holding his smoke like a dead rat. “Damn, guess you were less of a priss when you were a Jedi.”

Ben inhaled deeply before exhaling, trying to find his center in the Force. It came easier than it had yesterday. Somehow, it was easiest calling it when he looked at Thirty. He didn’t understand anything, but he believed in it more than Ben did. When had Ben lost that? When had he lost that childhood faith?

Feeling like an idiot, Ben bowed low at the waist. All the troopers but Thirty exploded curiosity and disbelief in the Force. “I have to apologize for my actions last night, Thirty. What I did and said was inappropriate and childish. I could have hurt you, and that’s unacceptable behavior. I’ll work harder to control myself in the future. I hope we’re still friends.”

When he straightened, all of the troopers were gaping at him. All the troopers but Thirty, who just raised an eyebrow. “If we’re going to be friends then you have to stop being terrible.”

Somehow, Ben couldn’t help but smile. It felt like years since he had last smiled. It felt good. “My dear, I’ve been reliably assured that I’m incapable of that.”

“You’re not incapable, you’re just lazy.” Thirty looked down at the smoke, wrinkling his nose, before passing it back to the baffled trooper next to him. “You’re free, they said. You don’t have to pilot for the Empire anymore, you can pilot for the Rebellion, they said. And I was all like - what if I don’t want to be a pilot? And they were all like - oh, no, you don’t have to be a pilot, you can be whatever you want. But here I am, chasing after a Jedi and flying ships anyway. Go fig.”

Ben fought the urge to snicker. “It’s a tough galaxy, Thirty. A guy has to make a living somehow. There’s worse things than being a pilot.”

“Piloting’s fun, it’s you and your drama that’s eating my life right now,” Thirty complained. “Hey, why does everyone keep asking me if you’re eating enough? Nobody ever asks me if I’m eating enough. I’m just your pilot to these people. Which is a ‘prestigious’ position I don’t ‘deserve’. I think you don’t deserve me .”

“Cody used to vet all my personal pilots,” Ben said, unimaginably depressed. “Only the ones with the safest track records for me. As if my master wasn’t in the cockpit half the time!”

“That Darth Vader guy, right?” All of the clones around Thirty flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I bet I’m a better pilot than he was. Honestly, Darth Vader sounds like a bit of a bitch.”

“You know,” Ben said, fighting the urge to laugh at the mention of Anakin Skywalker for the first time in years, “I think you might be right.”

It felt dangerous, this weird thing that flared to live in the Force between him and Thirty. It had never once ended well for him. Any friendships crashed and burned, if not now than later, if not because of them then because of him. Ben had connections and people everywhere, but he didn’t know how many genuine friends he had made over the past three years besides Satine. That only worked because she was as fucked up as he was. 

This wasn’t safe. The pain would come. Any brotherhood with a clone ended in heartbreak; any fellowship with a Jedi ended in annihilation. Life was unsafe enough, with danger and death around every corner - he could hardly bear to invite any more into his life. 

It was true, all of it. But Hondo’s words wouldn’t stop echoing throughout Ben’s mind. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life this way? Would he deny every relationship, push every person away? Would clench onto this bitterness and pain with white knuckles, his only safe harbor and steady ground, until he was nothing more than a bitter and cruel old man? 

There were too many bitter and cruel adults in the galaxy. There were too many adults weighed down with regret in his life. He didn’t want to be one of them. 

He wanted to meditate the next two hours away, but the thought of slipping too deeply into the Force among these people still scared him. The Force was strange in this palace anyway - that vision had been like nothing he’d ever seen before. Maybe it really was just a dream: the product of an anxious and obsessed mind. 

Visions could feel voyeuristic at times. They gave an unfiltered and raw insight into private experiences, into a life not yet lived. Occasionally the viewpoint was through somebody’s mind, even their own thoughts. Sometimes they showed you somebody’s last moments as they lived them. Ben had always found them cruel. 

But this vision just made Ben’s heart ache. After three years wondering what Cody could possibly have been truly thinking, aching to know his real mind, it should have been satisfying to finally glean some insight. It should have helped soothe that anger. 

It shouldn’t have made him even angier. Cody had experienced that love and care as real, or as real as he could ever understand. Even if he was a programmed, robotic shell - it had been real. They had taken that from him, from the both of them. And Cody had known, and he hadn’t been able to do a single thing about it. The most powerful non-Jedi in the GAR held no power outside of it. He couldn’t even make Padme listen to him. 

Ben had always been perceptive. He had known how unfair it was even back then. Cody could work as hard as he wanted arranging a battle so that Ben wasn’t stuck blowing up a factory single-handedly again, but the minute Anakin had a good idea or Qui-Gon got a premonition from the Force it was flushed down the drain. The Jedi had respected him, but he had always just been Cody to them. Just a perfect soldier. And the Jedi were so much better than the soldiers, because they were peaceful and loving and good, and war was so bad. And the soldiers were a sign of everything wrong in the galaxy. 

Bly had been something more to Aayla. Cody had been something more to Ben. And it hadn’t meant a single thing in the end. 

After two increasingly anxious hours guaranteeing that he was the last person to arrive, one of the handmaidens led Ben towards the conference room. He followed her silently, picking at the sleeve of his jacket before he forced himself to stop. He could hear Master Qui-Gon in his ear gently scolding him about poise. Or maybe that was the Force whispering to him, carrying his calm voice to his ear from far away. 

The handmaiden moved to open the door for him, but she stopped in front of him instead. She didn’t pull her hood back, but she did look up at him with a familiar stubborn jut of her chin. 

“I’m relying on you, Master Jedi,” Blanche said. “If our negotiations with the 501st go badly then this could cause precedent for a total military revolt.”

“You should really have any other Jedi for this,” Ben said dizzily. “Or anybody who’s actually a Jedi. You know Mace Windu exists. Do you need a teenager? Luminara would be great at this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Blanche said, “you’re the only one stupid enough to go inside a room full of 501st Jedi killers. Have fun!”

Without further ado, she pushed him in. 

Any other entrance would have been better. Any other one. Instead, Ben found himself stumbling into a conference room full of identical men in a varying array of outfits, almost tripping on his own feet. He straightened as quickly as he could, way too late to project an air of Jedi serenity and balance, only to find six clones gawking at him.

Two of them he was already inured to - an equally grim Echo and Vill. There were two unfamiliar ones, both dressed in the Stormtrooper bodysuits. They were obviously fascinated by his presence, both leaning over and gawking. 

But it was Boil and Crys who caught his attention. They had been whispering to each other when he came in, and they froze solid when they saw him. Ben froze too. 

A dozen thoughts raged at once, crashing into each other. A million impulses. The room seemed very small all of a sudden, warping and twisted by the gravity well of two men. He couldn’t stop looking. Voices echoed in his mind - warm, happy, teasing, nothing, nothing, nothing. 

He’s getting away, Boil had said.

Ben backed up one step, then two. The fight-or-flight instinct raged hot and high in his chest. Ben backed up to the doorframe, where he solidly bumped into Blanche. 

He turned his head back, a silent plea for help and Blanche stared back at him implacably before stepping forward to stand at his side. 

“The queen hopes your discussion will come to a suitable confrontation and resolution of the issues.” She bowed to the crowd, purposefully ignoring the high tension. “I will be right outside.”

And, somehow, that helped. Ben pushed it all down, locked it far away, and bowed back to Blanche as she exited the room. He ignored all of their stares, walking over to the standard end point of the long stone table where the Jedi negotiator sat. The stone chair dragged heavily on the tile, splitting the silence with a screech, but he managed to eventually drop into the chair. It helped that he was as far away from them all as possible. 

The tense and emotional silence was, of course, broken by one of the shinies. “Are you really Commander Ben Kenobi?” One of them asked Ben excitedly. “Everybody keeps talking about you. You’re this super famous Jedi, yeah?”

“I helped lead the 501st, yes,” Ben said calmly. Somehow, it was almost easy. The shiny was incredibly young, physiologically barely twenty. Ben’s age. It felt weird. Cody had only physiologically been about twenty three, same as Anakin had been, but the difference in maturity between the two had been insane . “You two are the D batches, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you have names?”

“Not yet,” the first shiny said. “DA-621, sir, but 21 works. This here’s DA-456, the other lieutenant.”

“Let me introduce myself,” 56 hissed. He tried to look very professional at Ben, which was becoming increasingly funny. “It’s an honor, sir. DA-456, but call me 56. But 21 already said that. Sorry.”

Vill kneaded his brow. “They had to come.”

“Commander,” Boil said weakly. “If you’re not comfortable…”

“I’m not,” Ben said bluntly. He folded his hands on the table, fighting to keep his spine straight. He had escaped from hundreds of them as an unaware teenager, he could escape from two as a paranoid adult. His saber was fully assembled and stashed in his jacket lining. Blanche was right outside. They didn’t let you become queen if you couldn’t score a 100% blaster hit rate. Even Anakin couldn’t outshoot Padme. If they tried to hurt Blanche he could protect her. He could kill them in seconds. “But I’m here anyway, because this is important. So don’t waste my time here, alright?” The men nodded sharply - and then, belatedly, the shinies. “Great. So what’s the situation?”

