Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Endurance exited hyperspace with a jolt through the whole ship, streaks of stars snapping into focus through the main persi-glass window in front Ponds' station on the Bridge.

Around him, the various Troopers who acted as Navigation Officers murmured amongst themselves. They were in their element here, without any natborns breathing down their necks; having a Vode -only, General besides, ship was one of the benefits of belonging to a smaller Battalion.

Ponds was rewarded with exactly three seconds of peace before his comm beeped to signal it had reconnected to the GAR mainframe and then immediately chirped that he had an incoming call request.

Ponds looked at the corner of his HUD. What now?

HJG A. Gallia.

…Ponds turned off his external mic and took the call.

“General,” he greeted the Tholothian woman, glad to see a familiar face but tempered by knowing it was definitely not a social call. “You have keen timing.”

This wasn't a friendly check-in, where Gallia would pass on some interesting information she'd picked up from the Senate and Ponds would reply with a quip or two of Mace's best lines when dealing with the Twi'leki Senator; the stern expression on her face only hammered the impression home.

Ponds got right into it, instead. “General Windu has remained stable and has been situated in a private suite since his return from the Negotiator. General Kenobi urged him into a ‘healing trance’ and he hasn't woken since. His vitals are steady, however, and there was no obvious bleeding in his crancial scans.”

“I am glad to hear it, Commander,” Gallia replied. She was in her personal office, identifiable from the painted scroll on the wall behind her - a memento of her tribe, Ponds remembered her telling him once when he’d glanced at it too frequently - and there was an alarming number of paads spread around her elbows. “There is no one better to see Master Windu safely returned to the Temple. However, I called to issue the 91st with new orders.”

Ponds didn't outwardly react, although his mind was careening with what to say and do. Orders? They couldn't afford a detour. Were the 91st being sent out as soon as the General was secure?

“Sir?”

Gallia saw something in his face; she didn't soften so much as sympathise. “We have intelligence that there is a system fault in GAR-standard medical droids; all units need to be manually reprogrammed, your slicers will be instructed by those of the 212th who have already begun this process, before any other medical procedure can be conducted. Any medical treatment must be administered by a Trooper medic; this includes-,” she inhaled, as if bracing herself, “-a Battalion-wide ‘vaccination’ programme, to be undertaken immediately.”

There was too much to question. The droids - how was that possible? A fault from the manufacturer that hadn't been caught in the last service did not bode well, either for their suppliers or the men who had been treated, and Ponds was almost afraid to ask if they’d learned of the malfunction from a brother’s suffering. But the vaccines, that was the most surprising part.

“Is there evidence of illness after Ryloth, sir?”

Ponds did a quick mental checklist of his men, remembering the medical reports; there was nothing to suggest they'd picked up anything or that their immune systems were compromised. Ponds was the furthest thing from a healthcare professional - Happy hated him a few degrees less than the other COs - but he knew the Long-necks had made their systems much more robust than Prime’s. It was part of why they ran at higher temperatures from other human-baselines.

“It will be listed as a variant-nine hypercomati vaccine on the medical reports,” Gallia continued. Her eyes, navy blue in the hologram, bore into his.

Ponds got the message. “And in practice?”

Gallia leaned back. “What do you know of the child that Master Kenobi found amongst the bodies of the 23rd Guard, Commander?”

Ponds had heard a fair bit, although only some of it was official. “General Kenobi debriefed me, sir. A Force-sensitive child was found with the bodies of General Di and Captain Keeli and has been credited as playing a key role in the destruction of the Separatist droid forces in that valley. General Windu went to meet with the child, believing at the time that they were a Jedi Padawan, but, upon meeting them, suffered a seizure related to his shatterpoint sensitivity.” Then Neyo almost attacked a natborn kid and squared up to Kenobi like it was a bar fight, Ponds didn't add. “It has since been confirmed that the child is believed to have ties to the CIS but is cooperating fully.”

Which was, frankly, the best outcome. One less Separatist to deal with was a win, triple points that they were down a Force-sensitive too.

“You’re well-informed,” she conceded, threading her fingers together. Ponds sensed the ‘but’ coming. “When the child met with the Council, he was asked to provide evidence of his origins and testimony. He told us that, as a soldier bred for the Sith’s purposes, his file was carried on his person, in the form of a chip that was inserted into his brain.”

