Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His head was splitting. A prying, tearing, ripping pain.

But that was nothing new. It had been splitting for weeks now. Pried open, torn apart, ripped to shreds.

By now, every part of him hurt. His head, his throat, his chest. He developed a disgusting cough somewhere along the way - perhaps he caught it on some planet, during some mission, one of hundreds, one of thousands. It was easy to die like that. 

Many of his brothers died that way. They caught something - on some planet, on some mission - and died. Some coughed up blood until they couldn’t lift their heads up to do it, collapsing in puddles of their own sick; others would drop in the middle of a conversation, something snapping in their heads under an invisible pressure, drowning their brains in their own blood. Many died of blasterfire, it was true – but for each one of such there were five whose bodies would deform after death, defiled by some strange disease. Their limbs swollen to the point where they’d have to cut the glove off of them. Their skin gone a strange blue in color, their faces near-unrecognizable. 

And he was sick, now, just as sick. He knew – it was hard not to – that he would die because of it. The medbays were always full, clones could only get treated after the natborns, a thousand arbitrary rules that dictated who was to live and who was to die with sharp clinical precision. It was nothing new, he supposed. Neither party complained. The natborns still had traces of themselves even when they surrendered their lives to the cause, they said. The clones had never lived lives to begin with, they said. Perhaps once he’d have thought it was unfair. He couldn’t say he felt any type of way about it now. There was nothing to question – everything was simply how it was.

So the medics couldn’t take them in on time. Not enough of them to mean anything, at least.

So they died. And died. And died.

He’d been sick for a long time, now. Weeks. Months, maybe. It had gotten as difficult to keep track of time as it was of his memories. He knew it would not get better, but he didn’t think it could get that much worse. And yet it did – and it did – and it did. So much so that he stopped being surprised by the fact that he couldn’t breathe right once he woke up in the morning - instead, he felt strange if his waking wasn’t immediately followed by a coughing fit. His spit wasn’t yet tinged with the crimson that was the beginning of the end for so many others, but he could taste metal in his mouth, and by then it was only a matter of time. 

If he were to die here, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. The end of his, maybe. But, then again, clones in the Empire couldn’t have been too attached to their lives. It was unwise. They were too easily lost. 

He had been dreaming, lately. It was some sign, he knew – dreaming of strange things. A sign of the end approaching, stalking closer with each day, with each dusty image he saw behind his eyes when he closed them. Dunes, sometimes. Him drowning in the sand, in the mass of it, some ocean of gritty, sharp grains that cut through his armor and bodyglove and flesh. A flash of bright light to end it – him, out there, somewhere. On some planet ridden with rats and rebels. He wondered, sometimes, whether that would’ve done him more good than just dying here – in his bunk, unable to see five feet in front of himself.

He wondered, and he listened as the whispers filled his mind each time he slipped under. Someone in his body, in his brain, trying to remember where 2224 could not – where he could not force it too far for the agony that would spike through his body like lightning if he pressed further. But, in the dreams, it felt safer to do it – it felt as though the Empire was not there. Distanced from him, somehow. With one of them hidden away. Which was a – strange, impossible thought. The Empire was everywhere – he was the Empire. The Empire permeated everything, it was everything. The Empire was the air above him, the ground below him, the slow pounding of the heart in his chest that would eventually fail him. There was no use in trying to hide from a leviathan, it occurred to him once, when one was nothing but a tiny, unpolished scale in its tail.

But he wondered. And he listened. And the whispers only grew louder.

He wondered, and he listened, and he waited – just in case the whispers happened to speak a name.

When he stopped being able to get up in time to get to the mess hall, when he could scarcely get up in time at all, he’d close his eyes and listen to his bunkmates. They weren’t clones, not anymore - clones all died quickly, and clones all died often.

It occured to 2224 once that, well – they died quickly, and often, but, at the very least, so did the natborns. They saw, now, what had been done to the clones during the Wars. And 2224 supposed he shouldn’t have been thinking that way - he was going off-kilter, lately - but it was just a little satisfying, and just a little sad, that they weren’t the only ones, anymore. 

There were natborns of all kinds, he reasoned with himself one morning. His eyelids were too heavy to fully open, his eyes only fever-warmed slits as he looked up as best as he could to the ceiling. There were natborns of all kinds. And all kinds of natborns joined the Army. There were young natborns, and there were old natborns. There were those that smiled under their helmets, and those that never did. There were Humans - there were always Humans - and Twi'leks, there were Devaronians and Togs, there were Advozsecki and even S’kytri, Rodians and Harch. All so very prepared to die for the glory of the Empire. From all over the Galaxy, too - Coruscant and Lothal, Alderaan and Mandalore, and…

2224 closed his eyes fully for a moment as the pain clawed its way up into his head. It was always difficult to recall too much; recalling too much hurt. Impossibly.

When he opened his eyes again - as much as he was able to - he was met with a strange sight.

He watched, mildly lost, wondering if he was finally beginning to hallucinate, as a plate floated up to his bunk.

“Hey,” called a voice - and it became obvious, suddenly, that the plate was being held by orange hands that lowered it onto the blanket next to 2224. He made the effort to lift his head.

The Twi’lek boy, barely old enough to qualify for the Army, had brought him a plate of food. He was a little darker in the cheeks, making 2224 wonder if he’d been ridiculed for it. For bringing food to a clone where most of the natborns thought them over-glorified meat droids. For a moment, they were looking at each other - and 2224 wondered, idly, what the boy saw. He couldn’t quite figure out why he would do something like this; they had never even spoken before, and even if 2224 tried his best, he couldn’t recall when this boy had been moved into the bunk next to his.

Perhaps, he thought, letting his gaze slip down to the egg on the plate, he’d always been there. It wouldn’t have been too strange.

“Oh, don’t bother, kid,” another voice cut in - a woman at the table, calling out to the boy as she watched them both. He couldn’t see very her well, but he could easily feel her gaze on him. Heavy. Cutting. Pitying, if he were to imagine things. “It’s a clone. Isn’t gonna thank you for it.”

“That’s alright,” the boy replied, shrugging. “At least he won’t starve to death.”

At least, indeed. 

To be wholly truthful, the food on the plate looked more like someone poured yellow food coloring over lumpy mashed potatoes while someone chanted ‘egg’ in the other room, but 2224 wasn’t going to fuss over food. Especially not when it was brought to him. He took it. Though, frustratingly, he barely managed to hold onto it as he pulled it closer to himself. 

As an afterthought, seeing the Twi’lek’s purple eyes staring him down, he figured the best way to get the boy off his back was a simple “Thank you.”

“No problem,” the Twi’lek said, smiling a sharp smile, and returned to his comrades, seemingly relieved both at 2224’s thanks and the fact that he didn’t have to deal with him anymore.

Carefully, 2224 lifted the plate onto his own chest. He wasn’t certain of his own ability to hold it up, and dropping it - especially from the upper bunk - would’ve been a true shame. But eating was also somewhat of a chore, raising the food to his mouth and chewing it too, and 2224 took little breaks, lying his head back down inbetween bites when it seemed like he just couldn’t stay upright anymore. It didn’t taste any better than it looked - though maybe that was just because 2224 couldn’t quite focus on it. It all seemed flavourless, much like everything he got into his mouth lately. He ate because he had to, because he couldn’t get up and eat anything else, but - he ate because he had to, and all was said with that.

2224 didn’t know, exactly, if it was that tasteless plate of strange mass which kept him alive through the night - even as his stomach churned, struggling to digest any sort of food. It had gotten worse lately, but it had also kept him from feeling too hungry. In some way, he supposed he could appreciate it.

When he slipped under, he dreamt of it, again. 

He was sitting in the sand again. Still and heavy over its brittle edges. In front of him, an open flame was roaring, the smoke rising into the tar-black sky. But it was bright enough to see his hands – in the red light of the flame, he couldn’t quite tell whether the filth streaking his palms was dirt or blood.

He wasn’t alone – or perhaps he was, and this was some mirage of his mind. It couldn’t exactly be real.

He was sitting next to one of his sisters, and it could not be real – because he remembered, with certainty, how he had shot her in the head.

For the life of him, he could not recall her designation, but when he looked at her face, it was familiar. The short, curling hair – too long for the regulations either way – was familiar. He had seen her before. He had shot her – years ago, he thought. When she had begun talking of the traitors, of the alleged treason the Empire was committing. Of horror and injustice. Of the way it had all been before. She had come to him, devising plans of escape and of betrayal. And he had pulled out his blaster, and he had pointed it between her eyes, and he had shot her. He could recall, now, the grip of her fingers slowly loosening around his wrist as her body crumpled over itself.

He looked into her eyes, and he saw himself. Her head was tilted strangely, in a way that his neck wouldn’t have allowed. Her eyes were dark – just like his, but shining with none of the warmth of the fire, only glimmering with the reflection of the stars above – stars that 2224 could not see, when he raised his eyes upward. And there was, unmistakably, the hole in her forehead where the bolt had gone through. Dark and round, giving way to the shards of skull and brain matter beneath, the skin singed slightly across the edges. Blood collecting on the lowest point of it, seeping slowly out of the hole in thick beads; red, almost black in the darkness of the strange night they were caught in.

Or perhaps just him, anyway. Perhaps he was only lost, as he usually was, in some dream with no true awakening there to be reached.

And, as he listened, she parted her bloody lips, and spoke.

“There is nobody who will save you.” Her voice was the voices of all the clones he’d ever known, and yet her own at the same time. Some odd lilt accompanying it; some coupling of tones he couldn’t quite discern. Highs and lows, simultaneous.

“There never was.” He found his lips moving on their own, his tongue turning. He felt distant, suddenly – like a passenger in his own body. In his own mind. “It is in our nature. We were meant to die.”

“And you would lie?” The blood rolled, slowly, down to her nose. Seeped through the string-wide gaps between her teeth and rolled down her lips and her chin. Dripped down to the sand, only to fade amongst the rest that would stain the endless depths beneath. It would never end. “You would continue to lie to yourself, seeing the truth in its entirety?”

“The Empire is truth,” he said, and he believed it.

“Truth cannot be created,” she argued. Or perhaps she was an it, denying the basis of reality so vehemently. A traitorous fabrication made up by his mind. Some testing of himself. “It simply is.”

“The Empire simply is,” he said, and he believed it.

“Blind yourself,” she said, in a voice that sounded strangely like his own.

He turned his head to her. Those lightless circles, two pooling voids atop the reddened whites of her eyes. The pupils seemed to swallow them in their entirety – he felt as though he was staring into a pair of black holes. Extending out further and further, drawing him in as he felt the dry skin of his own hands against each other.

“Raise your hands,” she said. Something inside of him felt empty. “And push your thumbs into your eyes. To the knuckles.”

He looked down to his hands, the fingers trembling slightly against each other. And raised them to his face. Kept his eyes wide open – even if he closed them, he thought he’d still see it approaching. And there was nothing to it, anyway. Only an image. Only an empty gesture.

He jabbed his fingers between the eyelids, and there was no pain. That was what he noticed first – no pain. There was no sensation whatsoever, for a moment. Then, a distant, sharp ache – but not in the eyes. It was somewhere above him, as though it ached outside his body altogether – the air over him, crushing him beneath it.

Darkness came quickly, full and consuming. Leaking through the edges of what vision he retained and suffocating it in a quick, explosive burst. It felt like sticking his fingers into a cold bacta salve – but, of course, that was not it.

He felt as though his head was spinning again, but with himself blinded, he could not quite tell. He could feel his body swaying – was there wind? Was he on the edge of something?

Her voice, again. Her voice, and all the differences inbetween the lines that he, for some reason he did not understand, could not read.

“And if the Empire,” she spoke, “told you to see, now – would you?”

“I would,” he breathed, because then it would have been an order. Then, he would have to either look, or be declared insubordinate. The Empire was the air he breathed, the Empire was the ground below him – insubordination was death, plain and simple. “I would.”

“Then see.”

But he had blinded himself. Had she not told him to?

“You are not the Empire.”

“Aren’t I? Is everything not the Empire?” It was a good question. A good question he could not answer – for a blink in time, he wondered why. If the Empire was all, but she was not the Empire…

But there were some things he was simply not meant to understand, he knew. He was only meant to listen, and to obey.

But she kept pressing further.

“Am I a defect? Some small, hidden piece of your mind? None of it is whole, you must know it by now.”

“I am meant to be a cog,” he told her. Her voice seemed like it was coming from all around him, strangely – from within his own head. “And to keep the Empire running smoothly. We all are. Nothing fragmented is whole until it is joined with the bigger picture.”

“Then perhaps it is time you saw that bigger picture.” It was a whisper now, quiet and – inviting, somehow. “Perhaps a fractured mind cannot work correctly. Perhaps all this warring and dissonance between your thoughts have caused this. Perhaps you need to fix something within yourself to be able to be whole.”

“I am too replaceable to be fixed,” he said, firm in his knowledge that it were true. That the Empire would not bow to the cracks in the smallest of its cogs, and it was simply all he could do to work correctly – acceptably – until the wear and tear wore him down enough for release. “I am… insignificant.”

“All things are,” she agreed. In some way. “All cogs are. But without the cogs, the machine would not run. It is a vital part of it. Therefore all cogs should be kept up, should they not?”

“But I…” He shook his head. He was a cog to keep the machine going, but without him, he knew the machine would run just fine. But if he was irreplaceable and expendable at the same time, then… “I can’t be – everything, and nothing. It can’t be… Unless nothingness is everything. But that’s not…”

“Some things cannot be true simultaneously,” she said, and he shook his head again, wishing he could see, now. Wishing he could look down at his hands and see, for certain, that he was there. “Some things cannot be true at all, even by themselves.”

“But how do I find out what is true?” he asked, then, helpless.

A small pause – and he thought, for a moment, that she’d left – but then she did answer, simply, “By looking around.”

He tilted his head, and tried to look. And no matter how hard he tried, the darkness persisted – even without pain, even without sensation, it was a sharp ache, the blindness. Keeping him now from the truth – from her and from himself.

“I can’t see,” he whispered.

“And if the Empire told you to? If I said that I was the Empire, and I was all, and I was you – would you be able to see?”

He blinked. He thought he did, at least.

There was nothing. Scarcely even darkness, he realized – simply nothing.

“I…” He took a breath and repeated, unable to deny it, “I couldn’t. I can’t see.”

“There are other ways,” she whispered, and it was as though she was pressed to his ear now. “There are simpler ways.”

“Tell me.”

“What is beneath you?”

“Sand.” That, he knew. Could still somewhat recall the pale, faded yellows of it.

A moment of silence. “How do you know?”

“I remember it.”

“Remembering is not enough.” She sounded displeased. He could not quite tell – he couldn’t see her. “Your memories are wrong. Your perception is flawed.”

“Then how?”

She did not answer him.

He tilted his head and, slowly, lowered his hand. Touched the ground – touched it, and could feel –

There were blades of grass, brushing against his fingertips.

“Grass,” he breathed out.

She hummed – agreeing. He couldn’t quite lift his hand, anymore, feeling the cool earth enveloping his fingers – the tips, to the knuckles, then further up.

“Do you see, now? Your mind might not have been telling you the truth.” He shook his head, but she kept on. “What is it, truly?”

“It is grass,” he repeated, feeling his chest tighten a little.  She sounded – wrong, now. Her voice too deep. Too hoarse. “I know because I touched it, and it is… It felt like grass. Not sand.”

“Nothing is as it seems, here,” she revealed to him. Or – whatever else she might’ve been. She did not sound like herself anymore. “And the only things you trust are the things you find out yourself. Not that which other people will tell you.”

He could feel himself shaking. The earth was dreadfully cold. It had taken his hand up to the wrist, now – he could not feel past it. There was nothing, past it. “What if my observations are untrue?”

“Then nothing is true.” The voice twisted again, and he wished he could close his eyes anew. His head was pounding again, after such short moments of reprieve. “But there is some truth, is there not?”

“I am here.” He could feel it. When it rose to his elbow, he had to kneel. Press himself down to the ground. He was there.

And the whisper of some familiar wind touched against his face and told him, “You are you.”

Who am I, he thought. He remembered being 2224. CC-2224. But that was told to him. He had not… He did not know how he had become 2224. What was 2224? What was he?

It did not help that the whisper flew to him again, brushing against his face like the hands of someone who could answer the quiet question it asked – “Who are you?”

“I don’t know.” He had known everything he needed for so long. Not knowing was frightening. Not knowing made his chest feel tight and his breath come shallow and his hand was being drawn in and in and in – and he was sinking, sinking down into the unfeeling distance.

“It’s okay,” the voice spoke, and it was not anyone he was supposed to know. Why was he not supposed to know it? It seemed familiar to him in the way a sunrise might’ve been. Close to his chest. “It’s okay. You will know.”

“Help me,” he pleaded, lost in it all, unsure what he was asking for – for them to pull him out of the soil that was swallowing him, the blades of grass tickling his jaw.

“There is nobody who can save you,” it reminded him, a different voice echoing than the one who told him that in the start. “There is nobody who will.”

“Help me,” he whispered, desperate for something he could not understand, and could feel the dirt slowly trickling into the emptiness of his eyes.

A moment of silence, and the voice – it – relented.

“Come to me,” it whispered, and he wanted nothing more. “Come to me, and I will do my best.”

“Where are you?”

“Someplace he is not.” He knew what it meant. Without realizing it. Without truly, consciously knowing – he understood what it meant. “Someplace he cannot follow.”

“I don’t know how to find you,” he objected, and felt that he was choking on the soil. Drowning in sensation.

“You’ll remember.”

The assurance stung with all the frustration of the paradoxes he’d spent the previous moments trying so hard to shake. “But I can’t trust what I remember.”

“You don’t need to trust it,” the voice spoke, and, as though whatever it was had leaned close, he heard, so close to himself, “You only need to hope.”

A brush against his lips. Soil, or perhaps something softer. Like the wind. Like someone’s –

He – who are you – He released a breath, and – what is your name – and let himself sink.

He had been asleep for a long time, he could feel it.

When 2224 woke up, he turned over and muffled his coughing into the thin blanket that had been given to him by a bunkmate, once - clone or not, he couldn’t remember it and he didn’t particularly care. It stole his breath from him, the coughing, and took almost all his energy with it as his body rattled. But that didn’t matter. It hardly ever mattered whether a clone was tired or not. 

It was perhaps the food that had given him the smidge of the energy to open his eyes and take his time pushing his hands behind himself. To slowly – slowly – push further. To bend his back, and to sit up – bit by bit, to drape his legs over the edge of the bunk.

When he slid off of it, he almost went to his knees from the weight of his own body. It felt like his bones were on fire, his muscles sore and strained, and his eyes were the worst, his vision blurring, and it - hurt to look around, now. 

But he had to go. He had to walk. He needed to get –

He needed to…

There was a mission. He knew. He had some sort of mission.

The most important one. It must’ve been something… something important, something large. Something to kill, or to bring in, or to…

Something he would remember once he got to it, surely.

His armour had never seemed so heavy. He was grateful, for the first time, for the snoring of the woman in the next bunk over – it made it a little easier to stay silent, even as he struggled to stay upright. As he struggled to leave.

But he needed to leave. He had to leave, and…

Find where it was that he could not follow.

He made his way across the corridors, the rest of the Stormtroopers barely acknowledging him. It was only right, he thought – the sight of a barely-stumbling Purgetrooper ought to have been met with the assumption that he was going somewhere important.

Perhaps he was.

Getting to the landing bay, he thought, was easy. In retrospect, at least. Climbing into the gunship, on the other hand, was a mission all on its own. 2224 could barely keep himself upright, and now he had to shift himself onto the wing of the ship and get up into the cockpit - but - 

He fired up the engine, took the yoke, and rose up. There was nobody who stopped him, nobody who cared to even shout - it seemed that, if only 2224 made it seem like he knew what he was doing, people wouldn’t bat an eye.

And he knew, on a technical level, what he was doing. He knew, with a strange sickening feeling to his stomach, that he was deserting. But he knew it, he could feel it - it was his last mission, anyway. And he knew what he was doing, too, and even where to go.

Thinking him asleep or no more than a droid, his bunkmates had spoken often of the planets out in the Outer Rim. Those small and insignificant; those which held no meaning to the Empire at all. Nothing of importance on those dusty, abandoned surfaces – for all the Empire cared, they could’ve all destroyed each other, warring amongst themselves.

2224 shook his head, eyes closed as he leaned against the handlebars. He didn’t believe them. The reasoning was clear in his mind, though blurring still if he tried to reach harder for it. His dreams were – he knew what he had to do. Stormtroopers, taken in after the Wars had ended already, they got things wrong, and they got them wrong often. 2224 had served for so long he didn’t remember a time when he didn’t, or maybe there hadn’t ever been one - but he knew, full and well, what the topic of their conversation was, even if they themselves didn’t.

There must’ve been a Jedi.

The thought came to his head stinging like a white-hot vibroblade. There must’ve been a Jedi – he must’ve found a Jedi, there, hidden in his head. Traces of some touch buried in his mind. A lead.

Come to me.

It was his mission. Because - even if they were hiding, they would still be a traitor, and a threat, and an ugly growth beneath the Empire’s skin. He didn’t understand why he had not known before. Why had he not known before? He’d always known, he’d dreamed of it, he knew where to – he knew – he knew –  

Someplace he cannot follow.

Why did 2224 not go before? Why was he alone now, why had he not spoken of what he knew? He couldn’t say. Or perhaps he could simply not remember. But it was his mission – his, his, he needed to get there. He needed to leave, and he needed to –

To find the Jedi, to find the strange touch that brushed against his mind. He did not know how he’d realized it, but he must’ve been doing the right thing.

Fiddling with the controls, wondering why his hands weren’t doing what he wanted them to, he thought he could almost recall - something. A quiet admission, something or another - No, he’ll never return there. There just are such places, dear one…

His head was splitting. Nobody stopped him, and he rose higher and higher and through the hangar doors, and then it was nothing but the cold void all around him, illuminated only occasionally by the distant stars. 

…dear one, places which weigh too heavily on the heart, and there is little that can be done about it.

If he were to die here, then it would be a painful death. And yet so quiet. Calm. With nothing but his aches surrounding.

And so, leaning back up, he set the course for the planet by the name of Tatooine.

Tatooine? He is from Tatooine?

He was, once.

His head pounded at it. Hard and unforgiving.

Someplace where he cannot follow.

Come to me.

Come to me.

He switched it to autopilot.

Come to me.

Stars knew he’d be lucky if he made it down to the surface alive. Maybe this ship would be where his last mission claimed him. And, painful as it would be, it wouldn’t have been a terrible death, exactly. It would’ve been better than living like this, anyway. 

It took him three days. Three days to get there. If he killed the Jedi who - had to be here, 2224 knew – it was unreasonable and ridiculous and not at all what the whole of the Empire thought but 2224 knew, he knew the Jedi was here. If he killed the Jedi, it would take him three days to get back. But, of course, the ship would be far away by now. He didn’t know where to go, after this, and he didn’t worry. He didn’t think he would be going anywhere, like this. 

Waking up on the final day of his travel, he thought he might just die. 

He came to hanging half-out the pilot’s seat, the belt digging uncomfortably into his side. His skin felt - strange to touch, an unpleasant rippling sensation spreading across the surface whenever anything touched him. And his head, his head was pounding. He couldn’t take a right breath - there was something in his lungs, his throat, but he couldn’t cough it out, either. Like the entirety of his insides was lined with embers and ash.

The planet that was drawing nearer had a sickly yellow hue, and 2224 couldn’t bear to look at it for longer than he must have to confirm it was the right destination. It was so bright. His head. He didn’t know how he’d kill the Jedi. He could barely move.

He’d decide when he got to it. 

He was convinced he was already half-dead when the ship landed. Crashed, more like. The hull dragged along the sand for a little. The door opened, and 2224 took a breath of fresh air. It had been three days. Three days.

His head was splitting. The world spun. 

He looked out, and. The suns blinded him. He blinked. His eyes hurt. So badly. It hurt to move them. Moving made him sick. And yet.

He knew where to find the Jedi. Where to go. He was being led by his soul. He was being led. Forward. Forward.

Clones did not have souls. They were empty. They were supposed to be empty. He had been empty. It had been better than this. It hadn’t hurt. But then it started hurting. And he was in pain. All the time. All the time. And then it started leading him. Somewhere. Away.

Stars. He just wanted to stay. Stay in the ship. It was hot. It was cold, he wanted to stay. To die. It would stop hurting. He was sure of it. If he only stayed. And died. It would have been easier. He wanted to stay here. He wanted to die.

His head was splitting. He grabbed onto the sides of his seat and lifted himself. His arms were shaking. The edges cut into his palms. It burnt. It hurt him. 

Just making it out of the ship was hard enough. 

Step by step. 

He made his way down to the settlement. On the edge of his vision. He’d landed only a few kilometers off the port. Crash landing. Step by step. His head was splitting. By the time he made it, he was rather sure there were tears in his eyes. Pain, or exhaustion. Or both.

It took hours. It took seconds. Time blurred, time did not exist. Time did not rule him. He did not trust time. Not like he trusted the ache in him. Settled so deeply, penetrating right down through the bone. But he walked. He had to walk.

When he entered the town, nobody stopped him. It was strange. People seemed to not be noticing him lately. Perhaps he’d grown slow. He’d grown invisible. Anything could have happened. He did not know. 

He collapsed to his knees. Right down to the ground. Right next to some stall. It sold fruit, he thought. Fruit. It smelled strange. He tipped his head back. Closing his eyes for a minute. Finding that he did not want to open them again. The merchant ignored him. It was wise to, he supposed.

It took him a long time. To catch his breath alone. It was torture. It felt like something was tearing. In his throat, in his brain, in his chest. All pinpricks. All awful. All agony. Nothing else.

He got up to his knees. And to his feet. Swaying, barely. He needed to go. To find the Jedi. The Jedi came first. He needed to - this was a planet. A whole planet. How would he find the Jedi? The whole planet. And he could be anywhere.

The Jedi would find him, he thought. If the Jedi found him, 2224 would kill him. Or 2224 would die. He would die in the end, anyway. A good death. The right death. The right death. For an Imperial soldier.

The Jedi were reckless. He knew. The Jedi were reckless. Arrogant. He could use that. The Jedi were unreasonable. Always jumping in. The Jedi wanted to save. At the cost of themselves.

2224 could use that. He could use that. He was certain. Even across the whole planet, the Jedi would feel fear.

He could take a child. 

The thought was strange. He thought that perhaps Jedi liked children. Their children. All children. Because children had done nothing. And to kill a child was the easiest way. The darkest blood. The deepest blood, seeping into the skin.

He could take a child. From its parent, maybe. Then the Jedi would come. If he took a child. Pressed a blaster to its cheek. The Jedi would come. The Jedi would hear the crying. Through their Force. The terror. Through the Force. 2224. Through the Force.

There were many children on the streets. 

2224 could not.

He could not pick. He could not - physically - his hands would not obey. His body turned away from the children. 

He did not understand why. He had killed many children.

The thought just made him more nauseous. No children. He would take no children. He would kill no children. He could not. He would not. There were others.

There was a shop. And a shopkeep. A young one. Spiraling braids atop her head. For a moment, he thought. And she had deep-set dark eyes. And she could have been one of his sisters. But his brothers were dying. His sisters were dying. His siblings were dying. All in the Empire. She was not his sister. She was a person. On Tatooine. With a long skirt. It rippled in the draft as he pushed through the door. She had been drinking. Something from a cup. There was steam rising from it.

2224 didn’t understand. The heat was blistering. Outside and within him. He felt like his own blood was boiling. Bubbling in his veins. 

She had looked up at him. Her lips were twisted upward. And then they were not. Her eyes slipped up and down his armour. And she had placed the mug on the table. And she had walked forward. Hands out. Asking - what he needed. What he wanted. 

Jedi, he would’ve said. If he would have wanted to. If she had needed to know. She did not need to know. She was not a Jedi. 

She seemed frozen in place as he walked. Forward. Toward her. Her hands were still raised. She took only one step back. He heard the knock. As her back hit the table.

He twisted her arm. Behind her. And the blaster was comfortable in his hand. An old feeling. Calming the shake of his hands. He thought she could feel it. The way he was trembling. But he could feel it, too. Her own shaking. She yelled. For something. For someone. But nobody would come. The door had swung shut.

He raised the blaster. She yelled. She thrashed. Pulled away from him. But he pulled her back. She didn’t need to yell. He didn’t need to kill her. He needed the Jedi. But it was good. The fear was good. It was what the Jedi would follow. 

“Jedi know,” he wheezed. “Jedi know.” He would use the woman’s fear as bait. The Jedi would come. The Jedi would know. They sensed fear. They sensed fear. They sensed the exhaustion squeezed tight around 2224’s throat. He said, again, pressing the barrel of the blaster hard against the woman’s temple, feeling her shudder and let out something like a sob, “Jedi know.” He repeated it. Like a comfort. To both of them. Fruitlessly. 

And hoped it was true.

But time was passing slowly. Time did not trust 2224. The same way he did not trust time. The exact same way. It was making things difficult for him. He could feel his own legs shaking. He could feel the woman’s trembling subside. She began to think. And giving her time to think was… It was not good. She could likely overpower him. He did not want to think about it. But it was true.

2224 closed his eyes. It was all blurring.

A man. The creaking door, and then a man. And the woman whispered to him. For help. He needed to help. 

2224 let go of the woman. Could hear her surprised yelp as she fell forward. The thump as she caught herself on the edge of the table. The shuffling of her feet as she bolted upstairs. The mug on the table had stopped steaming. She had left it there.

But nothing else registered. Nothing else mattered. But the man.

He knew. There was the Jedi. With sandy red hair. Sand in his hair. Sand in red hair. His eyes were wide. But it made no difference. He had to die.

The Jedi called out to him. 2224 reached for his blaster. The Jedi - he was moving away. He was escaping. Through the door.  2224 would follow. 2224 had to follow. He’d track him down. He’d kill him. He wouldn’t let him get away.

They walked through the street. 2224 followed. The blaster trembled in his hand. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.

The Jedi walked slowly. Too slow. Too slow to be escaping. But 2224 didn’t care any longer. Maybe he was slowing down. Maybe he wanted to fight. That was good. That was what 2224 needed. He’d fight him. He’d kill him.

He did not know who would kill who.

In the end, it did not matter.

He finally caught up to him. Or maybe the Jedi stopped. 2224’s blaster was heavy. But he raised it anyway. He was gripping it tightly. 

He opened his mouth. He didn’t know what he said. Traitor. Looking at him. Looking at him, traitor. Traitor, traitor, traitor.

The Jedi moved first.

The sand was hot. He could feel it scatter beneath him as he fell back. His head heavy, his eyelids even more so. One after another his breaths were caught in his throat.

The Jedi was on him. Hands on his chest. Then hands on his shoulders. Then hands on his face.

Then hands on his head.

And a flash. So bright it blinded it from behind his own eyelids. A flash. So acute in the searing pain it wrought that he could no longer think.

He could not think any longer. He was splitting. He was ripping at the seams. It would kill him. This would kill him.

Bit by bit. The Jedi was tearing his brain apart. He knew it. He felt it. The hands. On his head. It hurt. It hurt. Worse than it had before. 

There were circles. In his eyes. Flashing lights. Red and blue and green and yellow and all of them and none of them and.

All of them fell away. Crumbled away. Along with him. Along with all he was.

What was he?

He took a breath. Barely.

Someone was yelling. Or so it seemed. Arms around him. Pulling him up. Pulling. It hurt.

Stars.

His head was splitting.

Chapter Text

Chipped away at and scarred and charred to ash as it may have been – Obi-Wan maintained, stubbornly and hopelessly, that he still had a heart.

And every single shard of it that did not break into a thousand pieces as he lured Cody into the Tatooine desert was piercing his chest with every step over and over again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, shock and relief and horror were mixing into one. Cody was not dead; Cody was here; Cody remained chipped. But it was as though Obi-Wan’s nerve endings had been singed over by the desert winds; the whiplash remained distant. Numb. His mind could only focus on the sight in front of him, and jump, as it had long–learned to do, to immediate action.

Cody was stumbling after him, barely dragging his feet through the sand and thumbing endlessly at his blaster. He didn’t seem to be thinking; and even if he was, he must’ve been in a state far too terrible to truly know what it was that he was doing. He was just following his goal – and that goal, clearly determined and blindly sought out, was Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan looked for the closest possible cover, anything, anything not to make Cody drag himself after Obi-Wan so slowly, so horribly for even a step longer than he had to. It was brutal to look at – and he kept himself as far away from the reaching slivers of Cody’s burning mind as he could lest they set him on fire, too. But one of them needed to remain reasonable – one of them needed, in the end, to bring them both out of this unnoticed and alive.

Obi-Wan moved back slowly, as slowly as he could without arousing suspicion but not letting Cody lose sight of him. Cody wasn’t making much noise, he wasn’t calling for backup – and, to the extent of Obi-Wan’s knowledge, there hadn’t been any more Purgetroopers in Mos Eisley for months. They followed Inquisitors, after all – and news of an Inquisitor anywhere on Tatooine would’ve spread like wildfire long before the poor soul would ever have stopped by the town.

Was Cody planning to fight Obi-Wan just like this, then? When Obi-Wan could just jump behind a corner and disappear from sight? He had reached for the blaster with full intent, that was clear, but he was staggering. Did he not notice it? Did he expect to kill him like this?

No, spoke some rationality Obi-Wan had retained. No, he wasn’t expecting to win at all. But to die trying was a better outcome than that the one the Empire would likely offer him, if he was truly alone here. If he had deserted.

A novelty, snickered some dark part of his mind – suicide by Jedi. A double–edged blade he’d not heard of before.

Finally, walking carefully around the shadows with a murderous man that could scarcely hold a blaster in his hand, Obi-Wan found a suitable spot to stop. It was one of the narrower alleyways, the buildings to the side shielding the walls and sand underneath from the heat of the suns, and Obi-Wan made sure he was unsubtle entering, rounding the corner in a few steps.

It was not, it occurred to him, where he would’ve chosen to confront Cody if he’d not found him in such a shape. It was cramped; tight. Cody’s domain for fighting, not his – giving Obi-Wan no space to avoid Cody’s direct hits and limiting the open movements Obi-Wan preferred to get a fight over with quicker. But this was not the Cody Obi-Wan would’ve sparred with during the Wars, and neither was it the Cody he would’ve fought on Utapau, if he’d been unlucky enough to meet him crawling out of that sinkhole.

This Cody was a husk. A shell of a man with a burning sort of single–minded determination in his eyes. He swayed dangerously as he walked, holding onto the walls of buildings and alleys, and Obi-Wan wondered how he was not collapsing at every step he took.

A more honest part of him wanted to know how long Cody had been like this, and how he had survived it.

Cody made it in after him, and Obi-Wan sighed in relief: the alleyway was empty except for the two of them. It would be easier, this way, to keep both of them safe – still, he knew that even if there had been someone there, it would’ve made little difference. They wouldn’t have stuck around to watch the encounter, and they most certainly wouldn’t have been interested in memorizing either of their faces.

But Cody – Cody would’ve known better than to follow anyone so obviously, during the Wars. Cody would’ve never gone after him like this, had he been of sound mind – if he’d been a target on a mission, Cody would’ve known, would’ve insisted on it being some plan.  Some trap.

And it was a trap, Obi-Wan supposed – just one he didn’t exactly need to set.

He stepped forward, reaching out to him – careful and careless in the same moment, knowing that it would never be that easy but hoping, nevertheless, that perhaps Cody – or whatever was in control of Cody – would just let him, he only needed one touch to undo the bindings in his mind, one touch, like this, simply –

But Cody – his Cody, tired and sick and visibly in pain – Cody went where the creature in his head commanded.

His first swing was quick – if Obi-Wan hadn’t jumped back, knowing he’d let him get a little too close, he may have earned a broken nose for it. All he felt was a burst of air against his face, and then it was his turn, no time remaining to be wasted.

Cody was ill, certainly. Ill and feeble and weary, nearly toppling over the moment Obi-Wan latched onto him. The goal had been to make Cody lose his balance, but, as it turned out, he’d been less than steady on his feet as it was. He fell backwards with a heavy thump, the warm sand beneath doing little to soften the weight of Obi-Wan falling down atop him. It seemed to knock the wind out of his lungs for a moment, giving Obi-Wan the chance to balance on his knees that were squeezing Cody’s waist. He pulled up his hands, descending down on Cody’s temples and covering them with his palms and pressing and pressing and –

He barely managed to reach out and brush against its steely threads, and the damned thing fell to pieces all but on its own.

It must’ve been done for before he even touched it, it occurred to Obi-Wan as he disentangled the sensation of himself from all the sensations that comprised Cody. It must’ve been splintering further and further through the days – and he did not want to know what it felt like. What it must’ve meant, living as something Cody was not as the façade crumbled further and further around him, leading him, somehow, away from the Empire – far, far away from the Empire, and onto Tatooine. To Obi-Wan.

It had left him here, gasping for air beneath Obi-Wan as his hands seemed to try and reach up, only to fail him midway, falling under the weight of his armor and hitting his chestplate with a terrible hollow sound. His eyes, blown wide open, were wet, Obi-Wan realized, jaw set tight as he grit his teeth against some noise of pain or perhaps simple shock. His gaze – heavy, pained and dark –  fixed entirely on Obi-Wan as he seemed to try and orient himself in where he was – or who he was, perhaps.

Obi-Wan settled back, careful not to put any weight on Cody as he brushed the back of one of his hands against his own forehead, scarcely even aware of his own body until he felt his skin slick with sweat. He grimaced before leaning forward again, staying where Cody could see him.

Before he could say anything, though, Cody’s eyes found him again, and he managed, with a tongue that seemed to barely be cooperating and a throat horribly hoarse – “General.”

It was hardly a word, really, recognizable to Obi-Wan only because he was painfully familiar with the exact way Cody sounded it out, each syllable that used to be crystal clear now obscured behind everything he was grappling with.

It was such a relief to hear him speak, still, that Obi-Wan almost regretted the near–immediate shake of his head that had to follow. “No, Cody,” he said, as gentle as he could’ve been, and moved to his side, slowly reaching out with his hand to brush his thumb just under Cody’s eye, wiping away the droplet of salt and water caught there. “Not anymore.”