The situation, apparently, was this:

The clones were having a stressful week. 

The decision to take over the military had been made almost the second they were freed. Each battalion reached independent agreement about it, before even checking with each other. All of the natborns in the military had been officers, who were quickly either imprisoned or executed in short measure. The proportion differed by battalion - the 501st had no living officers left. Nobody was apologetic about that, not even the shinies. Honestly, Ben wasn’t either. You didn’t lead the 501st if you were a normal person . It was the Sith Battalion, constantly led by a rotating arrangement of increasingly shitty Inquisitors. Those guys were jerks. Even worse, they were incompetent. They weren’t even Ben’s problem and he had still killed two. Ben had probably fought more Sith than anybody living but Ahsoka, so maybe he was biased, but sometimes he found himself missing the regal dignity of his Great-Grandmaster or the tempestuous intelligence of Ventress. It had taken three years and an increasingly awful series of life experiences to realize it and understand her, but Ben now knew that Ventress was a kind person. What was she up to, anyway? 

The military had immediately publicized the coup, which put them in contact with the Jedi-Rebellion Alliance. A few meetings between, apparently, an appointed Wolffe and Padme, and the informal alliance based on a common goal was established. 

After that, disagreements started. 

We should redesignate the military as the military of the new government. But that was a terrible idea - they hadn’t washed out all of the Imperials yet. What if they ended up working for the exact same people? The thought was anathema to a lot of them. Others didn’t care - they weren’t all bad. The 501st was of the opinion that yes, they were all bad.

We could go back to working for the Jedi. No, we aren’t doing that. 

We should decommission the military. Deconstruct it. These Star Destroyers and giant ships shouldn’t even exist. It had been created by a Sith for the Sith, and it had never done anything good. But the military was important . What about protecting civilians (Boil argued)? Besides, the ships and weapons were our only bargaining chips. We needed the power and authority to make the natborns listen to us. Give us what we want. 

What do we want? 

“We don’t want to be forced to do shit anymore,” Crys said, frustrated. “Nobody telling us what to do. Nobody controlling us or making us fight. You know the natborns - they’ll see us and send us back out again to fight!”

“Which they can’t make us do if we have the artillery,” Vill said. “We can bargain for autonomy this way.”

“You mean threaten people,” Echo pointed out. “Which is what we’re doing. I’m not terrorizing innocent people, Vill.”

“The 501st doesn’t do that anymore,” Boil said firmly, as if it could be true by virtue of saying it. “We’ll just...tell the new government that we won’t give them the artillery if they don’t give us citizenship and freedom!”

“I don’t trust those natborn psychos with our artillery,” Crys said shortly. “We have to destroy it. All of it.” Echo opened his mouth. “And we aren’t selling it! That still gives those warmongering freaks weapons!”

“What if we gave the weapons to people we liked?” Boil contemplated. “These Naboo girls are really sweet.”

“They bugged this room,” Echo said. Everybody stared at him, and he shrugged. “I deactivated them, don’t worry about it.”

“The queen said she was a pacifist,” 21 said eagerly, apparently unbothered by the bug thing. “She wouldn’t do anything bad with them, right?”

Vill snorted. “Everybody’s a pacifist until they have ten Star Destroyers.”

“Including us,” Echo said. 

“We all like the Naboo girls! They’re adorable! But we can’t decide this on a moral basis,” Vill said, stabbing the table with a finger. “The Jedi controlled us on a moral basis. It was okay, because they were the good guys. It didn’t matter if they were the good guys or not - they’re dead, and we’re droids. We need to throw morality and ‘nice’ out of the window. We have to make the rational decision. Which means protecting ourselves. You don’t want to give the natborns artillery, Crys? We’re artillery! Us! We won this fair and square. I say we maintain clone independence through the military.”

“You were always like this,” Crys muttered. 

“Our lives were always like this!”

“Pardon my interruption,” Ben said, leaning back as everyone quieted. “But what do the other clones say about your relationship with Naboo right now?”

They all looked at each other, then at Echo. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We’ve talked with them. I had a conference call with Fox, Wolffe, Ponds, and Gree earlier.” Fox was still alive? Was he even crazier? Or was he just smug about being right? “Fox and the Imperial Guard also have the Imperial Center - Coruscant on heavy lockdown. He’s working heavily with the Rebels but he’s not budging. Wolffe and his boys are sticking with the Jedi and the Rebellion and not leaving. Ponds and his boys were in space when it happened. Fox...I think actually really, really wants to steal Coruscant and he just wants the excuse.”

“Fox for Emperor,” Boil muttered. Crys nodded. 

21 leaned over and whispered at 56. “Who’s Fox, again?”

“The leader of the Imperial guard, I think?”

“ That guy? The scariest guy ?”

“He’s a person,” Echo said evenly, and the shinies both shut up. “And they all said that clones don’t fight clones. They didn’t all want to support our play, but the Rebels won’t use us against each other.”

Everybody sat in silence, recognizing the moment. Ben saw realization dawn across each of their faces, taking a different shape and coming with a different feeling. 

They could do this. They could keep Naboo. Or they could go join up with Fox and keep Coruscant. Fox for Emperor. Ben silently considered this before deciding that, for all that the guy was crazier than a bucket of womp rats, he would make a great Emperor. It might even be smart. The Empire was stability. Unity. Safety, if you were lucky enough.

“Is that what you guys want?” Ben asked gently. Or as gently as he could. Jedi negotiators weren’t judgemental, but… “Do you want to maintain things as they are now and maintain occupation of Theed?”

“How else will everybody else leave us alone?” Vill asked defensively. Ben just tried to channel Master Qui-Gon and smile calmly. “Nobody’s bothering us right now. If we don’t hassle and bully everybody - which we won’t - the queen won’t fight it. Maybe she’ll be grateful! We can protect her.”

“The girls in this palace deserve better than those assholes in the dungeons right now,” Boil muttered. “Imagine working for the people who killed your family. We’d work with them. We’d help them. We sure as shooting wouldn’t actually hurt any of them.”

Everybody sat thinking about that. Ben was going insane. Heartwarming! Local murderous mercenary gang of Jedi killers install military occupation of a planet because they love children! 

But 56 just turned to Ben. He looked a little anxious, as if he was missing something obvious and knew he was asking a stupid question. “So what do I do if I don’t want to be a Stormtrooper anymore?”

The table abruptly started looking straight at him, clearly making 56’s anxiety shoot through the roof, but Ben just smiled at him reassuringly. “You aren’t a Stormtrooper regardless. Are you asking how you would stop being a soldier?”

“Yeah. Like, can I do that if we’re occupying this planet?” 56 rubbed the bristly back of his perfect buzzcut, uncertain. “Because if we do, then the Naboo are going to rustle something up and start fighting us. They said so. They wouldn’t win , but I can’t do a fun civilian thing if the streets are getting busted up by identical guys in front of me.”

“The queen said she wouldn’t fight us on it,” Crys said, almost accusing.

“The queen didn’t fight the Empire on it either, but two weeks ago we were still skirmishing with freedom fighters,” 21 said blankly. “Doubt that would change just because we’re gonna be nice about it now.”

Everybody sat in heavy silence. Echo was slowly wiping at a flaky brow. For the very first time in Ben’s life, he sent a wish of gratitude towards the Force for Stormtroopers. 

“Let me tell you guys what I’ve heard in our conversation today,” Ben said, excruciatingly gently. “You want to be free. You want to live unmolested by governments and natborns seeking to exploit you and your labor. Many of you want to continue protecting people, and many of you desire peace.”

Nobody could find anything strictly wrong with that. Vill was mouthing the word ‘peace’ to himself as if he didn’t understand it. 

“It sounds like you need a contract between yourself and some planets,” Ben said slowly. “Not with the new government. But just with whoever will allow you to live in peace with them. An agreement - where they don’t use you or your artillery against others, and you don’t incite conflict against them with your strength or soldiers.”

“And can Naboo be that government?” Boil demanded. He sounded almost excited, as if the prospect was amazing. “We’ll just sign a treaty! We’ll do this, they’ll do that - maybe we can help rebuild or something. And then we go to the beach and they leave us alone!”

“That doesn’t work,” Vill said harshly. “Naboo’s going to be part of the new government, no doubt about it. Then the new government will tell them what to do, and we can’t do anything about it, treaty or not. We’ll need a planet that won’t let the new government tell them what to do.”

“Like Separatists?” Crys asked, alarmed. “Like we aren’t traitors enough already ?”

“I still don’t get that,” 56 said to 21. “Some guys on CloneNet were trying to explain it to me, but it just didn’t make sense. Planets can leave democracies all they want. Otherwise that’s an Empire. So what was the problem there?”