Ponds’ bad feeling got worse.

“Through our investigations to confirm this, we uncovered that chips have also been implanted - without the knowledge of either clone or Jedi - into the brains of the clones.”

“ID chips, sir?”

Why did even something as simple as that feel like it was too much to hope for?

“These are more… involved.”

Damn. Damn.

“They are to be removed, then, General?”

“Yes, this operation will need to be discrete and rapid. I would recommend that you and the other commanding officers be prioritised first - from earlier procedures, the absolute minimum recovery time will be between six to ten hours, measuring from waking post-op to returning to your duties.”

Ponds hesitated. That was a little too rapid, and he knew Happy wasn't going to be, well, happy. “What's the operational clearance?”

“This is GAR-wide, Commander, but I must stipulate that it cannot be discussed over commlines or direct messages, even internally between Troopers on board. This call will be your last until your arrival at the Temple, unless there is an emergency of course.”

Definitely not ID chips then. “Is General Windu at risk, sir?”

Mace was impressive, the most impressive Jedi of them all, and he was as kind and intelligent as he was strong, but he was also in a coma. The Troopers weren't equipped to deal with Force -osik and they were one of the few battalions without natborn officers on board, so if something went wrong - if the men were incapacitated - then Mace would be defenceless. If the droids were also impacted… they would be a Venator-class ship at hyperspeed, filled with malfunctioning droids, unfit Troopers, and an unconscious Master of the Jedi Order. That was about as bad of a loss of control as Ponds could fathom and it was now a looming possibility.

Ponds was a professional, any sense of panic had been drilled out of him at knee height, but this, for the sake of honesty, was rattling that legendary cool head.

“No more than he has been up to now,” Gallia hedged, and Ponds updated his internal citation from ‘unexpected madness’ to ‘FUBAR’.

“I’ll inform Medical immediately, sir,” Ponds swore, instinctively straightening his shoulders. Around him, outside the muffle of his muted helmet, the Bridge continued milling about without a hint of knowledge of their new situation. Lucky bastards, not that it would last.

“Have your slicers raise a communications blackout until you re-enter hyperspace, Commander, save your own line. Use Mace's codes, he has an override that will help. Block all numbers on it except for those of the Jedi High Council and Master Kenobi.”

Ponds mentally stuttered. “Even the other Commanders? The Defence Council has already been demanding updates on our sudden extraction from Ryloth-”

“None of them, Commander,” Gallia reiterated, foreboding. “I am sorry for my lack of satisfactory explanation but you will be fully debriefed upon arrival. Until then, we cannot risk half-measures with our security. The lives of both yourself, your brothers, and Master Windu depend on the strictness of this enforcement.”

Damn it all to the depths of wild space…

“Understood, sir. We’ll take no chances.”

She nodded at that, unbending enough to show some tiredness - beyond the diplomatic masking - and Ponds dipped his chin in response. He knew a bit about keeping it together for others.

“I will update you before we re-enter hyperspace, General.”

“Thank you, Ponds,” Gallia sighed. She leaned forwards, towards the comm where it rested on her desk. “May the Force be with you.”

“Sir.”

And she was gone.

In his helmet, mic off and his expressions safe from his gossiping brothers, Ponds allowed himself to grimace. He shut his eyes, just resting against the darkness for a moment as he breathed. Mace had been showing him meditation techniques for the past month - it helped, compartmentalising his guilt and his responsibilities during his rest shifts - and it helped now… but it also made him think of his General.

Gallia was the 91st’s General too, rotating duties at the Temple with Mace, and Ponds was admittedly fond of her - she was sharp and thoughtful, content with silence - but Mace was the General, the Jedi; serving with him was a massive responsibility and an honour, especially knowing just how extraordinary Mace was even amongst Jedi.

Gallia was competent and an honour to serve with; Mace was like their training stories of the Jedi, strong as a force of nature, brought to life… a figure of legend… who listened to Operettas when doing flimsiwork. Ponds was almost secure enough to call them actual friends.