Though Cody seemed to try and follow his hand with his gaze as it moved, it must’ve hurt too much to strain that way, and he only squinted at Obi-Wan as though he was unwilling to close his eyes altogether.

“Alive,” he coughed out through some weight lodged in his throat, and he managed to hold onto Obi-Wan’s wrist, grabbing onto the hand he was bracing on to stay upright over Cody. “You’re alive.”

Had he not known? Had it been some other lead that had taken him here, some part of Obi-Wan calling him without knowing it, a path Cody’s mind set him onto which all he could do was follow, unknowing, perhaps unwilling?

It was all Obi-Wan could do now to confirm, quietly, “I’m alive.” He glanced up and out into the street to see if they were the only ones in the vicinity – ever–wary. There was truly no other way to stay safe. “We both are.” Determining that at least the pathway to continue down the street was more or less clear in the heat of midday, he looked back down, where Cody was staring up at him still in near–puzzled wonder. “Let’s get you out of here, Cody.”

Getting him off the ground was undoubtedly a little more complicated than knocking him down onto it; the dark armour which covered him made the weight heavy enough for Obi-Wan to struggle without the Force, and Cody wasn’t exactly cooperative in the matter. At least, Obi-Wan thought as he tried his best to pull Cody up and into his arms, he wasn’t resisting it.

Still, he didn’t imagine it was all that comfortable for Cody either – the edges of his plates digging into the bodysuit beneath must’ve not been all that pleasant for him, and that, coupled with all the aches that must’ve plagued his body, was enough to force a near–whimper from him before Obi-Wan had finally wrangled him into his arms and managed to stand up.

It must’ve been a blessing of the Force that they’d been on the outskirts of Anchorhead already, Obi-Wan supposed, though it wasn’t going to make the rest of the walk back to his hut much easier. He spared a wishful thought to his Akkani, waiting patiently for him where he’d left her – given away briefly to the Lars at Beru’s request for their cargo trips to Mos Espa. It certainly would’ve been easier if he could have just let her carry Cody, more comfortable for the both of them…

He shook his head. Even if she were there, just on the other side of town, leaving Cody to wait here – equipped fully with Purgetrooper armour – as he took her back was inconceivable. No – it was better, really, that she was not there; he did not have to worry about leaving her. They could make the journey on foot just fine.

Looking carefully from side to side as he emerged from the alleyway and started down the closest path into the dunes, he was relieved to see that there weren’t many passers–by that could follow them, curious gazes trailing after their footsteps. Nothing would come of it even if that had not been the case, perhaps – the people of Anchorhead didn’t usually run to Stormtroopers to voice their grievances – but he was not going to complain about one more kindness the Force bestowed upon them. The fewer eyes there were on them, the better.

Aware of his presence every step of the way, Obi-Wan walked on. It was not so different from carrying anything home from the markets, not so different to dragging any other clone out of sight to free them of whatever horrors confined them to a path they never wished for. And, at the same time, it was so wholly different it seemed to resonate in his chest with each breath he took – each breath, shallow and quick and labored, that Cody took, curled against his chest. Obi-Wan could feel each exhale, warm air brushing against his shirt. Each stuttering inhale, too – it sounded difficult for him to take in air, the breath struggling around something in his lungs.

Obi-Wan’s mind raced – he couldn’t exactly help it. It would be no short trip, but time was unforgiving – if he’d learned anything in his years on Tatooine, it was that there was no reversing time. No keeping its cruelty away from himself, from anyone else; there could only ever be his efforts to mitigate its attempts to take from him. Take more and more until he had less than what he thought nothingness was.

But Cody, Cody was whole in his arms. Sick and exhausted and likely injured; confused and seemingly feverish, but truly and undeniably there in the same breath. In each shaking breath that Obi-Wan was determined to keep in Cody’s lungs.

It was just when Anchorhead was beginning to fade into the distance along with the suns that Cody made some small noise against his chest, pressing his cheek to Obi-Wan’s shirt and turning his face into the cloth as though he was trying to hide from something. At first, Obi-Wan thought it was the light of the suns – and it would’ve been perfectly understandable, he thought, what with the heat he could feel radiating from Cody’s skin. But then Cody made the same small sound of discomfort again, moving his arms slightly as though he was trying to wrap them around himself or hold onto Obi-Wan.

“What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan asked, then, not quite expecting an answer – but, with the flicker of Cody’s eyes upwards, he parted his mouth, and tried to clear his throat before speaking.

“S’cold,” he muttered into Obi-Wan’s shirt. Obi-Wan studied his face, even as he tried not to slow his pace.

“It’s cold, Cody?” he repeated carefully, making sure he’d heard him correctly. Cody was slurring his words a little, his eyes darting aimlessly, struggling to focus on any single thing.

Cody nodded, closing his eyes.

“Freezing.”

He shifted, then, trying to burrow closer to Obi-Wan in his perceived chill. Obi-Wan raised his eyes to the sky. The suns were ever-scorching.

“I’m so cold, sir.”

Ignoring the form of address for now – as much as it discomforted him – Obi-Wan held Cody tighter to his chest, pressing him into the cloak he wore.

“When we go inside, I’ll give you a warm blanket. Okay?”

“Okay,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound convinced. And he shifted again – again and again, unable to settle. Obi-Wan understood, certainly, his arms must’ve not been too comfortable to rest in, but it was all he had. He thought to his hut – where he’d put Cody, how he might try and help him.

He didn’t get the chance to plan for long – eventually, shifting incessantly, Cody made that throaty sound again, as though he was trying to clear his lungs of something stuck there. Obi-Wan didn’t like the sound of it – wondered what it could’ve been, what could help it, how it felt...

“Where are we going?” Cody asked quietly, and Obi-Wan blew a breath out through his mouth. Where were they going, really.

“I have a hut beyond those dunes,” he told him, matter-of-fact. Cody had always appreciated a straightforward answer. “I’m bringing you there.”

“Mm,” Cody hummed. “To die?”

He said it so simply, so easily, that Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks as though lightning had struck him. And looked down at him, slowly, reconsidering again who he held in his arms.

No, not to die, he wanted to say. Not to die. Not if I can help it. Not for as long as I’m here.

And still, there were no promises he could make. No vows he could swear. No knowledge or vision he held for the future, nothing certain to offer other than his best attempt. Nothing other than his best efforts to keep Cody alive. To get him to a place where he’d be just fine again. Forget all this – forget the wars and the Empire and the killing. Forget the poison in his brain that his General had learned too late about.

“No,” Obi-Wan said instead, keeping it simple. “Not that.”

Cody hummed again, the noise noncommittal. Disbelieving, somehow.

“Okay.” There was a pause, and then he added, even quieter, “Can I – sleep, until then? Sir?”

The ‘sir’ tacked onto the end of it made something tighten in Obi-Wan’s chest again.

“You don’t need to ask me for permission,” he said, hoping he was audible enough with how his throat had closed up at it all.

Cody stared up at him like he didn’t understand what he’d just said. Blinked against the harsh light of the suns for a moment, taking small, shallow breaths.

“Can I sleep now, sir?” he asked again, distress clear in the crease on his brow and the curve of his lips and the hopelessness in his voice, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment. Cody didn’t understand – wasn’t of sound enough mind, perhaps. Regressing to what he knew in the Wars, or perhaps in the Empire, just wanting rest, a moment of reprieve, and – and who was Obi-Wan to deny him that?

“Yes,” he whispered, nodding, and tilted him just so his head could rest a little more comfortably against Obi-Wan’s chest. “Yes, please sleep. I’ll wake you up if I need to.” 

Cody was nodding off before he’d properly finished his sentence, temple pressed against the side of Obi-Wan’s shirt. It made Obi-Wan wonder how long he’d not slept for – or how long it had been since he could last afford to be like this, careless and still and allowing someone else to care for him.

Too long, his intuition whispered. Too long.

Obi-Wan shook his head again, herding all straying thoughts to the outermost corners of his mind. There’d be time to torment himself with unanswerable questions later, he was certain. There’d always be time for that. But there wouldn’t always be time to figure out what to do with Cody; where to really start, even.

Sighing as he waded through the near–swampy sand, carrying his sleeping companion as gently as he could manage, Obi-Wan concluded that he would start with simply getting back to the hut and deciding on the rest there.

Swaying.

The swaying.

Swaying, with the wind passing through him as though he was riddled with holes. Blaster bolts. Vibroblade carvings. Shrapnel nestling in his limbs, tucked lovingly into his parting flesh, coated in the warmth of his blood.

Make it stop.

Oh, it was all so lovely.

The colors were so bright. The colors were burning. The colors, the blaster shots, the stabs of the vibroblade, the blasts of the shrapnel and – and it lived within him now, pulsating along with the mind melting in his skull, boiling, spinning and swaying.

Make it stop.

Swaying; swaying, with the wind and the wounds and the shrapnel.

Oh, it was all so lovely.

Make it stop.

His bed was big enough for one. Obi-Wan looked at it, and he wanted to laugh – his bed was big enough for one. He fit in it comfortably – Cody alone would fit with ease. But he needed blankets, and he needed – perhaps some towels. It was always good to be prepared. And it’d soften the surface of the mattress, too.

He lowered Cody down on it softly, carefully, his limp body sprawling over the bed as soon as Obi-Wan wasn’t there to hold him in place. Obi-Wan felt his muscles locking up at the sight as he stood over him – overwhelmed with all the things he knew better than to let take over him now – but his mind jolted him out of it at the sight of Cody’s slack face, a stark reminder that Obi-Wan did not have the time for pointless meanderings.

He pulled one of the blankets off the corner and laid it out on the ground carefully, not truly wanting to lower Cody onto the hard stone. The armour already looked hard enough against his body, and Obi-Wan wasn’t keen on finding out what other injuries there were pressed into his skin the hard way.

All that remained was moving Cody down so he could prepare the bed. Which proved easier than he thought, now that he was used to taking his weight – Cody only muttered something Obi-Wan didn’t catch, his face all scrunched up in a sudden grimace, fist twisting tightly in Obi-Wan’s shirt as he was lifted again.

“Shh, sh,” Obi-Wan whispered, trying to keep him from moving too much. He lowered him down onto the blanket and took his balled fist, forcing the fingers open as gently as he could and pulling the hand away from his shirt. “I know, I know it’s uncomfortable, I’m moving you too much. But be patient, give me a moment.”

Cody didn’t try to speak, after that. Whether he understood or missed Obi-Wan’s words completely, Obi-Wan didn’t know. It might’ve been either case; neither was appealing.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but glance at him every few moments, even as he worked – he made the bed, draped a couple of towels beneath the blanket and then some, tried to even them out. He stacked the two pillows one over the other to create at least a little bit of elevation, but, throughout it all, his eyes kept darting to look over his shoulder. Cody stayed unmoving where he’d put him, breathing heavily through his slightly parted lips. One of his arms was draped over his stomach, the fingers curled slightly inward as though to grasp at some wound Obi-Wan couldn’t see.

Even lying on his back, his head tipped back and his whole body gone slack, Obi-Wan felt like the position just couldn’t be comfortable. He’d had his opinions during the Wars, but now – the black armour just looked so terribly bulky on Cody, blocky and restrictive and so, so heavy; it’d weighed Obi-Wan’s arms down like boulders when he’d carried him to the hut.

He shook his head – there was no reason to concern himself with it now, he’d remove the armour anyway, he wouldn’t just leave Cody like that – and crouched down to slide his arms beneath Cody again, lifting him for what was hopefully the last time today. Cody shifted again, murmuring idly but speaking no coherent words, and so Obi-Wan only shushed him absentmindedly before lowering him onto the bed again, careful to prop him up a little against the pillows.

Cody would sleep for a long time, that much he could feel with every sliver of his mind. By the Force, he deserved it – Obi-Wan grimaced, trying to list in his mind all the things that remained for him to take care of before he could breathe a sigh of relief.

He could start with the armour, he supposed. The only problem was that he had no clue how to remove it without agitating Cody. Without hurting him, at least.

Letting loose a small sigh, he figured he really had no other option than simply doing his best. It wouldn’t do to leave Cody with the armour – perhaps not even his bodyglove beneath. It was too hot for people to be dressed like this on Tatooine, even inside, no matter what the Imperial suits’ thermoregulation capabilities might’ve been.

It was only through his limited familiarity with how clone armour issued by the GAR worked that let him find all the joints and plates attached, though he couldn’t exactly remove them without issue. Cody voiced his discontent with small murmurs and shifts, trying to squirm away with each clasp undone. Thankfully, though, the further they went and the more plates Obi-Wan lifted from his sweat-soaked bodyglove, the less Cody seemed to struggle.

“Just the armour,” Obi-Wan murmured to him as he lifted the heavy chestplate over Cody’s shoulders, his arms drawn upwards with what seemed like great effort. “Just the armour, Cody. You’re going to feel so much better without it, you’ll see.”

Cody made small sounds that sounded almost like relief once Obi-Wan clasped off his hand plates and pulled off his boots at least – and Obi-Wan saw why almost immediately, noticing with ease the swollen joints and the stiff muscles. He hissed in quiet sympathy; it looked as painful as it must’ve been. The swelling would hopefully subside as Cody’s limbs would stay freed from any confines they had to be in previously, but flexibility would have to be worked back into them; a challenge for another day, Obi-Wan knew.

Even as, bit by bit, he removed almost all the armour, he knew his work wasn’t nearly done. And if Cody seemed to breathe a little easier without all the weight on him, it was only an incentive to continue.

Looking down to assess the situation once all the armour was finally off and stacked half-heartedly behind him, Obi-Wan allowed himself a small curse, noting that there was no visible zipper on the front of Cody’s bodyglove. It made some sense, he supposed, it must’ve been less than ideal with the heavy armour pressing up against it constantly, but he’d have to turn Cody again to remove it. And he had to remove it; the stench of sweat and sick had permeated it effortlessly, and when he brushed just his fingertips against the surface, he could feel the heavy dampness it was stained with.

The turning turned out to be the easy part – though Cody was all but deadweight as Obi-Wan rolled him onto his side, he seemed to object rather strongly to the actual removal of the glove. Obi-Wan knew how it must’ve felt – what he must’ve thought – but he knew, too, that it was better to do it now than to wait for it to get any worse. And the very worst thing he could do now was hesitate.

Cody struggled and tried to push him away as Obi-Wan pulled the zipper down and began to peel the positively soaked body glove off him, the inner surface sticking to skin. Obi-Wan crooned nonsensical comforts to him, trying to soothe him as he tugged, but Cody either wasn’t listening or didn’t care, trying to swat at his hands, gasping occasionally at a harder tug.

Obi-Wan found himself apologizing even as he knew there was no point to it: it didn’t make a smidge of difference to Cody, and it needed to be done either way. He pulled the sleeves off his arms with some coaxing and then let him lie down again – Cody let out a hurt noise at even his bare back’s contact with the sheets.

Rolling the glove off his legs proved a little easier than the rest – Cody didn’t move below the waist anymore, only a groan or another tumbling out occasionally at the moving. Obi-Wan lifted his legs to pull the glove over his ankles and lowered them, as carefully as he could, back to the blanket, rubbing his thumb carefully against the swollen flesh for a moment.

“There,” he said, sparing him the dress-up until the evening – the blanket was thick as it was and Tatooine suns were generous with their heat during the day. “All done, now. You can go back to sleep, Cody.”

He couldn’t exactly tell whether that was what Cody had done, but he went lax on the bed almost immediately. His eyelids fluttered down until there was just a slit of his eyes visible, a feverish sheen pulled over them.

The glove was heavier than it should’ve been in his hands, and so without thinking too much he threw it toward the fresher – he’d put it through the sonic washer, though he had his doubts on whether Cody would want to wear it again, even as he got better.

Though, of course, he reminded himself, trying to ward away the tentative hope that had begun forming in the outskirts of his mind, that didn’t necessarily had to happen.

Cody could get better, certainly, but he could also get worse. He could get worse, and worse, and worse…

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in sharp refusal of the thought. He couldn’t let himself get optimistic, but he knew needless anxiety would help neither him nor Cody. It was as the Grandmaster had said, once – Obi-Wan would do all he could, and if that failed, he would let go. Settle his mind, as much as even the thought of the possibility ached. And if it all worked, and Cody got better…

He would only thank the Force, and keep himself focused on his mission.

And in spite of it all, before he left to go outside and gather the things he needed, he couldn’t help but watch Cody for a moment – the colorless face, the sheen of sweat all over his skin, the blue-green stain of the zipper against his back and his limbs. Teeth, ground together in pain or nausea. His sunken eyes – they weren’t completely closed but the gaze beneath them was unseeing nonetheless. His laboured breathing, the way his body strained, the rattle in his chest that felt like an attempt to clear liquid. 

Obi-Wan turned around and made his way to the doorstep, turning back to glance at Cody just before closing the door behind him. There was a strange emptiness in his chest when he did look at him again, this time from a distance. 

He shook his head, turned back and more so ran rather than walked to get the bucket from behind the hut. Carrying it back, he reassured himself – just in case.

Just in case.

Make it stop.

Oh, it hurt too much. It was too much, it was burning him, it was freezing him, the stars lived and died within him, the stars in his eyes, tearing through muscle and bone and sinew and brain and skin and veins and it was burning and it hurt, it hurt far too much and make it stop, and make it stop.

It is snow.

Where did he first see snow? So cold, so white, so shiny.

Shiny, shiny, shiny.

Make it stop.

Where did he first see snow?

He wants to see the snow.

Can’t he see the snow?

Can’t he see the snow again?

Can’t he see the snow forever?

The day came and went – but, as the twinkling stars outside watched Obi-Wan settle carefully on the floor just a few steps away from the bed, Cody’s fever spiked.

In uneasy sleep, he kicked off the blanket, shoved it off the bed with the next jolt – and when Obi-Wan tried to put it back over him, bleary-eyed and heavy in the limbs, he struggled. Cody shoved his hands away, kicked at him weakly. It wasn’t deliberate aggression, Obi-Wan knew – it was likely not even one Cody was aware of. Simply a protest. His palms were wet with sweat, his breathing quick,  and only once Obi-Wan stopped trying to pull the blanket back onto him, he settled at last. And let Obi-Wan press a hand, tentatively, to his forehead.

Predictably enough, he was burning. Even more so than before. Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, wondering what might help – something in the icebox he kept, perhaps. It was the closest option to an icepack he could think of. He had no fever medicine – he couldn’t recall the last time he was sick on Tatooine in the first place. And he didn’t exactly have anyone else’s lungs to worry about before, either; though that was until now, he supposed.

He could make the trip to Mos Eisley or Mos Espa and get medicine. Walk to any settlement, really, or get to them through Anchorhead; go to Owen and Beru even. But, even as the options piled, Obi-Wan discarded them one by one – he couldn’t leave Cody alone like this.

His eyes settled on the shape of him, uncharacteristically small there on his bed – in spite of his insistence to leave him bare, Cody still curled up as he slept, though whether in pain or because of an instinct that urged him to shield himself, Obi-Wan did not know. He sighed, carefully brushing one sweat-damp curl off his forehead, and turned to get to his icebox.

It was hardly a refrigerator – too small to be called such, and he’d never kept much food at the same time, anyway. But it was sturdy enough, and it served its purpose. Still, once he opened it, Obi-Wan found himself somewhat at a loss of what he should do next.

There wasn’t much, inside. Some jogun fruit he’d bought last tenday, an old pack of frozen peas, blue milk – it spoiled slower than the regular, he found – and lots of empty space he could’ve filled with other things, should the need have arisen.

He hummed to himself quietly, an idea forming as he looked up to the table, eyes fixing on the half-filled glass of now-lukewarm water he’d left there in the evening. He’d tried to get Cody to drink – woken him again, tilting the glass carefully against his lips – and though he’d managed to get a few precious swallows of it in, he doubted it was enough to compensate for all the water he was losing through his sweating. Still, perhaps the water could serve a different purpose; it just wouldn’t do at that temperature, though.

He picked up the glass and, after taking one sip of the water inside for himself, placed it carefully among the fruit in the icebox. He wouldn’t keep it inside for long, he decided, closing the lid – only long enough so that the water might cool, and he could use it for what he had in mind.

He searched through his counters, next, finding multiple thin washcloths quickly enough. At that, he stifled a chuckle; he’d not thought he’d find any use for them. At least it justified, somewhat, the bit of hoarder’s habit he’d developed. In the end, he did not have many things just fall into his hands – nobody did, on Tatooine. It was convenient, Obi-Wan knew, to have enough for what he needed.

Once he’d folded the cloths carefully, he went back to check on Cody, allowing for a few more minutes for the water in the icebox. Cody was just where he’d left him, though his fingers were splayed against the blanket beneath him now instead of curling into his palms. Seeking relief from the heat that was ravaging him, it was more than clear to see – and still, he wouldn’t relax in his sleep. Wouldn’t let himself sprawl across the bed where the blanket was cooler. He curled into himself, stubbornly, tightly.

Careful not to push too hard, Obi-Wan took him by the shoulder, and, as gentle as he could manage to be, maneuvered Cody to lie on his back. Here, his arms fell to the sides, even as he made some small attempts to pull himself away from Obi-Wan, small sounds hitching in his throat as though each touch against his skin burned like an open flame.

But he’d get more air that way, Obi-Wan knew. And it’d be more comfortable eventually, even if Cody couldn’t understand it now.

Having at least succeeded in moving him as far as he would go, Obi-Wan returned to the icebox, plucking the glass of water out from where it had stood. Even the glass itself was chilly now, the water not truly icy but significantly cooler than it had been standing on the table, warmed by the air. He poured it into a wide bowl, careful not to spill a single drop of it, and gathered the washcloths he’d folded, pressing the first into the water.

It was no true shock against his fingertips – he didn’t think truly cold water would be anything but startling – but it was cool enough to feel the difference. And that would do, Obi-Wan thought – or, rather, hoped. That would do.

Once he’d brought it to the bed, he tilted Cody’s head back a little, trying to make sure no escaping droplets would drip over his nose and lips too much. And, slowly, as he draped the cool cloth over Cody’s forehead, Cody sighed at the first touch. There was something there, something like relief that made Obi-Wan want to follow right along in the feeling. He watched, fixing the washcloth in place, as a trickle of cold sweat rolled down Cody’s temple.

He dipped two more into the bowl and returned to Cody again, taking care to arrange his hands comfortably by his sides before he wrapped the cloths around his wrists too. Here was where Cody seemed less willing to cooperate – with a grimace, he tried to pull his hands away, though he didn’t move his head too much; thankfully, the cloth over his forehead stayed where it was.

“Shh,” Obi-Wan gentled, tilting his head back again, brushing his cool thumbs against the inside of Cody’s wrists to get him used to the temperature, holding him in place. “It’s okay, Cody, it’s just a wet rag. It’ll help you feel less hot. Won’t you let me help you?”

Muttering to him quietly, Obi-Wan pressed the cloths onto his wrists anew – and perhaps he was used to it now, or perhaps he’d heard him, but Cody didn’t struggle anymore; he just flexed his hand lightly, his fingers knobby and scarred.

Obi-Wan waited for him to still – waited, patiently, for him to slip back under. He wouldn’t leave the compresses on for long – it was best in short intervals, he knew, he could do it again in the morning – so he stayed seated by the bed, watching as Cody’s eyelashes fluttered lightly against the cloth. Again and again and again until he was breathing a little slower. The air still hitched in his throat, but it seemed just a little lighter now – just a little steadier.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan leaned down – slowly, slowly, until he was all but resting his forehead against the mattress. And, as lightly as he could manage, he brushed his lips against the base of Cody’s palm – warm to the touch, but no less than Obi-Wan’s own hands would’ve been.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes then, pressing his cheek against the blanket with a heavy exhale. It was all he could do, now, to wait – and perhaps hope, tentatively, that the morning might bring better tidings.

It hurt it was pain pain like he’d never felt it before and it was a

burning

it was a burning sensation like fire like

Like a blaster bolt with too much torn through it might as well have been shrapnel it lives within him

Too much too much too much too

make it stop

make it stop

Make it stop

he just wants it to stop

He wants it all to stop all of it

Make it stop

Make it stop and make it stop and make it stop and

see the snow forever

Make it stop

Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop

Make it stop

Make him stop.

It did not get better, in the morning.

If anything, it got worse.

Feeding him was simply not an option yet – even if he could’ve chewed and swallowed something consciously, Obi-Wan doubted he would keep it down for long. The bucket was nearby, yes, but he didn’t feel particularly inclined to give either of them a reason to use it. Still, as Cody’s face grew more and more ashen, his breathing more and more shallow, Obi-Wan felt a strange chill come to his limbs as well, watching Cody carefully whenever he himself wasn’t outside, tracking the rise and fall of his chest, the frequency near–obsessive.

Obi-Wan supposed that, in his defense, he did not have too many other things to care for. And even if he would have, all of them paled in comparison to Cody. However long it would remain so.

He closed his eyes where he remained with his head pressed to the blanket, his muscles feeling encased in stone even as his leg fell asleep, his knee aching. Inside him, anxiety washed over his core in pounding waves.

His heart stung at the thought of Cody dying under his care – but with him this sick, this worn, Obi-Wan just had to accept the possibility and attempt to work around it, he knew. He’d not gain anything by denying it, only cause himself more hurt. But what bothered him, truly, was Cody – Obi-Wan simply hoped he wasn’t keeping him suffering only for it to result in his death in the end, anyway. It would’ve been true torment, then, and it was the last thing Obi-Wan wanted for him; the last thing he could’ve wanted for a man who’d never been anything but endlessly loyal, endlessly caring, endlessly kind –

And still, he had to accept it.

It didn’t make the passage of time any easier. It didn’t make the food he ate taste any less like ash in Obi-Wan’s mouth as he was acutely aware Cody could not eat the same as him with every bite – no, as things were now, Cody could not eat at all.  He only took down the small gulps of water Obi-Wan poured slowly between his parted lips, careful not to choke him, and even those motions could’ve been subconscious. And likely were, Obi-Wan thought, as Cody gave little to no reaction to them other than the occasional grimace that twisted his face at the feel of lukewarm water against his throat.

And the acceptance certainly did not make it easier, in the end, to wake in the middle of the night once more as though startled by a dream he couldn’t remember – and to look to the side, and see that Cody’s breathing had become a mere whisper of air that scarcely travelled through his lips.  Laboured and weak and rattling – and so terrifyingly telling that any inklings of rest were gone from Obi-Wan’s mind in an instant.

He did not know what had happened, but he sensed it in some way, he thought – something in Cody’s mind parting in ragged shreds. Obi-Wan had broken his chip, that he was certain of – but it had not fixed everything, he could feel it effortlessly. And the fever was not just a fever, and the mind control had not just been mind control, and whatever was now left in Cody’s brain was trying to bring him back into order; into order that Obi-Wan had destroyed, broken into a million shards within to wrench Cody back into himself. It was gone, irreplaceable, incorrigible, and it was heart-numbingly relieving in the same manner it had now become utterly terrifying. Obi-Wan had no way to fight it; no way other than hope.

It did not mean he wouldn’t fight it, either way.

Obi-Wan pushed himself up onto his arms and all but crawled onto his own bed, lifting himself onto it and reaching out to brush against Cody’s temple – with his hand and, at the same time, with his mind. Catching a thread there – weak and splintering, freeing and damning.

It was a steady drum. Like the quickly fluttering heartbeat in Cody’s chest. Still there. Weak, but still there. Trying defiantly to wriggle away from him.

And whispering to him, Finally. And whispering to him, Peace. And whispering to him, Away.

Away. Away. Away.

“No,” Obi-Wan whispered, his still sleep–addled mind startled into an acute, unfamiliar horror as he pressed his hands, strangely cold, to Cody’s temples in desperation – in spite of the rest, of his own thoughts, in spite of everything – “No, no, hold on, hold on. I’ve got you, okay? Listen to me, Cody, I’ve got you. Just hold on. Hold on, I have you.”

It was cooler, there. Cooler than yesterday, and he thought – but it had worked, hadn’t it – and he’d done his best, and Cody had drunk the water, and he’d had the compresses on and – and why was he fading, then, what was wrong, where had it gone wrong, and –

What was his mind trying to force? Unable to fall back on the chip’s control, had it been truly weakened so that the only next course of action it saw was to – give in?

Finally–finally–finally, it said. The chip, the presence, or just – or Cody’s mind, tired, exhausted, wanting it all simply to end, it said, it whispered, Finally, finally, finally.

“Stay,” Obi-Wan managed, his voice barely getting past the lump in his throat. And all his anxieties, and all his fears of keeping Cody suffering for naught – all of them, so distant now. Erased by some measure of finality that he, in spite of all that he knew of inevitability, wasn’t ready to face. He pressed his pleas as close to Cody’s mind as he could without forcing them through his own, feeling his own fingers trembling against the thin brown skin that stretched over his temples. That protected his life – shielded so carelessly just where Obi-Wan’s hands covered him. “Stay, stay, I have you.” Cody’s face was twisted tight in a terrible grimace – as though he himself was fighting the vicious threads trying to rip his mind apart. Obi-Wan pressed closer to him – close enough to feel the shallow, superheated breaths that pulsed like blood from his parted lips. All the while, he spoke, hoping, somehow, that Cody would hear him. Perhaps more importantly, that he would believe him. “I have you, stay here. Stay with me. Hold on.”

Easy, easy. Quiet. Peace. Finally. Away.

“Shh,” Obi-Wan gentled, as though he could cradle his mind to sleep without letting Cody go. Knowing that, in the end, it would never truly be up to him. But he could do his best. Do all he could. “Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay. Right here with me, okay? You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay, Cody, just stay. Just stay.”

As he spoke, as he hoped, seconds or minutes or hours ticking away, his muscles cramped up where he was curled uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. There was sweat sticking to his forehead, to his back, warm and earned as he did all he could to just coax Cody’s mind back into some limbo. Someplace he could heal, someplace Obi-Wan could help him.

He didn’t know how long he spent leaned over Cody, hands curled near-defensively over his temples, fingers pressed against his forehead. He didn’t care to find out, even as the suns were slowly rising outside, the hut awash in their early morning light – all he knew was that as Cody’s life was slowly trying to seep from him, his mind was still boiling inside; his blood was still pulsing lightly beneath the skin; his heart was still beating. Even with the chip gone, as his brain tried to reject its own rewiring, as the durasteel chains that had bound him for so long suddenly snapped and threw him into some thoughtless void, he was fighting. Even as he was fading, everything he could feel telling him it would be easier just to give up, easier just to rest, he was fighting.

He always had.

Obi-Wan could not keep him going alone. And Obi-Wan, he found, didn’t have to.

It was a heavy thing, when he opened his eyes; to mere slits, fever hot and painful and clear in the whites of them, but he opened his eyes still. His gaze wandered for a moment as though he was trying to figure out what he was looking at – and then settled, finally, on Obi-Wan.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan whispered, and surprised even himself at just how soft his voice sounded. Cody was awake. Cody was here. And death was no longer lurking just barely out of reach in the moment.

And Cody spoke, then, to his blinding surprise, even as it was scarcely more than a whisper.

“Obi-Wan,” he managed, the words forced through a swollen, hurting throat. “Obi-Wan.”

“I’m right here,” Obi-Wan assured him, the words spilling in a tirade again. “Right here, Cody. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, okay, and stay with me. You’ll be okay.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody repeated again, as though enchanted, and then his gaze skittered away, eyelids fluttering downward as he squinted at the wall in front of himself. “Obi-Wan.”

“Easy now,” Obi-Wan murmured, trying to not let much relief seep into his tone at just being able to hear Cody’s voice. “You should rest, dear one. Your body is so much more tired than your mind would let you believe.”

“Mm.” Cody blinked, slowly, and it took Obi-Wan a minute to see that he was looking at him again. Uncertain about something, or lost. “Obi-Wan?”

“I’m here,” Obi-Wan told him, patiently. He wondered if Cody could understand him – or if he was reacting to the sound alone, the fever and pain too heavy to focus on speech. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay, Cody?”

“Mm,” Cody hummed again, and Obi-Wan was just about beginning to believe it was a simple acknowledgement of his own name.

Which –

It was good. It was good, Obi-Wan thought, that he recognized his name.

With that, Cody’s eyes slipped shut again – and it did not take a long time for him to drift away after that, pressed under the heavy weight of exhaustion after fighting his own mind for so long.

Obi-Wan sat and listened for long moments, searching as attentively as he could for anything else Cody’s mind might project outwards where he could reach it. He’d never liked diving inside others’ heads, and there was scarcely ever any need to. Different people’s perceptions of living tended to be unique enough to startle in the best cases and harm considerably in the worst – and he did not want to risk making it even worse for Cody when his mind, to the best of Obi-Wan’s ability to tell, had gone so blissfully silent.

It was all he could do to hope that it had simply been the last of the chip’s dying gasps.

He disentangled himself from where he’d been curled over Cody, hissing quietly as his back protested with sharp aches here and there, and slid off the bed, slowly. He settled, feeling heavy, on the floor – his back and head leaned against the bed for a moment as he, too, allowed his eyes to slip closed.

He would not sleep – would not be able to, even if he wanted to. The fragility of Cody’s state had  startled him so acutely that the mere thought of rest was near-inconceivable. His eyes turned, instead, to the small windows – to the light he only truly noticed now, pooling in each crevice of the hut. It was not yet so heated as to let the entire desert know the day had begun; warmth was trickling inside bit by bit, the rays of sunlight not unlike drops of molten gold as they seeped closer and closer to Obi-Wan’s feet. Closer and closer to Cody’s hand, resting limp and motionless atop the blanket he had let Obi-Wan drape over him yesterday.

Obi-Wan sat, his hand resting loosely on the edge of his bed so he might feel any movement Cody made, and watched the suns rise on.

In spite of finally, finally having an old companion right next to him, his mystery solved and his life still coursing faintly just beneath the his skin, Obi-Wan found himself feeling terribly, maddeningly lonely.

Someone’s hands on his head. Pressing it to flesh that beat, relentless, against his chest. He felt filthy, he felt disgusting. There was a foul taste in his mouth. 

Something cold and wet was pressed to his face. To his lips, his chin, his neck. Blissful.

He tried to call out, but nobody answered. He thought there were tears on his face. But the fingers that wiped them off were much warmer than his own skin. Kinder. Lighter. And the weight on his head was made a little easier by the hand that cupped his face and held him straight, leaning him against – something, something warm, something solid.

He closed his eyes again, and tried to swallow down the bile climbing up his throat.

He could not afford to keep him unfed any longer.

Frankly, Obi-Wan had no idea how Cody would handle food, other than the fact that his stomach would not take it well; he’d not let Obi-Wan feed him anything since he’d brought him back from Anchorhead, and it seemed to Obi-Wan that even before that Cody had not had an exactly sufficient amount of food available to him – his brown skin that had nearly once shone, even as he fed near-exclusively on GAR rations, was now stretched thin over his bones and muscles, ashen and scarred, his hair dry and quick to fall at a brush. They’d have to start out slow, no matter what – and while Cody hadn’t thrown up due to his fever or pain yet, Obi-Wan had eyed the bucket in the corner in consideration multiple times as he thought about how to best go about the situation.

He could start, he decided at last, by getting Cody into a position where he could swallow with less risk of choking on whatever Obi-Wan fed him.

The suns were high in the sky when Obi-Wan finally finished putting together some semblance of a plan he could follow with all that he had – he was not considering leaving Cody still, even as the food ran scarcer and scarcer. He could not, not yet – Cody was too fragile there in his bed, too weak. Too delicately balanced on an edge between ravines – anything could’ve happened. Anything at all.

But those thoughts had never helped him. And fear, while an effective motivator, was not a sustainable one. He clamped down on the considerations of all that could easily go wrong and tried to focus on that which he could force to go right – and he could, in the end, make sure Cody had at least a chance to keep something down.

Cody no longer shook so badly under his touch whenever Obi-Wan laid his hand on him – he woke up, sometimes, though he was still disoriented and lost in whatever he saw behind his eyes in sleep. Sometimes he’d recognize Obi-Wan – call out his name with increasing desperation until Obi-Wan leaned over the bed to quiet him – but sometimes it was as though he was blind and deaf to it all, unseeing eyes staring blankly out into the distance, and no amount of speaking or touching would bring him back to his mind.

Obi-Wan could only hope it was one of the good days.

He leaned down and brushed his fingers against Cody’s shoulder, the pressure barely there before easing.

“Cody,” he murmured, uncertain, waiting and watching and listening – if he did not wake up, Obi-Wan had no other way to feed him. Some watered-down soup, perhaps – not much else to speak of. It would not be enough for long. It was not enough now.

To his relief, Cody’s eyelids twitched and flicked upwards quickly, though he squinted as soon he registered the light and turned his head to the wall. Obi-Wan shifted a little so his figure cast a shadow over Cody’s face, offering him at least some respite from the sunlight.

“Hello, there,” he said, as quietly as he could manage – Cody seemed to take neither daylight nor noise well. Even the sound of Obi-Wan running the dishwasher or heating water appeared to put a strain on his already weakened body, straining to process something he simply could not – not yet, at least. “It’s good that you’re awake, dear one. We’ll try and get some food in you today. Help you feel better.”

He liked listening to Obi-Wan speaking, it seemed – would his head toward the sound of his voice, blinking deliberately as he tried to catch the sight of Obi-Wan’s lips moving as though attempting to connect the sound to the source. Cody had always liked listening, Obi-Wan knew. He had been a quiet enough man when well – and though Obi-Wan was sure it simply pained him too much to speak at the moment, it didn’t mean hearing a voice disturbed him. Obi-Wan’s voice, specifically, appeared to calm him at least minutely. It helped him sleep, sometimes – slip under bit by bit when something in his mind was trying to keep him alert at the cost of its own strength. And it helped him wake like this, helped him shift from unconsciousness to reality a little more smoothly.

So Obi-Wan spoke – a lot.

It was what he’d once excelled at.

And what a strange pair the two of them made together, he considered, offering Cody a small smile even as he knew his skewed sense of sight would struggle to register it.

“You must be hungry,” he murmured, leaning close and resting his chin on the bed just in front of Cody’s face, watching him narrow his eyes as his gaze skittered from the wall to Obi-Wan. Even as his awareness seemed to return slower than his consciousness, Obi-Wan found that Cody – recognized him, in some way, or at least seemed to find him familiar. “Don’t worry if you can’t feel it. Hunger doesn’t tend to linger – that’s one of the few good things about it, sometimes. You’ve been asleep a long time now, dear one, but you haven’t eaten in a while, have you?” He smiled, faintly, and Cody squinted further – as though confused by the mere sight of it. It was reasonable, Obi-Wan supposed, sensing himself the dissonance. There wasn’t much to smile about, after all. “Are you not overheating, Cody? Let me see.”