“The Republic was the problem,” Ben said shortly. “And the Sith.” 

Both of the shinies made noises of comprehension. “So the Sith are gone now,” 21 said eagerly. “And nobody’s making anybody do evil stuff anymore, right?”

“Right,” Ben said. “That’s right.”

They needed a planet that wouldn't let the new government tell them what to do…

Ben had a bad idea. 

A really bad idea.

Oh, man. 

Satine was going to kill him. 

“What if,” Ben said slowly, because he always went through with his bad ideas, “I knew a planet that wasn’t going to join the new government. That was comfortable with soldiers, but had taken pacifistic vows. Who valued protecting others and maintained stringent planetary defense forces. That nobody would be able to intimidate.”

Everybody looked around at each other. “Well,” Echo said finally, “that sounds perfect, actually.”

“Oh, man,” Ben whispered, “she’s gonna have to marry me over this one.”

“What?”

Either that or break up with him. It was a toss-up.

“How do you feel about having me as your Duke, boys?”

“ What ?”

They finally got somewhere after that. 

Ben helped the 501st dredge up an actual list of requests for the Naboo, including permission to stay in their system until a more permanent location could be found and they could withdraw. In comparison to what they had been discussing earlier it was nothing. Most importantly, the clones agreed to release stolen supplies and food back to the Naboo. Last Ben checked they were still arguing over who got to try the military prisoners, but Ben suspected that would be a systematic issue that would have to be resolved by talks with the Rebellion. Or, if they didn’t come to a consensus the clones liked soon enough, by Fox. 

The queen didn’t show it at all, but she was relieved - both by the prospect of an agreement between all three parties, and at the idea of the clones getting the fuck off her planet. Probably. For a woman who had been held captive by the 501st for more than a year, she didn’t seem very scared of them at all. 

“Why would I be scared of them?” Kylantha said, blinking sleepily. Kylantha’s persona never seemed to be truly awake, although Ben could tell that she was frustrated by how he could effortlessly tell her and her handmaidens apart. “They were confused, not violent.”

Ben ground his teeth, well aware he looked a little insane. “You are so lucky I was there,” Ben hissed. “You were two seconds away from living under military occupation for the rest of your life.”

“That’s a pity. They’re rather adorable.” She scanned her large datapad, rapidly thumping her finger on document after document ratifying the new policies. The queen had formally agreed to the clone’s terms hours ago, an entire day after the 501st conference. These had been the longest three days of the last three years. “We can survive an indefinite stay until they find safe harbor with another planet. I’m afraid my people will never be comfortable with the clones, but I understand you and Thirty are going to Mandalore next to negotiate with the Duke.”

“That’s the plan,” Ben sighed. He would call Satine once he was on his way there. Maybe right before he got there. Inside the planetary ray shields. Once their planetary defenses couldn’t hit him. “If things go well there, then Echo and some of the other officers will make a diplomatic trip. Maybe some of the non-501st too. I know Ponds and Gree said that they were interested in residence on Mandalore. If that goes okay, we can break the news to Padme and the Rebellion. If Mandalore and the clones negotiate together they can bring a strong showing. And on, and on, and on.”

“Sounds complicated.” Kylantha blinked. “Considering how the 501st are currently stationed on our planet, Naboo has a vested interest in helping the clone settlement. It’s part of our agreement, in fact.”

“I’ll try to make it as quick as possible,” Ben said, tired. “But they may be here for several more months. Bureaucracy, you know.”

“So you could use a negotiating expert.” Ben opened his mouth. “An actual expert. Somebody known for her calm and equanimical temperament.”

“I - I’m sorry, do you want to come with ?”

Kylantha continued thumping her datapad, not looking up at him. “It makes strategic sense for Naboo. Naboo is considering taking a removed role from the new galactic government, although that is reliant on my successor. I am also eager to begin making diplomatic overtures to other planets with the same pacifistic values as Naboo.” She didn’t pause a beat. “Is it true that everybody walks around wearing beskar armor? Does everybody get guns? I hear they teach you to kill a man before puberty.”

Ben couldn’t believe this. “Blanche, please don’t tell me that you’re a Mandalorian fangirl.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Thump, thump, thump. “Do you think Space BTS will be there? Do they give autographs? I heard they were killed in the 194th Mandalorian Civil War.”

“No, they just faked their deaths. Last I heard from my network they were doing supply runs for the Rebellion - I’m not taking you to Mandalore, Blanche!”

“Hut’tuun. That’s the Mandalorian word for coward.”

Before Ben could protest that he had been raised by faux-Mandalorians, he knew their insults, he had lived there, a quiet bell rang through the throne room. 

Kylantha and Ben straightened, and Kylantha quickly stood up to sweep her cloak off the back of her chair and button it around her shoulders. Since the peace talks had concluded, she had switched her outfit to an elegant and richly ornate dress of midnight blue silk dripping in durasteel chain jewelry. Ben hopped off his chair, pulling it back against the wall, and made a half-hearted attempt to fix his own clothing. Kylantha had told him that she wanted to convene them all for a final goodbye before Ben and Thirty left on their diplomatic mission to Mandalore. Ben really hoped it hadn’t been an elaborate ruse so he could fulfill Blanche’s mpop fantasies. 

The handmaidens filed in first, walking in front the side doors of the half-circular main area of the throne room. Ben quickly moved to stand in position at the front of the antechamber, oscillating between a soldier’s attention and a Jedi’s disaffected serenity. In the end, the other soldiers began filing in before he could decide. 

Almost every 501st man stationed in the castle came in, rigid and serious. The air was heavy, and Ben fought not to show his confusion as Echo moved to stand at the front with him. Nobody was stressed or worried, but nobody was happy either. 

Even Thirty was there, lingering in the back with some of the other usually relentlessly gossiping D batches. They were unusually sober, standing in a loose group near the doorway - as if they were afraid that they wouldn’t be welcome, but wanted to come anyway.

Ben leaned towards Echo, finding himself unconsciously settling into a rigid posture. “What’s going on?” Ben hissed. “Are you guys planning something?”

But Echo just looked surprised. “Did the queen not -”

If Echo said anything after that, Ben didn’t notice. All he saw was a stiff detail of clones, carefully walking the braindead Stormtroopers to the front. Some of them just needed a guiding hand - others needed two troopers to walk them, fighting hard not to drag them. 

Two of the clones moved to the front, helping the regiment pull the other Stormtroopers to their knees in front of the queen’s desk. They knelt there without moving or resisting, facing the crowd with their heads bowed.   

Shamefully, it took Ben a few minutes to realize what was happening. Nobody had ever let him around the firing squads. 

“My friends,” Kylantha said, facing the crowd with a regal pose despite the line of troopers on the opposite end of the desk. “It had been an honor to host the 501st men at Naboo. Although you may move onto other planets and find whatever path in life fulfills you, I hope that both of our nations remember the events that have occurred over the past week. I find them historic. The first conference between the free clones and a free Naboo. Two groups, historically at odds, coming together and laying down their weapons. I can swear to all of you now that Naboo will always stand for the rights of your people to live in peace and harmony. Even when the galaxy fights in opposition to that.”

They weren’t the words she had said at the public peace talks. These words were far different - an odd kind of promise to make. Did the galaxy mean the new government? 

And what was with the -

“I understand that you wanted an opportunity to offer your men a water burial. Naboo would be honored to serve as the final resting place of your brave men.” She bowed to the group, striking Ben’s heart. “As the current head of the Temple of Naboo, I would begin end of life rites.”

Now? They were doing it now? They said they would do it after the peace talks - the peace talks were over - but it couldn’t be now. That wasn’t fair. Ben thought that he’d have more time. This was a real nice death and all, very kind of the queen and respectful of the men, but - but it shouldn’t be happening!

Cody could be here - Cody could be among those men right now, and Ben wouldn’t know! He had to be, just had to. But how could Ben believe that? There was no logic to it, no rhyme or reason, no way to know. Even if he was in that line, Ben didn’t know who. No matter how hard he looked, how desperately he tried to remember his softly smiling face, he couldn’t find Cody he remembered in any of the bent men before him.

The queen was saying some words, dipping her hand in some water and placing it on the head of each man, but Ben could barely hear her over the thumping of his heart. And even if he was there, wouldn’t it be kinder? What good was knowing it or seeing it? A mysterious loss, a slip through the cracks - wasn’t that better than this ugly, bitter, visceral reality?

The Force swelled throughout the room, cresting and breaking in tune with Kylantha’s words. Her water gods and the Force moved through each other, and she opened herself up to the horrible peace of her actions and let it flow through her. She was serene in that moment, calm and sure. 

Ben hadn’t entered the Force since he entered the palace. He couldn’t. Could he soak himself in the scars of a thousand deaths, of a thousand murderers? Every time he brushed his hand against the Force, like skimming his hand over a still pool of water, he felt nothing but sticky tar. It threatened to suck him in, plunging him into the depths of the Unifying Force and submerging him in that endless whirlpool of pain. That vision had tried to pull him in, and instead Ben fell. If he hadn’t escaped, maybe he would have fallen forever - split in two, alone. 