On top of that… his chronic condition - shatterpoints should be classified as such, in Ponds and Happy's books - did weigh on Ponds. He had to be aware if Mace was going to have another seizure, if he was in too much pain to attend meetings or fill out hours of forms, or even just able to look at a holo-table for a debriefing. They had rescue medication for him on hand, had systems in place in case he went down in the field, and Ponds had the most General-adjacent clearance of all his CO brothers so far because of that. There was a trust and intimacy there that had been forcibly sped through by the demands of circumstance. Ponds knew Mace.

However, Mace was a grown man and - an incredibly capable - Jedi in his own right, he had managed more than fine without Ponds and the 91st before they'd come along, but he was Ponds’ General. He was Ponds' General and he was two levels down, unconscious, and Ponds now knew both the medical droids and the medics, the entire ship, was apparently a big enough risk for a total blackout order until the situation had been rectified.

What did those chips do?

Ponds blindly commed Happy.

“CMO, speak,” came the cheerful response.

“Orders from the Council,” Ponds didn't beat around the bush; Happy loathed niceties and Ponds himself wasn't much in the mood for shooting the breeze. He needed to fix this, ASAP. As he spoke, he gestured with his free hand for Whizz to pay attention and come over. “Take all med droids off duty, there's a system malfunction that needs to be addressed before they can do anything else.”

“What? Who told you that?”

“General Gallia, she's Triple-Zero-side and it's both hush and urgent.” Happy grunted and Ponds continued, rattling it off. “Whilst you're doing that, Hap, get Bonnie to call Kenobi’s line, ask to be rerouted to the 212th Slicers - I think it's Crys or Blackout they'll need - to let us know what needs to be fixed. When your kit is okay-ed, start running brain scans, best ones you can do. There's a chip in each vod that needs immediate extraction, top-down. Comms to be blocked in ten.”

“What the actual ka-”

“Happy, I don't know any more than that but we can ask questions after it's done. Understand?”

“...aye, aye, Commander.”

“I’ll be down in twenty. Get it in order by then.”

“Sir.”

The call ended. Ponds flicked through his vambrace and connected straight over to Whizz’s headset.

“Er, sir?” Whizz answered, bewildered, as his voice echoed out loud as much as through their mics.

Ponds' tilted his helmet pointedly, too tired even for a slight smile. “Internals, vod.”

They got a few glances but - Ponds was usually as discrete as he could manage. They were Recon Corps, which meant they were as gossipy as the rest of the GAR - worse, when it came to Lightning Squad - but better at keeping shut on work-related stuff. And more subtle all around.

“Sorry, sir,” Whizz tried again, echoing through Ponds’ inner mic.

“Run down to Bonnie - run, don't walk, and don't let anyone slow you down - and start organising a comms blackout to go up in, minimum, twelve minutes. Bonnie has the General's effects, use his code - Gallia will cover our backs if someone squeals about protocol - but leave my line alone, I'm gonna need it. Everyone else is in a deadzone until we hit the Jedi Temple, at least. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, Commander.”

“Good. Go on.”

Whizz - living up to his name - darted out of the bridge like one of the Alphas had ordered a four-min lap of Tipoca.

Ponds' final call rang out only once before his HUD informed him that the line was busy.

Dammit.

Ponds checked the tracker he’d had embedded in his vod’ s vambrace - it was needed, it worked, and that's all that mattered - before marching out of the Bridge, signalling to Freebie to hold steady whilst he was gone. The Nav’troopers didn't need Ponds to hold their hands, unlike some people who weren't where they were supposed to be.

Neyo had been feeling some type of way - a certain type of way - since he’d left for the Negotiator with the General. Ponds didn't need the reason spelt out for him. Ponds had understood, had listened to the complaints and the venting frustrations, but at the end of the day Ponds was the Commander and Neyo was the Captain; Ponds had to smooth over Kenobi’s ruffled feathers - not that he had any to smooth with the man who started the call by apologising - and think logistically whilst Neyo was beating himself up for Mace having a seizure, which - whilst not as severe - he’d been handling for decades.