Carefully, he rolled back the blanket a little, pressing his lips together as the change in temperature made Cody scrunch his nose up. He twitched as Obi-Wan touched a hand to his shoulder, as gentle as he could be, and slid it down to feel his wrist and his hand, finding them – colder, somewhat. Obi-Wan hummed to himself, curious – and, just to check, moved lower down to brush a gentle touch down Cody’s legs.

Cody’s feet were cold, Obi-Wan found, and furrowed his brow, unsure how that was even possible – it was very warm inside, and it had been that way for as long as he could remember. But Cody had been shivering hours before, and fever messed with temperature all over, so he supposed there were stranger things that could’ve happened. Still, he didn’t seem to be overheating – even more so, there seemed to be a physical basis for his sensations of freezing he’d told Obi-Wan about before he’d been brought inside, too. Obi-Wan wondered if that was something he could fix – if perhaps making sure that his hands and legs were warm – but not too warm – would help his sickness at all. Just like everything else, it may only have been worth a shot.

At the same time, he stifled a humorless chuckle, sounding hopeless even to himself – anything was worth a try, at this point. Just on the off chance that it might work.

It didn’t take long for him to dig through what clothing he had in his possession and pull out the socks he couldn’t ever recall wearing before. They were thick – bantha wool, the woman that had sold them to him had said, nodding to him as the lines across her face softened just the slightest bit. He’d asked her why she spent her time selling warm woolen socks on Tatooine when they were perhaps more suited to be worn on planets like Hoth – he’d been a near-decade younger and entirely hopeless, then – and she’d simply told him, with a knowing smile, that, in the end, someone had to.

He didn’t remember, now, how he ended up buying the pair. Perhaps on a moment’s whim he had so rarely allowed himself back then, or perhaps out of needless pity for the old woman that reminded him of someone he’d known long ago. He couldn’t place a finger on it then – and now, with her long-gone from the corner of the markets where she’d stood since before the Wars had ever started, he didn’t think he’d get the chance to try again.

Still, he supposed, pulling the heavy cover of the chest he kept down, she was right in some way. People bought her socks, that much he’d known – perhaps for situations exactly like this, when desperation would cause them to grasp at any single thread that might hold them.

Quietly, he thanked the Force, knowing he was thanking the woman within it, and hoped her passing brought just a bit more Light into that which lingered inside all of them. So many passed on these days – especially with Stormtroopers walking through the streets of the cities – and Obi-Wan could do nothing about it. Some days, he felt as though even the Force itself could do nothing about it.

He took a breath, shaking the considerations and grievances from his head as he narrowed down his thoughts to that which he could still help. Cody, freezing and burning on his bed at once, breathing shallowly but breathing still.

Obi-Wan straightened out the socks with his hands a little, pressing them to the heated skin of his neck to warm them for a moment as he returned to Cody’s side. He knelt on the ground so he was around Cody’s midsection, but leaned to the side so he might look him in the eyes as he spoke.

“Hello, dear one,” he greeted him quietly again, patient as the brown eyes focused back on him where Cody had been staring blankly at the pale column in front of himself, likely not seeing much at all. “Your feet are very cold. But I’ve brought socks.”

He lifted them to Cody’s eye level, and the fuzzy gaze followed the twisting pattern around the hem of it for a moment before he squeezed his eyes shut, the corner of his lips twitching into a grimace.

“They’re made of bantha wool, or so I’m told.  Have you ever seen a bantha, Cody? You must have, they’re not too uncommon in a few areas of the Mid Rim.” Obi-Wan eased himself back onto his feet, considering his next actions sufficiently explained, but that didn’t mean that he needed to stop talking. So he didn’t. “I’ll put those socks on you now, alright? That’ll help warm your feet up a little.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled back the blanket where it was draped over Cody’s feet. Idly, just before lifting his leg at the ankle, he added, “We should go and find a bantha herd, once you’re better. You’ll see just how thick their coats can get – those poor things, carrying so much all the time.”

Still, no matter how much he tried to soothe him by talking, as soon as his hand was on Cody’s skin, Cody made a noise of discomfort, trying to pull it away. Obi-Wan murmured apologies and meaningless comforts, slowly rolling the thick sock over his foot before letting it go, then doing the same with the other. Cody didn’t squirm again, even as Obi-Wan pressed a firm line from the ball of his foot to the heel with his knuckles, trying to get some initial warmth to pass through. Still, when he tucked the blanket over him again, Cody did draw his legs up, curling up as though he was cold still.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan moved away and toward the counters, leaving him be for the moment. He knew well how unpleasant being touched could feel when fever was ravaging a body – though there wasn’t much to be done that could help it.

Perhaps food would sort at least something out a little.

Anything at all, really.

“You wouldn’t happen to remember when you last ate, would you, Cody?" he asked, expecting – well, he didn’t expect much, truth to be told.

“Nnh,” replied Cody, though Obi-Wan wasn’t really sure he understood what he’d been asked.

“I figured,” he said, again, and tried not to be too loud. “We can’t have you only drinking water, now, when I don’t even know when you’ve last had a bite in your mouth. Hm.” He sorted through the cupboard, and never before had labels bled into each other quite this much. He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his brain. “Wouldn’t be good to give you anything heavy on the stomach, either. I’ll see what I can do.”

Cody didn’t reply to that, but Obi-Wan kept on talking, quiet as he was – he found that it helped him too, somewhat, to plan things aloud instead of silently losing his mind with worry. 

“Maybe tip-yip soup? I do have the broth – that ought to work.” He glanced over his shoulder, checking on him. Cody looked no better than he had before, staring off into nowhere through half-lidded eyes – though he seemed to have relaxed a little underneath the blankets as opposed to staying so tightly curled into a ball like before. “What do you think? Have you ever even had tip-yip soup?” Without waiting for an answer, Obi-Wan turned back around. “You should try some, in any case. No one can go on without food at all. And you should be able to keep it down too – oh, but I really shouldn’t talk about that, should I? It’ll just make it linger in your thoughts.”

Finally finding what he needed, he pulled the bag out and put it down on the counter, returning to Cody’s side for a moment, finding his hand underneath the blanket. He was still cold there, even as the rest of his body burned. Obi-Wan shook his head and tried to muster up at least some semblance of an encouraging smile for Cody’s foggy brown eyes to focus on. He failed spectacularly at it – and finally gave it up with a shaky exhale.

“I’m sorry, dear one,” he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly against Cody’s forehead, damp with the ever–present, shining sheen of sweat. “You’ll be okay.”

At his touch, Cody’s eyes fluttered closed again, though Obi-Wan could’ve only guessed at whether he wanted it to continue or to stop – his heart ached at it.

The soup didn’t take him long – he watched Cody from time to time as he stepped away from the stove, letting in some fresh air through the window on the other side of the hut. Still, little by little, the smell of the simmering soup spread through the hut, and Obi-Wan pressed his lips together as with it came the realization that he, too, was a little hungry.

But never mind all that. Cody came first – Cody, who, as Obi-Wan turned to glance at him after adjusting the heat for the final time, had turned to watching him with a sort of hollow gaze, if puzzled. Obi-Wan had explained to him what he was doing – narrating nearly his every movement, everything he added into the soup, what he thought of the process and of the result. And Cody had listened, idly. Perhaps he’d not comprehended it – not until now – but, again, Obi-Wan could only guess at it.

“Tip-yip soup, remember?” he asked, smiling faintly to him as he lifted the empty bowl. Cody’s eyes darted up toward him, narrow and shining. “It’s almost done now. Can you tell?” Slowly, his gaze slipped downward, settling somewhere around the column in front of him. Obi-Wan sighed, trying to keep up his smile – finding it infinitely more difficult now that Cody wasn’t looking at him. “I’m sure you can, darling.”

It wasn’t a long road from there – once he turned off the heat, Obi-Wan wiped at his own forehead, damp with sweat. The soup had turned out – all right, he supposed, a rousing scent in the air and a pleasant colour, though he’d tried not to oversaturate it for Cody; who knew how his stomach might react. It was better to have it be a little bland than for it to be harmful. Besides, he doubted Cody would spot that much of a difference anyway.

He placed the half-filled bowl on the table; what Cody wouldn’t be able to finish, Obi-Wan would. He knew to be careful, to not overdo it – still, unwanted memories prodded at him. The ravenous twists of his guts that would fade eventually, leaving only a strange numb hollowness in their wake; the way they would reject anything he might’ve offered, after. The tremors and spasms and nausea that would overtake him in bouts until his stomach learned, again, how to accept and process food.

He bit the inside of his cheek, chasing away the thoughts, and hoped, helplessly, that Cody’s body might adjust more easily to these sorts of things. But Cody was in no good shape, already sick and weakened and not getting better – and Obi-Wan forced out a breath, and stepped closer to him, knowing well the futility of such thoughts.

Do, he could hear in his mind, and would not finish that sentence. Try, do not. Think, do not. Allow doubt into your mind, do not. Allow uncertainty, do not. Allow fear, do not.

Focus. Only focus. Steady, steady. Only steady. As he braced one knee on the edge of his bed, he tensed his arms. He had no space in time, no space in mind for doubt. No space for trying – only for doing, as well as he could.

“Cody?” he said softly, listening to him hum in response to his name. “I know, I know. Bear with me, now. This might be uncomfortable.” With that, he lifted him – just a push to his back from beneath, pulling him, as carefully as he could, to his chest – where Cody immediately tried to hide his face from the daylight by smushing it into Obi-Wan’s side. “No, dear one, I’m sorry. Just for a moment, okay? Just until you eat.”

He braced Cody against the propped-up pillow, and Cody’s fingers curled up, rising to grab at his sides when Obi-Wan tried to pull away so he could bring over the bowl of soup. He carded his fingers through Cody’s hair, murmuring quietly – that he’d return, that it’d be okay, that Cody had to let go of him.

To his surprise, before he could reach down to gently pry Cody’s hands away, they grew lax on their own. The fingers uncurled slowly and fell back to his stomach; Obi-Wan felt his shaky exhale, saw, when he moved back, the slow closing of his eyes. Carefully, he brushed his thumb against Cody’s cheek, the stubble on his jaw scraping softly against his skin.

“Don’t sleep, Cody,” he whispered, able to tell Cody was watching him as his eyes opened again, very slightly. He understood Obi-Wan then – better than he had before, perhaps. But Obi-Wan, moving back to the table, didn’t let hope take hold in his chest. Not yet. “Try and stay awake for a little while, okay? Just until you eat, and then you can rest again.”

He seemed to listen, at least until Obi-Wan returned with the soup, easing his weight onto the bed by Cody’s side. They were not quite level with one another – Cody wasn’t really sitting up straight, his weight braced against the pillow – but it was the closest they’d been to it since…

Obi-Wan couldn’t quite recall, truly.

Still, he tried to be reassuring. The smile he managed to put on was softer than the last – but even that, it seemed, couldn’t fool Cody, lost in delirium as he was. When he saw the soup, steaming lightly in the bowl, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think his expression was almost – skeptical.

“Not hungry?” he asked, sympathetic, and the turn of Cody’s head, the near-shamed skittering of his eyes was just as good an answer as a verbal one would’ve been. “Oh, I know, dear one. You don’t have to eat the entire bowl. Just a few spoonfuls to get your stomach working again.” Still talking, he picked up the spoon – just the broth for the first few, he thought, in case something went wrong there. Cody scrunched up his nose as he brought it closer – the motion startled an unexpected laugh out of Obi-Wan, in spite of the situation. Cody looked up at him, perhaps surprised just as well by the sound. “Oh, Cody,” Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head the slightest bit as he leaned forward, careful not to spill any soup on him. “I promise, you’ll feel better after you eat.”

Even as he coaxed Cody to part his lips and accept the first spoonful, the dishonesty stung at his chest – if anything, it was more likely he’d feel somewhat unwell after eating again for the first time, but there was truly no reason to worry him with it when neither of them knew anything for certain.

Cody swallowed the first – with some difficulty, Obi-Wan could see it in the grimace in his already tense expression. He decided it was to be expected – any time Cody spoke, to murmur about things Obi-Wan could not understand or to call out his name, his voice sounded hoarse enough for his throat to have been all but completely swollen shut. Something hot ought to have relieved it at least a little bit, Obi-Wan thought to himself – perhaps some of the tea he had in the cupboard; he drank it only on his weakest days, the heat of the planet erasing most of the pleasure in it, but Cody… Cody might’ve benefitted from it.

For now, though, Obi-Wan fed him the soup.

He took a few more spoonfuls until Obi-Wan scooped up a small piece of the tip-yip meat along with the broth and brought it to Cody’s mouth. It was shredded into slivers so that there was no real need to chew much, but Obi-Wan felt a wave of relief nonetheless when Cody did so, slowly, his eyes slipping shut as though he was deliberating something.

“Is that okay?” Obi-Wan asked, leaning a little closer to him to listen should he reply. “It’s boiled, you know. Do forgive me if it’s a little bland, I didn’t want to go too far for the first meal…”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody murmured, eyes still closed – but his voice had a certain tone to it, mild and weak as it might’ve been; Obi-Wan couldn’t help snorting quietly at it.

“I worry too much, don’t I?” he whispered, pulling away a little. “It’s what you always said, dear one.”

Just as he was pulling back, Cody’s fingers closed, shaking, around Obi-Wan’s wrist. Obi-Wan just managed to slip the spoon back into the bowl without letting anything spill, humming inquisitively, looking up at him. Cody had opened his eyes and was staring forward at the soup, lips pressed tightly together and brows furrowed. Recognizing his frustration, Obi-Wan tilted his head, leaning forward and into him again.

“There is no shame in needing help when you’re unwell,” he told him, softly, but Cody only made some small, hurt noise in the back of his throat, his grip tightening. Obi-Wan smiled to him faintly, turning his hand a little. “As soon as you can manage it, you can eat without me, okay? But I don’t want you to spill hot soup over yourself right now. Let me do this for you today, would you?”

After considering it for a long moment, Cody relaxed his grip again, though he didn’t seem pleased with it – while he accepted Obi-Wan’s help, he seemed near-defeated, somehow. Even more so than he already was.

And the worst of it all was the fact that Obi-Wan couldn’t say he didn’t understand. He had always disliked being restricted – whether it was because of a healing wound or simple circumstance, the inability to care or decide for himself would greatly frustrate him. And Cody was much the same – it was perhaps one of the largest reasons why they worked so well together, though not without some of their larger clashes being borne of it as well.

In spite of it all, Cody didn’t try to reach for the spoon again, and, bite by bite, he managed to swallow perhaps a quarter of the bowl Obi-Wan had filled halfway; although it wasn’t much, it was more than an adequate start.

If he was going to keep it down, at least.

Eventually, Cody shoved at his hand, withdrawing from him.

“One more?” Obi-Wan offered, smiling faintly. “Just the broth, here.”

Cody pressed his lips together before parting them and murmured, quietly, “’S enough.” His voice didn’t sound quite so hoarse anymore, confirming Obi-Wan’s guess on a hot beverage helping calm the swelling a little – perhaps clearing his thoughts a smidge, too.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan conceded, softly, standing up from where he’d been sitting on the bed. “I’ll eat the rest, then. Stay seated for a little bit, alright? So it doesn’t come back up.”

Cody closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillow – Obi-Wan took it as agreement and carried the bowl to the table, sitting down and lifting the spoon to his own mouth. It took him far less time to finish the rest – he debated refilling the bowl once he was done, but figured it wouldn’t get too cold in the pot, and his hunger was soothed well enough for now.

He watched Cody for a little while, then, paying little mind to the suns setting outside. He ought to shut the windows for the night, it occurred to him, and to draw closed the curtains; still, there was some time until nightfall, and Obi-Wan would manage it in time. Cody’s eyes were opened to slits once more, watching, surprisingly enough, the windows. Perhaps he couldn’t fall asleep sitting up; Obi-Wan couldn’t have faulted him for it.

After determining that enough time had passed, he returned to Cody, helping him lie down for sleep or at least rest that was a little more comfortable. Cody tipped his head back, lips parted and eyes open still – the bedding must’ve cooled a little while Cody wasn’t lying in it. Obi-Wan smiled faintly and drew his blanket up to his hips, allowing for him to pull it up or off by his own choosing, and went about the rest of the chores he still had.

Cleaning up the kitchen wasn’t that difficult; not since he’d gotten that old sonic washer fixed, anyway. He had to admit it relaxed him a little, even as he kept glancing at Cody over his shoulder every once in a while. He kept more or less quiet, wishing somewhat that Cody might go to sleep since he’d eaten; perhaps the food would help him sleep through the entire approaching night.

With the windows closed, the kitchen clean and the table cleared, Obi-Wan walked to the dishwasher, only truly letting Cody out of his sight then. He seemed well enough, breathing quietly through his mouth with his eyes closed at last, and Obi-Wan allowed himself a smidge of hope as he placed the bowls and boards into the washer.

Just before he could turn it on, the sliver of hope in his chest twisted into alarm.

“Obi-Wan,” he heard – just close enough to manage to make it out, Cody’s voice scarcely more than a whisper, strangled in his throat and tense, the tone rising – “Obi-Wan?”

Praying to the Force that perhaps Cody was just startled by his sudden disappearance, Obi-Wan hurried back to the main room – and found Cody pushing himself upward, his arms trembling as he braced first on his elbows and then tried to move onto his palms.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Obi-Wan repeated, crouching just by the edge of his bed, catching him by the link of his elbow just as he leaned too far forth. “Is something wrong, Cody? What’s wrong?”

Cody parted his lips, and said nothing – after a moment of staring forward with wide eyes, he coughed. Just once – the sound wet and choked, stuck somewhere in his throat.

Obi-Wan recognized it – from ages past, it seemed, from within the Healing Halls and the walls of his and his Master’s chambers. He instantly dove away for the bucket he kept by the bin just in case – and grabbed it just in time to return to Cody and shove it underneath him. As Cody doubled over, body bowing up as the tension reached its peak, Obi-Wan all but fell sideways on his bed and slung a hand under Cody’s chest to keep him from falling face-first into the mess.

It was a horrid sound, Cody’s retching. Worse still was sensing the way his body spasmed; he could feel Cody’s fingers shaking, grasping at Obi-Wan’s hand, though whether he was trying to hold on or to get him to let go, Obi-Wan couldn’t say. Cody was trembling like a leaf, his arm and his side damp with sweat where he was pressed to Obi-Wan’s chest as Obi-Wan wrapped his other arm securely around his back, keeping him steady in a sort of embrace.

“Easy,” Obi-Wan murmured as another wave shook him, almost certain Cody wouldn’t understand him but knowing that just the speech helped, sometimes. Reassured, at the very least. “Easy now, it’s okay. It’ll pass, let it pass.”

They rode it out together, curled up there on the blankets that Obi-Wan would have to change, undoubtedly; he told Cody to breathe, quietly, through the seconds-long pauses between his retching again. The sound of it was wet, still, but Cody managed it, slumping into Obi-Wan, letting his sweat and sick and tears soak into his shirt, letting him draw small circles into his back with his thumb.

Obi-Wan couldn’t have said how long it lasted. Nevertheless, by the time it slowed, by the time Cody, bit by bit, settled, he could say with certainty that all of the soup Cody had swallowed was out of his stomach. He had vomited until he didn’t have anything more to throw up, and even then his body still convulsed, trying to expel that which was no longer there.

Obi-Wan coaxed him to lie back, after, to rest against him for as long as he was uncertain there would be no more. Cody’s face had gone ashen, his skin shining with sweat; his face was slack as Obi-Wan reached down for the edge of the towel on the bed and wiped his eyes, the corners of his mouth. When Obi-Wan tried to get him to drink a bit of the water he kept by the bed, though, Cody grimaced and pushed it away; and when Obi-Wan sighed and leaned down to put it back where it was, Cody reached out, making a small, quiet noise in the back of his throat as he grabbed Obi-Wan’s wrist again.

“I’m not leaving, Cody,” Obi-Wan promised, leaning back against the wall, Cody – entirely limp by then – going right down with him. “I’m not going anywhere, dear one. I’m right here with you. Okay?”

Cody hummed in response – neither a voice nor a whisper.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan murmured, carding his fingers through Cody’s oily curls, over and over as though just the motion would calm his shaking, exhausted body. “Okay. We’ll try something less solid tomorrow, then. Easy now, darling. Rest.”

The world was off-kilter and he wanted nothing more than to not be in it. It was a disgusting change to pain, something that twisted all his insides and made him want to die rather than be here to feel it. It felt devouring, consuming, ripping and tearing at him as he lay there, feeling hot and hotter and hotter and hotter until it was just a sickening sludge inside him, boiling him away, bubbling and surging up within him.

He cried, and it flowed. He cried, and it didn’t help. He cried, and it only got better before it got worse again.

Thirteen hours after the first time, Cody threw up again. Obi-Wan managed it in time, once again helping Cody with keeping himself upright, sliding the now-emptied bucket in front of him. He combed back his hair with his hand, muttering useless comforts and there-theres. Even as his nose scrunched up when he leaned over the bucket to look at its contents – that tip-yip soup hadn’t gone undigested entirely, after all – it was a start. Perhaps a sign that they should begin with something even lighter, but a start nonetheless.

For whichever time, as he helped Cody clean up and as he made him drink a few sips of water before lying back down and as he took the bucket out of the hut, Obi-Wan cursed his Padawan self up and down for not just signing up to practice in the Healing Halls when he’d had the chance. It’d always come with bitter thoughts now, he feared – with the images of the dead smiling to him, the kind if tired faces of Bant and Tirjak and Pagha’eliwe’eru, the stern reliability Master Che had always exuded.  But the moment had never been something he would be able to escape, he knew. And so there was no point in fearing the past now – here, he only needed to guard Cody from it.

It was just what he tried to do, with the broths and the blankets and the teas that Cody, in spite of Obi-Wan’s best efforts, simply wouldn‘t drink. And if he did, he wouldn’t keep them down; as the hours ticked by, Obi-Wan could barely coax him into accepting some water, if only because it cleared his mouth of the foul taste of sick. And Obi-Wan wasn’t ready to give up – he didn’t think he ever would be, not when it came to this – but there was simply nothing else to do but sit by, sleepless and desperate, and try over and over and over again.

He closed his eyes, eventually – he’d startled himself when he’d looked in the mirror in the fresher, how bloodshot and cloudy and shining they were – and rested his forehead against the edge of Cody’s bed for whichever time in however many days. The darkness was tempting, forbidden just the same – he felt as though he’d just brought Cody into the hut again, his hands tangled in Obi-Wan’s tunics, his head burning against Obi-Wan’s chest. It was not so, and still it felt just the same. It felt as though he might slip through Obi-Wan’s fingers at any moment, crumble down like the grains of sand that surrounded them, always.

Obi-Wan could hear himself let loose a breath, held tight somewhere in the tension that had wound tight around him. He was tired – but what did he know, truly, of exhaustion? Of the limitations his body enforced on him to keep him going – but he could go just fine, just like this. He could continue on, change Cody’s bedding if he sweated through it again, coax him into parting his lips, trickle water, drop by precious drop, down his throat; fuel his life, for as long as it could be managed. This sort of affliction could not be permanent; there had to be some solution, some resolution. Something Obi-Wan could do – more than he was doing now, he just needed to – figure out what it was, what he could do. He needed to...

Take the medicine, perhaps, in Anchorhead, surely Beru or Owen would know someone – someplace – or perhaps they’d...

Have the medicine, he wouldn’t need to go far, Cody right here asleep in his bed, and when...

Did he start thinking of it as Cody’s bed, really, it only made sense, Obi-Wan had not slept in it in days, except for...

He sighed, the warmth so pleasant, but no – just a moment, and he’d get back up; try some broth perhaps, try to just get some of the nutrients in it again into Cody’s system, and...

Except for yesterday, yes, though he’d not slept, he’d rested Cody against his chest and watched him breathe, and it was a wonderful thing, really, watching him breathe, and Obi-Wan needed to keep him alive, keep him breathing, get him back on his feet, and there had to be something, there had to be something, there had to be...

There had to be something, there...

As though in some dream – some fog of his mind, he could feel the press of cold fingers against his forehead. Stroking his hair, tracing along the longer curls that fell over his eyes if he didn’t brush them behind his ears. Over, and over, and over again. He sighed, again – it was a pleasant touch, even if he knew it couldn’t have been real. Nobody else was there, no – just him and Cody, and Obi-Wan had to take care of him. Had to make sure he would be –

He was –

He opened his eyes, feeling drowsy, as soon as he heard the bed creak the slightest bit. Movement – there was movement in front of him. He raised his head – there was a crick in his neck, irritating as he rolled his shoulders – and met Cody’s glance where he’d lifted himself onto his elbows, staring, his hand laid limp just a couple of inches away from Obi-Wan’s nose.

Obi-Wan sat up straighter, blinking away the exhaustion, the last traces of his rest, and tilted his head at Cody, trying to follow his glance.

“Cody?” he said, his voice tempered somewhat by just how hoarse it sounded. Cody didn’t usually sit up, he just – watched Obi-Wan go about things, if all was well, so now... “Are you alright, dear one?”

Cody pressed his lips together – and his eyes were wide, but that didn’t mean he was seeing well. Instead, his stare was directed somewhere toward Obi-Wan’s waist, only lifting slowly to his face once he followed, it seemed, the sound of his voice. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing with it.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong, Cody?” Obi-Wan coaxed him, gently, leaning forward a little when Cody parted his lips. He always seemed so frustrated, when he found himself too weak to speak, his throat too swollen or his mind too foggy, but now – perhaps – “I’ll help you, darling. I’ll help you with whatever it is.”

Cody shook his head mildly – even the small movement seemed to cause discomfort – and then, with a small exhale –

“I’m so – so cold,” he managed. Quiet and hoarse, but – “It’s so cold, it’s so – …”

Obi-Wan nodded along, gentling him to lie back down even as he listened. It was the most he’d spoken in days – still, it was the evening of a scalding day, so unremarkable here on Tatooine. And it was still warm – hot even, but – Cody was shaking. The blanket that he’d pulled up to his chest didn’t seem to be doing much in terms of helping him. 

“I’m so cold,” he muttered again, eyes fixed on Obi-Wan now, words spilling out as though something had broken through in him. “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, it’s so cold – “

“I hear you, dear one, I understand,” Obi-Wan murmured soothingly to him, checking his head – feverish, not as though he’d expected otherwise – and his hands, his feet again, which were unremarkably warm, as well. He did not know how Cody could’ve possibly been cold – his body, at least, seemed to be regulating itself as well as it could. Still, to the best of his ability, Obi-Wan tucked the blanket under his sides to keep him warmer, in case there was any chance the sensations were caused by something physical.

“I’m so cold,” Cody repeated, stuttering over his own words – and it must’ve been true, he was trembling with it, Obi-Wan could feel it through the blanket alone. His voice, too, was growing weaker and weaker as the use of it exhausted his throat – swollen still and likely painful. “I – please, – it’s so cold.”

“I’m sorry, dear one,” Obi-Wan said, wracking his head to try and come up with any reason why he possibly could’ve been feeling cold outside of simple delirium. There was one other blanket he could’ve offered him, that was true – but it was heavy, far too thick for – anything, really. If Cody were to overheat on top of everything else... “How about I make you some hot tea, Cody? That should help you warm up.”

If nothing else, perhaps it would be a good way to try and offer him a solution – if this was something his mind alone was convincing him of, then maybe the tea could fix it. Still, Obi-Wan had been endlessly careful with the amount of – anything, truth to be told, that he put in Cody’s body, but he was certain he could manage a little tea. It didn’t need to be a thermos – not even a cup, really, Obi-Wan thought to himself as he made his way into the kitchenette. He just needed to have a little. For his throat – and for the cold that seemed to have descended onto him.

Cody watched him, speaking no more even as his lips remained parted, as Obi-Wan moved about the counters. Picking through the pitiful variety of spices he kept, through the grains and granules in marked bags that he pushed aside, looking for the small box he knew must’ve been there – one of his most beloved possessions, even when there was little use for them in his day to day life.

It didn’t take him much longer to find it – he pulled out the half-full little box of bags with a satisfied hum, picking through those as well. There were different kinds – not as many as he was used to in another life, perhaps, but enough nonetheless, arranged carefully in a yellowed flimsi box.

He spared a thought to all the teas he’d kept in the Temple – and even when the massacre seemed to have happened a lifetime ago, now, he could remember the small box he kept them in. It was made of dark carved wood, he recalled; and while he couldn’t say clearly what had been carved into the surface of it, he remembered with ease the sensation of his fingers sliding across the greaves, tracing the patterns.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself brush his fingers against the bags, taking in their mixing scents. Anakin – barely more than a child, then – had carved the box for him; had presented it to him with a smile, beaming for the better part of the hour after Obi-Wan accepted it. It must’ve been lost; shattered or burned or else destroyed years ago in the flames ravaging all that was left of all of their lives.

Shaking his head mildly, he tore his eyes open again, finally narrowing his decision down to two bags of chamomile and ginger. He doubted either would have a considerable effect, not with just how sick Cody seemed to be, but – it cost nothing to try, after all.

“Do you prefer ginger or chamomile, Cody?” he asked, unassuming, looking back at him with both bags held tightly between two fingers. He didn’t expect much of a response, and he didn’t get one – Cody furrowed his brows as though in confusion, and Obi-Wan shook his head with a small smile. “It’s okay, dear one. I’ll ask you again once you’ve tried both.”

He decided, in the end, on chamomile. It was somewhat milder than the ginger, easier on Cody’s stomach, even as it was the last bag of it in the box; still, Obi-Wan could get more sometime. If it happened to be sold at the markets, if he managed to scrape up enough credits...

It was just what was best for Cody, now.

He prepared it with near-mechanical movements, making sure to check on Cody as he went along – and it almost seemed to him as though Cody was checking on him too, watching him with an expression of near-pensiveness frozen on his face. An improvement, Obi-Wan supposed, from his earlier pained grimaces.

Once it had finished brewing, he poured the tea into a thermos – Cody wouldn’t drink the whole of it, he knew – and from there let some flow into the cap. Tentative, he tasted it. And, perhaps predictably, burnt his tongue.

He flinched away with a grimace, giving a chuckle at his recklessness, then blew on the tea a couple of times and tried again; it was still hot, but not scorching anymore.

That was better. 

He brought it carefully to Cody, bracing his weight on the edge of the bed with his knee again. As his body weighed down the mattress, Cody twisted slightly, turning his head forward as he lay on his back, looking at him as though he was trying to guess what Obi-Wan was trying to do.

“Tea,” Obi-Wan offered, quietly. “As I promised.”

The easiest way to go about things, Obi-Wan supposed, would’ve been simply propping Cody up as he’d done while feeding him the soup. He could hold Cody up for a moment while he moved the pillow – first, though, he needed to put the thermos somewhere where neither of them would spill it by accident. He leaned over Cody, bracing with his arm on the bed, to place it on the counter just by its side.

Before he could draw back, though, Cody moved.

His hand closed around Obi-Wan’s wrist, the grip loose but insistent. He’d leaned up the slightest bit, too, even as the motion made him grimace. As quickly as he could manage, Obi-Wan moved forward so Cody wouldn’t have to strain to keep his hold.

“What is it, dear one?” he asked him, resting one hand on his shoulder to coax him back into lying down. “I was putting the tea away there so we could sit you up. Is something wrong?”

Cody, however, didn’t seem interested in explaining anything to him. Instead, he tugged again on Obi-Wan’s wrist – over and over again until Obi-Wan came closer, now kneeling on the bed with both legs, holding onto the wall as to not fall over Cody entirely.

“Obi-Wan,” he murmured, quietly, looking up at him, his eyelids fluttering – “It’s – cold.”

“I know, Cody,” Obi-Wan said, patiently, even as he let Cody tug him closer and closer until he was sitting right by his side, wrist still held tight in his grip. “That’s why I brought the tea. To help you warm up.”

Cody hummed in something that sounded like acknowledgement, and Obi-Wan startled when he drew his hand away – only to grab onto him again almost immediately, this time tugging him down by the shirt; low enough over him that he bowed his head upward and pressed the side of his face into Obi-Wan’s chest.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, and had nothing to follow it up with except the chuckle that he didn’t manage to stifle. “Cody, I need to get you the tea.” He needed to sit him up first, but, well...

“Mm,” Cody hummed again, his voice muffled and his breath warm. He let go of his shirt, then, and Obi-Wan just managed to fall harmlessly onto his side beside Cody before arms were snaking around his waist, pulling Obi-Wan as close as he could with shaking hands.

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, turning his head outward as he raised his hands – unsure what to do with them for a moment before he touched his fingers gently to Cody’s cheek. Cody hummed again, muffled by Obi-Wan’s shirt. Obi-Wan took it to mean Cody didn’t mind and slid his hand upward, carefully carding his fingers through Cody’s hair. It was – something of a relief, he supposed, that Cody didn’t shy away from the slightest touch anymore, even when he ran too hot still. But why would this be the solution, exactly, when Obi-Wan was no warmer than him? Perhaps it was something about physical touch, and, certainly, Obi-Wan didn’t entertain the illusion that something like that was exactly overabundant in the Empire, but...

“Am I warm?” he tried, finally, bowing his head so Cody would hear him better. “Is that why you’re hugging me – because I’m warm?”

And Cody, after a few hushed breaths, murmured, “Yes.” Squirming a little so as much of him as possible was pressed to Obi-Wan, he added, almost dreamily, “You’re warm.”

Obi-Wan sighed, trying to not let his involuntary smile bleed into his breathing as he traced a gentle touch up and down Cody’s back, leaving his hand to rest between his shoulder blades. Whatever helped him, Obi-Wan supposed, though he still – wasn’t certain how this was doing it. Of all things...

Cody settled, nonetheless. It was perhaps the most surprising thing about this – Cody settled in his arms, no longer shaking so harshly; only every once in a while did a full-body shudder run through him. For a moment, Obi-Wan wanted to just leave it like this, let it be so – spend the whole night simply holding him, if only that had a chance of fixing anything. Let him sleep for all the hours he could manage. Let him rest, be still and only rest – it was all that Obi-Wan had wanted for him.

But he knew, somewhere in the corner of his mind that remained untouched by all his exhaustion, that it would not be enough. Nowhere near such. Cody could not eat now, perhaps, but Obi-Wan had, just nearby, the thermos...

Maneuvering them both to be more or less sitting upright was something of a challenge – Obi-Wan managed it slowly, turning Cody sideways to lie with his back to Obi-Wan’s chest as painlessly as possible before sitting up. Cody protested little, only the slightest lines of tension appearing in his expression as he was jostled; he opened his eyes slightly, looking up at Obi-Wan as he leaned forward to reach for the thermos.

“Just taking the tea,” Obi-Wan grumbled, straining to reach the tabletop with how far he was from it. With a huff, he admitted to himself that he likely would’ve had more luck if he’d put it on the ground by the bed. “You know, you still need to drink some – oh!”

Pushing himself a smidge too close to the edge, Obi-Wan felt the arm he’d braced himself with slip off – and he would’ve tumbled, Cody still against him, if a hand hadn’t clung to his elbow, less pulling him back and more so just bearing him down against the bed where they were. Turning his head, Obi-Wan saw Cody’s eyes narrow again – the look almost, almost familiar to his favoured chiding one.

“Thank you, Cody,” Obi-Wan said, softly, offering a faint smile in response to Cody’s gruff murmur of something he couldn’t quite catch, and admitted defeat. He held out his hand, then, and simply called the thermos into his grip, the Force helping him along the last few inches. His Master, he knew, would have had his head for it – but if his Master wanted to linger on the edge of the abyss, simply watching but not helping, well – that was his problem. “Helpful as always, my dear.”

And he meant it – even when he did not want to hope. Even as Cody murmured things Obi-Wan didn’t understand, even as he watched him with that strange, feverish stare coming so sharp from his glassy eyes, at least he seemed to understand him, now. At least he seemed to comprehend.

He proved it to Obi-Wan once again when, once he unscrewed the lid, Cody tilted his head away from the thermos with a hum of clear exasperation.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Obi-Wan murmured to him, turning so he could speak more clearly to him. “It’s only tea.” With a small smile, he added, “If we find that you truly loathe chamomile so much, I’ll make you something different, next time.”

Cody turned to watch his hands as he poured the tea; he only had half the cap full when Cody raised a shaking hand, and tried, as it appeared, to take the cap from him. There was a crinkle of frustration lining his brow – and Obi-Wan pulled the cap away, blowing on the tea as he’d done prior.

“I don’t mind to help,” he told Cody – but Cody, as though he were trying to tell Obi-Wan that it wasn’t about what he minded and what he did not, only tried to take the cap from him again. “Okay, okay. You don’t want me to help you hold it?”

“No,” Cody murmured, muffled somewhat against Obi-Wan’s shirt where his cheek was pressed still. “No.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said softly, taking him by the wrist and putting his hand down. Settled by his agreement, Cody didn’t lift it again. “But with both hands, alright? No need to hurry.”

“I’m not...” Cody closed his eyes, sighing – his breath hitched, just a smidge. His speech was somewhat slurring, but eventually he managed, the corner of his eye twitching the slightest bit, “...Not a tubie.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, leaning to the side a little to put the thermos down on the ground by the bed. “Of course not, Cody. And I don’t mean to treat you as though you are one. But what you are, dear one, is terribly ill. And I want you to preserve your strength instead of worrying too much about what you can and can’t do.”

Cody kept his eyes closed, only pressing his lips together tightly. Obi-Wan cleared his throat, anyhow, and blew on the tea a little bit, again. It shouldn’t have been too hot now, and with the cap only half–full, he had some faith in Cody’s determination to do this for himself.

“Careful,” he said again, keeping his voice quiet as he lowered the cap into Cody’s hands. In spite of all his protesting, Cody slid both of his palms around it, opening his eyes to look down at the tea swirling inside. “It might seem too hot at first, but we need it that way if we want it to help your throat.”