But it was more than that. The Force had been blocked to him since he landed on this planet. It scalded. It burned. It had consumed Master Anakin, and Ben was afraid it would consume him too. 

The queen was moving onto the next soldier, saying words over his head. Ben didn’t know what to do. He was scared. Master Qui-Gon always told him to trust in the Force. Everything would happen as the Force willed it. The Force wouldn’t will Cody’s death. For Ben never to find him again. This weird and awful journey couldn’t have been for nothing. 

He had to trust in the Force. He didn’t know what to do, and the heavy heartbeat of urgency was thumping in his chest. It didn’t matter if it hurt! He had to do something!

 Ben desperately lowered his shields, letting the world in unfiltered through his mind for the first time in years. 

It was painful. Ben couldn’t help the soft cry that ripped itself from his throat. Pain suffocated the palace. It was woven into the floor, flowing easily through the queen. Every trooper, no matter how steadfast and calm their postures were, was overcome by a heavy burden of grief and pain. Ben marveled at its weight. How could they stand like that? How could they move? 

But when he stretched himself over the throne room, pushing past the thousand years of monarchy and coups and revolutions, he found nothing. The Stormtroopers in the front were empty shells. The Living Force did not sing in them. The Unifying Force moved through them easily and unimpeded, as if they weren’t there. 

That was it. Cody wasn’t here. Ben didn’t feel him, even when he opened himself up to something too terrible to feel. The men weren’t alive. Kylantha’s quiet blessing sunk them deeper into the Force, giving the room a quiet air of holiness, and hopefully when they died it wouldn’t be painful.  

That was it. There was nothing Ben could do. No solution. No hope.

Kylantha stepped away, and the three soldiers standing in front of the line of men lifted their blaster rifles. Many of the troopers in the crowd looked at the ground. Others didn’t look away. In the back, Thirty was turning away. 

And for some strange reason, one of the firing squad opened his mouth and spoke. When he spoke it was with Master Qui-Gon’s voice. And when Ben heard the words, he realized that he had never spoken at all. 

“If I could choose anything,” Master Qui-Gon said, “I’d give him a better life than this.”

 Ben moved. 

He ran faster than he thought he could, almost blurring. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know who he was running to until he got there, until he fell to his knees in front of the trooper with the long curve of a lightsaber scar down his cheek. 

Ben didn’t know. He couldn’t feel it; couldn’t feel him. There was no trick or hint. All he knew was that he was kneeling on the cold stone, holding Cody’s face in his hands, breaking.

“Please, please – Cody! Cody, you have to wake up!”

Movement and sound echoed from behind him, the footsteps of troopers walking up and the rustle of armor and guns. Ben ignored them all, slapping away the hands that reached for him. He didn’t stop looking into the dull brown eyes of the trooper, the eyes that didn’t feel like Cody’s at all.

“This isn’t the afterlife,” Ben cried. “This isn’t where men who kill their children go. Feel the Force, I know you can – feel me, I’m here! I’m sorry I left!”

“Sir, please –”

But Ben ignored them. After a second, he couldn’t even hear them. Despite the chaos of his beating heart, despite the tumultuous scene behind him, he found himself sinking into a calm. It felt like stepping into a cool lake, feeling it rise up over your chest and envelop you. It was ice blue, cold and crisp. It was clear and easy meditation – the kind he hadn’t been able to accomplish for years. 

 If he focused and let go, he could almost hear voices from long ago. Master Qui-Gon’s smooth and calming voice guiding him through the steps. Master Yoda speaking to a crowd of fidgeting young children. The rising and falling voices of a roomful of clones, goofing off in their barracks as Ben meditated in the corner where he felt safe. 

There was one voice in that din. A voice that had never goofed off, but always stood guard. Safety and security. Ben sank deeper into the calm, yearning for that voice. It would be calling his name…

There was a feeling he had forgotten. Or a feeling he had chosen to forget. The feeling of sitting in Cody’s office, working on administrative forms with him in silence. Swinging his feet with a calm heart. It had been the one corner of the galaxy where nothing had been able to hurt him. Where nothing and nobody even dared to try. Had he felt love in the Force back then? Had he not been able to sense it – love so simple and steady that it formed the floor he walked on?

Ben hadn’t felt safe since then. He didn’t know if he would ever feel so safe again. He hadn’t been able to remember it for so long. Even now, it was only an echo in his heart. Something lost that couldn’t be regained.  

There was another mind on the other end of this bond, born from love and a child’s dependence. Small, quiet, dead. Ben wanted to keep that mind safe. He wanted it to feel the same thing he had felt back then – give what had been given. Love, so simple and steady that it could pave the path they walked. 

Ben threw out that love around him, a cresting wave that enveloped the room and crashed over them. He let that love and safety rise in his mind and Cody’s, and drowned them both. 

When Ben opened his eyes, he saw Cody. He realized why he hadn’t been able to recognize him. Ben had been the one who had given him that lightsaber scar. He hadn’t been able to remember. The scream, the smell of cooking flesh, Ben’s own anguished cries…he had forgotten. 

And Cody saw him.

His mouth moved, forming a two-syllable name for a boy long dead. His eyes were dilated, unfocused, but Ben watched them silently focus onto Ben’s face - watched the recognition dawn across his features. Cody was the first person since he returned to recognize him on sight. 

There was a great noise around them, troopers shouting and the queen barking orders. There was a distant sound of crying. But Ben only had eyes for Cody, trying hard to re-memorize his face. He had forgotten what it looked like. 

When Cody spoke his throat was harsh and raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. “Obi-Wan. Why...you’re older…”

“Because this isn’t a nightmare, you stupid asshole,” Ben cried. Hot tears slid down his face. When did that happen? “You stupid, stupid - don’t run again! Don’t leave me again…”

Somehow, Cody grabbed Ben and pulled him in, letting Ben clutch onto him. They were both kneeling, and Ben was taller than Cody now, but at that moment he felt small. Clutching onto Cody as if his life depended on it, digging his head into his shoulder, chest heaving with shuddering gasps. There were other sounds around him - other people were crying. There were the faint sounds of vomit. Something had happened, but Ben didn’t care. A dozen new Force signatures had flared to life in this room, but all Ben cared about was the rock steady one that held him up now. If life was kind and not cruel, if love could be safe instead of painful, this Force signature would be with him - always. 

“I hate you,” Ben muttered, “I hate you…”

“Uh huh.” Ben felt Cody look around, fingers gripping his shirt. “So...am I being executed or what?”

Chapter Text

Cody was not being executed. 

This confused him greatly. Ben watched him actually argue in favor of it before the other clones pushed Ben out of the room and Cody into the medical wing. All of the resurrected clones were confused and disoriented, unaware of where they were or what was happening. They had to frantically call Kix in - Kix, who Ben hadn’t heard from and who he had assumed died. Apparently he had been one of the clones sitting on a bench all day, just smoking and staring at a wall. Only the news that Ben had somehow cured the clones had roused him - and maybe whatever strange thing the Force had done to the palace and to the clones. 

It felt different now. Ben couldn’t place it, or place why. If he let down his shields before, he’d be overwhelmed by the poisonous toxicity. Now, even when he let the Force flow through him, it seemed just a little clearer. Less polluted. The girls were calling it the blessing of one of their water gods. Maybe it was. He knew Kylantha was taking credit for it on purpose - Kylantha, who had almost killed Cody.

“I knew you’d save him,” Blanche said. She stood in front of the ship, dressed in casual clothes for the first time he had known her. Behind her, her handmaidens were carrying in a giant trunk of fancy dresses. “And I was right. As usual.”

“ You planned that ?” Ben couldn’t fucking believe this. “Was it a trick?!”

But Blanche just blinked at him. Her hair was done up in cute twin braids, matching her pink dress embroidered with white lilies. A sparkly pink rucksack was pulled around her shoulders. She was wearing a half-brimmed cap that Ben was pretty sure read out ‘Girls Rule the Galaxy!” in Nabooan. “No. The 501st would have really euthanised the men if the Nautical Lords hadn’t cured them. It was really very lucky. I’m thinking of commissioning some stained glass windows over it.”

“You used me!”

“I like to think of it as heroically praying to the holy Jedi to show mercy to our enemies.”

Behind her, Thirty poked his head out from inside the ship, flanked by two handmaidens. He was carrying a backpack that Ben knew he hadn’t arrived here with. An mpop magazine was stashed under his arm. “Yo, holy Jedi and martyr Queen, are we going or not? We’re burning starlight.”

“Yeah, yeah, stall your thrusters.” Ben hoisted his duffel bag on his shoulder, stepping aside to usher Blanche inside against all common sense. “But we’re stopping for food. I need a drink so badly -”

“Commander.”