Ponds had discussed it with him, listened carefully to both Neyo and Kenobi’s versions of events, and then slipped into the duties of commanding their Battalion to return to Coruscant. Ironic, given their original designations had slotted them into the reverse roles; Ponds was a CT, one of the earliest batches, who'd been rapidly promoted after the first battle of Geonosis; Neyo, however, was a CC, but hadn't completed his training before the war had begun. By the time it had come to designate Troopers to varying companies, Ponds had been directly requested by General Windu - realising that Mace had remembered him from Geonosis had been a ridiculous moment - to serve as his Commander and Neyo had slotted into the role of Captain instead, and quite happily at that.

Ponds loved Neyo with all of his heart, they were brothers in a tight-knit Battalion after all, and their dynamic was one that worked. Ponds was the cooler head, the mediator; he and Mace just clicked, from the very first action they'd survived together, and had been as easy as breathing since then, despite the Jedi's strange gaps in military know-how.

Neyo was more exuberant, he had the same bite that Ponds recognised in Wolffe and Fox; he was damned good at this job, at running with the madness that Mace, for all his composure, dragged along in his wake - reminding Ponds strongly of Cody - and he was excellent at readjusting their plans on the fly.

Neyo could also be very short-sighted. He thought mission-to-mission. Ponds was the one to piece everything together, to weigh up ramifications and dissect intell with their slicers and the Generals. Ponds was fine with that, he had a system and he liked the control, but it was also frustrating having to pick up after not only his Troopers but his fellow CO.

Like right now.

Neyo was in their cabin, when Ponds realised where the tracker was leading him; it was two minutes until comms went down and he was walking fast enough to cause a Shiny to break a sweat, when Ponds punched in the access code and stepped into their joined dorm.

They had two twin bunks, bolted to the walls on either side of a walkway just big enough to squeeze between and pile their armour under their bunks at night, with a fresher door at the foot of Neyo’s bed. You couldn't do a roundhouse kick in the available space but Neyo had contorted himself on the foot of his bunk, holocall open in front of him, as-

“-he’s not even here,” Appo, the unlucky bastard with the insane 501st if Ponds remembered rightly, griped, expression twisted with the hint of a scowl. Evidently Neyo had been chewing on him a while. “We’ve just been told to make sure the Seppies don't come back, why are you-”

Ponds reached down, catching Neyo’s eyes through his visor, and calmly hung up the call.

Neyo’s jaw dropped. “I was-”

“Finishing up,” Ponds provided for him, keeping his tone mild. “We’re under a comms blackout, effective immediately.”

Neyo’s sharp eyes managed to sharpen even further. “What for? Another Sep looking to try it on with our General?”

“Systems failure,” Ponds replied. He pulled off his helmet, breathing deep only to be hit with the too-close musk of Neyo’s feet, and huffed. “What did Appo want?”

What did you want with Appo?

“Nothing much,” Neyo shrugged with transparently false innocence, scooching closer to the edge to get his boots back on. “Just checking in, we did leave in a rush. Hardly time for a sonic, let alone a drink as promised.”

“Anything of interest?” Ponds asked.

“Skywalker apparently ditched them,” Neyo replied, voice muffled as he bent over to click the fastenings on his boots and ensure they were secured to his thigh-gauntlets, lifting each leg and rolling his ankle to make sure nothing was pinching. “He got a call from up-top over an hour ago, ship-time, and raced off on Appo and Rex like his ass was on fire. Probably his Senator girlfriend that no one knows about.”

Ponds quirked a brow, admittedly interested, and wondered if that was also related to Gallia’s orders. Shame he couldn't ask someone, since it was gossip-lines and not official updates. And speaking of-

“So you weren't digging for information on the kid that surrendered?”

Neyo straightened slowly in his seat. “No,” he lied, “why would Appo know anything about that?”

Honestly.

“Because we all know Skywalker is half-feral for anything to do with Kenobi?” Ponds pointed out, propping a hip against the corner of his own bunk. “If there are Separatists on Ryloth that we didn't know about before the mission wrapped up, like the child, then it stands to reason that the 501st would keep their eyes peeled.”

“They don't know anything useful,” Neyo complained, which was as close to an admission as Ponds would get. “Appo didn't even know why the 212th had gone with us.”

“Skywalker didn't tell him?”

“Skywalker only talks to Rex,” Neyo snorted, and Ponds hid a wince.