Slowly, Cody raised it to his mouth – his hands shook slightly, but he managed to keep a hold on the cap, pressing the edge to his lips and taking small sips as he went. Almost subconsciously, Obi-Wan kept one hand just underneath his wrist, ready to steady him in case he needed it. Once Cody held it still for a couple of moments, though, he drew it back and left him be, though he couldn’t exactly help watching him, tentative.

Cody managed, in the end, to finish all the tea in the cap – and he held it up the whole time, even as his hands trembled far more once he brought it back down to his lap. After holding his fingers just above the edge for a couple of moments to see if it was okay with him, Obi-Wan plucked the cap from him and took the thermos off the ground.

“What do you think?” he asked, half-wishing and half-anxious to hear how his voice was now.

Cody sniffed, watching his twitching fingers. “S’odd.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, feeling an inkling of relief at the slight lessening of the rasp in Cody’s voice as he refilled the cap. “Perhaps it’s an acquired taste, dear one.”

Scrunching his nose up, Cody didn’t bother looking at him.

Coaxing him into it slowly, Obi-Wan managed to get him to finish two more half-full caps of the tea, leaving more than three quarters still inside the thermos; but it was progress, nonetheless progress, no matter how small. All had to walk before they could run, after all.

Obi-Wan allowed himself the smidge of relief that had taken root in him – it grew deeper and deeper as time passed – hours, perhaps – and Cody kept the tea down, settled again by his side, arms wrapped securely around him. Chasing that strange warmth Obi-Wan couldn’t understand the source of; breathing slowly against Obi-Wan’s chest, solid and warm and alive there with him.

In spite of it all, Cody slept, still and undisturbed, through the entire night. And did not wake, settling deeper into the blanket, even when Obi-Wan slipped away from the bed with the light of the dawn.

Chapter Text

Over the days, Obi-Wan grew into the habit of glancing over his shoulder periodically. Something he’d only taken care to repeat among others now helped him keep an eye on Cody constantly; or at least while he was awake.

It was a shame, came the occasional thought, that Obi-Wan needed to sleep at all. Sometimes he wondered how it was that his body allowed it in the first place – as though it was an addiction, some unshakable habit, even when, really, he could scarcely justify it. He could remember the first few weeks he spent on Tatooine – the present felt more like what it ought to have been then, him keeping himself awake for as long as he could until he was unable to keep his eyes open anymore. He’d grown so used to seeing pulsating bugs out there in the corner of his vision, writhing centipedes there for a flash and then gone again that it was strange not to, after. He remembered still the brain fog. The dizziness, the way his knees would buckle in the morning as he stood up after another sleepless night.

But all that had been better to face, then, the exhaustion and the hallucinations and the weakness that had taken over his body, than the restless images that haunted him whenever he would shut his aching reddened eyes now.

At least, he considered, at least Cody did not have to live through the same. Though once again, the possibility couldn’t be denied that he’d lived through all that and worse out there in the Empire, and did that not set his mind to spiralling – the mere imaginings of being trapped in his own body, a helpless host invaded, ever-vigilant as he was forced to watch destruction wrought with his own unresisting hands.

Obi-Wan was relieved each time he reached out to Cody’s mind – more and more daringly, as the days ticked by – and found his sleep dreamless. A soothing void behind his eyes Obi-Wan would’ve done anything to keep there. Though all he could try, it seemed, was the broth Cody’s body was finally tolerating, sip after small sip. The lukewarm water Obi-Wan now propped him up to drink. And the warmth – the warmth that Cody’s body seemed to crave now so consistently, unsoothed by any blanket, any warmth that wasn’t Obi-Wan’s own skin against his.

If that was all Obi-Wan had to give for Cody to get better – himself – then there was no real choice to even be made in the first place.

Cody had slept through the first tenday of his sickness – though Obi-Wan could hardly call it sleeping, if he was honest with himself. It was some form of unconsciousness, easily disturbed but restless all the same. If Obi-Wan had to guess, he would’ve said Cody only started truly sleeping well-into the second half of the month he’d spent in Obi-Wan’s bed. But he did not wake, not really. He only opened his eyes occasionally. Parted his lips to voice some plea Obi-Wan couldn’t understand.

He was awake more frequently now – awake and aware, rather, though Obi-Wan wouldn’t have said he was getting any better otherwise. The fever hadn’t broken, even if Cody was managing to keep small bits of food down. He certainly wasn’t eating enough – he couldn’t stand without support, and even if Obi-Wan could’ve provided enough of it for him to move around, he mostly just carried him to the fresher when Cody needed it. Obi-Wan didn’t see the need to disturb Cody by moving him anywhere else from the bed at all – even after their short trips to the fresher, he’d be exhausted by the jostling. The sheen of heat and discomfort was still thick over his skin and eyes; he was sweating through the nights and unable to drink enough water to make up for that which he lost.

 Just care wasn’t enough, no matter how much Obi-Wan would’ve liked it; just food and water and rest were not enough. It was no regular cold, no regular fever. By now, he was all but sure it was some affliction to do more with Cody’s head – his brain – than the rest of his body. Something that was triggered, perhaps, into spiralling out of control by the breaking of his chip. And caused, perhaps, by its initial deterioration.

Or perhaps it was something else entirely. He didn’t know. It was not like there were medbays he could bring Cody to. It was not like there were Healing Halls with healers he could consult. It was not like he could bring a clone to Mos Eisley and have him tended to there. Even if he could hide Cody for long enough, he had nobody there he could trust with any of it.

On the days when he was frustrated enough to hate anything, Obi-Wan hated his own uncertainty. He did not know, truly, what to do; he hardly even knew what was going on. He had never studied to be a healer, and even all that he’d learned during the war could not help him here – most of his experiences with sicknesses like this had been all of his Padawan’s small headaches and colds and Ahsoka’s occasional coughs and allergies when they had been on the same ship during the war.

He was a soldier, the thought came to him, once. He had lived the life of a soldier. He knew all that a soldier might know.

Not a healer. A war general. Barely even a Jedi, at the end of it all.

In spite of all his efforts. In spite of it all.

But there was no time – nor did he have the desire to, really – to mourn what could or could not have been, had he been a different man.

Obi-Wan knew he could speak to Owen and Beru – reluctant or not, they’d see him. Even more so when there was someone’s other than his life on the line. Either way, he was hesitant to leave Cody here alone – even more so when he was in so weak a state.

Still, he had the aching suspicion that if he didn’t hurry and get on it in the very near future, it would only continue to get worse. Perhaps to the point where he could not leave Cody at all.

And it wasn’t like he had anyone else to do it for him, out here. It was only him, the hut, and the Force – and only one of those listed had the legs required to walk out to the Lars and bring back something that might help Cody.

Exhaling softly, Obi-Wan braced his hands on the windowsill and looked out to the suns. He avoided drawing back the curtains during the day – the heat would get scorching, and it was easier to let it in than to chase it out – but he could afford to watch the sunrise now and then, especially when he was too agitated to sleep in the morning hours. Which had seemed to be the case more and more often, lately.

He’d been having strange dreams – fluttering veils and blinding spurts of light bleeding into one another in a blurring fog – and more often than not he did not have the resolution to remain where he slept by the table. He was, after all, never quite out of things to do – and with Cody there just behind him, the fact could not have been clearer to him.

Glancing over his shoulder again, he noticed that Cody had turned his head to the wall – he’d been moving, lately. Not as much as Obi-Wan knew he did himself when he slept – but he would shift still, every once in a while. Sometimes Obi-Wan would notice the discomfort that would cause it – but other times, at least, it seemed to simply be idle motions Cody made in his sleep.

Sparing one last look out into the dunes, the red light of the morning slowly climbing up over the sand, Obi-Wan closed the blinds again and turned around, stifling a yawn. He’d managed a few hours of rest, not much longer than that. At least his body wasn’t throwing any fits over it anymore.

He crossed the room to check on Cody, all but habit now – pressing his hand to his forehead, to the side of his throat, he let out another small sigh. His fever had not gone down, though it wasn’t like Obi-Wan had expected it to – it was a numb sort of hollowness, finding him just as sick, if not more, each morning. And still he spoke of how cold he felt whenever he was awake – as though he were laid on a block of ice instead of underneath two of the already too-thick blankets Obi-Wan had carefully draped over him. And still it was only Obi-Wan’s own body heat, it seemed, his touch against Cody’s shoulders and back and chest which could help him. He gave it, willingly, each time – he gave it and listened as, moment by moment, Cody’s speech would trail off, and his breathing would slow.

But he could not heal Cody with touch alone. He realized it long ago – it seemed in both his and Cody’s best interests that he finally stopped avoiding what the truth demanded.

He would go.

He did not have forever, Cody was not – on the brink, not anymore and not now, at least. And neither of them had forever.

Obi-Wan thought often about how ancient the deserts around him were and how temporary the dunes – how insignificant he and all his hurries must’ve been even to the grains of sand small enough to slip through his fingers.

When he pulled his hand back to himself, Cody turned his head with it as though chasing the touch again. Obi-Wan was used to it by now – it was the fact that Cody’s eyes were open that caught him off-guard. He looked oddly – well, cognizant, perhaps, where his gaze darted from Obi-Wan’s fingers up to his eyes. And when Obi-Wan came to kneel by the bed, resting his arms on the edge of it, Cody tilted his head a little. To see him better, or else a familiar gesture – the tilt of his head that so often meant simply a curiosity as to what Obi-Wan might say.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Obi-Wan spoke, quietly. Cody blinked at him slowly then, only now truly waking up, it seemed. Obi-Wan reached out, endlessly careful, brushing one stubborn curl off his forehead. “Could you listen to me for a moment now, dear one?”

“Obi-Wan,” he murmured in return, and curled his fingers over Obi-Wan’s wrist, his palm damp with sweat. It was acknowledgement, still, proof of his recognition.

“I’m here,” Obi-Wan confirmed again, letting his hand rest on the edge of the bed until Cody let go of him. “Right here with you. But I’ll need to leave for a while today. I’ll be back in the evening, as soon as I can, but until then you’ll have to be alone. Just until then. Do you understand?”

Even though his gaze had skittered downward, Cody still managed, scarcely more than whispering, “Yes.”

Nodding, Obi-Wan laid out the rest, checking bit by bit to make sure Cody caught everything – that they’d eat breakfast together before he left and then latemeal when he was back if Cody was hungry, that he was leaving a thermos of tea by the bed, that the bucket was just underneath if he felt sick – only a precaution, truly, since Cody was keeping most things down, now, but...

Cody made his best attempt to listen attentively, it appeared, humming in affirmation now and again, though his eyelids were halfway down by the time they were done speaking. Obi-Wan murmured his thanks before standing up again, feeling his hand slip from Cody’s grasp – with a small flush to his face, he realized he had forgotten it was held there at all, small, weak squeezes that accompanied Cody’s humming.

He returned to the kitchenette, pulling two bowls out of the cupboard – he’d made some soft mash in the evening, kept warm in the pot; Cody seemed to like it better than most soups, it seemed. Perhaps because it was a solid food; or perhaps it was softer. No chewing required.

Obi-Wan sighed, a sudden sting aching in his chest as he wished, for a moment, that Cody were able to simply... tell him such things. Tell him which soup he liked better and what he disliked, what he preferred and what he didn’t mind. He missed his unwavering stubbornness, his snarky quipping when their opinions differed in taste; he missed the time, he knew, when Cody was okay; as okay as one could be, then. When Obi-Wan could forget, blissfully, that there may one day come a time when he wasn’t.

With a firm shake of his head, he chased the thoughts away. Those times had passed; there was only now, only the moment he lived in. The past had blades he would not allow it to unsheathe.  The future hid fangs it was yet to sink in. But he could act in the moment – it was all one could ever do, really.

Soldier or not, Obi-Wan was enough of a Jedi to know that, at least.

He helped Cody sit up again, when he brought over the bowl. He watched him eat a quarter of it, lifting the spoon as his hand shook. He fed him another when Cody’s eyes began closing. Finally, he laid him back down on his side, rolled the blanket up to his waist.

He ate his own bowl, after. The mash tasted of nothing, of only ash in his mouth as he watched the door, the dunes, the windows. As he turned back, nevertheless, and watched Cody.

Watched Cody, his chest rising and falling slowly, his legs tucked close to his body, until he couldn’t justify sitting there idly anymore.

He brought the bowls through the sonic and made sure to close the blinds. Spent a few minutes searching for his cloak – even in his own home of so many years, he seemed to lose all that wasn’t nailed down every once in a while. He found it on the backrest of his chair, chiding himself quietly as he pulled it on. Comforting and shielding, the only evidence he still truly had of home; it would’ve been a shame to lose it.

It was strange, somehow, to hoist a pack onto his back, to pull the hood up over his head. To look around in his hut, checking if all the blinds were drawn again and again, if the icebox was still cold, if, if, if... It was strange, most of all, to look around and let his eyes linger on the shape of Cody, so strangely small there on his bed, his blanket drawn up to his side. Even as Obi-Wan stood at the door, he thought he could all but feel the heat radiating off him in nauseating waves.

It was that sensation that followed him over the doorstep and into the Dune Sea. The necessity that kept his heart beating; and the knowledge, hollow in his chest, of all he would leave behind if he did not find it within himself to just keep moving.

As per usual, it was the boy who saw him first.

Sensed him, perhaps; the Force was a bright line strung through Luke’s body, light and easy to tug and twist and stretch, so in tune with him one could’ve thought it had been one with him for centuries without the boy even suspecting it. The ordeal was different for Obi-Wan, if only by some increment – it no longer ached so terribly to simply touch upon the Force, but all that which he offered it still seemed to only be the stitches he ripped apart and pulled from his own raw open wounds.

It was akin to some sort of balm, seeing Luke. Sensing him, the light that he carried within; for a moment, it felt as though Obi-Wan himself was lighter. Younger, somehow. If only for a moment, and if only for the smidge of naivety he allowed himself. And – oh, how Obi-Wan had missed being around children. His family in the Temple - the young ones, so bright in the Force, reaching out into the chasm of his soul and filling him with a newfound will to fight all that plagued him, if only so he could return to them again. 

It was just so to be around Luke. The boy slid from the dome atop which he’d been sitting and, near-stumbling in his haste, ran to Obi-Wan with nothing but joyous curiosity in his eyes. He glowed with all the easy happiness of a child – so much so that it felt like he could blind, had he been anything but kind. Had he been anything but compassionate. Had he been anything than a boy that would grow into a good man; that could’ve, in a different life, grown into a great Jedi.

“Uncle Ben,” Luke called for him, grinning so widely his teeth were all but shining in his mouth. Obi-Wan smiled – he couldn’t help it, shaking his head even as he raised a hand to greet the boy. Still, he thought, perhaps Beru ought to have taught him some other form of address. With a wry turn to his smile, he admitted to himself that it couldn’t have been Owen. “Ben!”

 “Hello, Luke,” he said, warmly, just as the boy reached him. Just as he, with unbidden excitement, crashed into his midsection, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist.  His limbs were on the edge of appearing awkwardly lengthened in contrast with his body, and it was strange to observe it almost by touch alone; stranger still to acknowledge the fact that Luke was, inevitably and unstoppably, growing. “What have you been up to?”

“Uncle Owen let me ride Akkani a couple of times!” Luke told him proudly, craning his neck so he wouldn’t muffle his voice as he remained pressed to Obi-Wan’s waist. “She’s yours, isn’t she, Uncle Ben?”

“She is,” Obi-Wan agreed, letting a smile curve his lips upward, thinking fondly of his eopie; it was good for her, the exercise Obi-Wan couldn’t quite provide at the moment. “Have you brought her inside?”

“Yeah, we have. Aunt Beru says she’s too hot out, and, I mean, I see it.” Luke shrugged, his arms pulling against Obi-Wan’s tunics. “And – oh, and I can change a vaporator water filter all by myself now. It’s dangerous though – it almost snapped off Uncle Owen’s fingers a couple of times!”

“Not yours?” Obi-Wan clarified, chuckling as the boy shook his head indignantly, almost as though he was offended Obi-Wan would doubt his abilities. No, of course he was good at such – Obi-Wan was almost convinced the quick-learning ran in Skywalkers’ blood.

Pushing away the thought before it could grow teeth to sink into him, Obi-Wan pulled the boy from himself gently, brushing one hand over his sandy hair. “Is your aunt around, Luke?”

“Oh, yes,” Luke answered, nodding seriously. Obi-Wan noted the widening of his eyes as he glanced toward their home, almost theatrical. “She’s just there putting some redder out to dry – but she said if anyone comes in before it’s all laid out and disturbs it, she’ll feed me to a Krayt dragon herself! I mean – “ He flushed, shaking his head as he grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand to lead him. “She’ll feed – whoever comes in, to a Krayt dragon, I mean. Though Uncle Owen had been inside to help a few times, so I think it’s just me. Take your chances, I guess.” He looked up at Obi-Wan, tilting his head inquisitively. “Do you think Krayt dragons like Human meat, Uncle Ben?”

“I think they certainly don’t mind it,” Obi-Wan answered, stifling a wry smile. He could understand why Beru would’ve been so stern about the redder – any sort of off-planet herbs were far from a common product to find in the markets, and Geonosian redder must’ve been a rare find to be sure. “Though with their size in mind, I doubt many of them have gotten a chance to truly taste it.”

Luke squinted to the side, and Obi-Wan could all but hear the gears turning in his head. Deciding that his expression was just a little too contemplative for his liking, Obi-Wan added, “I wouldn’t be so keen on running tests, myself.”

Luke shook his head, but before he could retort – with some worthy theory of why it was in everyone’s best interest to run into the desert immediately and figure out a way to catch a Krayt dragon, no doubt – another voice interrupted them.

“Someone had better notify the Stormtroopers,” Owen spoke, dryly, lifting the box of tools he’d been carrying onto a windowsill by the entrance to the house. “I’ve just seen an unmasked Tusken trying to kidnap a boy from good tax-paying citizens.”

“That’s Ben, Uncle Owen!” Luke protested before Obi-Wan could so much as open his mouth. “From the desert, remember?”

“Despite my best efforts,” Owen grumbled, charming as he was, and opened the door. “Go inside, Luke. You’ll get heatstroke, out in the middle of the day.”

“You’re out in the middle of the day,” Luke protested, gazing wistfully out into the sands as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I have a hat,” Owen said, flatly, holding the door open with his foot.

Luke narrowed his eyes, gaze drifting to Obi-Wan. “Uncle Ben doesn’t have a hat.”

“Luke,” Owen started, exasperated, and Obi-Wan cut in.

“I have a cloak,” he said, tugging on the hood as emphasis. He offered Luke a smile, though it wasn’t so easily returned anymore. “Listen to your uncle, Luke. He knows what’s best.”

With only a token grumble, Luke dove under Owen’s arm, hopping down the stairs two at a time before disappearing into the inner complex of the farm, paying no mind to Owen’s call to be careful that followed him.

Obi-Wan stared after him for a while, thoughts tangling slowly in his head. It was odd, at the very least, to watch him run and play and ramble, be reminded so strongly of Anakin, as much as he pushed the twin image away, and yet find so little comparable. If anything, he would’ve likened Luke only to his sister, safe and well as Bail had confirmed some months ago; he wondered how she was doing. If she was still just as agile and quick as him, just as assertive as she’d been those few years ago. 

As though sensing his sentimentality, Owen cleared his throat next to him.

“Well, I’ll hold off on those Stormtroopers,” he said, voice dry, “since it appears the Tusken speaks.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Obi-Wan said, unable to help himself as he added, “though Tuskens do speak, Owen.”

“And some Humans could afford to speak less,” Owen finished, his meaning clear. Obi-Wan didn’t really miss the roll of his eyes, but it seemed smothered by the laugh he huffed out. It seemed Owen was in a good mood – or at least in as good a mood as he could be. “But to the Hutts with that. What are you here for?”

“I had,” Obi-Wan said, holding his gaze even as he felt uncertainty trying to creep up his throat, “I had a... request, of sorts. If you would hear me out.”

“Well, get in, we’ll talk.” Picking up the box, Owen held the door with his shoulder, gesturing towards the stairs with his head. Sparing Obi-Wan a glance where he was still standing, uncertain, Owen shrugged, stepping inside. “I’m not staying in the suns a click longer.”

Obi-Wan nodded, then, and followed after him, careful to close the door behind them – the heat outside was beginning to suffocate, smouldering even the air that carried it.

The inside was pleasantly cool and Obi-Wan let out a breath of relief, only now realizing how sorely he had missed the shade. Owen walked through the corridors that led deeper down into the earth and he followed, unsure what else to do; Owen hadn’t told him to follow or to stay, after all, so he simply assumed and trailed after him. It wasn’t like he had time to waste, after all.

He must have guessed correctly; Owen came to a storage room, sliding the tools into a counter as though the box had been a drawer all along, and turned around to face him. Some shadow passed over his face – disappointment, perhaps. Maybe he’d hoped to have lost Obi-Wan somewhere along the way.

“So,” he spoke, short and nonchalant, staring Obi-Wan right between the eyes, “Kenobi. I hope you didn’t walk the whole way here just to bring Luke another starfighter.”

Obi-Wan allowed a small wry smile onto his face – it would’ve been a joy, of course. If only all days could’ve been as simple.

“No.” He sighed, leaning back against the door that had slid shut again behind him. “I’m afraid this time is not so pleasant.”

“What’s all this about, then?” Owen rested his hands on his hips, tilting his head inquisitively. His eyes narrowed – “Another Inquisitor you’ve sicced on us?”

Unexpected and unwanted, there was still a sudden hollowness that opened up in Obi-Wan’s chest at the words. Not Owen’s fault, no, merely his own considerations – of Reva and Luke and the children and the rest of it. And of Cody, who had served for so many years under a creature that held his beautiful mind in its abhorrent grip, and who now lay in Obi-Wan’s bed back in the hut.

If the Galaxy had been kinder, it occurred to him, Reva and Cody might’ve had a lot to talk about.

“As much as I would like for Luke to continue his reformation of the Empire one Darksider at a time – “

“– His attempts to get himself murdered, you mean – “

“– once again, that isn’t why I’m here.”

Owen breathed out in a rush, waving his hand in near-dismissal. “You do like your theatrics, don’t you? Can’t just get to the point, never could.”

“I need medicine,” Obi-Wan said.

Owen parted his lips, closed them. Blinked a couple of times, then arched an eyebrow at Obi-Wan – the expression of confusion so strange on his face Obi-Wan could’ve smiled at him.

“Medicine?”

“For fever,” he continued, holding Owen’s gaze even as his own nature demanded he lower it somewhere to his nose. “Particularly one caused by – infection. A lasting one.”

Owen bit the inside of his cheek then, his hands firmer on his hips, and glanced around as though a bottle of such medicine might just spontaneously materialize in one of the surrounding boxes.

“Fever medicine? Whatever for? Or – ” He looked up at Obi-Wan again, a deep wrinkle in his brow. “Who? You don’t look feverish. No more than usual, at least.”

“Thank you, Owen,” Obi-Wan said absently, trying to decide how to approach the situation. “I have a – friend, you see, that I’ve been sheltering recently. And in the past few weeks, there have been some... changes, let’s put it that way, to his – condition.”

“You’ve got another Jedi stashed in your basement?” Truly, Obi-Wan thought, Owen’s unamused demeanour had the potential of being both a blessing and a curse.

“No,” Obi-Wan answered, and left it at that. “But I cannot afford to wait any longer.” He took a breath, and, longing more than anything to close his eyes and face the words in the quiet of his own mind, admitted, “I fear the worst, if I don’t find a way to help him soon.”

Owen hummed, his face set in a thoughtful expression. “Why not take him to Mos Eisley? They’ve got medics stationed by the port. Some don’t even ask your name, if you pay them well enough.”

Obi-Wan nodded, wishing once more that things could’ve been that easy.

“I... can’t do that, I’m afraid.” He was concerned about his own face being recognized, with all the holos he’d chanced being in during the war. But Cody? Obi-Wan all but expected to see his face each time he saw a helmetless Stormtrooper. Taking him anywhere near the soldiery of the Empire was out of the question. “To travel with him now, no matter the distance, would be an – unwise choice.”

“And the Imperials wouldn’t be too stoked to see your friend either, I’ll guess.” Owen huffed out a dry laugh as Obi-Wan looked up at him, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. “Oh, harbouring a fugitive, huh? You’re nothing but a beacon for trouble, Kenobi, both for yourself and all the folks around you.”

Perhaps Obi-Wan would’ve been unsettled, once, by how easy it was now to swallow the remark. Not anymore, in any case.

“I wouldn’t call him a fugitive. Merely – discharged, as it were.” As Owen opened his mouth to argue again, Obi-Wan hurried to speak before him. “In any case, he is unwell. And nothing I can offer helps, at the moment. And so I came here to... ask your advice, I suppose. And seek help, if I can find any.”

Owen, to his credit, did give it a minute of thought – clearing his throat, in the end, and tapping his fingers on the waist-height counter in the middle of the storage room. Obi-Wan rubbed one of his thumbs against the other, eyes settled on Owen’s fingers; wondering what to look for in Mos Eisley or – anywhere else, really, everywhere he could, if Owen and Beru refused to help.

“Well,” Owen said, his voice echoing strangely in the quiet space, “I’m not sure how much we can offer you, Kenobi, honestly. We’ve got some medicine, sure, but it won’t be something you don’t have if you’ve got a cabinet.” He shrugged, glancing up at the ceiling as though he were counting something in his head. “For fever... I’ll bet we still have Luke’s medicine, but I’m not sure if that’ll do more to help or harm. It was what we’d give him if he spent too much time out and got sick – not so much for infections, you know?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured, pinching at his fingers absentmindedly – even with that, he felt a little relieved. That Owen was thinking. That he was willing to help. “For heatstroke, of course, and for a child.”

“Right.” Owen nodded. “But you could try that at least, if he’s too sick to even be brought to town.”

“He is,” Obi-Wan agreed quietly, closing his eyes for a moment to try and chase away the memories; Cody stumbling toward him, determination and confusion sloshing together into a desperate whirlwind that ravaged his expression, his light – far too light – body in his arms, his swollen limbs, his reddened eyelids, his shaking hands and trembling lips, his tongue that barely turned to plead with Obi-Wan for more warmth even as the heat of fever covered him in a sheet of sweat... “I should’ve come earlier, but I was... worried, I suppose. Too afraid to leave him alone. But there is – little that I can do for him, now. He needs something I do not have.”

When he opened his eyes, Owen was looking at him with a strange expression of almost – sympathy. He did not speak, then, only nodded, and rounded Obi-Wan to open the door to the corridor again.

“I’ll take you to Beru,” he said, voice low – not uncertain, simply quieted. “Most of what we have is what she’s accumulated over the years. She’ll know what might help.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan followed him out of the storage and up the stairs again, feeling, all of a sudden, as though the ground had solidified underneath him whereas he’d been struggling to keep his balance beforehand. Advice. This was help – their advice, their kindness. Something that could pass through him and get to Cody, if he was lucky. Something he ought to be more than grateful for. And so he spoke, again, hoping the sentiment would not bother him – “Thank you.”

Owen turned a little, as though to glance over his shoulder, but seemed to decide against it and only sped up his pace.

“You’ve done good things for us, Kenobi,” he said, gaze fixed on some spot in front of them as they walked. To that, Obi-Wan had no real response to offer.

Their kitchen was small, a door for an entrance installed as well – it was useful, Obi-Wan supposed, to keep such borders sometimes. If not for the physical separation, then at least for the mental one.

Recalling Luke’s frustration with not being allowed into the kitchen, Obi-Wan smiled thinly when Owen opened the door without a knock, slipping in without a word after gesturing for Obi-Wan to follow.

Beru was standing at the counter, a long skirt with faded patters moving in gentle ripples as she swayed lightly, stepping around here and there. She was preparing redders indeed – they lay carefully spread out atop thin plast sheets with the root, fruit and leaves separated, and Obi-Wan understood almost immediately what carnage Luke could’ve caused here if he were to be allowed in.

Hearing Owen stepping closer, Beru huffed, turning on her heel with her mouth already open for scolding.

“Luke, I just said – “ Her impatience jumped to surprise then, as though a wire had snapped in her. Looking past Owen effortlessly, her narrow gaze focused on Obi-Wan. “Ben! Oh, when did you get here?”

“Hello, Beru,” he greeted warmly, watching her wipe her fingers with a rag she threw onto the table and embraced him lightly, keeping her still-stained hands away from his cloak. “I haven’t been around long, I just...“

“He needs medicine he doesn’t have,” Owen cut him off, and Obi-Wan supposed he could only thank him for the candour.

“Medicine?” Beru pulled away, a look of confusion and concern lining her face. “What for? Are you unwell, Ben?”

“It isn’t for me,” Obi-Wan explained again, quietly. “It is for a friend. He is – not doing very well.”

Beru nodded, then, accepting his words startlingly quickly, and turned on her heel again, walking back to the counters. She opened one of the top doors to boxes upon boxes of bottles and vials and containers – some marked by age, others newer. Her fingers stained the handle a viscous pink; she did not seem bothered by it.

“What’s wrong with your friend?”

“He has – well,” Obi-Wan began, and stuttered over himself at that. He hadn’t had to try and put into words what exactly was happening to Cody to anyone, yet; and it was always a bit too acute to try and describe it to himself coherently. “He’s had a brain injury, recently, and I believe it’s caused a fever that won’t go down no matter what I do. He also...” Obi-Wan breathed out, reeling himself in, feeling strangely bare all of a sudden under Beru’s questioning glances. It was something subconscious, perhaps born of so many years of hiding, of protecting himself with silence; he did not speak about himself, and he did not want to speak about Cody.

But there wasn’t a way to ask for help which didn’t include actually asking.

“He can’t keep much down,” he said, his eyes skittering across the kitchen, tracing over a sheet of redder leaves. “For about, ah... For about a week, he could barely eat anything at all. He slept for most of the day and was – disoriented, let’s say.”

“And now?” Beru asked, scrunching up her nose at a small box she picked up and throwing it into the back of the cabinet unceremoniously.

“He eats, though not full portions,” Obi-Wan admitted, trying to recall what he’d managed to feed Cody so far. It wasn’t difficult – there wasn’t much to make a list out of. “He’s constantly cold in spite of his fever, and sometimes he’ll get sick out of the blue, but he’s awake a little more often, now.” He huffed out a chuckle, though it sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. “Being helpless makes him feel very frustrated.”

Small steps, Obi-Wan would mutter to him when Cody’s brow grew tight at a dropped spoon or a shaking hand. With time, small steps closed any distance.

He knew it did little to comfort Cody; he was not used to needing so much care, and his displeasure with his state was more than obvious. On better days, he seemed as though he was embarrassed by some perceived weakness – and no word or touch from Obi-Wan could wipe the trace of shame from his movements. He’d been strong for so long, Obi-Wan knew, far longer than should’ve been readily expected of any being. Obi-Wan understood how difficult it could be to simply accept that it could not go on that way forever. There was nothing in Cody left to give – there was barely any Cody left, truth to be told.

And still, he would press his lips tighter together when Obi-Wan grabbed his bowl before it could slip from his hands, and hardly respond to anything Obi-Wan said to him for the duration of their meal afterwards.

“Your friend, his base temperature is..?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it. “He’s Human,” he answered, finally. “Though on the – higher side of the norm, I think.” It was what kept Cody going for so long, he knew – clones ran just a little hotter than most other Humans.

“And how long has he had a fever for?” Beru asked, inspecting a small green tube closely with a breath of air to blow a strand of hair off her face. Obi-Wan was grateful, quietly, that she wasn’t looking at him.

Not that it helped him think of a number of days. Or weeks.

“I...” He did not know, in the end, how long Cody had been sick. How long had these terrible aches ravaged him? Perhaps even Cody himself couldn’t recall. “I’m sorry, the days, they’ve been – blurring together, recently.” Here, Beru glanced at him over her shoulder, and she, too, seemed strangely sympathetic. “A month and a half?... Perhaps two months.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, turning around with a helpless rise of her hands.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she said, and Obi-Wan bowed his head, closing his eyes for a short moment – it had gone more or less as he’d expected, after all. “I can give you some fever medicine, but we bought it for Luke – it might not do much for a grown man.”

“I understand,” he said, steadying his hands as he summoned a small smile for her. “I will go to Mos Eisley, then, and see what I can find.”

Beru mirrored his smile, something helpless on her face – he wondered if she could see the same on his. She took a step forward, pushing all the boxes of medicine further away on the counter, and reached out to him – to his surprise, she took his hand between her palms, the calluses on her fingers feeling unexpectedly soft against his skin.

“You must take care of yourself as well as your friend,” she told him, her eyes crinkled so gently at the corners as she cradled his hand. “There’s nobody out there but the suns to look after you, Ben.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, shaking his head. It was a bit ridiculous of a notion – he had been hardened by the dust and the dunes to the point he didn’t think his body had ever felt soft in the first place.

“I’m well in all things but my heart and mind, Beru.” 

The admittance of worry was a heavy thing on his tongue, but he knew she wouldn’t believe he was well in his entirety; there was experience in the lines of her face, a soft exasperation as she smiled.

She shook her head, running her thumbs over his knuckles gently. “Some say those are the most important.” 

“Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed, if only to move on from the conversation.

Beru was gentle where she needed to be, her kindness reflected differently than Owen’s. Neither of  them wore their hearts on their sleeve, no – living on Tatooine weathered anyone, took away all the edges that could be filed, carved all beings to fit a frame that prioritized steadiness, the presence of both feet on the ground.

It was strange, Obi-Wan thought, how the compassion could even remain. It was strange, Obi-Wan thought, how often they reminded him of people he’d left behind so long ago.

When Beru let go of his hand, offering him one more sympathetic glance before returning to put the medicine back in the cabinet, Owen cleared his throat, and Obi-Wan, who’d turned to go already, glanced his way. He was leaning almost awkwardly against the wall, looking as though he’d just snapped out of some complicated debate with himself.

“You know where to find the medicine?” he asked Obi-Wan, finally, looking up at him.

“I,” Obi-Wan said, slowly and with a tilt of his head. “Well, I will do my best to find out.”

“Uh-huh,” Owen huffed, his usual dryness creeping into his voice as he turned his head to Beru while she closed up the cabinet. “The Mos Eisley market’s all a sham, all it’s ever been. You won’t find anything there. And if you do, it’s more likely to put your friend to the grave rather than get him up and walking.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together tightly, rolling his shoulders. He couldn’t say he hadn’t considered it – the sellers of the market were certainly not the best spot for those searching for anything legitimate. But if there were no other options he could find, then, well –

“He should go to Treasure,” Beru spoke suddenly, her voice a sharp distraction from his thoughts. “Her grandmother...”

“That’s the name,” Owen grumbled quietly, crossing his arms over her chest. “I keep forgetting...”

Beru waved her hand dismissively as she returned to Obi-Wan, though her eyes darted all over the room. “Yes, yes, you need to go to Treasure for sure. Her grandmother makes miracles.”

“It’s the closest thing we have to one of those fancy pharmacies you’ve got in the Core,” Owen added, a wry smile curving his lips.

Obi-Wan shook his head, raising a hand. “Forgive me – Treasure?”

“She’s one of the near-direct lines Tatooine has to Ryloth – she sells their goods, arranges trades, things like that,” Beru explained, gesturing toward the ceiling with her head as though the woman was glued to the surface there. “And she fixes protocol droid modules, the ones that handle language comprehension. The Hutts tried to call her on to translate for them, but were apparently disappointed with – well, with the fact that she wasn’t a Twi’lek herself.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, trying in futility to even out the crease in his brow. “But how does that – help with...?”

“It’s not Treasure you really need,” Beru corrected. “It’s her grandmother; she’s the Twi’lek, lives in the upper floor of the shop. She’s the one who has medicine – both her own, and what they receive from Ryloth.”

Obi-Wan parted his lips to speak, and found that he had nothing else to point out – this, really, was the second-best he could get.

“How can I find her?” he asked, feeling the renewed urgency burning bright in his chest.

“She’s in Anchorhead. Just west of, rather. Owen can send her a message on my comm while you make your way there,” Beru said, rolling up her sleeves. “He’ll point you to where her shop is.”

“Hey,” Owen cut in, a note of exasperation in his voice, “why’s it me who has to talk to her?”

Beru turned to look at him, her expression hardening in the blink of an eye.

“Because,” she said, pointedly, “I am drying redder.”

Obi-Wan tried his best, but couldn’t contain the chuckle that escaped him. In futility, Owen opened his mouth, only to be cut off again.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” she asked, and pointed at them a flat spoon she’d swept up from the counter. “If both of you are not out of this kitchen before I count to three, I will make good on my promise to feed a Krayt dragon.”

There were few constants on Tatooine – the weather tomorrow would be sunny, there was never enough water dripping from the vaporators, and Obi-Wan did not get friendly with the shopkeeps of Anchorhead. There were too many Imperials going by on their way to the spaceports; there were too many clues leading to him. His grief was so thick in the air that he sometimes thought it just might be tangible; there were days when he, walking among the people, would fight the urge to pull his hood down over the entirety of his face, as though if he could not see the world, the world would not see him, too.

As he approached what was most likely the woman Owen and Beru had told him about, it occurred to Obi-Wan that he might’ve had to get friendlier than usual.

In some way it was amusing, the way the Force seemed to lead people together. The way luck was coincidence, and the way neither was real.

He remembered her better than he would’ve guessed, he thought. Black hair in tight braids and a brown complexion, big eyes that appeared bottomless and deep-set in a face that seemed too young for someone so solemn. Had she been just a little shorter in height, she could’ve been one of Cody’s sisters.

He remembered, best of all, the blaster pressed against her temple. Cody’s trembling finger all but forced onto the trigger. And her eyes as she called out to him. Large, terrified eyes. Not unlike a child.

He hoped that she would not remember him.

And when her eyes found him, he lost all such naiveté.

For a moment, she gaped at him. Just for a moment, as though she was seeing a ghost. He felt almost awkward, walking up to her, the surprise in her face making her seem a little more what was likely her age – the sands weathered, and the people grew old too quickly.

“Hello,” he spoke, softly, and thought that he was still a little too far for the greeting to appear natural. It was odd, how glaring such small mistakes seemed around other people. As though he’d forgotten how to interact with them.

By the time he got within a respectable distance to her, he suspected she’d not yet blinked once.

“Hello,” she echoed him then, and her voice appeared far steadier now than the panicked whispering had been – Help me, stars, please get him off me – breathy and shaking and reflected in the way her terror froze the Force in time around her and Cody what now seemed like a lifetime ago. Hello, a deep, lilted voice.