Ben turned around only to see three clones standing behind them. The hangar bay was full of clones, all of whom were either gawking at Ben or extremely pointedly not gawking, but the rest of the clones gave these three a wide berth. Ben could see why: it was Echo, Kix, and Cody. All of whom were somewhat incapable of making facial expressions - one of them physiologically, two of them psychologically. 

“Echo!” Ben cried. All three of them saluted sharply and completely unnecessarily. Kix’s hand shook as he moved it, and he was subtly keeping Cody upright. “What’s Cody doing here? He should be in the medbay! Kix, you should be taking it easy too, you really exerted yourself yesterday.”

“Sir,” Echo said, almost uncomfortably, “the Commander said he had to be here. He was - ah, very insistent.”

“Well, you outrank him, so don’t let him boss you around,” Ben said. Echo gave him a scandalized look. Ben ignored him, turning to Cody instead, trying not to feel hideously awkward about it. They hadn’t really interacted since the throne room. Thirty had mumbled something about generational repression. “Cody, you can barely stand. Let Kix get you back to bed.”

But Cody just grunted, pushing off Kix and standing upright. He was wearing civvies - where he had gotten them, Ben didn’t know, but judging by the fine cut of the tunic and the baggy pants they had been liberated from some politician’s wardrobe.“Can’t do that, sir. You don’t have a single rep from the Imperial Military with you. One of us has to talk to the Duke.”

“Then I’ll take Echo,” Ben said, annoyed. Mostly because Cody was right. “Seeing as he can stand . Get back to bed, soldier.”

“You aren’t taking Echo,” Cody repeated. “You’re taking me.”

They stared each other down. Cody’s voice was hoarse and raspy, but his eyes were as bright and clear as ever. Indomitable. 

He couldn’t win. Ben threw up his hands, turning away. “Fine. Fine! But Thirty’s taking you straight back here afterwards. And I’m the commanding officer on this mission! So no more bossing me around!”

“Yes, sir,” Cody said. 

Ugh! Bossing him around, telling him what to do, yes sir, I’ll just ignore you sir. Insufferable. Next thing Ben knew he’d be grounded again. Ben adjusted his duffel and thumped up the boarding ramp, Blanche serenely following after him. Thirty just gawked - mostly at Cody, but he seemed to be slightly terrified of Kix. 

Unfortunately, Cody followed him. His steps were slow, and his leg seized up occasionally, but his gait was steady. Thirty stepped back to let him board the ship with them, but Cody stopped short in front of him. 

“What is that posture?” Cody said shortly. Ben, Echo, and Kix instinctively took a step back, recognizing that voice. Thirty blanched. Blanche thirtied. “That slouch is a disgrace, soldier. Straighten up.”

Thirty, obviously, straightened. In a true testament to his stupidity, he opened his mouth. “I’m not actually part of the military - I mean, you technically aren’t my commanding officer, so -”

Without changing his expression, Cody gave Thirty such a withering glare that he had to fight not to wince. “It’s not about the military, it’s about your pride as a clone. You’re no lazy Stormtrooper. Stand up tall.”

Thirty stood up tall. Cody walked past him without a second glance, but Ben could see realization dawning across Thirty’s face - as if somebody had finally explained what pride meant, and what being a clone meant.

Ben hastily straightened too. 

They took Blanche’s small yacht, despite the way Thirty sulked. He had been overruled - flying a Rebel ship into Naboo was what had gotten them into this mess, and they didn’t feel like pulling a repeat performance. Besides, the Naboo yacht had individual cabins - a luxury on a ship. It also had insanely sophisticated weaponry and artillery on it. Blanche admitted ruefully that it was nice to finally use it. She had never been allowed off Naboo. Apparently this was her first time off-planet since she was seven. But maybe Thirty had just been pissed that the other clones assumed he wouldn’t get a vote.

You always knew a good ship by how gentle the take-off was - and even with Thirty’s piloting, leaving the ground was like a dream. Ben couldn’t help but grin, even as he was stuck shoving Blanche’s clothing into the cavernous on-board closet. He quickly stopped grinning once one of the trunks almost fell on him and he had to use the Force to escape a caved skull, but he didn’t let it get him down.

The Force felt easier to reach for - like it was a domestic lothcat instead of a raging bantha. He had spent the last three years fighting it, trying to wrestle it into submission. It was always repressed, always kept locked up. He couldn’t afford to do anything else. What was he supposed to do - let the death of ten thousand into his heart? Accept the galaxy unconditionally, without bitterness or resentment? It didn’t help him survive. Quinlan had felt it too - how the rage was the only thing that got him out of bed in the morning. 

But the longer it stayed away, the more unmanageable it became. And the more unmanageable it became the more he pushed it away. His escape had become a welcome prison, and no matter how bad it was inside he knew that the outside was far worse. 

Mandalore would be about six hours. Likely longer, depending on how many detours Thirty had to make in order to avoid the bad pirate problem that was currently plaguing the Outer Rim. The fact that they were driving a luxury yacht definitely didn’t help. The fact that Ben’s captain was head of the local pirate guild did, and as a result Ben ended up punching five different lengthy and top-secret codes into their identification beacons and disappearing to his cabin so he could call Hondo.

The comm rang for a very long time before Hondo picked it up, as usual. Ben knew that he probably had to extricate himself for a meeting and find a private room before he took the call. But Hondo only ever really answered his comms half the time, so maybe he should feel lucky. 

“Ben!” Hondo cried. He was unchanged from four days ago - literally, Ben really hoped he had changed his clothing. “You are so homesick that you call me already! How is the Rebel base? Is Madame Amidala as beautiful as ever? Have you met up with the Jedi yet? Is Master Windu as beautiful as -”

“About that,” Ben said hastily. “I may not be on the base…”

Ben explained the last four days in short order as Hondo’s pebbly brow rose and rose. His whiskers stiffened in surprise when Ben admitted that he accidentally took over the Empire death squad, freed Naboo, and caused a religious miracle. 

Finally, when Ben fell into embarrassed silence after admitting that he was going to visit his Mandalorian princess girlfriend to find citizenship for 1,800 clones at the minimum, Hondo spoke. “Well. That happened about two weeks earlier than expected.”

Ben groaned. “Hon do …”

“The Force is an amazing thing! It always seems to lead you in the most unexpected of directions.” Hondo laughed uproariously as Ben knocked his forehead on the small fold-out table bolted to the wall. “I remember when you were fifteen and I sent you on your first solo heist run. You came back with a priceless Rylothian cultural artifact and a hundred freed slaves! Not to mention when I left you unsupervised on Mandalore for a month and came back to you dating a princess! You have not changed.”

Laid out like that, it sounded a little bad. Something occurred to Ben, making him groan. “So that’s why Cody got so upset when he didn’t know where I was…”

“And such positive relationships with the Queen of Naboo! Tell me, does she need any more blockades circumvented? I know quite a few crews who would be more than willing to -”

Like fuck he was introducing Hondo and Blanche. “Back us up on the noninterference pirate codes and I’m certain she’ll think very highly of you,” Ben said quickly. But even as Hondo gave him a cheery thumbs-up, Ben couldn’t help but falter. “Hondo, I...you know, I never really...I know I’ve been difficult. These past couple of years.”

“All pubscents are difficult.” Hondo’s smile didn’t falter, although something in it seemed to change. “It is in their nature. You are no great burden, Ben.”

“I just never really thanked you,” Ben said hurriedly, eager to finish this moment as quickly as possible. “For everything you’ve done for me. I tried to pay it back, but...there’s no paying back that sort of thing. What you’ve done. So thank you.”

“It was not a hardship,” Hondo repeated firmly, and Ben scrubbed hard at his face. “I ask only that you remember me when you are very important! Perhaps get some of those clone troopers off my tail. Oh, and perhaps some Mandalorian jewels -”

“Goodbye, Hondo.”

“Maybe a retirement estate -”

Ben ended the call, feeling the usual mix of emotions upon talking to Hondo - exasperation, frustration, security, and something that he had never dared to name. He let his forehead fall on the desk for a few seconds, breathing deeply, trying to let something awful and terrifying course through him.

He couldn’t bear it. He had never been able to bear it. Even looking at Cody’s face was difficult. He remembered it now: the way Cody had silently taken that strange comm call, the order he had spoken into his gauntlet. How he had turned around, unholstering his blaster. Was that Master Qui-Gon? Were they sending reinforcements? Why are - stop - stop, please -

Ben’s chest shuddered. He scrubbed at his face, standing up and exiting the cabin so he could swing himself up the ladder to the cockpit.

Everybody else was already there. Thirty was sitting at the pilot’s seat, far more attentively than Ben had ever seen, and Blanche was perched next to him cross-legged in the co-pilot’s seat. Cody was sitting at the nav station, elbows on his knees and kneading his forehead with pure exhaustion. He was barely thirty, but the exhaustion settled on his shoulders made him look much older. 

