Chapter Text
Dooku paced. His footsteps accompanied the sounds of blasters being fired just outside the large windows. The cries of battle droids and the yelling of republic clones and the pounding rain all worked together to create an eerie calm within the room itself. This place was large—It had an echo, something he had forgotten about since all his time was being spent on ships—In narrow passageways or briefing rooms, diplomatic council chambers and droid factories.
He gnawed his lip: that was new, he never used to do that before. The war changed many things, after all. Many Jedi cracked under the pressure of constant turmoil in the force. He gripped his wrist tightly behind his back. He hunched in on himself. He continued to pace. He would not be touched by the clones, nor any jedi accompanying them, not today at least. If the battle droids didn’t stop them, then the tanks would. And backup would arrive long before any tank would be bested. But Dooku really couldn’t care less if he was captured or not. Rescues could be planned, mouths could be kept shut. His mind was elsewhere. There was a disturbance in the force.
It was like a whisper. Nearly invisible, nearly non-existent. It was a silent presence in his mind. A heaviness. He didn’t know if any Jedi sensed it. Lord Sideous did, he had made that quite clear on the call they had before the clones attacked.
“Stay alert, Tyrannus. Something is happening.”
And something was. Something that made Dooku very, very nervous. But alongside this anxiety, there was a sort of comfort. Pride. Something he had not felt since— He stopped pacing. He stumbled, touching his hand to his temple. That whisper had grown into a searing pain. Dooku closed his eyes. No amount of meditating could prepare him for what he saw.
- - | - -
“Get down!” Obi-Wan yelled into the battlefield. His drenched, mud-covered men dove to the ground: if not for the words which they likely couldn’t make out, then for the urgency in their General’s voice. He dropped to his knees, not a second passed before an explosion shook the sky above them. It bathed the scene in heat and smoke and little bits of metal that rained down alongside the torrents of water. Obi-Wan took the moment to breathe, spitting a mixture of water, mud, and blood from his mouth. He doesn’t know how many times he’s been hit, how many droid’s he’s struck down, or how many of his men have died. He lost sight of Cody a while ago. Then Waxer was no where to be seen, and before long even Wooley and Boil were gone. Who knows, maybe one of them was the body he stepped over as he stood back up. He scanned the battlefield, deflecting an incoming shot with—what he would admit—a lazy swing of his lightsaber.
The structure they were supposed to infiltrate loomed above them, menacing in its size. The rain filled the air with a weight that made Kamino look like a relaxing shower. He could hardly see ten meters in front of him, yet somehow the cutting edges of the hideout were still visible through the fog. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around. He slumped in relief: it was a clone, not that he could tell who, since the man was almost completely covered in gray mud. He deflected another bolt.
“Sir,” The clone was practically gasping for air, “Still no answer from backup. The Commander’s ordered a retreat.”
“I outrank Commander Cody.” Obi-Wan’s instincts said keep fighting. Argue your case. They can’t do this. We can win. His heart was beating quickly, he was bleeding from more places than he cared to admit, and he knew that not only were all of those wrong, but that Commander Cody had made a very good decision. He swallowed his retorts and nodded to the trooper. “I can find my way back to the camp. Go, help your brothers.”
The Trooper stumbled off to spread the news. Obi-Wan remained where he stood, his swinging blade offering cover for Troops clawing and stumbling their way through the thick mud and into the treeline. Soon, his blade deactivated. He helped a clone who couldn’t walk through the dense forest. He stumbled into camp, eyes stinging with mud and rain. He felt like he had just taken on Greivous on a tightrope, he was so sore. He handed the trooper off to a medic before scanning the camp. Thank Force, the rain had begun to let up. Locking his eyes on Cody—who was issuing orders to a group of mudless men who must have stayed at the camp—he was too tired to walk over.
“Commander Cody!” His weary voice cut through the hum of the camp. Cody met his eyes, issued one final order, and started in the General’s direction.
That’s when he felt it.
It was a nibble in the back of his mind, a whisper. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. Funny had told him about this. It was just adrenaline, or migraines, or something like that. It was aftershock from Kadavo. He just needed to focus.
Your focus determines your reality.
He inhaled sharply—the jolt of pain that had settled behind his eyes spread throughout the rest of his head. His knees gave way, his hands pulled close to his body. The Force came in torrents.
It hurt so much.
A hand across his shoulders, saying his name. He looked up. A face that was not quite Cody, not quite Qui-Gon, looked back. He was saying something, probably some wise and life-changing piece of knowledge that only Qui-Gon could. Some banthashit about Anakin and a prophecy. This was Qui-Gon’s doing. Somehow, even from the afterlife, he figured out a way to torture his padawan.
“That’s enough, Qui-Gon,” He hissed into the drizzling rain. “Stop.”
Qui-Gon? What’s he talking about?
“Stop!”
Someone get Funny!
He saw Qui-Gon. That day on Naboo. Maul. Red. Green. Fear. Death. Pain. Grief. Loss. The days after. Anakin. His knighthood, of which one key party was absent. The pity. Oh, Force, sometimes he thought the pity was worse than the grief itself.
Then he saw the powerstation on Naboo. His Master’s body. The plasma refactory, it looked different. Mold clung to the walls, there were cracks and scuffs in the previously sleek metal.
Obi-Wan wasn’t there. And Maul definitely wasn’t.
The body of his master opened its eyes, and exhaustion overcame Obi-Wan's senses. As consciousness drizzled away like blood from a cut, he saw his Master sit up and ask where the hell everyone had gone.