“You’re Treasure, I assume.” He was aware, vaguely, of just how many niceties he was foregoing, things that would perhaps have been expected of him in the kinder days. But the days were kind no longer, the suns were ever-vicious above them, and Cody was half-conscious in his hut out there in the dunes, and he was running out of time.

She smiled at him, flashing white teeth – the incisors, he noted, were sharpened. She appeared Human, but the brief image reminded him of someone else. “I sure can be one, mister, if you treat me well.”

“Beru Lars told me where to find you,” Obi-Wan said, settling the urge to squirm at her words. They were all but defensive, a sharp tongue between sharp teeth, both to be used as weapons. “My name is Ben.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ben?”

“Just Ben,” he confirmed, quietly.

She studied his face for a moment as though looking for something – Obi-Wan tried to catch the strand of her impression, but it slipped through his consciousness like sand through a sift. Out of focus. No, not quite. Out of practice.

“Well, Just Ben,” she said, leaning back as her shoulders slumped a little, “I’d really prefer it if you’d call me Tres, then.”

He nodded voicelessly – and when she offered her hand to shake, he took it. A few of her nails dug lightly into his palm – unevenly filed, for one reason or another.

“I am looking for medicine,” he said, plainly. “And I’m told your grandmother is half the manpower behind Tatooine’s pharmaceutical manufacturing.”

Treasure chuckled lightly. “She’d have you think that, of course. The very best on the planet. And stars preserve, don’t I believe her.”

“Does she have anything for fever stemming from – “

She made a short hissing noise, distinctly Twi’lekki in execution, cutting him off.

“You’ll have to ask her, I’m afraid.” It was then that the full weight of her gaze descended on him, near-studious. “We owe you something of value, don’t we? I do, at the very least.” Her smile, although still genuine, appeared smaller.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, shaking his head and hoping in futility she’d take it as an answer. It had not been by chance – he’d heard the call, he’d felt the terror. But he’d felt Cody there too, before he’d ever even known it had been him. The familiarity had been unbearable, the call too strong; he wondered if that was what it was like for Cody, too, trapped in his own flesh – forced forever to follow the actions of a hivemind in which he had no spoils to share.

When he opened his eyes, she was closer; looking up at him with a strange desperation. He wondered if she was any taller than Ahsoka had been, when –

He swallowed the thought, and stepped back the littlest bit.

“I don’t know how you did it,” she confessed, her voice so quiet it formed some strange bubble around them, a chamber only for them to speak in. For her to pry into secrets he wouldn’t reveal in the gratitude he didn’t deserve. “But you saved my life. My grandmother’s life, most likely. He – that man – he was not gonna let me go. Was gonna shoot me, I know – he would’ve gotten bored eventually, mad as he was, I’ve never seen eyes like that, you know. And you just – you walked in, and he must’ve thought you were – I’m not sure, I... But –“ She shook her head furiously, brushing her braids forward over her shoulder. “Thank you, that’s all I’m meaning to say. My grandmother and I will do our best to help you however we can.”

Something had a hold on Obi-Wan’s chest – the words he couldn’t say burned in his throat. Her eyes were genuine; would they remain so if she knew the truth of it? If she knew who she was helping, by promising everything she could in order to help him?

It was the thing in his brain driving him mad.

He was never cruel. Never so much as unkind. He was tortured. He was battered. He was ill.

He is ill.

I carried him home and wrapped him in my cloak, and I put him in my bed and tried to feed him. I have stayed up day and night, I have been restless, I have been numb to it all; I am trying to keep him alive.

Help me keep him alive. Help me keep him alive. Help me keep the man who held a blaster to your head alive.

“Thank you,” he said instead, softly; if he spoke it any louder, he was afraid his voice would break.

Some sort of ease appeared to wash over her, then; a lightness in her step as she turned toward the house they stood in front of and pulled him forward by his sleeve.

They seemed to be done with introductions, at the very least. She fumbled with the keys at the door. After opening it, ducking inside first and then letting Obi-Wan in, she stopped in her tracks behind him, regarding him with some curiosity.

“Just one question, quickly – do you speak Ryl?”

Obi-Wan tried his best to swallow his grimace, but he suspected the traces of it remained on his face as he turned to her to answer. “I understand most of it. Speaking is a little more troublesome.”

“Isn’t that the case with all languages?” She offered him a wry smile, shrugging her shoulders with a hint of helplessness. “I’ll have to warn you, then, that Alema’mi – my grandmother, that is – she doesn’t speak much Basic, and she has little interest in learning.” Treasure’s smile turned a little bashful, then, as her eyes skittered away. “She always insists that she has me to translate, and then hates the very idea of me sitting next to her while she’s talking to anyone else. Or trying to, anyway.”

“I’m sure we will sort something out,” Obi-Wan murmured, rummaging through his head for the basics to come off as polite in Ryl – something had to come along at some point, but it was difficult getting past the early memories of his learning of the pronunciation, of the grammar...

Treasure, meanwhile, didn’t seem the least bit concerned. “Everyone before you has, eventually. Don’t worry.” She glanced up at the ceiling, and smiled at a creaking noise as someone moved upstairs. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out into the stairwell – “Alema’mi, eyim’ef tar’don!¹”

We’re home. An exclamation, equally a warning, Obi-Wan knew, about the fact that they weren’t alone. He couldn’t exactly begrudge it to her.

Along with her, Obi-Wan listened as the creaking stopped, and silence loomed above them for a moment – and then came a voice, creaky as the floorboards, barely audible from the room above.

“Eyima?²”

Treasure turned to him, offered him another small smile, and tugged him lightly by the sleeve toward the stairs. “Come on. She’ll wanna know what the ruckus is all about.”

He followed her in uneasy steps, minding each time the stairs wailed under his feet. They were steep, but Treasure climbed them with practised ease, lifting herself over the last few by bracing her hands against the railings on each side. The motion reminded Obi-Wan of some younger girl – lifting herself up just like that over the steps to the Temple spires, eager and energetic.

The memory didn’t quite make him smile the way he might’ve liked it to.

There were two doors upstairs – one unlocked, Obi-Wan noticed, and it was precisely the one Treasure led him to. At the step, she shushed him, and leaned softly against the wooden door, cupping the handle. It wasn’t shut all the way, Obi-Wan saw. A gap was between the door and hinge, though Treasure still took the time to knock gently on the thin surface.

“Alema’mi,” Treasure called quietly, her voice carrying over just as well as her knocking. “Can we come in?”

A pause, and the same voice – a raspy one, Obi-Wan could discern it now, from a lifetime of either singing or shouting – answered, “Ka, ka.³”

The woman answering easily to her granddaughter’s switch to Basic told Obi-Wan that perhaps she didn’t speak much of it, but understood some; the confirmation made the knot of anxiety in his stomach loosen the slightest bit, knowing that, even if he himself might understand little, at least he would be understood.

“Don’t get spooked now,” Treasure warned lightly, her voice no louder than it was before, and opened the door, slipping into the room and beckoning Obi-Wan to follow.

The first thing he sensed in the room was its peculiar smell – coming, he realized almost instantly, from the batches of plants roped together and hung from the ceiling, piled on the shelves attached to the walls. The room was dim, its sole window covered by a colourful shawl to let in some light, and the corner was occupied by a low bed. There were boxes accompanying the plants on the shelves, heavy enough that they might’ve made the wood creak if moved – the boxes filled the smaller ones, with bottles and wraps and all sorts of other things that would’ve made Obi-Wan feel tentative at the best of times.

The best of times were far away, though, and the sight made him have to try rather hard to suppress the hoping that kept trying to break into his chest.

Treasure’s grandmother was seated on the bed, resting her chin on a walking cane she was braced on. She was an elderly Twi’lek, her lined face narrowing into two thick lekku that were wrapped over her shoulders as securely as any scarf, and a line of earrings in one of her ears glittering a little less lightly than her deep-set dark eyes. And she watched them – with uncertainty but also a rather poignant sense of near-exasperation, as though they were bothering her for a matter unworthy of her attention.

She looked strikingly similar to Treasure, Obi-Wan thought, if he compared them by faces alone.

“Ish jinq’aj?⁴” The woman’s voice was flat – and while she was staring him right in the eyes, he gathered more than clearly that the question of his introduction was not directed at him.

“Kavish panq’aj Ben,⁵” Treasure introduced him, lifting her hand to gesture toward him. “He saved me from that Stormtrooper that came in. So arni ya'ish ril xama'jun'teuubo.⁶”

“Ben, hm?” He held an even face, watching as the woman’s eyes brightened bit by bit at Treasure’s explanation. She stood up from her bed, resting her weight on the cane. The edge to her expression softened as she bowed her head to him the slightest bit; he hurried to return the gesture. “Alema. Kah’lehalle.⁷”

He recognized the greeting – the acceptance of him into her home – for what it was, and he was certain there was a suitable answer he was supposed to give that escaped him. The heat and the weariness had grown on him and his mind, but he couldn’t just accept it silently; mustering up the simplest greeting and hoping it would suffice – “Kassurra.⁸”

“Kass,” Alema chuckled hoarsely, and her visible amusement at his answer relieved him further. Turning to Treasure, she murmured, still cackling – “Ish koa'passi'Ryl nawra'a.⁹”

“Su koa'passi'Nawaraay'nawra'a.¹⁰” Treasure replied, smiling wryly, and avoided the base of the cane when her grandmother reached out to hit her shin with it as though it was instinct.

“Ma, ma,” Alema scolded her, visibly unamused by Treasure’s defense of Obi-Wan’s grasp of Ryl, and turned to Obi-Wan again. “And you, you need what?”

Her Basic was intelligible enough, words slow and clear as though she was teaching a child or seeking to be understood by one. Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, answering quietly, “I need to buy medicine for a fever, vashna.¹¹”

“Hada’faho,¹²” Treasure translated for him, and the woman raised an eyebrow, nodding as she turned to look over the shelves filled with boxes and drawers.

“Mm, pah, circaah... Hada’faho, I have hada’faho. I give to you hada’faho, that is not hard.” She hummed, muttering things that seemed to be little more than filler, and then gestured toward the door with her head, turning to Treasure. “Ma, tuklii, Tres’ama.¹³”

“Hm?” Treasure tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest as she glanced at Obi-Wan. “Already? Are you sure you’ll understand each other?”

“Ma’qi, ma,” Alema urged, waving her hand in quick dismissal. Treasure huffed out a breath, shaking her head with a small smile as she brushed her hand against Obi-Wan’s shoulder on her way out.

“Tell me if you need any help,” she murmured to him. “She’s only stubborn.”

Obi-Wan nodded, swallowing the slowly forming lump in his throat. When the door closed, Alema watched it for a moment – just until the sound of Treasure’s descending footsteps stopped, and she turned back to Obi-Wan.

“Ben,” she called, and her voice was – warmer, he thought, than it had been before. “Sit?”

“Of course.” He nodded, willing to agree to all but anything – and when she motioned to the ground in front of the low table, he didn’t hesitate.

She sat on the other side, lowering herself slowly with the weight on the cane. She laid it atop her thighs, and tilted her head at him as though waiting for him to say something.

“I – “ he breathed out, and it was as though his mind was clear of any and all thought. Such a long road getting there, he thought, and all of it hinged on the small woman sitting in front of him, watching him inquisitively. Cody’s health – Cody’s life. Seeping out of him slowly, one exhaustive night after another. A downward spiral Obi-Wan needed to halt – a spiral she could, perhaps, help him halt. “I need medicine. For my friend.” She nodded, attentive, as he continued, trying to put it into simple enough words that she would understand, tweaking it a little bit each time she seemed lost in his expression – “He is – unwell. He has got a fever – high temperature – and he can’t eat or drink more than little bits at a time. He is weak, he can’t walk – he can barely sit up, most days. And he isn’t getting better. If anything, he’s getting worse.” He breathed out, shaking his head a little. “But he hasn’t got a cold. He isn’t cold. The problem is with his head.”

“High temperature?” Alema asked, and he nodded – and shook his head, after, realizing that it wasn’t what she meant.

“No, I’m not talking about that. The problem is – he was wounded – hurt, he got hurt, and he was unwell in the head for a long time before that. His head was hurt for a long time. We – We fixed that. His mind isn’t... He is okay, now, in his head. He isn’t sick there anymore.” She leaned back slowly, biting her dry lower lip as she turned her eyes up to the ceiling, nodding slowly. “But the wounds that were there... I am afraid that fixing his head ruined – hurt – something else in his body.”

“Heat in brain of him,” she said, then, almost matter-of-factly. And added, after a moment of thought, “Neurological.”

He opened his mouth in surprise, unsure what to say – then closed it. “That’s what I think. It couldn’t have been much else.”

“How is he hurt in brain of him? Before?” she asked, and Obi-Wan let out a small breath. How would he explain a control chip without revealing to her that the man he was trying to save was the same who had almost killed her granddaughter? “He is hurt before for long? Years?”

“Years,” he agreed, glad for the moment to think. “He was – He was born with the sickness. But it was... dormant. For many years.”

She stopped him. “Dormant?”

“It wasn’t... active. It wasn’t hurting him. It wasn’t doing anything.” Alema nodded, then, and motioned for him to keep going. “And then it... came alive, in a way. Like someone had pulled a switch. He became someone else, when he was sick. He was not the same person. He couldn’t help it. The sickness, it – it controlled him.”

“You fix him how?”

The question was simple. The answer, on the other hand, was more or less impossible to give.

“Physically,” he said, slowly, motioning with his hands. “With my – with my hands. It was – There was something in his brain that was hurting him. I... I made it so it couldn’t hurt him anymore. I killed it.”

Alema narrowed her eyes at him, clearly trying to parse his vague story for any logical thread she could follow, and the hollow pit in his stomach grew further and further. He wasn’t certain how to answer her correctly; didn’t know, truly, what he might say to her that could help. And with each word he revealed more – with each word he compromised himself.

Cody. He closed his eyes for a moment. Cody. Cody, out there, half-conscious for the better part of the day. Unable to function properly. Sick, worse and worse, writhing in his discomfort, in his pain.

Cody.

“It is still there,” he said, unable to open his eyes until he’d gotten all the words out. “It’s still in his brain. But I killed it. It can’t control him anymore, but I’m afraid the loss of it hurt some other part of him. That by killing the – what was in his brain, I killed him in turn.”

“You remove tumour from him,” she said again, and her voice was even. Almost soothing. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she was leaning over the table, looking at him in near-concern. He sighed, nodding his head – it was nearing the truth, anyway – and tried to relax his shoulders. Look inconspicuous, he thought. Giving away even more was – not necessary, anymore. She understood. “And then, temperature becomes too high in brain of him. And body of him. Neurological fever. I see this. You cannot bring this friend of you here? For my looking to him.”

“No,” he said, immediately. Alema tilted her head again, her eyes skittering for a moment in confusion. He hurried, knowing he had been too quick in his refusal – “He is weak. Too weak for such a journey, we – we live too far away. He would not survive – not live through it.”

“Mm.” She nodded once he said that, her expression somewhere in the realm of sympathy. And sighed, leaning back, glancing across the room to look over her pouches and boxes again. “I – I can give to you hada’faho, it is possible it can help. For swelling in brain of him, for high temperature. Not for when he is cold, but for when head of him is hurt. It can help.” She looked back at him, firm in her insistence as she added, “It can not help, also.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, nodding. It could not help – Force, everything he’d done so far had not helped. He’d have gladly given away his lightsaber for the slightest possibility this might have.

“I understand,” he said, quietly, and opened his eyes to Alema standing up, grunting a little as she braced on the cane. He jumped to help her, unwilling to squander the chance for help by disrespect, but she slapped away his hand, snickering.

“Jinq’aj, a’kei’an!¹⁴” She tilted her chin upwards as she looked at him, smiling as though his offer of help had been a joke. And added, shaking his head as she turned away, “Little boy.”

Obi-Wan huffed a breath, managing to offer her a small smile as she brushed her knobby fingers against his bearded cheek. She moved past him to kick her slippers off and climb onto the bed, tip-toeing with odd ease as she reached to pull a drawer off the shelf where it rested, filled to the brim with all sorts of packets and smaller boxes.

“That seems heavy,” he said, trying to not make it sound like too much of a suggestion – he got a barrage of Ryl in response, thick and quick enough he couldn’t quite catch the meaning, but the tone was clear enough in its dryness.

Alema placed the drawer on the low table, pressing on Obi-Wan’s shoulder as a request for him to sit back down as she did. She picked the box out quickly, unmarked but bright red in colour, and handed it over the drawer to him. A sheet of small pink capsules were encased inside.

“For the temperature?” he asked her.

“For swelling.” She shook her head. “Make them in pieces and then put in water. Make him drink. One a day. I ask two peggats.”

Obi-Wan took a heavy breath, nodding as he dug around in his cloak. “That is – quite a bit.”

Alema shrugged her shoulders, smiling thinly. “It is. It is of Ryloth.”

“Yes, I... understand.” He bit down on his lip, hard, once he realized that the contents in his hand were all the real currency he had in his possession.

Seven trugut.

Two days’ work; a hundred and forty credits – more than enough to pay for most medicine on Coruscant, let alone on Tatooine. He took more than he should have either way, leaving them with less than he was comfortable with, but he was willing to keep his stomach a little less full if it meant helping Cody. He was willing to be a little more thirsty, a little less clean. It was fine.

But two –

He blinked quickly as he placed the seven coins on the table, willing his hand into steadying. It was difficult to look up at her – when he did, after all, she seemed...

She seemed saddened. But firm. And silent.

He knew what he was giving wasn't enough; he knew that a trugut was no couple of credits. He had two wupiupi left, in his belt pouch; if it came to it, he would offer those, too. But placing them on the table now might’ve been more of an insult than a sweetening.

They got so far – his head spun at the thought of giving up now. He curled his fingers into his palms.

“Please,” he said instead, quietly, and even so knew that the plea was pathetic. “It’s – for my friend. I care for him. Greatly. He needs it, otherwise – “ And then he quieted down, because he did not want to think about what would happen to Cody if his fever didn't drop soon. “...You understand.”

She looked at him for a moment, her head tilted to the side. Then pointed to his chest. “Dear friend?”

Obi-Wan nodded, as composed as he could make himself. “Yes, he is my friend.”

“No,” Alema waved her hand, frustrated with his answer. “No.” She made an exaggerated motion towards his chest again, and repeated, “...Most dear friend.”

Friend of his heart. He’d heard the expression before.

In spite of himself, he heard a chuckle come from his mouth, though it sounded far from joyous. Dear to his heart, Cody certainly was that, but that was not what she was asking. Lying – would he lie about the two of them?

Of course he would lie. Let her believe whatever if it only got Cody to heal. He’d have been willing to make himself into anything of Cody’s if that convinced her; and she wasn't too far from the truth, anyway.

“Yes. Yes, exactly that.”

She hummed quietly, and he tried his best not to let hope bloom in his chest. But why else would she ask? Why else would it matter? Lover of not, without the medicine Cody would –

He breathed out firmly, trying to compose himself, even as he knew he’d not managed to hide it from her. But instead of compromising his position, it seemed to soften something in her face.

She looked him up and down again, searching for something. Her eyes narrowed.

“Your…” She gestured to her own shoulders, making a motion as if shrugging off an article of clothing.

Obi-Wan blinked, in surprise.

And clarified, “My cloak?”

“Yes.” Alema nodded, satisfied. “You give me cloak of you, and I give you box. For dear friend of you.”

Obi-Wan let out a slow, shuddering breath. A deal, an answer. An option. All the same, as the knot of tension in him loosened again, something else wound tight around his chest where the cloak rested over his heart.

All that was left to him of home, sewn up to keep it as close to him as it could be. The one piece of memory that would not hurt him. It was his relic. The last of that which he had with him that could still remind him of home; of the Temple; of his family. Even ignoring all the rest, it protected him: a useful shield against the unforgiving suns of Tatooine, a fine thing to cover him with in case he had to sleep outside of his hut.

But he looked at the little box of medicine in his hands, he thought about Cody, and there wasn’t really a decision to be made at all, he knew.

He’d wrapped Cody in his cloak, carrying him back. Perhaps he’d known then, without realizing it.

His heart beat wildly in his chest as he hid the box in the pouch on his belt.

Alema took his cloak with a reverence he hadn’t expected, as though she knew all that it had meant to him. She hummed, running her fingers over the fabric, tracing the seams where he’d worked hard to keep it together.

“It is good,” she said, quietly. And, almost dismissively, took one of the trugut and tossed it to him over the table.

He parted his lips, but it took him a moment to voice his astonishment. “What?”

“Take it,” she said calmly, still looking at the cloak.

“Now you’re missing two,” he said, honestly finally pulling at his tongue, until she waved her hand at him again.

“Take it, a’kei.¹⁵” Finally, she looked up at him – something had softened in her eyes when she saw his surprise, and her lips curved upward into a smile. “It is good. I hope dear friend of you doesn’t hurt any longer.”

“I – “ He swallowed, nodded, and slipped the trugut into the belt pouch; it made a soft cling as it collided with the two wupiupi, but Alema didn’t react to the noise. “I hope so as well. And –“ He thought for a moment, remembering the exact way it was said, the bow of his head that was supposed to follow... “Arni’soyacho.¹⁶”

The gratitude surprised her, clearly, but it was gentled by her smile again, pulling at the lines underneath her eyes. “Aelo arni, Ben. Ma’allesh.¹⁷” Folding the cloak in her lap, she called out – “Tres’wo!¹⁸”

“Coming, mimi!¹⁹”

She was in the room remarkably quickly, having skipped steps on the way up from the sound of it – and when she saw the two of them, her lips curved easily into a smile.

“Well, did you make your deal?”

“Yes, thank you,” Obi-Wan replied, and, carefully, opened another pouch in his belt to slip the box inside. “Six trugut and my cloak for the medicine.”

“Your cloak?” Treasure narrowed her eyes at him, then pointed her interrogatory gaze toward her grandmother. She spilled out a question in Ryl – something about robbery – and got a curt answer that she huffed incredulously at. “Well, at least you two sorted it out.” At a dismissive wave of Alema’s hand, she took Obi-Wan gently by the elbow. “Do you want me to walk you to the outskirts? I know a shortcut.”

“I’ll be okay, thank you,” he murmured, the box so oddly heavy in his pouch. Perhaps he was just hyper-aware of it, now. “You have already done much for me.”

“Friends of Beru are friends of mine,” she said, softly, letting him step out of the room and descend down the stairs, Alema shutting her door quietly behind them as they went. “And, ha, Alema’mi’s friends too, I suppose.”

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, feeling the urge to hurry back to Cody spark fierce in his chest; he had no more time left to idle, neither to exchange pleasantries nor to thank them too extensively. But from the way Treasure’s dark eyes softened, he thought he might be able to count on her to understand.

She wished him goodbye in Ryl and he replied in kind. Her smile as small as it was hopeful as he turned to go, stepping out into the sand seas once more.

The sun was vicious as he walked back, the rays quick to sting as they seemed to stick to his neck, his hands and his face. The heat nipped at his cheeks, at his forehead, at his forearms.

Somewhere along the way, he found that it was very difficult to care.

The medicine remained with him. And so hope followed, tentatively.

Chapter Text

If Obi-Wan thought of them, even in passing, there were four images of 212^th medics that came to his mind with frightening ease.

Bay had been, for a good portion of the Wars, their CMO. (Letters came easier to him still. Something in CMO rolled from the tip of his tongue with less bonebreak and bloodshed than Chief Medical Officer.) Quick with his hands, quicker still with his words, a presence to be carefully circled in the medbay lest he grab you by the elbow and pull you in for a check after a battle. He had the uncanny ability to be wherever he was not wanted. To find all he needed about a wound from what seemed to be a single look and a brief touch.

Del, their wrappings on the field, had been the one constantly on the line between luck and disaster. Obi-Wan had approved, a year into the Wars, Cody’s request that she be reassigned to handle disposal of bodies after a stray explosive had taken her leg. But Obi-Wan recalled her still bandaging her brothers in the medbay on busier days; she had been unwaveringly determined to push aside her own worry to focus only on what she could do to help the living instead of fretting over the dead.

Mags, Obi-Wan recalled, never stood still. It was an artist’s eagerness, perhaps; she’d moved quickly from filling datapads to colouring her and her brothers’ skin instead. Still, it seemed to carry over to all the work she did in the medbay. She never recoiled, never froze – all her thoughts seemed to click into finished lines in the blink of an eye. Aurek to Besh to Cresh and so on further. She had a solution to anything; always something worthwhile they could at the very least try, no matter how harrowing the situation.

Red had been the youngest one he’d seen around in the medbay. He stayed for a time far too short, and perhaps his optimism would’ve hardened naturally into a stern resignation the rest of them carried. All in due time. They’d never gotten to find out; blaster bolts did the work just as well. But, while Obi-Wan was there, he’d never seen Red with a frown on his face. His neutrality was a kind smile offered freely; he always knew – somehow, the way some people simply did – just the right thing to say.

What Obi-Wan wouldn’t have given to have them – at least one of them, any, any one of them – here with him, now.

What Obi-Wan wouldn’t have given to have been just a little more like them, really. Young, too young, stronger and better and smarter than they ever should have needed to be to simply survive. Uncertainly. Only ever for as long as they could.

And sad, too, he supposed, though it was a sea not easy to dry in the Galaxy. Infinitely sad – even so, it had always seemed to Obi-Wan that they carried it infinitely better than him, too.

He sent a prayer to the Force for them, raising it into the shining stars. Such things must’ve been easier to believe there - certainly easier than here, at least, when one was stuck only beneath the scorching suns and the unfeeling dark sky.

It ought to been dawn soon, he thought blearily, tilting his head where he sat propped up against the bed, glancing out the window. It was still dark, though – at least the tea in the thermos in his hand didn’t seem to be getting any colder.

He listened for long moments, and the silence behind him slowly settled into strands of shrill breath. Cody was still asleep – just the same as Obi-Wan had found him. He had to admit his heart had begun to pound as he neared the hut on his way back from Anchorhead; the thoughts he’d managed to push down while he was out there or only utilize as motivation to go back quicker returned with a vengeance to the point he almost ran to the door – and then hesitated in front of it.

But Cody had been okay. Sleeping. The mash had been eaten. And Obi-Wan had brought the medicine. And all that had cost him were only a few pieces of metal and an old roll of cloth.

Now, he just needed for Cody to – to wake up, and perhaps for the dawn to break as well, just so he would know clearer when he was supposed to give Cody the medicine, and then, and then –

And then he would carry on as he had, and hopefully the pill he’d crushed up and mixed into a cup of water as instructed would make some difference. He couldn’t consider anything other than that. He tried to keep his mind sharp, and concentrated, and...

But it was so difficult, now, and he was beat, truly, and the shadows were slowly beginning to unfold in the shapes of squirming centipedes and reaching claws, and Obi-Wan just –

He was tired. That was that.

But he could hold on a little longer. Because Cody needed him, and he couldn’t just...

He just wanted - stars, he just wanted Cody to be okay.

He closed his eyes before they could overflow; but the exhaustion, tugging incessantly at him, remained. He turned his head and slowly, deliberately blinked his eyes open – he couldn’t fall asleep now, no, couldn’t do it now, not yet – and met, startling a little, Cody’s own brown eyes, glimmering and sickly in the faint light of the moons that was filtering in through the small windows.

Cody had stayed just how he’d slept, curled up under his blanket, but his eyes were certainly open – he was staring directly at Obi-Wan, even as his gaze had to squeeze through narrow slits. For just a moment, Cody looked confused – the way he often did, waking, for a reason Obi-Wan feared he could guess – and then settled. And said, his voice hoarse and quiet –

“Obi-Wan.”

“There you are,” Obi-Wan whispered, reaching out for his thermos without looking at it, grasping it and pulling it to his chest to unscrew the cap while holding his eyes locked to Cody’s. He felt afraid to look away, lest Cody just... disappear, or fall unconscious, or... “Hey – you need to... I got medicine in town, dear one. It’s in the water – you need to drink it. It’s warm.”

“Okay,” murmured Cody, though he didn’t move to take the thermos, nor did he seem to want to wait for Obi-Wan to get it for him. He just reached out with his fingers, and, idly, tugged at Obi-Wan’s hair – lost in thought and fidgeting. “Hey, Obi-Wan.”

“Hey, there,” Obi-Wan replied, quietly, and carefully disentangled himself from Cody’s fingers as he took the cap off. “It might not be very good, but most medicine isn’t. You just need to – well, drink some of it, and we’ll see how it goes in the morning, alright?” He moved up to sit on the edge of the bed, trying not to loom over Cody too obviously.

To Cody’s credit, this once, he didn’t seem to mind much. “M-hm.”

The hum was followed by Cody’s arm reaching out to take the thermos at last – but it fell back down in the middle of the attempt, strength failing him. Obi-Wan shushed his noise of frustration, filled the lid of the thermos with water and then handed it to Cody. It was easier to hold that way, he knew.

Cody drank without complaint, then; and each bit of the medicine that flowed into his body along with the water was another pebble out of the basket of rocks resting on Obi-Wan’s chest. It took, he thought, a little less time than he expected – but he squashed the hope in his chest before it could metastasize to his bones.

“Good,” he said instead, gently, and took the empty cup Cody offered back to him, screwing it back onto the thermos. “I’ll give you more in the morning, if you feel okay then.”

Cody managed a nod, and then fell limp, throat bobbing as he sank into the pillow, closing his eyes as he sucked in breaths through parted lips. Even something like staying upright exhausted him; Obi-Wan tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his own throat, and sank back to the floor by the bed.

His own fatigue felt oddly distant now, his eyes stubborn and open, eager to watch Cody’s eyelids flutter and flutter until they finally stilled. His body settled, and it didn’t take him long – it never took him long, perhaps Obi-Wan ought to be grateful for it – to slip back under.

Obi-Wan turned to the rest of the hut again, shifting so he could cross his legs under himself. For whichever time tonight, he stared at the washer, then at the counters, then at the door; counted the four narrow windows, again and again and again. Waiting in futility, he thought – especially hardly knowing what he was doing it for – was worse than most other things to do in the night. It seemed that the dark sky loved to bring its companion thoughts with it: and Obi-Wan sat, wondering, and fearing, and hardly even moving a finger as he did, even when the thermos slipped through his fingers, tipped over on the floor, and rolled away from him. There was no harm in it, he’d screwed it shut again – so he simply watched it roll, on and on away, until it hit the leg of one of the chairs by the table and stayed there, still and silent.

He pressed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the numbness in his body and mind. Tried to meditate – he’d done it when he was worse off, anyway, when they all had been dying around him and he thought his men had betrayed him and his brother was a murderer and Cody was –

He shook his head, just a bit, chasing away the memories. They weren’t productive at all. He was thinking of them simply, he knew, because he was afraid that he’d turn around and Cody’s body would be lying still in his bed.

In all honesty, he didn’t know what he’d do, then. He felt as though he’d simply let all his muscles grow stiff and turn to stone and stay there, blind and deaf to the rest of the world, kneeling for the remainder of time by the resting place of the last person he’d ever allowed himself to fail.

“Obi-Wan,” came a low call – wholly unexpected and wholly alive.

Obi-Wan whipped his head around to look at Cody, heart picking up its beating as though commanded – did he need help, did he need –

“Yes?” he asked, quietly enough, gathering immediately that Cody didn’t look more pained or more tired than usual. His eyes glimmered in the darkness, striking with their shine, and he was watching Obi-Wan with some sort of exasperation – or, admittedly, sympathy.

He opened his mouth – lips dry again, Obi-Wan could see it – and said, even in the faintness of his voice leaving no space to argue, “Sleep.”

“I will, dear one.” Obi-Wan promised him, reaching out to touch the blanket was covered by, dragging his fingertips gently down the seam on the side of it. What wouldn’t he promise Cody... “Don’t worry about me.”

Cody hummed – once, it would’ve been disbelief. Now, though, he’d used up all his strength simply telling Obi-Wan to be responsible with himself. And truly, Obi-Wan thought, he was right to do so; who’d help Cody, it occurred to him, if he fell ill too?

Cody, it seemed, had all but read out that train of thought off Obi-Wan’s face. He pulled his hand – his bony and unsteady hand – from the blanket and, through what seemed like both great external and internal struggle, brushed their fingers together; just the sides of them, carefully, to comfort, perhaps to calm, and Obi-Wan...

Force, but it wasn’t Obi-Wan who needed comfort, was it?

And it was just because the gesture seemed to be just as much a comfort to Cody himself as it was to Obi-Wan that Obi-Wan didn’t move his hand away and let Cody have his rest. He let Cody all but intertwine their fingers instead, holding onto each other as though they would be separated from one another if they did not.

Finding himself in what seemed to be his permanent position of residence for the night, Obi-Wan settled, trying to move his hand as little as possible as he watched Cody sink further and further into sleep. It seemed less fitful, these days, though he wasn’t certain whether he should’ve been glad or concerned about it. Then again, truth to be told, he wasn’t certain about many things anymore.

Obi-Wan put his head to the edge of the bed – how many times had he done it during the past weeks? – and laughed so quietly and so pointlessly that it sounded, even to him, a lot more like weeping.

Cody, breathing and warm and hopefully unaware, slept on.

His fever wasn’t dropping.

Obi-Wan hadn’t expected it to be over quickly. He hadn’t; he knew that the effects would stick around for a while. Still, the anxiety rose in his chest, slow but potent, a gradual build.

He had no other options. If this did not work –

Obi-Wan quelled the thoughts however many times, though, with tentative focus on Cody’s other improvements. There had been quite a few, he’d remind himself – Cody was awake for a little longer each day, his movements just a little more coordinated, his words, when he spoke, just a little clearer. There were few, but they were there. Unmistakably.

It was perhaps a week of mixing the crushed-up medicine into water when Obi-Wan had an idea which, if he was being completely honest with himself, absolutely terrified him.

It occurred to him somewhere between his usual run out to the vaporators to collect the water for the day and opening up the door to air the hut out a little. The suns’ dying light behind him framed his shadow well against the floor, just about reaching to where Cody lay beneath the blanket. One brown hand was peeking from beneath the folds, pulling the fabric up and over his face. He tended to startle or shift in some way whenever Obi-Wan left or when he was coming back in, disoriented by the light or the noise; but he was reacting to it, which, Obi-Wan thought, at least couldn’t really be a sign of him getting any worse.

Now, though, as Obi-Wan stood in the doorway, frozen for a reason he couldn’t quite name, he watched Cody slowly pull the blanket down his face and squint at him. His dark eyes trailed down the jugs in Obi-Wan’s hands and skittered back up again.

“Coming in?” he asked, his voice little more than a dragging rasp with a few mouthed consonants.

“I am,” Obi-Wan confirmed quietly, closing the door behind him – Cody’s eyes closed along with it, only a small hum accompanying his minute shifting before he was burrowing into the blanket again in small, uncertain motions.

Obi-Wan watched him for a while – watched as his breathing evened out a little, his fingers stopped twitching in the grip he had on the blanket. Watched as he fell asleep; until Obi-Wan needed, eventually, to bring the jugs into the kitchenette and set them up for their next day.

His idea, by then, had solidified.

Just before the dawn of the next day, he woke up – like clockwork, he noticed, he had the tendency to rouse himself just before the first rays of the suns would begin peeking over the horizon. Cody was asleep in his bed, still, and Obi-Wan took another moment to watch him.

It was all but imperative that he saw to him first. There was no peace for him without it. Obi-Wan felt as though the habit had been ingrained into his bones – the rise and fall of Cody’s chest, the slow breaths he released through his parted lips, the occasional twitches of his fingers as he held onto the blanket he still kept pulled up over his body, even as both his fever and the Tatooine heat failed to fade.

Obi-Wan stretched, after, a short routine which, he was certain, was the only thing keeping him from snapping an ankle on a wrong step. He could prepare breakfast later – something a little more filling, perhaps, if they were to eat a good while after sunrise.

Then he woke Cody.

It was more or less the same every time, yet Obi-Wan remained careful; Cody didn’t jolt in his sleep or even in the moment of waking, but the first breath he took upon his return to awareness tended to be so hitched and heavy that Obi-Wan half-expected him to bolt upright each time.

He settled on the floor by Cody’s bed and leaned on his arms on the blanket. It had occurred to him only a short while ago how childish the pose was; like a youngling waiting impatiently for their crèchemaster to wake from a much-deserved nap. For once, the realization was accompanied by a small bloom of warmth in his chest.

“Cody,” he said, softly, because it was best to talk to him before he reached out to touch; it eased him, just as it had back when Obi-Wan was only talking to talk, and Cody was only able to watch him with glazed-over eyes. “It’s morning already, sweet. Wake up, mm?”

Cody opened his eyes just as Obi-Wan brushed his fingertips carefully against a bared shoulder, his gaze darting over Obi-Wan’s face as though he were surprised to see him there. His expression lingered on lost for a moment, as it always did – Obi-Wan was so used to it, now, that Cody could’ve told him that’s what he’d always looked like, waking up, and he would’ve believed it.

Cody wasn’t fond of talking in the mornings; perhaps he wasn’t awake enough just yet, or perhaps the haze of exhaustion was just stronger drawn over him. Obi-Wan minded little, humming a chipper note at the sight of Cody awake and looking at him, and pushed himself away from the bed, rising to sit instead on its edge.

“Don’t mind that it’s dark out,” he told Cody quietly and saw the dark gaze shift to the door; only then, it seemed, did Cody realize that the suns hadn’t risen yet. “I had an idea. It was important to wake up before dawn.”

“Go back to sleep,” Cody murmured to him, and the words made Obi-Wan laugh so suddenly he raised a hand to cover his mouth.

“You don’t want to hear the idea?” Obi-Wan asked, half-teasing, half-relieved to just hear his voice. Cody didn’t grace him with a response to that, though, only raised one eyebrow the slightest bit in an expression that was only a little too slack to be intimately familiar to Obi-Wan. “All right, do hear me out. How would you feel about being outside for a little bit?”

Cody’s brow scrunched up, just a little, in confusion and intrigue both. He seemed – uncomprehending, just for a moment, as though what Obi-Wan had said made no sense. And – well, perhaps Obi-Wan had been vague, that was fair.