“Chips,” Cody was muttering. Ben could sympathize. “Dammit. Rex tried telling me.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Blanche said, surprisingly sympathetically for Blanche. Improbably, she seemed to have a soft spot for clones. Maybe she related. “Rex got word to Master Ahsoka eventually. The truth came out.”

“I’m the one who covered it up,” Cody snapped. Ben and Thirty froze. “The Emperor told me himself that toxic rumors divided the men. That we needed to stand together. Without conspiracy theories. I told Rex not to talk about it. I classified all of it…”

“That’s not a surprise,” Ben said, and Cody jerked. He hadn’t noticed Ben enter - uncharacteristic. He was tired. “I can’t imagine that the Marshal Commander of the GAR would be programmed to do anything else.”

“No, sir,” Cody said. “I obeyed orders.” He looked up at Ben, scrutinizing him long and hard. “You look like you’ve been eating.”

He was a grown man . Ben laughed anxiously. “Well, meals at Hondo’s are kinda a free for all, so I had to assert myself somehow.”

Cody’s eyes sharpened. “Hondo. Hondo Ohnaka?”

Ben started sweating. “Yeah. Just got off the comm with him. He says hi.”

“Mr. Kenobi’s a pirate,” Blanche said helpfully. “Scourge of the hyperlane network.”

Cody pressed both of his thumbs into his eyes. Ben felt a little like dying.

Thirty seemed to sense the tension, because he quickly added, “He’s very famous! I think he’s the shadow leader of the pirates guild. Blackmail and information network’s second to none, apparently.”

“Please be quiet,” Ben said, strangled, and Thirty shut up.  “Look, Cody, I promise this isn’t - it has nothing to do with the fact that nobody ever told me no as a child! You know, just - an ex-Jedi who faked his death had to eat. And Hondo only tried to sell us out to the Seppies a couple of times. You get it, right?”

But Cody just scrubbed his face, exhaling slowly. Instead of anything real, instead of anything substantial or true, Cody just said, “It’s not my place to question your decisions, sir.”

Of course, that pissed Ben off. “Don’t give me that shit! What am I, Qui-Gon? At least I knew I couldn’t trust him!”

Awkward silence descended over the cockpit. Ben tried to feel angry, but he just felt awful instead. Thirty and Blanche awkwardly looked out the windows or inspected the console. Cody just slowly pulled himself up, scrubbing at his face again, and without saying anything else he dropped down out of the cockpit. 

They stood there in silence after he left, Ben leaning unhappily against the wall. He fought the urge to hunch in on himself. That one hadn’t been his fault. That was all Cody. Who, famously, was very confrontational and rude.

Well, he was. In his own way. Ben spoke Cody. “I wouldn’t dare question you” was extraordinariliy blatant code for “what the fuck do you think you’re doing.” What did he think he was doing? He was doing the best he could! What had Cody been doing -

“Does he know that you aren’t his commanding officer anymore?” Blanche asked, who apparently did not care one whit for Ben’s profound interpersonal drama. “Because that’s a lot of sirs for a disgraced pirate.”

“No, no, I got this one.” Thirty leaned forward excitedly, enthusiastic at the prospect of finally being right about something. “Me and the other D batches figured it out. It’s not about command, it’s about respect.”

“But they clearly still think of him as a thirteen year old.”

“Yes! But that’s why the 501st and 21th guys are dealing with that massive guilt complex. Like - oh, that’s our awesome and respectable leader who we mutinied against, death for dishonor. It’s not our collective baby who we tried to murder. It’s really funny, it’s like they’re all pretending they didn’t try to kill each other. While also incessantly reminding each other about how they tried to kill each other. It’s incredibly dysfunctional.”

“Maybe I was an awesome leader who they all respected,” Ben said aggressively, throwing himself down in the comms chair. The last thing he needed was Thirty and Blanche’s input into his life. “You don’t escape from an entire battalion trying to kill you if you’re incompetent, you know.”

Blanche looked at Thirty. “The clones did think he was - how did you say it? Hot shit? Maybe it was a combination of factors.” 

“That always confused me,” Thirty said, as if anybody cared. “How the fuck did you escape that? You were fourteen and there were two hundred of ‘em.”

“Fifteen. And I jumped into a river and rode a giant bird out of there,” Ben said, bored. Thirty visibly tried to tell if he was bullshitting or not. “Look, I don’t know. It was the will of the Force.”

But Thirty just looked skeptical. “So the Force wanted you to almost die? What, because it was character building?”

“The Force wanted Cody to almost die,” Blanche pointed out. 

“Maybe the Force just does the best it can, you two.” Theology with Thirty was exhausting, and Blanche was almost worse. “It can’t control everything. It just...influences. Like the wind. If we listen and pay attention then it steers us where we need to go.”

“I dunno.” Thirty grunted, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “I’ve never been a fan of that ‘whatever happens, happens’ banthashit. Like, yeah, technically? You aren’t smart for stating the obvious. But it never helps.”

“Master Qui-Gon said that we can only change our reality if we accept it. Maintaining a state of denial and a stubborn insistence on the way the galaxy should be impedes our insight into how it is.”

“And how’d that end up for him?”

Ben looked down at his hands, picking at a cuticle. “After two years of stubborn insistence on the way the galaxy should be that impeded his insight into the reality of our situation, the Emperor killed him.”

“Huh.” 

But, of course, that wasn’t fair: Master Qui-Gon had been right, and they all had been wrong. Anakin was the one who adapted to any situation and became who he needed to be - a survival skill likely learned from birth - and he became a monster. Master Qui-Gon had insisted on remaining a good man, and so he was dead. 

They were both dead, now. Only Ben remained: Ben, who had never been anything other than who he needed to be. Who, in the end, had been nothing at all.

“You are not a polite person,” Blanche told Thirty. “You know how that ended up for him. Who taught you manners?”

“I was programmed with manners by extinct scientists,” Thirty said, annoyed. “But I’m a rogue clone, so I’m as rude as possible now.”

“I want to be rude,” Blanche muttered rebelliously.

“Then become a rogue queen.”

“You can join my pirate ship if you want, Blanche,” Ben said, exhausted, and ignored how Blanche brightened. “Rogue Jedi. Rogue clone. Rogue queen. Why not? Let's have anarchist adventures.”

“I’m more of an anarcho-communist, really,” Thirty said testily. “I read a few treatsies on it, and -”

“Oh, really?” Blanche hyper focused on him, like a predator spotting prey. “What do you think of Kropotkin?”

“The Togruta? Obviously inspired by their tribal community’s mutual aid lifestyle -”

“I need a nap,” Ben said, getting up from his chair. “Wake me if Thirty starts unionizing.”

But, of course, the nap wasn’t happening.

There was so much for Ben to do. He had to call Satine at a very strategic point so that she couldn’t murder him. He had to draft up some kind of arrangement between Mandalore and the clones. He had to let Padme know what was going on at another very strategic point, so she wouldn’t murder him. He had to tell Rex that Cody was alive - god, he had to let Rex know! Rex and Cody had been true brothers. Losing Cody to the Empire must have wrecked him. His brother killing his best friend must have wrecked him. It had wrecked Cody. 

Ben tried to imagine a guilt so powerful that its psychic backlash kept you trapped in your own mind. A self-hatred that kept yourself prisoner. Maybe he didn’t have to imagine it.

Somehow, of course, Ben fell asleep anyway. He was decent enough at that.

When Ben awoke, he knew somebody else was in the room with him. 

His jacket was tucked under his head as a pillow, as always, and Ben instantly moved to call the fragments of his lightsaber in his hand. But something stopped him short. Maybe it was the sight of the lightsaber scar across the dark room. Maybe it was Cody, recognizable only after a few seconds. 

Light poured in from underneath the crack in the door, illuminating his back and casting him into strange relief. He was sitting against the door, one leg to his chest and the other spread out in front of him. He had no weapons. For all appearances, he was just sitting sentinel - as if Ben would disappear if he wasn’t looking right at him.

“Seriously,” Ben slurred. 

Cody grimaced, embarrassed. “Sorry. I can go.”

Somehow Ben knew that he was in for a lot of creepy staring. Ben had locked the cabin door before he took his nap. Nothing would keep him out. 

But, somehow, Ben didn’t mind. He was hypersensitive to being watched, to people being in the same room as him when he was sleeping, but with Cody he couldn’t bring himself to mind. “Sorry I got mad at you,” Ben whispered instead. “I just...this is hard.”

But Cody just looked pained. “Why aren’t you court-marshalling me, Commander?”

“None of the clones are getting court martialed.” That wasn’t even up for debate. If Ben were to take any revenge, it would be for himself. He wouldn’t dress it up in authority and righteousness. “I don’t want to hate you any more, Cody. I’m tired.”

“You’re allowed to hate me, sir,” Cody said, as if he wanted Ben to hate him.

It would be satisfying to hate Cody. It was what Ben wanted, more than anything. To hate him for trying to kill him. To hate him for taking the coward’s way out and refusing to wake up, almost killing himself just when Ben got him back. To hate him for the horrible and unforgivable crime of loving him. 