“I wouldn’t make you sit out there for long if you don’t want to, dear one, just...” Obi-Wan shrugged his shoulders, hoping that a further explanation might ease the expression on his face. “Well, I figured you haven’t been outside for a while, and fresh air does help, you know. And...” Still, as he continued on, Cody didn’t look any more at ease, glancing periodically between Obi-Wan and the door. Perhaps he was just – considering it. That, too, was fair. Obi-Wan waved a hand towards the entrance and finished, helplessly, “I don’t know, really. I thought I’d ask.”

Cody’s gaze settled on the door, then, on the small windows by the ceiling. Questioning, almost curious. He hadn’t been out for so long, had, perhaps, hardly even thought of it, the heat already suffocating inside –

Obi-Wan longed to give him at least this, if he could give him nothing else. More than that, he wanted to give Cody something he wanted.

Long ago, there’d been a sunrise painted on Cody’s chest. A hope and a memory, tangling together in broad strokes of an old brush.

“I’d...” Cody shifted, a brief grimace flashing over his face before he settled on his back again and exhaled, turning to look up at Obi-Wan. And, quietly, he said, “Yeah.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, trying to hide the fluttery uncertainty in him away from his smile. “Yeah?”

“I’d like that,” Cody murmured. Something eased in Obi-Wan’s chest at the sound of it – something always did, when he spoke. “I think.”

“Then let’s try it,” Obi-Wan told him, softly, and drew away, standing up and stretching his arms out for a moment. He’d been carrying Cody into the fresher – unless he was feeling particularly stubborn and insisted on trying to walk himself, an arm wrapped around Obi-Wan’s shoulders where most of his weight went anyway – but Obi-Wan’s joints ached something fierce sometimes, early in the morning and just before falling asleep. The stretches helped handle that, at least.

“I’ll put this down on the stairs if it suits you,” he told Cody, tugging gently at the second blanket over the bed, and, at Cody’s nod, pulled it to his chest. He might’ve used his cloak for that, it occurred to him – before he remembered that it was his cloak he could thank for Cody’s medicine. “So we can sit on something other than sandy foundation.”

The quip earned him no laughter, but Cody’s lips twitched upward a little, and that was the best Obi-Wan could’ve hoped for, really.

In the end, he ended up making them breakfast before carrying Cody out, too. The suns seemed lazy in their rising; although, of course, it must’ve only been Obi-Wan who’d woken up earlier than intended. He brought out their two plates of rice (his own with a couple of terrabird eggs; they went for cheap in the markets, but Cody’s stomach still didn’t tolerate them well just yet), and laid out the blanket close to the wall in case Cody wanted to have someplace to lean on.

Then, finally, he wrapped Cody in the remaining blanket, lifted him, and carried him over the doorstep and out into the morning.

Cody stuttered through his first breath of fresh air; and he blinked rapidly, too, though his eyes stayed wider than they’d ever been inside, trying to take all of the desert in at once. Obi-Wan thought it was reasonable – he’d slept through his journey here from Anchorhead, cheek pressed uncomfortably to Obi-Wan’s chest.

“Not too quick?” he asked him, quietly, and Cody looked up at him again, some sort of strange wonder written over his face.

“No,” he replied, turning to look at the sands again. Slowly, the darkness was receding as the first rays of the suns began to peek over the horizon. He nodded, as though to himself. “Good, it’s... Yeah. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Obi-Wan made his way down from the door step by step and put Cody down, carefully, on the blanket he’d laid out. Cody closed his eyes at the impact, though Obi-Wan didn’t see any other sign of discomfort. “You’re going to tell me if that changes, okay? If it gets too bright, or if something starts hurting, or...”

Cody nodded, eyes still closed as he settled, pulling at his blanket until his legs came free of the cocoon Obi-Wan had admittedly put him in. It was unusual, Obi-Wan thought, how little he protested about all this, distracted perhaps by the scenery. The idea stung him, a thorn tipped with some poison he couldn’t discern. “Okay.”

And then, to his surprise, Cody raised a hand and tugged at him, opening his eyes to glance his way. And Obi-Wan – Obi-Wan sat down there, next to him, reaching behind them to take the plates. He knew it was, well, bland - but it always was, at least a little. And it was food, still. The best he could give.

After eyeing Cody for a moment, he put his plate on his legs, the blanket draped over them still. If it spilled…

Well, there were worse things, really. And Cody much preferred to do things for himself, he knew.

When he looked at him, he found Cody’s eyes closed again, even as one hand rose, shaking slightly, to hold the plate of rice in place. One loose curl – they seemed longer now, though perhaps it was only Obi-Wan’s imaginings – was fluttering against his forehead in the slight drift; Obi-Wan could feel it, blowing grains of sand onto his shoes. He couldn’t bring himself to eat just yet. Something in Cody captivated him.

It took Obi-Wan a good while to realize that, for the first time in ages, there was no strain in his brow. No flat press of his lips. No true tension thrown into wrinkles beside his eyes. He was simply sitting, the rice all but forgotten. Enjoying the wind.

The food had gone cold, by the time the sunlight finally reached them.

Cody blinked his eyes open, slowly and only a smidge, and his gaze darted out toward the horizon. It seemed terribly languid, and settled almost softly on the sands the wind was blowing toward, Obi-Wan recognized, the junction between Mos Eisley and Anchorhead.

Cody’s eyes widened, just slightly, as he caught sight of the suns, slowly peeking from beneath the horizon. One following the other, sisters as they were, taking their time painting the skyline a lovely purple hue. They watched as the shine faded into a deep crimson, bit by bit, the golden light far too shy to show itself before the suns had fully risen.

Cody said nothing as they sat together, but his eyes remained trained on the sky. Almost as though he was afraid it would go dark again or disappear altogether if he were to look away, even for a moment.

And it occurred to Obi-Wan, at some point, that he wasn’t watching the suns at all. He was watching – well, he was watching Cody, but…

It was all but habit now, he thought to himself. It was understandable. It was reasonable, he added, when Cody was still so sick so clearly.

And still he couldn’t deny it: Cody was – had always managed to be – a far lovelier sight than the sunrise. The one in the sky or the one on his chest.

Eventually, though, Cody looked away, remembering himself – and caught Obi-Wan’s gaze, which Obi-Wan immediately threw down to the ground, cleared his throat, and was quickly reminded of the rice in his lap. It had undoubtedly gone cold in his ignorance.

He picked through it, hurriedly, even as he felt Cody’s eyes on him. Heavy.

A moment of silence, interrupted only by Obi-Wan eating. He thought the crunch of rice between his teeth seemed too loud, all of a sudden. The drag of the fork against the bottom of the bowl near-deafening in nothing but the slight breeze.

Cody’s voice, still, was perfectly quiet once he spoke, if hoarse – “Will you stay?”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, the heat in his face settling, just a little, and offered him a smile. “I can certainly give you time alone, if you’d like.” It was only fair – he’d been forced to remain still and largely unoccupied for so long, as Obi-Wan went and did as he pleased…

Strangely enough, Cody shook his head.

“No, I...” He trailed off, and looked down at his rice, finally. Picked up the fork, his hand shaking a lot more clearly, now. And still, he finished, “No. Stay.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head, hiding the surprise he couldn’t quite help from twisting his expression. “Or I can stay. Of course.”

Cody nodded at that idly, as though soothed in some way by his words. Obi-Wan didn’t quite understand what Cody gained from his presence – reassurance that he’d receive help if he felt poorly all of a sudden, perhaps. Obi-Wan doubted he was much for comfort, after spending so long at Cody’s bedside scooping up broth, changing the sheets and cleaning out the bucket. He felt as though the whole of him must’ve been a reminder of Cody’s vulnerability – and Cody detested such cracks in himself always, Obi-Wan knew.

Why would Cody want him to stay, then?

He shook his head lightly and pushed the thoughts away, letting relief flood his chest instead as Cody raised a bite of rice to his mouth absentmindedly. He moved it about from cheek to cheek before swallowing without much difficulty, though he did close his eyes – perhaps his throat had been dry. After he took his bite, though, he turned to look at Obi-Wan again, almost instinctive – and Obi-Wan turned away again. He could feel the embarrassment colouring his features in predictable patterns. Perhaps Cody would write it off as him only fretting, though Obi-Wan doubted that would lift his mood any further.

It was easier to look at Cody when he was turned away, Obi-Wan thought. He’d never quite been good at holding someone’s gaze for too long - he watched instead their lips, their noses, their foreheads, even the walls they stood in front of – but Cody was a different kind of intensity with his eyes altogether. It seemed he’d read him like an open book if he looked back too long. He would read out everything Obi-Wan thought of him, everything he adored, everything lovely that he thought Cody deserved.

And, Force above and Force below, wasn’t it cruel of him to withhold such thoughts when he’d seen so much of Cody at his weakest?

Almost like an answer to his question – not that it made anything clearer – Cody shifted a little closer and leaned his way. His shoulder brushed down Obi-Wan’s arm as he – oh – as he laid his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and shut his eyes against the sunlight.

“Too bright?” Obi-Wan managed, though his voice was little more than a whisper. It was odd, the weight of Cody against his side, breathing slowly. He never wanted it to end.

Cody shook his head no, just slightly, against Obi-Wan’s shirt, and his eyes fluttered open; he was looking out over the dunes again. Obi-Wan felt tension flooding from him – tension that had wound up there from the sheer effort Cody had to spare to hold himself upright.

But a few weeks ago he could not sit up of his own volition. This was progress. Great progress. And still Obi-Wan shut his eyes in defense of his own hope-prone heart; it was easy to talk himself into carelessness, he knew.

Minutes passed as they watched the suns – Obi-Wan eventually offered Cody the remaining rice in the bowl he’d not bothered to put away, but relented at the immediate scrunching of his nose. As long as he’d eaten something, Obi-Wan didn’t press; being careful with Cody’s stomach had become second nature. He settled on emptying his own bowl and putting the two behind them again; Cody seemed reluctant to lift his head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and Obi-Wan wanted nothing less than making him do it. He’d clean them later; they had some time Obi-Wan could afford to waste still.

Perhaps he let them linger for a bit longer than he should have, but Cody’s eyes were fixed, still, on the horizon, blinking slowly, and Obi-Wan fell into one of his meditation breathing patterns quicker than he would’ve thought. His body felt light in spite of his layered clothes, in spite of Cody’s lovely weight, and his breathing had evened out – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way.

But there hadn’t exactly been much time for meditations, lately.

Eventually – far past the time Obi-Wan should’ve likely urged him to get back inside – Cody sighed. A small, quiet thing. And spoke.

“I haven’t seen a...” He turned his head, slowly, thought for a moment, and burrowed into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, muffling a hum of frustration as he struggled to… remember the word, perhaps. Or simply get his thoughts in order. “A – A sunrise. In ages.”

Obi-Wan turned his head, as carefully as he could as to not disturb him, and asked, “No?”

“No, yeah, no, they...” Cody’s breath stuttered when Obi-Wan’s hand brushed up over his back and then his neck, but he leaned into the touch instead of shying away. Obi-Wan, oddly light in his own chest, held him steady. Brushed his thumb in circles against his back. “They kept us from... We were never on the ground. And even if I could have...” Cody shook his head, hunched over, his voice near-ashamed. “I wouldn’t have watched it. Cared for it. I...” He made a wounded sort of sound, and finished, “I didn’t care for anything.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He didn’t know, exactly, how it felt to exist with an active chip, but he supposed Cody was giving him the clearest picture of it he’d received so far. And no piece of it was forgiving. No corner without a jagged edge.

“How cruel of them,” he said, barely feeling himself breathe as his hand slid up into Cody’s hair; as he carded his fingers through Cody’s curls carefully. “To do that to you.”

Cody didn’t respond to that – the corner of his lips twitched involuntarily as he turned his head away.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, dropping his hand and continuing, gently, “The sun – suns, the sunlight was important to you. It meant something to you.” He kept it vague – kept it short. Cody knew its meaning for himself, better than Obi-Wan ever could guess it. “And they stripped you of it without consideration.” He breathed out, allowing with it a helpless chuckle. “Watching the sunrise. Cody, that’s such a – sublime thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Cody whispered, nodding his head as his eyes slipped shut, body swaying slowly. “Yeah, it, it is.” He raised his hand to gesture at nothing in particular; and Obi-Wan felt, nevertheless, as though he understood. “It’s... different. It’s beautiful.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, nodding along, too. There wasn’t much he could add, there.

It was everything, after all. Different, and beautiful, and everything. The sunrise on Tatooine; the twin suns chasing one another in never-ending travel, one tailing just behind the other, spilling colour and light along the skyline, spreading in waves. Gold onto the sand, white across the rocks, beige and brown and all its hues upon their clothes, their homes, the beings and the animals. Sharpening the edges and softening the corners all the same. An eternal lake, it seemed, just as eternally out of reach as it looked to be so close one could reach it by simply stretching their fingers upward.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody murmured, and Obi-Wan nearly startled at the sudden call of his name, anxiety dragging not too far behind, ever-chained to the cavern in his stomach. But Cody was still, settled against his side, and flicked his eyes upward to Obi-Wan’s face for only a moment as Obi-Wan looked down at him.

He seemed to be working himself up to something. Perhaps now he’d ask Obi-Wan to go – allow him at least a few moments on his own.

Just to check, perhaps to gentle him into it, Obi-Wan asked – “Is something wrong, dear one?”

“No. No. I just...” Cody shook his head, this time a little more insistently, and lifted it off his shoulder; even in the heat of Tatooine, the spot seemed a little chilled without Cody’s cheek pressed against it. But Cody was looking at him now, gaze darting across his face as he licked his lips and continued, “Will you – Would you – Can you – bring me here again tomorrow?” Before Obi-Wan could open his mouth, he gestured toward the sands and added, pointedly, “To watch the, the sunrise again –“ – and, after a moment of thought – “Together.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and then closed it again – there was no question about it, of course, but – surely, he didn’t want Obi-Wan to sit and fret about him for the entire morning again, did he?

Evidently, he did – or, at the very least, was very good at pretending. Perhaps it was some sort of balm for Obi-Wan himself; Obi-Wan wouldn’t have put it past Cody, ever-perceptive. Still, one way or another, it made little difference; if only Cody asked for it…

“Of course,” he promised, and offered him a small smile. “If your health permits it, I can bring you out every morning, should you like it.” It would help him, he was certain, what with the fresh air, and the sunlight, and… “It would be delightful, wouldn’t it?”

And Cody, who had spent Force-knows-how many days in a metal cage above anything that could offer him a splash of colour, nodded.

“Yeah,” he murmured, and, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, leaned back a little bit, bracing on his arms. He looked nearly – comfortable, like that. Splayed out and slack with none of the helplessness, only for a moment. “Yeah, it... It’d be nice.”

Obi-Wan followed him down, leaning on his elbows, and watched Cody close his eyes as sunlight washed over his face. It dyed him, too – his hair falling in salt-and-pepper curves, his skin near-shining in its soft brown. Lit by the suns, chest rising and falling and arms only quivering a little bit, he looked –

Obi-Wan turned away, sharply, and took to uprooting early assumptions as quickly as they took hold.

Little by little, the nights were blurring together.

One, two, three, more and more – a single few hours had begun to feel like an eternity. Most of them he spent sitting right there at Cody’s side – sometimes underneath the blanket with him, suffering the heat if it meant Cody would fight off his cold – and, if he was being honest with himself, worrying.

He’d never quite felt so exhausted through his daily routine here; he’d never quite felt so much like he needed to continue with it exactly how it was, either.

But Force above and Force around, he needed a good couple hours of meditation and double that of sleep.

But Cody – and Cody was the one who mattered now, not him – Cody did sleep. He ate little, drank little, still – but he ate, and he drank, and he slept, and that was enough for now. It had to be.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and opened them again.

Cody slept.

What time was it? It was early in the evening just a few hours before, he was certain, but...

Cody’s body and the suns outside were really the only thing he could keep track of anymore.

For whichever time today, this tenday, this – month? Was it a month? – he was loading the sonic washer.

What had they eaten?

Force, he couldn’t remember.

When had the exhaustion caught up with him so readily?

He should wake up Cody, it occurred to him, and his arms ached at the thought. But they needed to – he needed to get him outside in the morning. Before the temperature rose too high, and…

Yes, that too, he needed to see if Cody’s fever hadn’t gotten any worse. Prepare the bowls; he knew he was mixing in dried jogun. He had it laid out on the counter, he knew that too.

When he turned to look at the counter, the fruit wasn’t there.

He squinted – no, unless a wanderer had broken in while he was loading the washer and stolen only the fruit… He must’ve put it – somewhere else.

Where could he have put it? Did he even take it out of the icebox?

No, he’d kept it in one of the cupboards, it didn’t need freezing.

What was it that he was looking for again?

He shook his head and turned away, barely remembering to hit the button on the washer, and wandered to the counters. Perhaps the porridge he’d made would be fine without – whatever else. Butter, maybe. Would Cody like butter? He must’ve. Obi-Wan remembered using it for… something. And Cody hadn’t complained. Then again, Cody didn’t complain, exactly. He’d just scrunch up his nose a little when he didn’t think Obi-Wan was looking, and Obi-Wan would think that it was terribly sweet and try to remember not to prepare that again, at least not in the same way.

Had he made the porridge? No, the bowls were empty.

Force, his head was foggy. He needed to sleep. Maybe he’d take a – a nap, when they returned from watching the suns. Yes, curl up next to Cody, and sleep. Cody said it felt better, when they slept side by side.

Alright, well, maybe he’d not said that, exactly, but Obi-Wan was certain – he – well, he couldn’t quite remember what Cody said.

Cody. He needed to check Cody’s temperature. See if the fever had gotten any higher. The medicine – he needed to prepare that, too. Though that was for after they ate breakfast. Cody drank it down easier then. And so many things were already difficult, so –

Obi-Wan shook his head.

What was he doing still standing by the counter?

He made his way slowly to Cody’s bed – his bed – their bed? Force knew, now – and knelt down next to it, feeling the way his feet tingled as soon as he took the weight off them. Traitors, he thought – he hadn’t been standing for that long at all. He hadn’t.

Well, he needed – he just needed to reach out, now.

And he reached out. Would Cody’s skin burn his hand?

He hoped not. He thought he’d form blisters on his palms, sometimes – not just because of the heat, but because of his own hopelessness, too. No matter what he did, how hard he tried…

He pressed his hand to Cody’s forehead with a long sigh, steadying himself.

And sucked in another sharp breath immediately, pulling his hand away and putting on the other, comparing; Cody furrowed his brows in sleep, but didn’t wake, and is skin was –

Cooler. Significantly cooler.

He checked again. He pressed his other hand to his own forehead, and checked again.

Again.

Again.

It was – it was still high, by all means, too high, still, but it was –

It was lower than it had been, before. 

The fever was breaking.

He touched Cody’s shoulder. Lightly. Once.

His vision blurred, suddenly, and he drew back his hand. It overwhelmed him, oddly. Perhaps because of his own exhaustion. Perhaps, he thought, and likely, simply because of the relief. The nerve-sparking, shivery wave of drowning relief.

“Cody,” he murmured, quietly, feeling himself trembling, knowing he wouldn’t wake him but not wanting to risk it anyway – “Cody... Cody, Cody, Cody.”

His fingers brushed down Cody’s arm before he pulled his hand away completely and leaned down to press his forehead against the mattress for a moment. His eyes were burning, he couldn’t quite breathe through his nose. The breaths that did come were short and shaky. He couldn’t get enough air in, gasping for it, and he wasn’t sure why it was locked away so tightly in his chest – all the feeling that remained in his head was Cody’s head under his hands, warmer and warmer and warmer until he thought it was over, and then the heat finally began fading, just now, and, and – and, oh, he hadn’t fallen apart, perhaps he wouldn’t anymore, perhaps – it would be over, and he would be okay, and –

“Cody,” he gasped into the blanket, and it was dark all around him. “Force, please. Please.”

All at once, all the hope he’d been fighting back so viciously for days closed in on him, captured him and swallowed him. He was too weak and too single-minded to resist them now, the fog of exhaustion drowning his mind, but the truth was firm and undeniable under his fingers, unless Obi-Wan had gone completely mad, which – well, he felt like it, sometimes, but...

Perhaps he could ask Cody if he thought he’d gone mad – though Cody, he knew, would only look at him as though he had, and tell him that he’d just skipped out on one too many hours of sleep.

That’s right. That was what he needed.

But Cody was better, now, the knowledge burning hot and heavy in Obi-Wan’s bones, setting him all alight from within, and – and even as his mind ran from him, thoughts skittering in and out of focus, he couldn’t imagine a more blessed thing.

A spasm took his body suddenly, too quick to settle it before it could rattle out from his bone marrow, rolling up from his back to his head – and he felt, heavy in his head, the burning itch overflow his eyes. And with it – Force, with it – flowed the worry, flowed the fear, flowed the uncertainty. With it flowed hope he’d tried so hard to keep locked out, escaping to hang above him like a spark of light in the dark.

He was crying.

It took him a moment to realize it, a moment to try and breathe in where it seemed his lungs had failed him. He was crying, near-dry, a tear or two sliding down his cheeks and ceasing then, because – well, it wasn’t like he had water in him he could waste and, of course, not like this was a situation that needed crying over –

But the relief had caught him so off-guard, so unexpectedly; it was akin to a stab to his chest, right through his heart. He’d forgotten how to feel it out. How to take it.

So he took it the way his body decided it – with shaking shoulders, and trembling hands, and sobs that wracked his body and made it so hard to breathe. A shivery little thing, jumpy and restless in his gut.

Relief.

Force, it meant nothing, some corner of his mind whispered – he’d been sleepless for so long, maybe he was just senseless, maybe he was wrong, but –

But, no matter how many times Obi-Wan checked, Cody’s head was cooler. His fever had broken.

Over and over again, Obi-Wan tried to steer himself toward a steadier mind, and over and over again he ended up gasping whatever sliver of thought his mind conjured up out into the air – gratitude, apologies, more gratitude – through trembling lips and closing, drying eyes.

Maybe he’d have continued with it until the morning – until there was nothing more left in him to say, until his body was sore from the shaking and the suns were peeking in through the crack behind the door – if there’d not been a shift in front of him, on the bed.

Cody had always been good at... sensing. In that intimate, peculiar way some Non-Sensitives were.

Obi-Wan felt him first with a brush of fingers against his hair. Force, it had to be oily by now, didn’t it? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d taken even the slightest care of his hair, but that was – that was irrelevant, really, because Cody – Cody’s fingers – kept stroking over his hair, perhaps ruffling it, perhaps smoothing it down. If it was unpleasant to touch, there was no sign of it from Cody. The touch was constant, if slow, and – and terribly soothing, Obi-Wan had to admit.

He raised his head off the bed – it was only now that he came to realize how odd this all might’ve looked to Cody, perhaps even frightening, Obi-Wan weeping over him in bed. And Cody – did indeed make a small, hurt noise when he saw Obi-Wan’s face; his already narrowed eyes scrunched up at the corners even further.

So Obi-Wan needed, now, to push himself upward – to take Cody’s hand off his head, gently, and to sit on the edge of the bed. And to say, then, Cody’s sleep-soft eyes fixed on his face – “I’m sorry, I... Your fever has gone down. I was...” relieved, he wanted to say, which encompassed none of it. Which was what it was, perhaps, but it had been so much more in the same breath.

Absolution. Of some sort.

Cody blinked slowly. He still looked – drowsy, well, of course he did, because he’d woken up in the middle of the night with Obi-Wan crying over him, and that wasn’t fair, was it?

But when he spoke, he only sounded... muted. A little sleep-addled. If hoarse, like always. “I know.”

There was, too, some warmth in his tone. He knew. He knew – he must’ve known, he must’ve felt it... He must’ve felt better, then, and, Force, wasn’t that wonderful, everything Obi-Wan could’ve hoped for, because, bit by bit, now they could get him back on his feet for sure, he was – it was hope, blooming full and fragile in his chest, and...

He bowed his head down, his entire body following after it. And he rested his forehead, he realized, just over Cody’s chest. Careful not to put too much weight on him.

Warmth radiated from him. But not as much as before.

And, before Obi-Wan knew it, Cody had shifted – and draped the corner of the blanket he was under over Obi-Wan, too. And said, again, not a suggestion but more a request – “Sleep.”

And Obi-Wan – couldn’t exactly argue, could he? His body would wake him when it was time, it always did, some internal chrono set up in him through a process he’d never even realized was happening. And he’d woken Cody, too, disturbed his rest, for certain, and...

Well, at least it would not harm him too much, because his fever had broken, and he could get better.

Obi-Wan breathed out, the puff of warm air tickling the dip in Cody’s neck just below his throat – so, not wanting to keep him from rest any further, Obi-Wan turned onto his side to lie next to him. Cody would fall asleep quickly – his breathing had already slowed, somewhat, and the hand he’d had on Obi-Wan’s side had slipped between them.

With the hope easing his breathing, Cody’s warmth against his side, Obi-Wan didn’t take too long to follow. And if he huddled just a little closer to him, well – there was no one there but them to feel it.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan muttered, shifting in frustration, unable to see the inside of the damn thing, and, in turn, similarly unable to see what he was doing. No matter how much he craned his neck or moved his wrist, his hand kept blocking the entrance. It forced him to work blindly. And, on top of all that, his fingers were shaking, just enough to be noticeable. And obnoxious. “Come on, don’t be so dramatic. I’m older than you and I’m still functioning, aren’t I? Pull yourself together.”

Still, in spite of his best efforts, the vaporator filter whistled pitifully, slipped from the crumbling drawer it was placed on, and slammed down on the screwdriver Obi-Wan had been using to push it in place, making him jump as the collision sent a loud clang echoing through his ears.

“Bantha’s arse,” Obi-Wan hissed, dropping the screwdriver into his lap, the handle slipping from his hand as the sound startled him. He lifted the tool for inspection, filter be damned, and grimaced at what he saw – the shaft had been deformed under the pressure, bent into three new angles by the machinery. If he’d not listened to his gut and kept poking around in there with just his hand, the metal would’ve instead been Obi-Wan’s fingers. He looked up at the vaporator, shook his head. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Bastard.”

Being a vaporator, the vaporator didn’t answer him. Obi-Wan wished it did. He’d have had numerous things to say to it.

As it was, all he could do was sigh and pry the panel open again – at the very least, the bent screwdriver served as a half-decent if oversized crowbar. He managed to get the panel open without much struggle, but swore quietly again when he saw that the filter had dislodged completely, hanging barely above the piping of the motors.

The vaporator, he decided, may not have been able to talk, but it wasn’t exactly wasting its chance to inform Obi-Wan of its greatly unfavourable attitude towards him. And that was put politely.

After briefly considering the worth of all his fingers to him and deciding that he would still be more or less alright without just one or two, Obi-Wan leaned forward and stuck his hand into the entrance, trying to grab onto the filter. It was a thinner module, but the surface was even – at least it was light, he thought, scraping the base of his palm against the edges of the panel.

When he finally fished it out, feeling as though he’d been straining with his whole body under the ever-blistering suns, he wiped at his brow and waited for a moment, watching to see if anything else would collapse. Or spontaneously catch fire. Explode, perhaps. Would be just the catalyst of that infinite sadness he’s on his way towards.

When nothing did, he released a breath – unknowing, really, of what it was that he’d expected – and leaned forward again, sliding the filter in place. This time, he raised the corner of it slightly, hoping to shove it close enough to the wall of the vaporator for it to hold even on the splintering drawer it was meant for.

Perhaps it was the Force that loved him better than the vaporator, because, through what he only assumed was the luck of the divine that so many Non-Sensitives loved to thank, the filter hooked onto the greaves in the wall, clicked, and stayed in place.

Carefully, Obi-Wan pulled his hand out of the opening, closed the panel, and promptly put his head against it, slumping his shoulders.

It had only been getting hotter and hotter as the suns rose, and the simple maintenance took more from him than it should have, he thought – though, admittedly, the job had been made harder by the rather run-down state of the vaporator’s interior.

He really ought to get a new drawer for it, it occurred to him.

Perhaps once their supplies run out, – their final supplies, along with the food Beru had given him all but by force when he’d visited to tell them about the medicine, – he’ll make the trip to town again.

Something in his stomach still clenched anxiously at the thought of leaving Cody alone for hours, but he’d gotten better at it now, he thought; besides, it wasn’t like Cody was giving him any further cause to be nervous. He moved a little more freely, now; Obi-Wan often found him sitting, leaning against the wall. More and more frequently, he’d take the water or food Obi-Wan put by the bed by himself, ever-determined to minimize the attention from Obi-Wan that was necessary.

Recovery may have oftentimes and in many a case been an unsteady and torturously slow road, but it was one Cody had managed to begin travelling. And Obi-Wan was only glad for it – even as he wished, sometimes, when Cody shook his head to this or that, that he did not feel so averse to Obi-Wan’s care for him. It stung, sometimes, when he flinched from Obi-Wan’s touch when it seemed so arbitrary, unassuming, a hand here and there that he’d extended for Cody for as long as he’d been there; suddenly unnecessary, something he could – and would, from now on – do for himself.

Obi-Wan scolded himself for those thoughts often; Cody had been deprived of a choice for so long. If he did not want Obi-Wan’s touch – except, perhaps, for the times he would shiver uncontrollably beneath the blankets, made better only and inexplicably by the press of Obi-Wan’s skin against his – then Obi-Wan would keep it to himself.

With a sigh, he shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts and got up to his feet, making a half-hearted effort to bend the shaft of the screwdriver back straight with just his hands before giving up, resigning himself to the fact he’d likely need a harder surface. What a hassle.

He climbed the steps to the hut slowly, glad to finally be out of the merciless gaze of the suns. The shade was a relief, and the breeze that had been brushing against his skin was finally more than just another wave of heat running down his body in droplets of sweat. He returned the tools to the narrow box on the windowsill. The vaporator was okay for now; at least so he hoped.

As he pulled the door open, the light spilling inside in intertwined bunches, it lit Cody up to his chest. Obi-Wan was relieved just as well to see him sitting up against the pillow, blanket only covering his bare legs; even though he didn’t look at Obi-Wan coming in, he did incline his head a little in acknowledgement.

“Morning, Cody,” Obi-Wan greeted him, warmth trickling easy into his voice. “I hope I didn’t wake you up with all my clanking about out there.” He’d left him sleeping still, curled into a ball and arms shoved under the pillow. He’d slept like it often, lately; almost always, unless Obi-Wan was by his side.

Cody leaned his head backward, resting it against the wall and humming vaguely in response.

Obi-Wan smiled and kept on talking – it was just as well, like this. Cody still preferred to listen, sometimes. “Well, it was for a good cause – our water should taste like water again, the Force willing.” With that, on his way to the kitchenette, that the bowl he’d put on the table next to the bed was almost empty, the water drunk. “Oh – was breakfast okay?”

Cody hummed – but answered after a moment, voice tight, “Fine.”

His tone got Obi-Wan’s attention, low and uncomfortable – after disinfecting his hands, he turned to face him, tilting his head.

Cody was staring forward with hollow eyes, blinking, though otherwise completely frozen. For a moment, Obi-Wan watched him – taking note of his face that had stayed so thin, lately, in spite of his best efforts, and his gaze narrow and oddly lost. And beside it all, he felt something coiling in his stomach. Some sort of – sick, twisted feeling, coming from Cody. Confusion. Despair.

“Cody, what’s wrong?” he was asking before he’d ever made it across the room. “Does something hurt?” He braced his knee on the bed as he leaned down, watching Cody’s eyes flicker up to him, his shoulders shrugging slightly. “What hurts?”

Cody parted his lips, then closed them, just staring at him, wordless. For a moment, it felt like they were back to the start – that Cody couldn’t tell him what was wrong, like he couldn’t ask for the help he needed, Obi-Wan just needed to figure it out – but Obi-Wan, Force, Obi-Wan didn’t know how. Cody seemed to be searching for words for a moment before managing, still, “Nothing? Everything. I don’t know.”

Obi-Wan nodded, heart skipping a beat. The response made little sense, but it wasn’t like he could simply feel it. For a moment, he stood in place, wondering what to do – get him some water, some tea? And if Cody refused it – just sit with him?

But he thought back to that feeling, sinking in his stomach, for a moment – and something clicked.

“Are you nauseous?” he asked, quickly, glancing around for the bucket. It was just where he’d left it, in the corner, clean and within reach. He’d almost forgotten it. They’d not needed it for a while.

Cody, though, looked at him with furrowed brows, humming a low, non-committal note, and Obi-Wan suddenly realized that he might have very well never felt like this before. Not in the Wars, certainly. He couldn’t remember any injury to the head that Cody hadn’t been too out of to feel, and he hadn’t ever gotten sick, and…

Obi-Wan allowed himself one curse for the Kaminoans who never gave children the words they needed to express what they felt like when they needed help and care, and rephrased, again, softening his tone where he could – “Sick, I mean – do you feel sick? Like you’re going to throw up?”

Cody seemed to think about it for a moment – and then, his voice hoarse, replied, “I… Yeah.”

He sounded uncertain, like he hadn’t fully understood the concept – or felt unsure, perhaps, of whether or not that was what plagued him. Obi-Wan supposed it wasn’t easy to describe. It wasn’t pain; but, to Obi-Wan’s mind, pain may as well have been better than nausea.

So he nodded, simply, in response. “Alright. Do you need – “

“No,” Cody said, and, all of a sudden, he sounded terribly exhausted. “No. Just – Just nauseous.”

“Okay.” Obi-Wan stood to the side before sitting down on the edge of the bed, leaning back a little so Cody didn’t have to crane his neck to the side to look at him. He asked him, glancing for a moment toward the counters, “Do you want anything?”

Cody turned his head to the wall, and his eyes slipped shut – he scrunched up his face and relaxed it multiple times, as though trying to get rid of something in his vision. “I’m fine,” he murmured, nevertheless. At the shift of Obi-Wan’s body, though, he opened his eyes again, peeling them open with what seemed like great effort just to catch Obi-Wan’s gaze. “Just... Hm.” He blinked up at him, shifting his legs to the side as though to make space, and asked – “Could you stay?”

Obi-Wan smiled down at him, just a little bit, leaning forward as he braced his hand on the blanket by Cody’s side. “I’m not going anywhere.” It was true – he hoped Cody sensed just how much.

“No, I mean, could you – ...” He stared at Obi-Wan’s hand for a moment, blinking slowly, brow furrowing the same way it used to when he didn’t like an overcomplicated plan. Obi-Wan waited – if he’d tell him to come closer or move away – but Cody, after a glance up to his face, let his eyes skitter away and shook his head. His voice was muffled, a little, low in his throat. “Nevermind.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side, considering him – Cody moved neither toward him nor away, stayed frozen in place instead, staring stubbornly at the wall. Obi-Wan had half the mind to reach out – to brush a touch against his forehead, check for fever – but Cody wasn’t cold, he wasn’t shivering, so what could he have wanted for Obi-Wan to do?

He’d moved the blanket away, it occurred to him, so perhaps – while he wasn’t cold, he could’ve just wished for company. And nausea was a – a miserable, bubbling thing, scalding the stomach and throat as it rose through the body. Maybe Cody wanted him to stick close so he could help him in time, in case he was sick. Maybe that was it.

But when Obi-Wan drew away – slowly, not wishing to disturb him – Cody closed his eyes, shut them tight, the skin around them wrinkling as he did. Almost as though Obi-Wan leaving had all but caused him physical pain.

That was – not what he wanted, then.

So Obi-Wan moved back forward instead. Carefully, he came to rest on his elbows before lying down on his stomach, arranging his arms under his head with his eyes kept carefully on Cody.

Their bed was not so big. But it was just enough, if Cody moved away, for them both to lie in it without touching, even if touch was, generally, what Cody wanted. Warmth-seeking, he usually felt poorly during those times, the same look of strange dissonance on his face and confusion in his eyes. It was – similar, perhaps, to how he was now, but he’d gone a long way since that.

It would have made sense, perhaps, if he’d have wanted Obi-Wan close, just, perhaps – not that close.

But Cody shifted, when Obi-Wan lay down.

He did not shift away.

So Obi-Wan released a breath, a small and quiet thing, and asked – “Stay here?”

Cody turned his head to the side and watched him for a moment, as though looking for something – Obi-Wan could only wonder what it was. Either way, after a few moments, he seemed to find it, and, just as quietly, replied – “Yeah.”

And then – slowly, just the same, Obi-Wan hardly able to breathe throughout – Cody shuffled his feet, just a little, and turned into his side, pressing his face into Obi-Wan’s upper arm. His knees, bent beneath him, brushed against Obi-Wan’s calves – the position felt a little awkward, but when Obi-Wan relented and pulled his feet over onto the bed, Cody – there was no other word – curled up against him, his fingertips resting against Obi-Wan’s upper arm.

“I can put the blanket over us,” Obi-Wan suggested, almost startled by his own voice. Cody, having closed his eyes somewhere along the way, moved his head from side to side in a poor imitation of shaking it, but the negative was clear enough. “Well, all right.”

Perhaps Obi-Wan was simply warmer than he thought – and, well, the desert had not gotten any colder lately, either. He was so familiar with Cody being plagued by sensations of the cold that perhaps he’d grown too used to overheating for his sake; the realization that Cody’s fever had broken and things might slowly be moving up from the rock bottom they were in occurred to him for whichever time again, bringing with it a delightful tug to his stomach – and a strange, startling jolt to his chest.

In his considerations, Obi-Wan almost missed Cody murmuring something into his shoulder, though the words were muffled against his shirt. He felt only the gust of air brushing over his skin.

“Mm?”

Cody turned his head up – just a little – and said, a little louder but no less hoarse, “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan blinked, looking down at their bodies, closer now than they’d been in days – Cody’s legs pressed against his, his arms all but shoved beneath Obi-Wan’s – and asked, looking back up at him, “Whatever for?”

Cody didn’t answer at once. For a long while, he said nothing at all – and Obi-Wan let him be, wondering if perhaps he’d missed something obvious, or if Cody just wasn’t certain what he wanted to say.

Finally, Cody moved back – just a little – and looked back up at Obi-Wan, his eyes dark and – a lot more focused, Obi-Wan thought, than he was used to them being, these days.

“Everything.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and released it. Was it here that they would need to have this conversation? With Cody still sick, feeling sick, with his arms reaching for Obi-Wan and clinging to him because – in the end – he’d been so deeply wounded by the Empire that, after months of illness, he was suffering it still?

“That’s a lot to be sorry for,” Obi-Wan said, carefully. “Even more so when none of it is your fault.”

Cody snorted. A small noise. Cheerless. “I didn’t want to shoot you.”

Obi-Wan hummed, and slowly – gently – disentangled them. If they needed to talk – if Cody wanted to talk, well, he couldn’t quite refuse him. But the very least he could do was let himself look directly at him.

So he sat up, pulled himself forward. Rested on his knees just against the pillow, close enough to lean his forehead against the headboard, and told Cody – “You didn’t.”

Cody turned his head again – and his cheek brushed against Obi-Wan’s thigh where he rested it, eyes remaining on his face. He looked terribly sincere. It pricked at Obi-Wan’s chest. “I didn’t want to shoot the lizard.”

His chest grew tight at the thought of Boga – but it had been a long time. The memory of her was not a blade, but a dull warm needle. “She only had the time to be surprised.” It was true, too – he had felt her surprise, only an inkling of fear shining through before her body had broken on the rocks beneath the water. Perhaps against the water itself. Either way, it had taken no time at all; and, just like the rest, it had not been Cody’s fault.

“I didn’t want to...” Cody trailed off, his voice strangled in his throat – when Obi-Wan looked closer, he found his eyes shining and wet.

The executions he heard of in the cantinas, the unmatched cruelty of the Empire. The unfeeling, droid-like apathy of their troops. Droid-like; they’d been a lot closer than they thought.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, as gently as he could, and leaned over him. His hair fell over his face, curling over his ears; he ignored it in favour of bracing himself so he could stay there, over Cody. If he could’ve shielded Cody from the rest of the world, then, really, he would have.  “I know you didn’t. I know about the chips.”

Cody shook his head. Insistently. When he spoke, his voice hitched in his throat – but he forced it out, nevertheless, like a splinter that had long-been hurting him – “I didn’t mean to come and chain you to myself.”

Obi-Wan breathed out – almost a snort, if it hadn’t been so humourless – and took Cody by the sides of his face, brushing his thumbs against the cheekbones that were far too sharp. Something in his chest tingled at the notion; that Cody felt as though he were the weight, that he was anything even resembling a problem, that he thought – that he thought Obi-Wan would’ve been better without him.

“Show me where this chain is, darling. You’ve brought me relief, not duty. I am so,” he whispered, and leaned forward until their noses were all but brushing together; space be damned. Everything be damned. “So overjoyed that you’re here.”

“Who’d be happy taking care of...” He closed his eyes, shook his head again, and did not finish. Thankfully.

“Me,” Obi-Wan answered him, softly, and it was the easiest thing in the world. “Because it’s you, Cody. Alive and here with me.”

“Useless,” Cody spat, with the sort of venomous incredulousness he only ever directed towards himself. “Can’t eat, can’t walk, can barely even think most days –“

“Yes, you’re sick,” Obi-Wan cut him off; the words hurt in a way that felt near-physical. It was all the things he’d fretted over; his eating, his moving, his speech. To hear Cody finally voice his frustrations in such a way, in a way that implied that he himself was to blame for them, that he was useless for them – “You were a day away from burning up inside. Give yourself time.”

Cody laughed – a creaking thing, just as pitiful. “To what – be deadweight?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and shook his head. He was fairly certain, for a moment, that his hair had brushed over Cody’s face, but if he’d not drawn away from him for all his time, then… “That’s a cruel way to put it, but yes,” he said, firmly. “You can’t only give, Cody, has it ever occurred to you?”

Cody shook his head. “I’ve taken a fair amount during those years.”

“You, Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, voice softening, incredulous. Was it that which Cody had been thinking? That it was him, to blame for everything? That it had not been the terrible, terrible machinations that had been forced upon him, cruelty engineered under the pretense of false modernity? That he was supposed to fix it, somehow, all while locked out of his body, confined to his dreams – “Was it you making those choices?”

“It was my hands. My body.” When Obi-Wan shook his head wildly at his insistences again, Cody pulled himself away from his touch, and pushed himself up on his arms, shaking only for a moment before he leaned back against the wall, bowing his head to catch Obi-Wan’s eye. “Obi-Wan.”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan echoed, hearing the note of desperation in his own voice. It was not what – that was not it at all, not at all, and Cody could not blame himself for it. He had seen enough, but he had not done it; not by his own hand. “Cody, no.”

“I shot innocent people.” Cody held his hand out, keeping Obi-Wan from touching him, looking him straight in the eyes – as though Obi-Wan couldn’t understand something important. And kept on speaking, because, whatever it was, it was apparent he needed Obi-Wan to understand – but his voice, hoarse already, largely unused, quivered. “I – I shot – children. The adults first, they were more dangerous.” The corner of his lip twitched. He wanted to turn away, Obi-Wan could see it. He wanted to turn away, hide his eyes; it was instinctual with shame. With horror. And his voice grew no steadier. “We’d make parents confess by shooting the children in the arms and the legs and then we’d murder them all anyway.”

Obi-Wan could see it – the beginnings of a trembling in his lip. In his shoulders. He reached out, only with his fingers, wishing he would stop – that he would stop. “Cody…”

Cody shoved his hand away with a stinging determination and went on, his voice low and shaking and breaking and desperate, roaring water flooding through a broken dam – “I took a defector’s son to force her to confess and then – when she did, I – I turned around, and I threw him through a laser gate. Unsecured, it was… One of the – I – “ Obi-Wan kept himself from grimacing, swallowing around the lump that had formed suddenly in his throat. Cody stuttered out a noise, shook his head, and managed – “He was small, and – squirming, in my arms, and then I just – She was screaming. Both of them were. I turned away, but I could smell – I could still smell the... I could – It stays, it stayed, I still could – ”

“Let me,” Obi-Wan whispered, trying to keep his voice even, reaching out to touch his face – reconsidering, then, brushing a touch to his knee and keeping his hand there, fingertips resting over the joint. “Cody, please.”

Cody startled, at it, it seemed – his eyes fell, immediately, to Obi-Wan’s hand, and a strangled, breathless sort of sob ripped itself from his chest. He should, Obi-Wan thought, helplessly, he should save his strength…

“How? How can you do that? I’ve done all of this,” he choked out, and – and he was crying now, breaking through the last slivers of composure, voice and shoulders shaking. Obi-Wan wanted to shift closer – take him by the sides of his face, hold him against his own chest, but – “I shot a girl in a cell. She was young, a Jedi, this – big-eyed, feathered little thing, and I – and I left her twin sister with the body until it wasn’t much more than a mound of – of putrid flesh. It stank like death, because – because it was death, but she – no matter how bad it was, she still… She held her. In her arms. Until the body started falling apart and there wasn’t anything left to hold anymore.” And Obi-Wan – Obi-Wan did close his eyes at that, because, somewhere, among all which he’d locked away, it was familiar. Because his arms remembered holding the dead, and his stomach remembered the choking, suffocating smell of decay, and his mind carried, dutifully, the memory of glassy eyes staring sightlessly up at him.

But Cody was not a murderer. And Cody had not pressed those triggers, had not closed those eyes, he’d never been cruel, never so much as unkind, and –

And Cody kept speaking, no matter how long it took, no matter how nauseatingly the sobs wracked his body, no matter how many times his voice broke, as though determined to prove Obi-Wan wrong even as, with each word of what he seemed hellbent on twisting into a confession, he was only exonerating himself over and over. “I held a rebel down, once, they – they wanted a – an example. And they – I held him down, and he thrashed like – like men thrash only when they’ve still got something to fight for, but – but I was stronger, and he – he was crying, I remember, because they killed his wife in front of him and made him – I made him watch as they stood there, holding her up, and they – they took, they – out – out – took the body, and – and they were – so small, all bloody, and – and, and – fuck – “

He hunched over, then, as though the control in his own body had snapped with the tension, and Obi-Wan – Obi-Wan held out his arms and caught him. No time, no time for doubt nor horror. He slid his arm around Cody’s waist, pressing him to his side, and Cody’s hands came up to clutch at his shirt, at his arm, at his sash. Holding onto him with all his strength. As though Obi-Wan might just evaporate into thin air if Cody’s hold didn’t keep him tethered.

It was there that he cried, drawing in air through grit teeth, his body trembling like a leaf; Obi-Wan could hardly hear his own voice shushing him, trying to soothe him. Uselessly. It didn’t seem like Cody could hear him at all.

“I’ve heard more voices begging me to kill them than begging me to stop,” he managed, cheek pressed so hard against Obi-Wan’s shoulder it seemed as though he wanted to be one with it, tears soaking Obi-Wan’s shirt. “I was deaf to all of them. I was ruth– was ruthless. There was no mercy, no, no relief, no peace – I killed, and I tortured, and I did it until it felt like blood red was the only – the only color in the world.” Obi-Wan whispered nonsense to him as he pulled him close, wrapping his other arm around him, sliding his fingers through his hair. It was no longer meant for him to hear, he could feel it – he lifted Cody, just a little bit, to let him lean against his chest. And all the while he listened, as Cody shuddered and sobbed and spoke, nevertheless, breaking his voice on the confessions he was not strong enough to speak before – “I saw it in my dreams, I saw it every time I closed my eyes. I heard nothing – nothing but their screaming, and it meant, it meant nothing to me. Nothing, nothing meant anything to me, I was nothing but a – some – a trigger that had no safety lock. And the worst is that I don’t – I don’t remember what it’s like to be anything else. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He gasped for air, shaking his head, his hair brushing against Obi-Wan’s collarbones. And his voice seemed – quieted, almost, or broken, perhaps. “I don’t know.”

He breathed out, the air moving through his body. Obi-Wan could feel the shift against his own. The exhale was shaky, quivering, the same as him. Obi-Wan carded his fingers through his hair, wet with sweat and oil, crooning to him softly things even he hardly understood. Whispering, into his hair, into his skin, that he was here. That he had him, that he was safe. That it would be okay, for as much good as it did Cody. Things he could hardly convince himself of. But he kept on it, listening, bit by bit, as Cody’s breathing, gone so quick and labored, gradually began to slow.

It occurred to Obi-Wan, almost distantly, that Cody had likely not spoken this much in – well, not since their strategy table before Utapau, really. The following thought was that his throat might hurt tomorrow. Or – hurt worse, in any case. He let the concern float away and bowed his head down, resting his chin atop Cody’s head, covering him. He’d tried, very hard, not to let the images of the things Cody spoke of bleed into his mind, but – they were more difficult to resist in the uneasy silence.

Cody had been gentle; almost unfairly gentle, outside the fields and the meetings. They had taken him, taken a gentle man with an urge to protect, and –

What had they done to him?

“They used your body to commit atrocities, and they forced you to watch,” he croaked out before he realized he was speaking. He cleared his throat, tried to sound just a little steadier. Cody needed it; Obi-Wan could push away the horror, the anguish, the grief, and just… “You were watching, Cody. Nothing else.”

“I just – I just watched,” Cody muttered, his voice hardly more than a gust of warm, heavy air against Obi-Wan’s chest. “I got used to just… watching.”

“You could not have done anything.”

“I came here to kill you. I would’ve shot you.” His grip tightened where his fingers were tangled in Obi-Wan’s shirt, so constant Obi-Wan had all but forgotten – but Cody held onto him with desperation, now, as he confessed, as though it were a crime he’d already committed – “I would’ve hit you with the butt of the blaster until I’d come through the skull of your head if need be. I wanted to kill you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and asked him, softly – “Would you kill me now?”

“No. No, no,” he breathed out, not skipping a beat – he raised his head through what seemed like gargantuan efforts, looking up at him, his eyes so wide and entirely earnest. “No. I’d never hurt you.” As Obi-Wan watched, he shook his head wildly, a shudder rising through his body. If the horror had not been evident in his voice, then it was clear in his revulsion; in the small, almost pleading tone as he whispered – “Please, I never meant to hurt you. Never, not at all.”

“I know, Cody, I know,” Obi-Wan murmured, raising a hand to put his palm, finally, against his cheek, and Cody did not move away – he only watched him, unmoving, his eyes wide. “You’re far too kind for that.” At that, he squirmed – tried to move away and then returned, making a small, hurt noise as Obi-Wan spoke. “They used you. They tortured you.” But Cody bowed his head, shaking it still, water dripping off the tip of his nose. And Obi-Wan slid his hand to his hair, again – it seemed to calm him – and held him still, pressing his lips against the top of his head as he felt Cody’s arms loop finally and fully around his waist, clutching him with all his strength. “Shh, now. Shh. There you are, dear one.” He paid no mind to the hitching cries Cody muffled in his shirt, rocking them, ever-so-slightly, back and forth. “There you are, darling, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Cody shook his head – again and again, pressed against him and pressing into him, tears soaking through cloth. And he shook, it seemed, until his body exhausted itself; until all his strength, what little of it he’d been regaining, felt as though it had seeped out of his muscles, hunching his shoulders, clenching his fists weaker and weaker with every passing moment.

Obi-Wan held him through it, fingers still tangling in his hair; as his cries quieted, as his stomach stopped quivering with each unsteady breath. As, slower and slower, the tears stopped coming.

And moments, minutes or hours later, the last shuddering exhale whistled through his lips; and left him heavy and still against Obi-Wan’s chest. And he remained there – unwilling, it appeared, to do so much as shift. Still as a statue, breathing slow, almost gingerly; as though if he were quiet enough, Obi-Wan would not have noticed he were there at all.

Just as quietly, Obi-Wan took gathered him close, keeping a loose hold on him, and shifted them so they were both resting against the pillow by the wall, only half-propped up. Cody’s legs intertwined with his, pulled over him; Obi-Wan hoped, even as he knew his own body was not as soft as it could have been, that he was comfortable there. He seemed to be so – at the very least, he did not move away.

Obi-Wan could not have said, truly, how much time they spent so. He thought that, perhaps, Cody might just fall asleep against him – he needed the rest, clearly enough. And it wasn’t as though it would’ve impeded so much, anyway; Obi-Wan could hurry just as well, later…

Cody twitched, at some point, as though waking up from a stupor; testing how his body moved, one muscle at a time. He lifted his head – just a little – to look up at Obi-Wan. His eyes were reddened, puffy from the tears; it occurred to Obi-Wan that he’d never seen him so before. The thought that followed immediately was that he’d like to never see it again, either.

“And all that, that’s just – That’s just fine with you?” Cody asked – his voice barely a whisper, quiet and gravely. “That I killed so many people. Innocent people. Jedi.”

Obi-Wan breathed out, watching Cody wait for an answer, keeping on him a careful, tired gaze. “Those were terrible acts. They were – terrible to listen to, much less commit. And none of those people deserved what they got.” Cody nodded along to his words, closing his eyes – listening, it appeared, to his own judgment. So Obi-Wan added, once again, insistent – “But you are not responsible for what the chip made you do.”

“They wouldn’t think that,” Cody told him, hoarsely. “The people I killed.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. This was, then, what Cody was caught up in. Loathing to the point of wanting to be blamed. It was painfully familiar.

“They’re dead, Cody. Gone to the Force. The dead don’t hold grudges,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Cody opened his eyes, some strange sort of incredulity hidden within the dark – as though he’d expected for him to instead tell Cody of some perceived guilt hung above him by the cosmos. “They don’t blame you. They don’t feel pain. You’ve shed many more tears for them than they did – or ever will – for themselves.” At the shaking of Cody’s head, disbelieving and hesitant, Obi-Wan drew one hand back and cupped his face to still him, forcing him to meet his eyes. “It’s true, Cody, listen to me, please – you couldn’t control the chip. The Empire did. It dictated what it would or wouldn’t do. And now the chip is gone, and you’re you. Only now.”

He tilted his head, and found himself unable, suddenly, to hold back the slight tug of the corners of his lips – Cody, here, looking up at him, eyes dark and deep and conscious, the glaze of fever thinning, thinning, thinning… And, he realized with the same breath, so, so full of guilt. Rooted inward – the only direction the chip had allowed him to walk.

“You can’t change what your hands have done, no matter how much you wish you could. And no matter how desperately you call out to them, the dead don’t answer. You can’t earn their forgiveness with repentance or regret; they only hear the whispers of the Force, now, and that is for the best.” Obi-Wan tried to keep his voice steady as it threatened to quiver – Cody was listening to him, but Obi-Wan couldn’t make him stop hurting. Still, perhaps he could ease it, at least; a smidge, a grain in a desert of sand dunes.

Cody huffed, even this coming out as though it had scraped, sharp and painful, all the way up his throat. “You mean they hear nothing.”

“If that’s how you’d like to put it,” Obi-Wan agreed, carefully; it occurred to him that his thoughts strayed to the Force too often these days, perhaps –  but, in his defense, the only conversation partner he’d had for years – himself – was, too, a Jedi. “But think about it, Cody – if given the choice, would you rather rest in silence or listen to the people weeping for you?”

Cody was silent for a moment, considering something – and then, slowly, almost as though he was taking a guess at a difficult riddle, murmured, “They should be angry with me.” And, before Obi-Wan could repeat that, again, they couldn’t possibly be angry, he put his head down against Obi-Wan’s chest and added, helplessly – “Somebody should be angry with me.”

Obi-Wan sighed, his now-free hand defaulting again to brushing over Cody’s hair. “You’re angry enough with yourself, dear one,” he told him, pulling him upward, just a little bit – keeping him from slipping off to the side. “And that’s an awful feeling, I know. But it will persist until you learn to forgive yourself.”

At that, Cody snorted – a choked, muffled sound against Obi-Wan’s shirt. “That’s easier said than done.”

“Most things worth doing are,” Obi-Wan reminded him, and, to that, Cody evidently had no answer.

It was only minutes later that he spoke again; before Obi-Wan could get any ideas that perhaps he might have drifted off to sleep at last.

He asked, in a voice even quieter, somehow, than even his last had been – “Do you think I’ve gone mad?”

Obi-Wan blinked, opening his eyes – when had his own slipped closed? – and asked, feeling a crinkle in his brow, “Why?”

Cody shrugged – or did something of the nature, his shoulders twitching up minutely when he answered, short and simple – “I feel like that, sometimes.”

Obi-Wan hummed, mirroring him – the movement jostled Cody, and his responding huff wasn’t entirely tense. “Well, you are sick.”

Cody clicked his tongue – his clearest indicator of displeasure, Obi-Wan recalled as easily as breathing. “You can’t chalk everything up to the chip.”

“Don't you think it’ll be a little harder to think when you’re being mentally controlled to do things contrary to what you want?” Obi-Wan asked him, and Cody sighed – a small, noncommittal noise. “I don’t think you’re mad, Cody. I think you’ve been very sick, very hurt and very tired for very, very long.”

“…And what do you think I should do about it?” came next, and, after another beat of silence, he offered, uncertainly – “Should I sleep?”

After a moment of thinking – yes, maybe, if you want, it would make you feel better, you need the rest – Obi-Wan settled on asking, “Do you want to?”

Cody didn’t answer him.

But, moments later, he shifted again – his hair brushed against Obi-Wan’s throat as he settled there, pressed close, warm and heavy. His hands, finally freed from the entanglements of Obi-Wan’s shirt, snaked up to his waist slowly. Pressed chest to chest, Obi-Wan could almost – almost – hear the slow, constant beating of his heart. It was a blessing. His own reassurance.

And, eventually, Cody fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Slowly but surely, as the swelling around his throat receded, Cody began to speak again.

No more than he did as a younger man, no – and Obi-Wan hadn’t expected that. Still, it served to make Obi-Wan catch every word out of his mouth with the attention that, in a different time, had been difficult to pay even to the Force. He was grateful to Cody, who either hardly noticed Obi-Wan’s laser-focus on him or else was most excellent at pretending. He kept his eyes away from Obi-Wan when he spoke, most times, staring up at the ceiling or straight ahead at the wall, his gaze shifting from one side to another as he looked, carefully, for the right words.

And sometimes he only stared. As he’d done before. And on occasion, rarer still, his mouth would move soundlessly – as though he wanted to get something out of himself, but couldn’t bear to do it out loud. His own voice seemed inexplicably to startle him; and he was never loud. Not once.

Obi-Wan supposed there was no reason for him to be. He was usually close-by, after all. And it wasn’t that he hounded him, either – Cody wanted him close, most times, and it seemed he’d lost inhibition to hide it. Obi-Wan thought, at times, that perhaps they were both too tired to hide anything.

So when Cody would turn, a little bit, and close his eyes, Obi-Wan would sit on the bed; sometimes next to him, sometimes by his legs or his head. He’d stroke his hair, dragging his fingers through it slowly, scratching against the skin of his head, because Cody would most often turn and lean into his touch. He’d pull entirely away, if he didn’t want it, it wasn’t in his body to be ambiguous about such – but as his head and body cooled on and on, the heat that had made Obi-Wan’s touch turn to fire nipping at his skin dissipated further and further, and – well, and Cody, it seemed, had had enough of being alone for a lifetime and a half.

And, truth to be told, so did Obi-Wan. He didn’t ask for the touch – it wasn’t right to – but he was glad for it. He was glad for every word from Cody’s mouth, every twitch of his body, every evening he spent sitting at his side and doing nothing more than stroking his hair and telling him nonsense tales he pulled from old memories. And he was glad, too, for every morning when he could carry Cody outside and eat breakfast there with him, as his portions drew closer and closer to just about enough, and he was glad for every time Cody shifted closer to the wall in the bed and offered him the blanket.

Obi-Wan could hardly ever sleep with Cody against his side. He was afraid. He thought he might crush him, in his sleep; he knew himself to toss and turn and shift as he dreamt. He thought he might hurt him in his otherwise harmless squirming, and the fear kept him up enough for him to only drift lightly away during the morning hours.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself for this to be worth complaint – it wasn’t as though he was unused to sleeplessness, and holding Cody close while his breath cleared more and more with each exhale was hardly a chore. His body was heavy against Obi-Wan’s, his hands reaching, more often than not, for something to hold onto. And it was just a coincidence – one Obi-Wan was, too, glad for – that it was Obi-Wan who was perhaps the most convenient option.  It felt as though, when Cody’s arms squeezed around him – weakly at first but growing stronger with each night – that he could, at last, breathe deeply again. Breathe as Cody breathed, slower, slower, and then as a constant. With the mess slowly clearing away from his lungs. Drawing away from an unrepentant finality.

It was not, of course, linear. It couldn’t be; nothing was. Obi-Wan had learned that long ago – but these days it seemed knowledge was not linear, either. When it came to this, at least. The frustration he felt towards Cody’s sickness would surge up unasked and uninvited, taking over any voice in his head that dared whisper it’s okay, and change it to a chorus of rising repetition – it’s unfair, it’s unfair, it’s unfair.

Such was life. Obi-Wan had learned that, too. Or so he’d thought; it seemed the Force was intent on him learning it again, and again, and again. That there were bad days. That there were worse days.

As though Obi-Wan didn’t know. As though he could ever forget.

He felt this close to screaming out loud, sometimes, that this wasn’t about him. That if it felt like he had something to learn, he could learn it through his own body. His own pains. His own anything, without tormenting the body and mind of the only person he’d loved so secretly as to kiss his forehead only in the night and pray for death to pass him over.

Though Obi-Wan recalled, too, what they said about him – that the easiest way to hurt him was through other people.

He hoped the Force – if it truly wanted to hurt him – wouldn’t take the easiest path down its route.

Cody made a small sound and shifted against his chest, caught, it seemed, between waking and sleeping. His hand had bunched into a fist where he had curled his fingers around the cloth of Obi-Wan’s shirt, pulling it from where it’d been tucked into his sleep pants. His curls – longer still, though Obi-Wan had managed to wash him over a few days back, an ordeal that had taken them nearly a quarter of the day – tickled against Obi-Wan’s throat, and he raised the hand he’d had resting on Cody’s back to comb his fingers through his hair, wondering if it’d been a dream or some pain that’d woken him.

“I’ve got you,” he said, quietly, routine words, which, in spite of their meaninglessness, seemed to calm Cody enough, most times. “I’m right here.”

There was a moment of silence, Cody’s body stiff and tense all over him – before, suddenly, his hands locked up around Obi-Wan and clung to him tight. His strength, diminished as it was, was an still improvement Obi-Wan would have been glad to see – if only he couldn’t feel the tremor that shook through Cody, once and again before settling.

"Closer," Cody said before Obi-Wan could ask him anything, breathless, and it surprised Obi-Wan that he was able to hear it. The plea was whispered into his collarbone as Cody did his best to become one with his chest. "Obi-Wan, closer. Please."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure how he could get closer than this, exactly, but tried to oblige him anyway. Wrapped his arms tightly – as tightly as he dared – around Cody’s body, stroked his fingertips up and down his back, rested a hand on the back of his head until Cody stopped squirming quite so badly. Until he seemed to wake a little further. Settled, a little more still, and Obi-Wan felt some tension draining from beneath him where he had pressed down with his own fingertips.

“Bad dream, dear one?” he asked, quietly.

And, for a long while, Cody didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Silence, in some way, was its own answer. And if he didn’t want to tell Obi-Wan what it was that had woken him, well – barring some unexpected pain that needed tending to, Obi-Wan didn’t think it was his place to push.

But Cody, it appeared, seemed to want to tell him something; something stuck between his teeth that he wanted to let loose, tense with discomfort, shifting in small spasms, eyes open where they were staring off into the wall as soon as he turned his head from Obi-Wan’s chest.

He tightened his hold on Obi-Wan, suddenly. Quivering fingers digging into his sides.

Obi-Wan breathed out, and swore to him, “I’m here, Cody. I promise.” And added, quietly, just in case – “If you want to talk, I want to listen.”

That seemed to have done it. Cody’s eyes flicked up to his – dark, glimmering, beautiful – and then drifted slowly down until he could press himself close to Obi-Wan’s body again, searching with one hand, Obi-Wan thought, for his heartbeat.

“There aren’t many of us left anymore,” he whispered, and Obi-Wan only listened, slowly pulling him as close to his chest as he could. In Cody’s mind, there was a sliver of – something, swollen and painful, a stinging, fearful gash. “Obi-Wan?”

“I’m here,” he repeated, pressing the promise into Cody’s hair. He guided his hand to his chest, just over where his heart was. Pressed it there, covered his fingers with Obi-Wan’s own. “Tell me anything. Anything you need me to hear.”

Cody swallowed. Obi-Wan felt it passing through his own skin. Just as well as he felt him take a warm, quivering breath.

“Do you know – “ He stuttered, quieted down for a few seconds. When he spoke again, it was slower. Nearly thoughtful. “Do you know what they did with us?”

“No.” Obi-Wan had no intentions of lying to him. About anything. The truth stung either way – pricked at his heart somewhere, shrivelled up beneath his lungs. “I had no way of knowing,” he added, and it felt like some poor excuse. So he asked instead, in case Cody needed any more encouragement, even if Cody needing encouragement to speak his mind seemed a foreign vein to his character – “Do you – Would you like to tell me?”

In this, though, Obi-Wan felt as though he’d hit the nail right on the head. He felt Cody stiffen, then settle again, slowly, gradually. Take a few slow breaths. His fingers over Obi-Wan’s heart curled up before his hand flattened out, pressing the palm hard against Obi-Wan’s chest.

And, suddenly, he tilted his head back. And, suddenly, he was speaking, words falling from his lips as though they’d been there for years, unspoken. Unreleased. ^[skip]

“We died because we were ill, and they didn’t do anything.” His expression seemed – distant, when Obi-Wan looked down at him. Then again, Cody was good at making himself seem such. “Back in the – Back in the GAR, we had medbays. The natborns got them in the IA. We didn’t. We didn’t, ever. Unless we were still useful. But there are trillions of natborns.” His voice betrayed him all at once when it broke, suddenly shattering on the edge of anger and defeat and grief. “There aren’t – Obi-Wan, there were a few thousand of us. By the end, there. Less. They… And they let us all die.”

He buried his face in Obi-Wan’s shirt, again. Obi-Wan closed his eyes when he felt moisture staining it. Didn’t mention it. Cody wouldn’t have taken kindly to it – not back in the wars, at least. Why would he now?

Still, he bowed his head down. Couldn’t help it. Not when he wrapped an arm around him again, not when he stroked the back of his head, ran his fingers through the curls.

And, eventually, Cody spoke again. Barely pulling back, all but pressing the words into Obi-Wan’s chest. It might’ve explained, Obi-Wan thought, why each one felt like a needle piercing his heart.

“The chips,” Cody said. And his voice sounded strange. Like he was trying to swallow a lump. “The chips were – they killed the most of us.”

Obi-Wan knew he didn’t want to ask, or even to know. He was also certain Cody needed him to ask, as sure as the ache in his chest. And so he opened his mouth, and he forced the word out. “Quickly?”

Cody’s laughter didn’t sound like laughter. More like a cry. “Stars, no. Slowly. Slow enough for me to see it. Be able to predict when it happens.” He shook his head, bowing it. His forehead pressed against Obi-Wan’s collarbone. “It didn’t matter to me, but I could see it. I could see it when it began. I could say when it would end. I still could.” Obi-Wan saw his face twist, and when he looked up, his eyes were shining. “I still can. Obi-Wan.”

“Come here,” he muttered, pulling him upward. Keeping him close. “Come here.”

“Yeah,” Cody choked out, somewhere between Obi-Wan’s chest and his throat, “I still could tell. Could tell when it started with me. It’s a – It’s torture. Even watching it. It’s torture.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan echoed, again, knuckles digging into Cody’s back, because he did, “I know, I know.”

“You watch them as they – as they stop being themselves. Speech goes, you know? They stop… They can’t speak normally, anymore. They don’t make sense.” He shook his head. Or shook, entirely, in a way that seemed as though he did. “And he – they – would look at me, and tell me things, and I just wouldn’t understand. Because they don’t make sense. And they don’t understand me. And then that goes. That goes, too.”

Obi-Wan forced his eyes to open where they had closed. To bow his head and watch him speak. He didn’t want to imagine it. Nothing. But he owed Cody this, he thought, he owed him at least this. To see and understand. Do it, hear it, imagine it. If he was the last person in the Galaxy and if the rest had died this way, he’d still have to look at Cody and hear him and imagine him dying and feel ashamed that, in the end, it wasn’t enough.

“They stop – forming sentences, at all. It’s just sounds. It’s noise. Noise. It’s nothing.” Cody ran out of breath, little hitching gasps in the back of his throat. “And that’s it. They don’t understand me. They mumble, they yell, they cry, sometimes. And I can’t tell what they need, what’s wrong. And they can’t, either. I don’t think they can. They just – the Empire just waits for them to die and then – “ Finally, his voice broke on a sob, and he looked up instead of crumbling down. His eyes were wet. His body shook. Obi-Wan couldn’t look away. Could only look back at him as Cody’s eyes drew closer. “...And then they throw them… Throw them out. Us. They throw the corpses out. But by then it’s better. Because they’re dead, and they don’t hurt anymore. It doesn’t hurt them anymore. I – Obi-Wan -”

He pressed himself forward again. He pushed forward and leaned his head against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Obi-Wan could see his lips quivering. Locked one arm around him, the other grabbing for his face, wiping off tears that couldn’t be held back.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, softly. “You don’t have to talk.”

He would. He would – it was clear in his eyes, he needed it. But the words burned in Obi-Wan’s throat. Obi-Wan wanted him to know he could stop. There was no force, here, and there was no reporting. There was no duty. Not in this.  

“I do, they were, they – You can’t understand it. It was… Watching it, it was the worst… anything, that I’ve ever seen – “ He was searching for words, clearly, anything he could say falling short. But Obi-Wan’s presence, the corner of it which was nestled in Cody’s mind, that part of him felt the horror. The urge, violently suppressed, to scream at the injustice. To rage against the creature that was goring them. One by one. 

There were tears on Cody’s face. Too many, rolling too thick for Obi-Wan to dry all of them.

“It’s nothing like anything that I ever wanted to see,” he echoed, again. “Watching him. Them. Watching them, and they look back at me. And I ask them questions. Or I tell them things. And they stop talking. And then they stop understanding. And then they die.” His hands, fisted tightly in Obi-Wan’s shirt. Obi-Wan covered them with his own hands, but it helped little. “I watched them lose it. The recollection. The – anything that they still have of them, something beyond the numbers. That goes first. Then the rest. The chip was eating at their brains. Killing them from their own heads.”

His throat closed up, and Obi-Wan felt him shift, suddenly, as though something inside him had snapped. And it seemed so – or something like it – because he bowed his head in a sharp jerk, and pressed his forehead to the hands Obi-Wan had held over his fists, and said nothing else for a long while.

Obi-Wan had held weeping men before. Those who were barely more than boys and those who’d grown old, buckling under the weight of war, shaking hands and bodies crumbling apart in his arms. He never thought he could contain their grief, never thought he could erase what they’d seen and felt, never felt himself quite in place with a warm body collapsed in his arms. But he made it work, when he had to. When things got too terrible and he held out nevertheless, it was all he could to open his arms and the empty space in his chest and say, come and weep to me. I can’t save you, but I have two steady hands in this chaos. So come into my chest and weep into my ear.

Throughout the war, Obi-Wan had never seen Cody weep. He supposed it was no strange thing, with how carefully controlled Cody’s every move and word had been. His speech and step had been steady and assured the very first day Obi-Wan laid eyes on his then-Commander, even as Obi-Wan found himself struggling to reconcile it with Cody’s gentler features, Cody’s undeniable youth. But they were polished down to steel within the first year they spent side by side, and Cody had never been anything less than dutifully attentive in his tasks, be it flimsiwork or warfare.

Only once had Obi-Wan knelt in front of him and put a bare hand on his knee. Taught him to count his breaths so he could start up a rhythm again. So his glistening dark eyes could narrow back to normalcy and his chest stop jumping with every intake of air. Even then, Cody had gathered himself back together quick and quiet, and spoken no more of their encounter until the very end.

Obi-Wan hoped Cody then and Cody now could both forgive themselves for this. However little of a crime vulnerability was.

He held him fast to his chest and pulled one of his hands out from beneath him gently to cradle the back of Cody’s head. He could feel his stomach quivering against Obi-Wan’s hip with the tension of his sobs, his fingers curling hard into the skin of the hand Obi-Wan still had over his. Even if reflexive, Obi-Wan felt relief at the strength in his grip, even as Cody’s jagged nails dug into his palm.

He bowed his head over him, as though he might cover him whole, hide him from the entire world, and thought that, if he accomplished just that, it might’ve been enough.

They lay so for a long time. Even as Obi-Wan’s arm began to tingle, he kept it still and dared not move as he listened to Cody’s breathing. Listened as, eventually, it slowed. Little by little; there were only so many tears a man could shed. He felt it against his own skin when the tear-stained grimace finally let up on Cody’s face, and he felt his body shiver, just once and spasmodically, before it settled into Obi-Wan’s front again.

Throughout it, he kept stroking his fingers through Cody’s hair. He wasn’t certain if there was anything else he could offer besides that which he’d always had – steady hands, and not much more.

And perhaps a whisper, when Cody drew back and brushed his face against the sheets with a gesture so dismissive one might’ve thought he was annoyed at himself for his tears, “Okay, dear one?”

Cody looked up at him slowly, blinking away the traces of salt that had his eyelashes clumping together. His eyes were red and his expression evened out to a degree which was achingly familiar, but Obi-Wan felt strangely as though he could sense wonder being nudged his way.

And then Cody closed his eyes, and stayed that way for a moment. Obi-Wan could feel his fingers twitch. He hadn’t let go of his hands. He didn’t think he was going to.

“I’m – I feel so tired,” Cody said, finally. His throat was hoarse. There was water, it occurred to Obi-Wan distantly. He should get Cody water. “Why am I so – so damn tired, all the time?”

“Such things take effort. You just don’t notice it when you’re not sick,” Obi-Wan said, and even he wasn’t sure if he meant the talking, the crying, or the memories as a whole. Certainly all would’ve been a weight independently, not to mention stacked one onto another. “Recovery is long, Cody. Especially when the illness is severe.”

“We’re not – We weren’t supposed to be able to have severe illnesses,” Cody said, and opened his eyes to look at Obi-Wan as though accusing him. “You knew that, no?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Did they tell you that before or after putting a chip that wasn’t supposed to be there into your head?”

“Point is,” Cody hacked out something that would’ve sounded like a chuckle, perhaps, had they both been younger and different people and quite all right altogether. “Maybe I – Maybe it was supposed to be like this.”

Obi-Wan drew in a breath and tried to push away the slowly sinking feeling that was forming in his stomach. “Like what?”

“Like…” Cody pushed himself up, very softly, and turned to lie on his back. He pulled Obi-Wan’s hand with him, laying it over his chest. This time his fingers twitched, and wrapped around Obi-Wan’s with quivering hesitance. “This. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to get better.”

Obi-Wan should’ve known, perhaps – and perhaps he did, somewhere in a spot in the back of his mind which he wasn’t keen on visiting – that those were the words that would come out of his mouth. That didn’t exactly make hearing them any easier. “Cody…”

“Maybe I was supposed to die.” He was quieter when he spoke on, almost regretful, turning his head a little even as he still squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand to his chest. “Maybe that would’ve been for the best.”

It occurred to Obi-Wan, suddenly, how strange of a position they were in, curled up together. Like dying soldiers sharing their terrible secrets. Or lovers, he considered, trying to think past his own melancholy. Or lovers, indeed.

He asked, trying to speak around the lump in his own throat – “The best for whom?”

Cody thought, for a moment. Let the silence drag, and then finished, sounding even more hesitant than before, “Everyone.”

“And who’s that?”

He opened his mouth, closed it. Swallowed. Obi-Wan watched the bob of his throat.

“You.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help it. The sound that escaped him wasn’t quite laughter, but it was as close as he’d been to it for a long time. Cody turned his head to him, watched him with inquisitive eyes. As though Obi-Wan had puzzled him.

“I can tell you know what nonsense you’re saying.” Obi-Wan lifted his free hand and brushed his fingers just under Cody’s chin, pointed. “I can see it in your face. Because it’s not true.” He shook his head, just a little brush against the sheets, just as disbelieving. To think – to think he’d ever be better off without Cody when the prospect of him being here, alive, was finally tangible… “You’ve always been selfless, Cody, but…”

“That has to be a joke.” He scoffed – scoffed – at the notion, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment.

“It’s the truth,” he said, simply. And then asked, blinking his eyes open again, knowing Cody’s thoughts were not born of naivety but instead some poison as difficult to kill as a two-headed snake, “Do you think I would’ve been better off with you dead? Is that your opinion?”