It didn’t matter that none of it was Cody’s fault, and that he had done the best he could. Out of everybody Ben loved in this life, maybe he was the only one who had done the best he could. It didn’t extinguish the hot fires of hate that raged in Ben’s chest. Logic had no place here, in this strange new galaxy and this tenuous new thing between them. 

Ben did hate Cody, just a little. But it wasn’t satisfying at all. 

“I can’t stop loving my master,” Ben whispered, and Cody fell silent. “I can’t even stop loving him. How could I stop loving you? Holding love and hate in my heart like this...it hurts. It hurts to hate you. It hurts to love you, too. I know you feel the same way. Please don’t make this harder.”

Cody didn’t say anything, quietly shocked in the Force - as if he couldn’t understand Ben’s feelings at all. Why? Ben knew that he felt the same way. Was he just so surprised that Ben still loved him?

When he spoke again, he radiated discomfort. He clearly didn’t know how to hold himself in civilian clothes. They fit unnaturally on him, like spray paint on stone. “I’m not disappointed in you. Sir. I just…had hoped things would be different for you. My life has come to worse than nothing, and I had hoped…” He exhaled slowly, as if trying not to show it. “I shouldn’t have put expectations on you. After everything I’ve done, it’s not my place to want that.”

“To want what? For me to be an accomplished Jedi, a functional person?” Ben forced himself to sit up. He didn’t know if he even wanted that. He couldn’t imagine being a Jedi now. “To be somebody you could be proud of? That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I always wanted to be just like you. Even when I hated myself for wanting that, I just couldn’t stop.” No matter how hard he had tried. And he had tried really hard. “The Cody in my memories would have wanted me to be a hero, but I’m a coward. I’m a deserter. I let my men down. I’ve lived for nobody but myself the last three years. I’m the kind of person you always hated the most. And I wanted that, because I hated you too.”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, only the hum of the air recycler breaking the silence. Ben felt miserable. Hate would be easier than this. The hate was still there, smoldering away in his heart - but it was mixed up by a lot of other emotions too, all of them unpleasant and confusing. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He wasn’t sure what kind of person he was. All he knew was that he didn’t like that person. 

Ben couldn’t help it. He pressed his forehead into his kneecaps, breathing heavily. 

He felt a small dip in the cot next to him. He looked up only to find Cody, sitting awkwardly at the end of the cot. He didn’t try to smile at Ben - he just stared solemnly, as if he was looking at a broken droid he knew he couldn’t fix. Finally, he asked, “Are you a good pirate?”

Ben stared at him blankly. “What?”

“Are you a mediocre pirate,” Cody said slowly, “or are you a good one?”

Bizarrely, Ben felt himself compelled to tell the truth. “I’m great. I’m kind of the shadow leader of the Pirate’s Guild. My black market rings, my intel and spy network - I never bowed to the Empire. I stuck it to them when I could. I’ve helped people. I’ve saved them.”

“Then I’m proud of you,” Cody said simply. “The one thing I never stood for from you was mediocrity. You’ve always been destined for great things, better than what you had. I wanted you to live to see that potential.”

“I’ve shamed you,” Ben said. Maybe begged - maybe confessed, terrified of judgement with no expectation of forgiveness. “I’ve lost my pride as a Jedi and a soldier. I’ve shamed you and Qui-Gon, I couldn’t even call myself a Jedi or a soldier, I couldn’t call myself anything -”

“It is no shame to survive.” Cody reached out a hand before abruptly dropping it - his own sort of shame, pointless and misplaced. “You didn’t betray anyone. And I’d rather have an alive Ben than a dead Obi-Wan. If it’s desertion, then we all should have deserted a long time ago.”

“How can you say that?” Ben cried. “I’m not a good person! I failed all of them - I failed you. Cody, I can’t…”

“You didn’t fail Queen Kylantha,” Cody said, and Ben shut up. “You didn’t fail the 501st - no, sir, you came in when it counted. That girlfriend of yours is counting on you, and you haven’t failed her. I know you have regrets, but I do too. We have to make the future matter more than the past, sir. I only ever wanted a good future for you. It’s not too late for that.”

“Please stop calling me sir,” Ben said, instead of a thousand other things. It felt like the only thing he wanted. “That’s some other stupid life. Can’t we just be us? Just for once?”

But Cody just stared at him - unblinking, maybe uncomprehending. “I don’t know who I am.”

“Neither do I.” Ben reached out and squeezed his hand, letting their bond in the Force hum through the connection. “I’m trying to figure it out. Can’t we try and figure this out together?”

“Yeah, Ben. We can do that.” Cody paused a second, a little awkwardly. But his eyes crinkled a little, in an echo of an old smile. “Ben, huh? Strong name. Mandalorian, right?”

Ben couldn’t help it - he smiled broadly, chest buoyed. “Yes. Satine gave it to me. It means ‘light bearer’. Do you like it?”

“It’s a good name. It fits you.” Cody’s eyes crinkled again, and Ben received the blessing that he should have gotten three years ago. The name had missed it, had gone without a brother securing it for years on years. Only now did it feel real, that some cycle had come complete. “I went by Kote as a child, you know.”

“Glory? Wait, you had another name?” 

Cody just nodded, relaxing against the ship wall. “Sure did. Jango gave it to me. Said it was because I was destined for great things.” His lip quirked upwards into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Well. He said, ‘better than the rest of them’. I had been honored at the time. Later…”

“That’s so cool!” Ben said. Jango Fett was a legend - terrible, but a legend. What was Boba doing now? Did he know about the chips? Had Jango always known? “Why’d you change it?”

“The longnecks advised me to change it when I was around seven. Said it was too confrontational.” Cody huffed slightly. “That was about when they made all the cadets with Mandalorian names change them. I think they were worried about the language we were inventing. Probably thought we were conspiring. Mostly we just made fun of each other.” He paused a beat. “There was some conspiring.”

“Really?” Ben asked, morbidly fascinated. “You never said anything about that. Were there clone anti-authoritarians?”

“Have you met teenagers?” Cody visibly settled in a little, and Ben silently moved to sit next to him. “Rex would spin some banthashit about how he was the worst. Not true. Kid spent every second terrified he’d be culled for being defective. The worst one was Ponds…”

“ Ponds ?”

And, somehow, they talked like that for hours, until they reached Mandalore. 

Of course, Ben was betrayed one last time.

He had called Satine just before he got there, already dreading the entire conversation. But she didn’t seem as surprised as he expected. As surprised as any rational human being should be - which, granted, Satine was not. She just looked very calm and very intent as Ben explained the situation as best he could, before calling over her father (“Ben, my boy, it’s been too long! I hope my daughter’s treating you right! Come back to Mandalore soon, we’re having a clan meeting and we have to introduce you - oh, you’re coming here now?”). But he just tended up listening very intently too. Eventually they promised to talk it over and then call him back.

Which was not a yes, and not a no. It still left Ben prowling the yacht from bow to stern, wearing a hole in the carpet and clearly exhausting Cody. Or maybe that was Thirty, who kept on peppering Cody with questions about the thing with the colors and the paint, what’s up with the armor, and why the name thing was so important. Ben egged Cody on to share the story of his name, until the entire ship was listening with fascination to a long-lost cousin of Mandalore. 

Or maybe they were closer to Mandalore than they knew. Ben leaned against the window and watched the planet approach them: a dusty, parched red sphere, cracked and broken by its own people. Domed cities broke from the surface, straining against the weight of their past, and Ben watched in quiet satisfaction as the crew’s eyes widened - in hope, in secondhand memory, in glory. An ancestral home, so much as any of them had one. 

Or maybe a home chosen, just for today. For as many todays as they would have them. 

Mandalore, healed. So far as it could ever be healed. But Ben saw it in the streets as they flew down towards the palace hangar: at the vibrant life and joy as the revelry continued, as workers fought to reconstruct their homes and buildings. Mandalorians in armor used their jetpacks to reach the highest points of the buildings, hammering nails and welding metal sheets, and Blanche almost pressed her nose against the glass in fascination. She had changed into a fine white gown, a simple pattern of silky white cut with blood red satin, trailing like blood down her shoulders. 

The warriors had returned from Concordia as the Duke and Pre Vizsla stood in uneasy alliance. It was temporary, and nobody knew how long it would last. But all Mandalorians were on Mandalore, and the smoke from the Imperial Academy still gusted in the harsh winds. 

As they landed in the palace hangar and were escorted to the throne room, Ben found his heart thumping heavily in his chest from anxiety. This could go so badly. There were a million and one ways for this to go badly. Where would the clones go if Mandalore wouldn’t take them? Would they end up folded into the new government’s military again - doomed to live out in an endless cycle, fighting the same wars as the pieces shuffled around? Would Echo and Cody ever be free - would Ben? What if Satine said this was the opposite of getting his act together?

“You’ll do fine,” Cody said, clapping him on the shoulder as they marched down the long polished marble hallway towards the throne room. It was this long only to intimidate people. “Galaxy won’t end no matter what happens. Hells, it’ll survive longer without you as Duke.”

“It’s Duke Consort,” Ben insisted. “I’d have no political power. I’d be an advisor. I just want to be a trophy husband, Cody. It’s my one dream. I’ll raise our children and work my black market rings just to fulfill myself. It’s all planned out.”

“Sounds like great things to me,” Cody said. 

Thirty leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Ben. I’m trying to figure something out. If you aren’t using Obi-Wan anymore, can I have it? I think it sounds pretty cool. Has meaning and all.”

“Its meaning is that fourth children on Stewjon are named after articles of clothing,” Ben said, exasperated (“You have siblings ?”). “And you can’t use other people’s names, Thirty! It’s weird!”

“You can have Blanche,” Blanche said. “I’ll probably go back to my real name after I step down.”

“I don’t know,” Cody said, and to everyone’s surprise he heavily thumped Thirty’s back, making him stagger (“Blanche isn’t your name ?”). “If it’s glory you’re after, brother, I think you can make some for yourself.”

But Blanche just turned to Ben, ignoring the way Thirty mouthed the word ‘glory’ to himself. “I’m very sorry. I’m afraid I betrayed you, Mr. Kenobi.”

“What is it this time,” Ben said, exhausted. 

“Glory, huh…”

“I may have called Satine before we left.” Blanche paused a beat. “And some other people.”

“Mr. Cody, what do you think about -”

They came to a halt in front of the towering double doors of the throne room, narrowly avoiding bumping into each other in the heated chaos. Ben couldn’t stop gawking at Blanche, who was primly fixing her twin buns high on her head and straightening her white silk dress. 

“You snitched?” Ben cried, outraged. “Who did you snitch to? I swear, Blanche, if you did the one thing I specifically asked you not to do -”

But the doors were swinging open, and the guards were stamping their staffs and shouting out their names, and Ben walked into the Mandalorian Grand Duchy Throne Room. 

The Duke was standing in front of them, on the bottom of the dais. Satine was standing by him, smaller and slighter but far prouder. She didn’t offer Ben a smile, but she didn’t have to.

On their other side were Padme Amidala, a blood-red cape clasped around her shoulders and draping onto the floor like a bloodstain, and Master Ahsoka Tano. She stood with regal and dignified height, white cloak draped over her montrals and skimming the edge of the floor. She was looking straight at Ben, white facial markings cutting her expression into intense severity. 

They stood in a strange row in front of them. Cody and Thirty were at attention, and both saluted. Blanche curtseyed, and Satine cursteyed back as the Duke bowed. Ben just thumped his chest in a Mandalorian salute, letting the Duke return it. 

“Ben Kryze!” The Duke boomed. He was a large man, over six feet tall and built like a barrel. Ben had seen him rip wooden barrels apart with his own hands. You didn’t become Duke of Mandalore by losing arm wrestling matches. But he was jovial too, with a thick beard that always seemed to be creased in a smile. “I’ve heard quite a story from my daughter and our guests. You’re always bringing excitement into our lives, Ben.”

“I heard you hadn’t had enough of it already,” Ben joked weakly. “Hello, Padme. Master Tano.”

“I also hear you’ve had an exciting week,” Padme said, the edge of her tone curling in amusement. Ben also felt a strong homicidal impulse from her, which was worrying. “I don’t suppose you could have waited for the Jedi to handle the Naboo situation, Ben?”

“The Force did not call the Jedi to Naboo. It called my grandpadawan, and no Jedi could have handled the matter with more compassion,” Master Tano said. Ben, who had been expecting her to tear him into shreds with her canines, fought a flush. She looked over the other assembled members of Ben’s strange little party, who all bravely fought their intimidation. “This time is a turning point in all of our lives. A time for many reunions, and new meetings. The Force called you four together, and it called you here. As it called Ben and Satine together.”

Satine stepped forward, chin held high, and she walked forward until she stood next to Ben. He offered her another Mandalorian salute, but she just took his hand instead. She squeezed it tightly, and Ben couldn’t help but smile at her. She was beautiful like this - standing tall against everything taller and bigger than her in the galaxy. She was a relief like this, too - standing with Ben against all ugly fragments of his past, always on his side.

“I have discussed the matter with my father and the Council of Mandalore.” Satine said clearly, voice echoing throughout the throne room. “Mandalore will be a friend of the New Republic and the Jedi Order. But we shall not join its ranks. The Republic has brought too much pain and suffering to Mandalore, and the Empire has attempted to destroy us utterly. We will tend to our wounded and bring our diaspora home.” She looked straight at Cody, and then at Thirty. “All of our diaspora. Mandalore welcomes all wounded soldiers home. We seek to open conference talks with participating clones for temporary refugee status. In the longer term, perhaps a genetic family claim to citizenship can be arranged.”

Cody just set his mouth, facing Satine. She didn’t budge. “After our status on Mandalore is assured, we’re destroying the battleships and artillery. We would not bring tools of war to a new home.”

“And Mandalore will not take them,” the Duke said. He stroked his beard. “Something will have to be negotiated with Pre Vizsla. He may see the addition of so many fine warriors as a challenge.” 

“If he challenges me, I’ll challenge him back,” Cody said, aggravated. “I’ll win. The man’s never seen real battle in his life. He doesn’t know the first thing about using that black lightsaber he waves around.” Cody paused a beat as everyone looked at him. “What?”

“I knew the sword based system of government would be useful somehow,” Satine murmured. Ben elbowed her. She elbowed him back. 

“Citizenship in the New Republic is entirely voluntary,” Padme said firmly. She nodded at Satine, who hurriedly straightened and nodded back. She would be nerding out over conducting political negotiations with Padme Amidala for hours. Worryingly, Blanche carried a similar vibe of living a fangirl’s dream.  “I suspect many systems will join Mandalore in neutrality.”

Blanche stepped forward, as bright and tall as Satine. “Naboo joins hands with Mandalore. The question of our position in the New Republic is left to my successor, but I believe our people have much to learn from each other.” She looked directly at Padme, at the last link in a chain who she couldn’t dream of being. Maybe she wanted to be more. “Naboo’s difficult past sinks to the depths now, and we will ride its crest towards the future. We will shape that future. Nobody else may decide for us again.”

 “Then the New Republic will support Naboo no matter which course it takes,” Padme said seriously. If Blanche surprised her, then she didn’t show it - but Blanche always surprised. “Between all three of our planets, then. With open hands in aid and trade routes, our people will stand together.” She shot a wry glance at Ben. “In more ways than one.”

What did she - oh . Oh, oh, oh! In a brief, panic filled second, Ben whirled on Satine, who almost recoiled in surprise. Anxiety suddenly flooded through him, and he looked around frantically before finding an equally surprised Cody. 

“Satine! Satine, I told you about my week, right?”

“Yes,” Satine said slowly, “when we were settling the refugee agreements. You told me about your week then.”

“Right, right.” Ben grabbed Cody’s hand, pulling him forward. “Satine, I - I - I wish to formally introduce my heart Satine Kryze to the alor of the clones and my buir Cody. Cody, this is my girlfriend.” 

Satine beamed, bright and wide. She gave the confused Cody a Mandalorian salute, before following it up with a Republic curtsey. Padme hid a smile behind one hand. “I bear witness to the strength, wisdom, and fierce heart of the clone clan and their alor . I am also grateful to meet the alor of my heart Ben Kryze, whom I have sworn to serve and protect until we march together ever forward and beyond.” 

“Uh,” Cody said. Ben mimicked a Mandalorian salute, and Cody belatedly saluted. “Honored, your grace.”

“Please, call me daughter!”

“Ah,” Cody said. 

“She’ll meet you in battle later,” Ben assured Cody, who blanched. “Don’t worry, she’s a pacifist. She’ll shoot to maim.” But he found himself just turning to Satine, who was smiling at him so beautifully. How was he supposed to convey this to her? Could she see it in his eyes? Could she feel it in his heart? If anybody could, it would be Satine - right? “Satine, I can’t promise that I’ll always have my act together. I’m a mess. I can’t promise that I won’t run from my problems or achieve serene wisdom or not blackmail people. But I won’t run from you, okay? I’m not going to run from how I feel about you, or - or anyone. I won’t run. I’m here. I’m here.”  

“I know, Ben,” Satine said. “I always knew. I was just waiting for you to see it too.”

Ben couldn’t help it, and he didn’t want to try. Joy crested through the Force, as bright and clear as the crystal Naboo waters, and he reached out and grabbed Satine’s waist. The Force moved through him, guiding his movements towards the secret wish of his heart, and Ben twirled her around in the air as he and Satine laughed together.

 The sound of laughter echoed through the towering acoustics of the Mandalorian Palace, and Ben felt their laughter twine as one until it reverberated through their hearts again and again and again, forward into their happy future.