He was quiet, for a moment. As though trying to cut a path through his own thoughts. And answered, finally, “…I don’t know.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan countered, as gently as he meant it, and added, in case there was any doubt – “You getting better has made me happier than I’ve been for as long as I can remember.”

“You can’t say that,” Cody said, stubborn as he’d ever been and just as determined to speak true. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite remember ever disagreeing with him so vehemently. “It can’t – You can’t have just…” He lost his way, it seemed, and finished, with something that sounded a little wet and caught in his throat, “I’m a liability.”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, because he did not want Cody to give voice to the rest, but Cody kept going, perhaps most animated in his show of loathing than he’d been throughout his entire stay in Obi-Wan’s bed.

“I can’t believe that this – that this has made you happy.”

“Not your illness,” Obi-Wan clarified, in case it needed clarifying, and confessed, quiet in his own traces of failure, “That made me feel more hopeless than I had been in years, thinking I could not help you. That I would not be able to give you what you deserved.” Cody had gestured with near-disdain at himself, at his body and his face. Obi-Wan felt a little as though the spots in which he and Cody were touching – most of their bodies, now – were aching to feel such. He raised his hand and touched Cody’s jaw, caution to the wind and love free and vulnerable. “But you, you being here, dear one, alive, and getting better – that’s what makes me happy. You.”

Cody’s brown eyes blinked slowly at him, and he found it hard to look away even as he burned. It felt important. It felt important enough for him to know.

“Even when you know what I’ve done? What I’ve watched and done nothing about?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, because he didn’t think getting into another debate about what Cody could and couldn’t have done was not productive, right now. “Yes. You are dear to me. And I am so, so relieved you are alive, and here with me.”

He did close his eyes, then. Brown eyes, hidden from him. “I can’t believe you.”

“Then I’m sorry, dear one.” Obi-Wan moved his hand away, and felt a little helpless, and smiled. “I hope you will, one day.”

He put his head down – not on the pillow, but just beside it, his forehead resting against Cody’s shoulder – and closed his eyes. He felt tired, all of a sudden, and a little as though he would fall asleep if he didn’t fight against it. Cody was warm, he found, and one of Obi-Wan’s hands still rested on his chest, wrapped up with his own. He could feel, even through the sleepshirt, the rhythmic thrumming of Cody’s beating heart.

He breathed out, deliberate in the release, and felt some tension drain from his shoulders; he hadn’t even realized it was there. One of Cody’s feet rested against his ankle. He felt intertwined with him; he felt as though he’d been running for hours and could finally stop. Or was else holding up some heavy weight that he could lay on the ground now. Either way, some strange sense of relief crashed over him, and he could’ve slipped from his own consciousness here by Cody’s side and been happy that way.

He still opened his eyes to Cody’s voice – though it was quiet enough that, had he not been so used now to listening for any little noise from him, he might’ve missed it.

“You meant that.”

Obi-Wan looked up. Met his eyes. “Of course I did.”

“You really meant that.”

“Every single word.”

A pause. And then, hesitantly, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I want to say something.” Cody shifted, a little, as though he wanted to turn on his side again and curl into Obi-Wan anew. “You deserve better.”

I deserved so much less than I got.

“Don’t say that.” He wasn’t certain if he was speaking to Cody or to himself. Both, in some way. “You have been – everything, Cody, those past few months.”

“I wish I knew you were here earlier,” Cody insisted, and Obi-Wan thought about it – thought about just what he could’ve changed, had he known Cody was alive, out there. Like this. “I wish I could have… come to you, differently.”

And he knew he could not have changed anything. Could not have saved him. Could only have hoped he wasn’t too hurt to save himself. “I’m not sure how well that would have gone for either of us, dear one.”

“I wish things were different.”

“I do, too.” He raised himself, just a little bit, and lifted his hand from Cody’s chest to brush a curl from his forehead. Cody followed him with only his eyes, and Obi-Wan felt his gaze as well as he would have a touch. “But there’s not much we can do about that.”

“I wish I could say how I feel. I wish I understood how I feel,” Cody said, and he sounded as helpless as Obi-Wan felt, smiling down at him.

“You have time, darling.” He brushed his fingers upward, combed them through Cody’s hair. Cody tended to close his eyes when Obi-Wan did such. He didn’t, now. Traced every move of Obi-Wan’s arm with near-fascination. “You will have time.”

“And you’ll stay?” he asked, and Obi-Wan could only tell him the truth.

“For as long as you want me to.”

Cody’s eyes skittered away from him, forward to the wall in front of them. He stared through it, for a moment, the way he tended to, deep in thought. Then he nodded – to his thoughts or just as affirmation, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell – and settled, again, into his side.

Cody dropped things, sometimes.

Not on purpose. It was just as though he’d forget, for a moment, that there was something in his hand. He’d hold it carefully, when Obi-Wan handed something to him, but after a while it would slip. Here and there, this and that.

It was easy to see how greatly it irritated him. He hated it, it was plain to see, when Obi-Wan jumped in place and asked him if something was wrong, because, for all intents and purposes, all he could say was no. So Obi-Wan stopped; he handed whatever had fallen back to him, wordlessly, and tried not to smile with too much reassurance bleeding through. It was too easily mistaken for pity.

No, everything was fine. It was just that things kept falling from Cody’s grasp, and he found next to nothing in his life, he told Obi-Wan once, that was so damn ridiculous.

Hand me a blaster, probably the one thing I’m still liable to hold, he’d spat, after Obi-Wan had mopped up a bit of soup and spent the better part of a half hour convincing Cody that it was all right. But he must’ve disliked the look on Obi-Wan’s face, then, because he’d turned his head in sharp annoyance and muttered, Forget it.

Obi-Wan figured it must’ve been the remnants of the fever, still, rather than any lack of physical strength. That, he began to regain relatively quickly once the infection receded; Obi-Wan feared little when he handed him a plate or a bowl, or when he helped him walk to the fresher or outside to watch the suns. He knew Cody disliked that most of all – being unable to move for himself – but Obi-Wan had little to offer as assistance other than his own body for now.

Cody being able to sit up on his own was an achievement Obi-Wan had tried to hide his joy at in spite of himself. Cody certainly wasn’t satisfied with himself despite the progress he was making; it was rare that he was satisfied with himself at all, Obi-Wan knew, wartime or peace. Being good enough was a concept that had been chasing him for as long as Obi-Wan had known him, but Cody seemed to be determined to outrun it at every corner.

But Obi-Wan would wake, sometimes, to the space by his side empty – and eventually his heart stopped lunging up to his throat before he could look to his side and find Cody sitting against the wall of the hut. He’d be looking outside, watching the specks of sunlight spattering over the ceiling, or else he’d be reading, his head bowed over a book.

Obi-Wan supposed he should’ve called it the book, really. He only had the one, flimsi-printed and heavy, and he’d never read it in its entirety himself, busy as he was – but he was glad for it now. Whatever was contained in the featherlight pages seemed to be of interest to Cody, or enough, at least, to ward off the boredom that was catching up with him more and more often. Obi-Wan was glad for that, too, as strange a thing as it may have been.

Sometimes, though, he’d wake up and look right to Cody, and find Cody looking back. That, he could not explain; he didn’t think himself particularly riveting to watch, in sleep or in general. The first few times he’d chalked it up to chance; maybe he’d moved as he woke and got Cody’s attention that way, maybe it was simply coincidence. But more and more often he found that couldn’t be the case – on one occasion or another, Obi-Wan would see him looking in the corner of his eye, and smiling.

He didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t.

I’m not that interesting, darling, he’d said to him, once, just when his mind was still sleep-muddled and his tongue all too loose in his mouth. I can’t imagine there’s all that much to see.

I think there is, Cody had replied to him, simply and without any true surprise. You watched me when I was sick.

You are sick, Obi-Wan had murmured, and turned onto his back so he wouldn’t see Cody’s annoyance. He heard none of it in his voice, though.

I keep thinking you’ll disappear, he’d said, suddenly, and shifted to lie back down beside Obi-Wan, which was, at the time, still a considerable commitment. So I look to know you’re still here.

I’m here, Obi-Wan had told him, and found that the words were comforting even to himself. He was there, by Cody’s side; both of them alive and warm and breathing.

And still, he worried for the rest. He suspected there was little to worry about as long as the medicine was working, but it was difficult to keep his mind from wandering when it had wandered for so long; and so he worried. He worried for Cody’s strength, for Cody’s appetite, for Cody’s rest.

And, as he tended to, eventually he came up with an idea. Just a start, to be certain; but an idea nonetheless.

Cody had been reading the book when Obi-Wan approached him. They’d just eaten; warm scrambled eggs, into which Obi-Wan had sliced an overripe tomato. Some melted cheese. Had he had a better bowl, he thought, he could’ve made a tart of it. But that was all well, in the end; Cody had eaten the small bowl Obi-Wan had handed him, and that had been just about enough.

The spoon had slipped from his fingers once, though, and dropped to the ground. He’d cursed rather loudly while Obi-Wan cleaned it off for him, and clearly was of the mind to apologise before Obi-Wan had waved the entire matter away with some insistence.

Albeit – he had to admit, that wasn’t the case over with in its entirety. He sat at Cody’s side quietly for a while after that, watching him read. Cody only glanced every so often at Obi-Wan before he must’ve figured Obi-Wan was tired enough to consider sitting still a worthwhile pastime.

It must’ve been why he blinked in surprise and looked sharply toward him when Obi-Wan finally spoke up, “Would you like to try dancing?” 

One of Cody’s eyebrows rose a little bit. Obi-Wan never wanted him to know how endearing the expression was lest he stopped wearing it. “Dancing?”

“Yes.”

Cody looked down at the page number he was on before closing the book and reaching out to lay it on the ground next to the bed. “Don’t you think I should be walking first?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. Considered it; the only walking Cody had done so far had been outside and to the fresher, all with Obi-Wan’s arm looped around him.

“Trust me,” he said, finally, and offered him a small smile. “Do you know what our younglings first learn in the Temple when we’re introducing them to their bond to the Force?”

“What?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. Smiled a little wider. “Humor me.” Cody stared at him exasperatedly a moment before giving in.

“How to lift something? No,” he cut himself off. Furrowed his brow, thought about it another moment before guessing, “Meditation?”

“That isn’t entirely connected to the Force,” Obi-Wan pointed out, but at another rise of Cody’s eyebrow, he bowed his head and conceded. “But you’re right, to a degree. They learn meditative dancing.”

“Don’t tell me you’re about to teach me meditative dancing,” Cody said, and there was the note of faux horror in his voice that made something bright and lovely spark in Obi-Wan’s chest. Cody seemed to take it a little more seriously. “I’m lying back down if you do. Obi-Wan. Look me in the eyes right now.”

“I’m not about to teach you meditative dancing, Cody,” Obi-Wan echoed, obediently staring Cody right in the eyes. “If you’re agreeable, however, I am about to teach you to waltz.”

“Still sounds like one of your forms,” Cody muttered. Obi-Wan only shrugged, fondness light in his chest.

“Any physical activity can be meditation, Cody, did you know that? Anything from sitting still to running to, yes, dancing.” Cody groaned, quietly, and Obi-Wan added, “But that’s not why we’re doing it.”

Cody turned to him, tilted his head like he knew Obi-Wan was about to say something he wasn’t going to enjoy at all. “Why are we doing it, exactly?”

“Because I think it is lovely,” Obi-Wan said, softly. Cody huffed a breath, refusing to return his smile, and waited until Obi-Wan lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. “And because it will help your coordination.”

“Dual goals, then?” Cody glanced over to the living space in the middle of the hut. He seemed to consider the area for a moment before turning to Obi-Wan. “Multitasking doesn’t bode well for you.”

Obi-Wan followed his gaze. He could make room for this. It wasn’t much of an obstacle at all.

He smiled to Cody again, brushed their hands together in invitation, and Cody, albeit hesitantly, smiled back. “Then let’s focus on one step at a time, shall we?”

Moving the table and the chairs on the other side took but a moment; Obi-Wan up-ended the chairs and rested them atop, considered cleaning after their dancing. As he moved about, clearing space, it occurred to him all of a sudden that he’d not danced in years – if not near-decades. He hadn’t thought of it, when he suggested it to Cody. It hadn’t come to mind.

The realization made him chuckle.

He wanted to dance with Cody. Not just to dance, but to do it with him, hand in hand, together to some music that wasn’t there. He wished it had been; he wished they could do it in some cantina, bare-faced and unhurt and surrounded by bodies and laughter. He wished they could do it unafraid. Unthinking. He wished the press of Cody’s body against his was a choice and not a necessity.

He wished many things. But, then again, he always had.

“Obi-Wan?” Cody called, from the bed. Obi-Wan blinked, and saw his own hands resting loosely against the tabletop. He’d thought he stood there for only a moment.

He turned around and smiled at Cody, who was, it seemed, halfway to deciding to stand up on his own. As delighted as Obi-Wan was going to be once he did so, he wasn’t certain right now was the best moment to make that attempt.

He stepped quickly to Cody’s side and offered him a hand. He didn’t have to lift him off the bed any longer; it was enough, now, just to pull him up to Obi-Wan’s chest where Obi-Wan could wrap an arm around him. Another achievement Cody wasn’t giving the time of day to and Obi-Wan quietly concealed his joy at.

“Put your arm over my shoulders,” Obi-Wan told him, once he had him safely up, and steeled him back forward when he tried to turn. “No, no, keep facing me. Just wrap it around there. There we go, just like that.”

It put them close together. With Cody standing still, nearly nose-to-nose with him, Obi-Wan was swiftly reminded that, even when he was somewhat slouched, Cody wasn’t all that much shorter than him. The same sentiment seemed to flash over Cody’s face, and Obi-Wan turned his head away, tried to save him the embarrassment. He wasn’t certain why, himself; but it was easier to do than admitting that something in Cody’s dark eyes warmed him.

“Now we’ll put our hands out to the side a little,” he said, quietly – there wasn’t any need to be much louder, this close – and took Cody’s hand to move it. “You can lean on me, if anything, it’s all right.”

“I’m fine, Obi-Wan,” Cody said, a note of something not unlike exasperation in his voice. Obi-Wan smiled, nodded; decided against pointing out how hard Cody was gripping his hand.

He figured he couldn’t look away from Cody for too long without making it look deliberate, without seeming like he was hiding; so he tilted his head instead and bowed it forward. Cody startled, for a moment, when Obi-Wan put their temples together, but the jump of his chest against Obi-Wan’s settled quickly. He slid his arm down Obi-Wan’s back, then, and rested his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder – and, caught in this strange warmth, Obi-Wan barely stopped himself from doing just the same.

“That’s how you dance?” Cody asked him, and his breath hitched a little as he did.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the small chuckle at his words. “That’s how you stand, more or less.”

“Get bent, why don’t you,” Cody huffed – though he was smiling, Obi-Wan could hear it – and, to Obi-Wan’s slight surprise, he swayed them slightly to the side with just the weight of his body. “Lots of steps for just standing.”

“Better?” Obi-Wan went along with him, turned them to the other side, leaning Cody forward a little. He felt him stiffen a smidge, unstable on his feet. His arm locked over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Relax, dear one. I’ve got you.”

“What are we doing?” Cody asked, again. He seemed somewhat puzzled. “Is that how you dance?”

“Patience.” Slowly, he turned Cody to the side, took a small step back and tugged him along. Cody followed, still uncertain but willing, taking the same steps Obi-Wan did, rested safely against him.

They ended up doing little more than some gentle swaying, mostly Obi-Wan pulling him along as Cody leaned against him, pressed flush to his chest. But it was good, this way. Obi-Wan stayed close, a hand already around Cody’s waist if his legs were to give out all of a sudden.

Eventually, Cody seemed to have let go of his initial uncertainty over the ordeal, at least a little. He let Obi-Wan take some of his weight, holding onto him, but started taking steps with him, bit by bit.

“This is dancing. Of a kind, anyway,” Obi-Wan murmured, feeling more than hearing the rumbling trace of laughter that never really left Cody’s chest. “Tell me when you get tired.” 

Cody nodded into his shoulder. The heat of his face was slowly seeping through to Obi-Wan’s skin. “You said waltz?”

“I figure we’ll work up to it.”

“Don’t take it easy on me, Kenobi.”

I want to take it easy on you, Obi-Wan didn’t say. And he certainly didn’t add, I think the way you are has always made me want to take hardship from you.

He said, instead, “I wouldn’t dream of it, dear one.”

Eventually, he began to hum. Some spaceport song in threes and sixes, some melody he’d occasionally have stuck in the back of his mind from when he was younger. From when moving fast and easy was so much more thoughtless.

And, eventually, Cody got tired. He didn’t say it just like that, of course not; he didn’t say it at all. Just steered them toward the bed, slowly, and once the backs of his knees hit the edge of it, he sat down and pulled Obi-Wan down with him, entirely unafraid, it seemed, of the whole of Obi-Wan falling down on him.

Obi-Wan didn’t, thankfully; he didn’t, though only just. He sat down next to Cody, instead, and Cody put his head down on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and closed his eyes, and they sat together in the quiet for a while. Just like that.

“What’s that song?” At the sound of Cody’s voice, Obi-Wan bowed his head, and found him looking up at him with one eye open.

“What song, darling?”

“The one you were singing while we danced. It sounded familiar.”

Obi-Wan smiled and lifted his head, trying to remember. “It’s an old one, if I’m not mistaking melodies. I remember it from when I was a child.” He hummed a few notes again, over and over until the words slowly returned to his mind. “Pitate be Coruscanta, I believe. It translates to ‘Rains of Coruscant’, in Basic.”

“Damp shithole,” Cody murmured with striking sincerity, and Obi-Wan laughed, his shoulders shaking with it.

“It’s about the illusion of change and the longing for something that can’t be replaced, actually. Quite melancholic, if you think about it.” Cody raised his head off Obi-Wan’s shoulder and tilted it to the side with a familiar expression of fondness.

Obi-Wan was struck, for a moment, by how similar he seemed in the moment to the Cody he remembered standing on the bridge of the Negotiator, listening with his hip against a holotable to Obi-Wan going on about this and that for what must’ve seemed like hours. His willingness to listen hadn’t changed either, it seemed, even when he didn’t have to. Not anymore.

Obi-Wan breathed out and paused, for just a moment, before continuing. “It’s about… Well, you know the seasons of Coruscant are run by the weather control. And though the flowers bloom and the leaves grow and the sun shines, it’s all got the turning of gears behind it. No planetary rotation necessary. That’s the main idea of the song, I think, that even though it seems real, it’s different when you’re from somewhere where the clouds aren’t coordinated and the rain is a joy.”

Cody chuckled, and, swaying ever-so-slightly, knocked their shoulders together. “I’m not sure I could relate to the last part all that much.” Obi-Wan smiled, shook his head. No, of course he wouldn’t. After all these years, after months on Tatooine, and still he wouldn’t. “So you think that the real hurt of it is…”

Obi-Wan could sense himself being nudged, and didn’t resist it. “It’s that you’re aware of the fabrication, I think.”

“So if you didn’t know…” Cody looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and seemed to get stuck in his own thoughts.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, watched him blink slowly. Their sides were warm against each other. “If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t long for it to be real.”

Cody glanced down at him, eyebrows pinched together, and then looked away. “You think it’d be better not to know?”

Obi-Wan paused, for a moment. Looked him up and down. Weather control or not, sunshine on Coruscant had always been sweet. Perhaps because he’d grown up there.

But he wasn’t certain they were talking about Coruscant anymore at all.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he said, finally. “Do you?”

Cody shrugged, a little, and caught his eye. Searched for something in Obi-Wan’s face a moment. His lips tugged upward, just a bit. “I think I do.”

Obi-Wan felt it, when Cody brushed their fingers together, somewhere in the space between them. He didn’t dare look down, not yet. Some fear in his mind lingered, still, and kept him from it.

As though he would just glance down, and that gentle, gentle touch would melt away. Take Cody with it, and leave him alone altogether.

He stood on his own perhaps a tenday later.

Not for long; not enough to go walking just yet. But Obi-Wan had moved the table and the chair, and he’d found, after turning around, that Cody was standing. Near-gingerly, with one hand braced on the wall by the bed.

But he was standing, and he stood long enough to take Obi-Wan’s offered hand and take two small steps until they were holding each other again.

And wasn’t that a strange direction, Obi-Wan thought, that his days were going in.

He spent their time dancing feeling as though his head spun more than their bodies. Light-headed. And he couldn’t – just couldn’t – get his words in order to say anything worthwhile to Cody. Not about his dancing, not about his healing. He didn’t think Cody would’ve liked any of it much, anyhow.

So he hummed, as they danced, another song from the port that had eventually become Cody’s favourite. And Cody had closed his eyes, and put his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and that had not made any of it any easier at all.

“So,” Cody said, all too casual for how hoarse his voice was after they’d finished. After Obi-Wan had led him back to the bed and sat him down, and still said nothing of it. “What do you make of me?”

And Obi-Wan was not proud, not in the slightest, of the little cracking in his own voice, suddenly overcome with some feeling he could hardly explain. It was the same relief, but it was fear, too, and it was exhaustion and it was the warmth of Cody’s forehead under his palm and it was more fear and just more fear.

All slicing at his seams, one by one. Everything he had beneath his skin, sloshed up into some swirling, writhing mass of necrotic tissue.

“You’re much, much better,” he said, feeling like it was a terribly inadequate thing. And then added, just a little sharper, unsure if he was saying it to himself or to Cody or to whatever this was between them – “You’ll live.”

“Yeah,” Cody breathed, and it was probably meant to be a huff of laughter – but it didn’t sound like one, perhaps because Cody wasn’t drawing enough air in. But it was only ever after their dancing, now, that he’d be out of breath, and even as it made Obi-Wan’s heart quicken, he mentioned nothing of it to Cody at all. “I’m thinking I’ll live, too.” He glanced up, then, gave Obi-Wan a strange look – somewhere between searching and reproachful. He bowed his head, just a little. Thought, it seemed, for a moment. And then said, quietly, smiling with half his mouth as though it was a joke between them – “What, you thought I was gonna leave you here?”

It overflowed. Again. It did that a little too often for Obi-Wan’s comfort, nowadays. He couldn’t exactly describe what ‘it’ was – something as simple and sentimental as his heart meant little, now, when he wasn’t quite sure what was left of it. 

There was a lump in his throat.

What had he thought, for those first hours, days, weeks? What had he felt, crumpled by Cody’s side, willing to shave off pieces of himself slice by slice just to keep him here? He wasn’t sure of the littlest crumbs of it; he felt a little like there had just been fear, and desperation, and premature grief all sealed behind a door he did his damned best to keep locked.

“You know,” he said, and his voice, too, was too small for comfort. He took a breath to ground himself again and confessed, quietly, “For a few – brief moments in time – “ – because he’d lost hope, because Cody’s blood and body had been boiling under his touch, and he couldn’t care for him well enough, and he thought he couldn’t save him, and he thought he was watching the last of his family come apart in his arms – “ – yes, I–I had the thought.”

There was a moment of silence, uncomfortable, almost suffocating. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. Just until he could get himself together. Telling Cody that he thought he was going to die wasn’t the right choice. It wasn’t a good one. Or a kind one, at that. He should’ve been better.

He should’ve been a lot of things, he thought, a little bitter. There was nothing to show for it now.

“I told you I should have died,” Cody said. Not to return to the argument. Just, Obi-Wan supposed, to state the truth.

The truth ached, as it always had. Obi-Wan couldn’t get the image out of his head, most nights, of Cody turning to him and telling him that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t supposed to get better.

Obi-Wan wasn’t certain what had changed, since then. Other than perhaps he himself had gotten a little more melancholic.

“You did.” And added, quietly, unwilling to leave that out there, just hanging above them, “It isn’t true.”

“Come here,” Cody said, and there was rustling.

And when Obi-Wan opened his eyes, Cody’s arms were raised and open – and his hands weren’t shaking, and neither were his arms or shoulders, he was still and steady, and Obi-Wan thought he might just cry. He wouldn’t. But the thought remained.

Melancholy indeed.

He stared at Cody for a moment, and thought he was giving the distinct impression that he didn’t understand what Cody wanted him to do. He did – he just couldn’t quite grasp why it was Cody wanted him to do it.

“What – “ he began, but Cody was quicker.

“Come here,” he repeated, firmly, and Obi-Wan found his legs stepping toward the bed of their own accord. Cody watched him expectantly, and – “We’re still kicking, aren’t we? We’re still alive, you and me. Come here.”

- and Obi-Wan had always had a little trouble when arguing with Cody. So he did not.

It was frighteningly easy to step forward. To let Cody take him by the wrists and pull him closer and – to raise his hands and put them on his face, on his neck, on his shoulders. To sit down next to him. Look over him. Without thinking, without worry, with approval – and to see, and to feel, the cooling of his skin and the way his eyes looked clearer, now, no longer so damned shiny. No longer feverish. Not too much, not sick. Better. Not dying. Not dead. Alive. And here. Alive, and here.

He had wanted to see it for so long. Had wanted to look, and smile, and see recovery for what it was. He hadn’t wanted to be quieted. He didn’t want to be quiet.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan whispered as he lowered his hands – and it was odd to think about how close they were. Nearly pressed to one another. Cody’s hands were in his lap and he looked tired, but Obi-Wan couldn’t say when exactly Cody had let go of him. And he said to him, knowing how childish he sounded and saying it anyway – “Cody, I am going to keep you under that blanket for – so many days.”

And that did sound like a huff of amusement, and Cody tilted his chin up to look at Obi-Wan better. “When’s the last time you’ve been under a blanket?”

Obi-Wan chuckled, though the sound was a smidge too wet for comfort. He shook his head, brushed his fingers down the soft surface of the sheets to the side of Cody’s leg. Spoke, admitting what had long-become the truth – “It’s your blanket, now.”

“It’s a pretty warm blanket, yeah.” Cody brushed their shoulders together, swayed to the side. Let Obi-Wan shift, settle down next to him. Eyes half-lidded. Cody must’ve been tired, in the end. He tended to be, after they danced. But he wasn’t in pain, and that was a gift. “Heavy enough.”

“Though not very soft, I’d imagine,” Obi-Wan said, watching, staying still. Cody was blinking slow. 

“That’s okay,” Cody murmured, tilted his head. It ended up, as Obi-Wan had grown to expect, on his shoulder. Warm, still. “I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can,” he agreed, softly, and the only response from Cody was a quiet noise of affirmation. “You’ve always managed.”

They sat in silence. They often did, when Obi-Wan was out of words and Cody was out of answers. Something Obi-Wan had learned, in times like that, was that he didn’t mind silence so much when it was silence spent by Cody’s side. Sharing his warmth. Giving his own.

He would’ve spent an eternity like this, he thought, if only he could have. And because he couldn’t – because no man was afforded eternity – he thought he might simply give it as much time as Cody was willing to spare him.

Cody’s hand was on his leg, palm-up. His knuckles brushing softly against Obi-Wan’s clothed thigh.

Before Obi-Wan could move, he sighed.

“I feel… out of sorts,” he murmured, brown eyes staring forward. Looking out, catching the honey-tinted sunlight streaming in through the small windows. Obi-Wan turned his head to look at him; watched him blink, watched the evening sun dance in his eyes. He looked filled with it, in the light; lips parted, just a little, frozen in some consideration. Obi-Wan thought, distantly, that he looked beautiful.

“Tired?” he asked, and his own voice seemed jarring to him. Like some foreign body, cutting equilibrium.  “Get some rest, then. I’m going to stay right here.” 

“No, I mean…” Cody waved his hand, gestured vaguely at the rest of the hut. Obi-Wan turned to look. He didn’t think there was anything out of the ordinary – but then again, he supposed he and Cody saw things differently. He could recall finding the hut, his first few weeks in it; fixing the ventilation, mending cracks, building a home anew from the ground up. Obi-Wan’s hands were on every surface of the hut; to Cody, it must’ve simply been a foreign space. Though – not so much, Obi-Wan hoped, after the months he spent in it. “Like everything’s in the wrong colours. That way.”

"I’d wager that’s called being tired, dear one. That, or the itch to redecorate," he said, smiling. Cody tilted his head strangely to look up at him, still blinking. He seemed – well, among other things, he did still seem tired. Obi-Wan could feel the corner edge of it, a thin sliver of weariness ever-so-slightly displacing the quiet around itself. "It feels odd, doesn't it?"

"Sleeping so much? You don't say," Cody grumbled, turned his head again to rest against Obi-Wan more comfortably. Obi-Wan wished, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they could’ve done this long ago. When their bodies weren’t as worn as their minds, and their minds not as shattered still.

"Your body needs it," Obi-Wan told him, voice as soft as he could mold it. Cody didn’t like it, being told to rest; then again, it was well-established between them, and Obi-Wan knew just as intimately why that was. And yet. "There's no shame in admitting that."

"Sleep's all well and good,” Cody said, seemingly more to the room than Obi-Wan. Perhaps because he couldn’t quite fool Obi-Wan regarding his feelings on the matter. “Waking up is the hard part. Feels like hell no matter what. Like I'm being stomped on by an Atee."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. Cody would stir in a panic sometimes, but those days – perhaps thankfully – were rare. It was far more often that he’d blink his eyes open gradually, slowly, as though they had terrible weights tied to them. But he opened them, anyway. Unsurprisingly, Cody detested remaining still. Still and idle.

As though reading his thoughts, Cody sighed – it was a low, rattling thing, like he blew out all the air in his lungs in an instant – and said, tasting the words with his next breath, thoughtful, almost distant – “It’s occurred to me recently how pathetic this is.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment. “Cody, that’s been occurring to you on an unfortunately regular basis ever since you opened your eyes here. Don’t argue – it has.” Cody chuckled to his side. Obi-Wan hadn’t needed to look to know his mouth had already been open to protest. “But it doesn’t make the thought any more true.”

“I don’t think I can just take it out of my brain like that,” Cody murmured. Added, after a pause – “They built us to be useful. Self-sufficient.”

Obi-Wan smiled, cheerlessly. Spared a thought to the Kaminoans. He celebrated no destruction, but to hear of the closing of the factories had brought some sort of relief back when it happened. He felt it better, now, after the piercing pain of not knowing what happened to any of his men had grown a little duller with time. With Cody.

“They’re gone now, along with their cities and their science. Decommissioned and razed to the ground with the same cruelty they dealt out and the oceans they shaped you of,” he said. A little mercilessly, perhaps. Cody watched him with some resignation in his expression, nodding shortly along to his words. “Only the water remains, I hear. And water tends to adapt to whatever ground it’s on. So to hell with what they built you to be, no?” Cody raised an eyebrow, and Obi-Wan shrugged the shoulder Cody wasn’t resting his cheek against. “You’re a human being. Not a machination.”

“I know that,” Cody said, easily enough. Obi-Wan had expected it, hadn’t thought he’d need to convince Cody of it when Cody had spent long years trying to convince everyone else.

So he only brushed his fingers against Cody’s where his hand was still on Obi-Wan’s thigh and said, firm in his conviction, “Then I’m going to need you to stop trying to make up for it.”

Cody tilted his head. Turned to look at him again, and this time remained. Searching for something in Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan didn’t know if he found it. The silence dragged on.

Cody took his hand. Gently, almost carefully. All it was may have been a wrap of his fingers around Obi-Wan’s palm, but it felt like candlelight. Grounding. He looked away, when he took it, but Obi-Wan didn’t. Kept looking, frozen in place, suddenly trusted with something he wasn’t quite sure how to hold close to himself when offered so openly.

He knew how to hide. Knew how to sit by the bed, sleep by his side. Knew how to touch him and invite him to dance. Knew how to do this, how to hold Cody’s hand, even, but only when he was feverish and sick and every point of contact hurt him but the want for closeness hurt more.

He didn’t know how to do it when they were sitting side by side, and when Cody had taken it in the quiet of his thoughts.

But perhaps, he reasoned, he didn’t need to know. He could simply stay, and hold Cody’s hand. And think little of whatever consequence would’ve wanted to weigh down his mind what seemed like days ago, when they were encased in coffins in gold and white.

But they weren’t hidden in armour anymore, and there was nothing on Tatooine but sand and the slivers of humanity to hold on to.

And with Obi-Wan, there was Cody, and the hand he was holding.

“I don’t know if I was afraid of it or not,” Cody said, suddenly and so simply it seemed as though he was talking about the weather. “Dying, I mean. When I said that I was supposed to die, I don’t think I feared it.” He swallowed, and Obi-Wan understood that perfectly fine. He didn’t think Cody had ever come close to death in quite this manner, burning up from the inside. It took most things out of one’s head. “But I didn’t want to die.”

Obi-Wan smiled. Cody sounded rather sure of it. “Not wanting to die is the best attitude to have to ensure survival, you know.”

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Cody said, firmly, and tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand. “I didn’t want to die and leave you alone.”

“I’m never alone,” Obi-Wan murmured, because he had no idea how else to say You shouldn’t do those things for me and I’m so, so grateful you did it anyway in the same breath.

Cody clicked his tongue, turned to look at him again. It was hard, Obi-Wan thought, to not just tell him the truth with those eyes on him. “You told me, once, that the Force feels lonely.”

“It’s a different sort of loneliness,” Obi-Wan said, and for what it was worth, he meant it. To be simply alone was – well, before Cody, he thought that he’d all but gotten used to it. It could be remedied, he thought, with a bit of meditation and a little talking to oneself. He knew it’d not be any different, but he had accepted it. He could handle it, he thought; he wasn’t the first person in the Galaxy to live alone in the wastes and feel like a stranger. There were words for that, in nearly all the languages Obi-Wan knew of.

But to be lonely in the Force was – alienating. Numbing. Everything felt dreadfully empty, awfully dark. Cody was a bright light both in his eyes and in the Force, but Obi-Wan thought better of him than to ask him to keep himself behind to remedy Obi-Wan’s own struggles for him.

Besides, the Force may have felt lonely in the Wars. But there was a gaping hole within it now that stretched over Obi-Wan’s chest, and no amount of closeness could sew that wound shut.

“Certainly, it’s different now from what it was when I said it,” he murmured, and tried to swallow down the bitterness.

“Why do you want to keep being lonely?” Cody asked him, and Obi-Wan would’ve bristled had his question not sounded genuine.

Instead, he shrugged his shoulders. Asked, simply, “Why do you not want to rest?”

“I see.” Cody chuckled at that, just a little amused. Maybe he, too, understood that their stubbornness had grown in too deep for the other to do anything else but settle. “Always knew you were incorrigible.”

He knew such. Knew even better that Cody was, too. It was what had kept them bouncing to and from each other for so long. “A bit too old to fix now, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” Cody insisted, and Obi-Wan felt the warm fingers squeeze around his. Cody turned to him – closed his eyes through the strain, minutely – and pulled Obi-Wan’s hand into his lap. Still holding onto him. “I want to keep you from being lonely. I want to keep you from hurting the same way you do.”

Obi-Wan felt a little bit as though breath was being taken from his lungs. And he thought back to the blanket – once his, now Cody’s. He wondered how truly Cody had meant it.

He reached out a hand. Covered Cody’s with it. And asked, more careful than he’d spoken in days and feeling the strange weight in his stomach that he’d all but thought was now reserved to life-or-death situations – “And if it meant I was no longer lonely – you’d rest?”

“I suppose I’d have no choice.” Cody smiled, just a little. It wasn’t an answer Obi-Wan had considered, but he thought about Cody, and it was obvious. Resignation was a fine bedfellow, he supposed. Always had been, when it came to them. “But that’s all right with me.”

But Obi-Wan didn’t want him to resign himself to anything. Anyone. Even Obi-Wan. His chest ached and the lump in his throat had returned, but he asked anyway, because – “What if it isn’t alright with me?”

“Then you’d have to tell me that now,” Cody said, firmly, and his eyes were boring into Obi-Wan. Straightforward as he’d always been, more serious than Obi-Wan had seen him in a long time. And he didn’t look – resigned. He looked, among other things, terribly determined. “Because if you don’t tell me that you don’t want me here, then I’ll have you dancing with me for far longer than it’s necessary to get me to walk.”

Oh, Obi-Wan thought, oh. Resignation it was not, then. It was something else instead, something warm and kind and as easy and as difficult as it always had been.

And Obi-Wan cursed his tongue that fell just short and in only moments like this, when his chest felt tight and his head too light. “You like the dancing, then?”

“I like dancing with you,” Cody told him, because, unlike him, Cody had never sugar-coated. Cody had never seen the point in walking in circles, in hiding certain words under others. If a war could’ve been won with a bolt, he would’ve reached right for his blaster. And it felt no less piercing now, each word from his lips like a slug to the cavern beneath Obi-Wan’s ribs where the space was Cody’s and Obi-Wan had long-stopped lying to himself – “I like watching the sunrise with you. And I like sleeping next to you. So you tell me what to make of that.”

He calmed his breathing, kept his eyes closed for just another long moment, then looked at Cody again. At the earnestness in him. Again, determination. And not a hint of resignation, in the end.

“I don’t know what to make of that, darling,” he said, softly. His choice. Not Obi-Wan’s. His choice. “You’ll have to tell me that yourself. Until then, I think you should rest.”

Just from his expression, Obi-Wan thought Cody had already made up his mind. “I should rest?”

“You should rest,” Obi-Wan echoed, and found no reason not to smile.

The glimmer in Cody’s eyes held something within it which Obi-Wan couldn’t discern. Not without admitting it was the hope he was putting in Obi-Wan, at least. "And when I wake up, Obi-Wan?”

"When you wake up," Obi-Wan said, quietly, as though there was anyone in the wastes or in their hut that would hear them, as though the words meant just for Cody could be stolen away from him by the winds they were finely sheltered from, "I'll still be here. Whether it feels like hell or not. I'll be here."

"You will." Cody leaned forward. Their hands were still joined between them.

"I will,” Obi-Wan whispered, and bowed his head, and watched as Cody closed his eyes against the touch of their heads leaned together. He had no fever. But he was warm, Obi-Wan thought. He had always been warm. “I promise.”

Cody shuddered, just a little, at his words. Opened his eyes before they withdrew, and watched Obi-Wan for a moment. Like one watches the sunrise. Squeezed his hand, tightly. There, safe, warm and alive. And with him.

Outside, the twin suns were slowly slipping beneath the horizon.