Rex was a great Captain, had been a stellar ARC trooper - boasting one of the best graduating marks from the extra training - before Skywalker had gone from Commander to General. He'd taken Rex up a promotion with him when the 501st had split from Kenobi’s command - although they were still under him, technically, just as Kenobi answered to Mace - but that left Appo in a tight spot. Appo was technically the Commander of the 501st, with Rex as Captain of Skywalker’s personal Company, so Rex having to play messenger between his General and Commander… it was a bit of a thing. No wonder Appo wasn't interested in comparing Jedi stories on the CO-only lines. Some of their talk could be pretty insensitive, in light of Appo’s insecurities… Ponds would make an effort to talk to him more, after all of this.

Neyo squinted up at Ponds. “Why the kriff are we on blackout anyway?”

Ponds sighed, refocusing on the original problem. His impatience had long-since drained away. He checked his comm - still good - before glancing at Neyo’s, noting the no-signal symbol with satisfaction, before answering.

“General Gallia called, there's been several developments, but most pressing is-,” better to leave out mention of the child for when the General herself had more information for Neyo’s inevitable flurry of furious questions, Ponds barely had enough to satisfy himself let alone his hotter-headed counterpart, “-they’ve turned up chips in our brains. Across the board, from the sounds of it, and they need to come out as quickly and quietly as they can.”

Neyo froze, peering up at Ponds. The dimness of their cabin, the only light coming through from the stars outside of their tiny porthole, made it difficult but not impossible to watch Neyo digest that news.

At that moment, more than ever, he looked younger than Ponds. “What do they do?”

“Gallia didn't trust the commlines to say it. Bonnie’s got the sit-rep from 212th, so we might have more information shortly, but we could be doing this blind.”

“I hate blind missions.”

“You’re up first,” Ponds replied. He hated blind missions too. “When you’re out, then I'll go.”

Neyo exhaled through his nose and looked down. Conceding. “What’s this all about…”

“Nothing good.” Ponds relaxed his facial muscles, feeling his tiredness and worry before breathing deep and imagining it draining off him like rain from a gutter. He'd need to comm Kenobi after this. “And that's why we’re going to fix it, now.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The return to hyperspace had been a welcome reprieve for Obi-Wan and Boil both, the former finally forced to admit that taking some time to sleep would be prudent, and the latter left to ‘hold down the fort’ against the Admiralty on the Bridge.

Boil had been out of surgery for a little too brief a window for anyone’s liking, having been the fourth - after Cody, Suture, and Waxer, and discounting Finn - to go under Reflex’s knife. He’d been allowed back on duty with the strict warning to avoid looking at any direct screens and to reapply his bacta-plast every four hours; in truth, he was on the Bridge so that there was someone - as high up the chain of command that they could spare - to make sure nothing suspicious happened whilst Cody and Obi-Wan were busy. Waxer had joked that Boil just enjoyed a power trip; Boil hadn't dissuaded the idea, replying that he did look forward to being a ‘problem’.

Cody, Obi-Wan almost heard his voice in his mind during the conversation, would have quipped that Boil was already a professional problem.

In the interim, loath as he was to waste such precious time, Obi-Wan had been forced to admit defeat; he hadn't slept properly in too many hours, had given up his last two rest shifts for the sake of the autopsies and investigation, and Cody was going to lose it if Obi-Wan carried on much longer. It was with the niggling, irrepressible feeling of guilt that Obi-Wan spent the first half of that second leg in hyperspace, five hours total, getting what sleep he could. When he woke, it was to the knock on his door which, when opened, admitted a shy-looking Shiny - ‘46, as a nickname placeholder - with a rations tray from the mess.

Obi-Wan accepted the offerings with a sigh and a smile - for ‘46’s sake - and sent the poor lad on his way.

After a bracingly fast sonic, Obi-Wan choked down the grey porridge - it was easier to swallow the faster you went - and then nursed his tea, to chase the lingering flavours away, as he walked down to the Medbay to update Cody at long last.

It was, according to ship-time, the beginning of the second shift - late afternoon, in accordance with a day-cycle on Coruscant - so the medics had begun to filter across duties and the cleaning droids were underfoot as they did their rounds.

Of the medical droids they’d pulled from duty, Crys and his slicers - their process increasingly streamlined - had vetted over eighty of them, with the first twenty back on duty as attendance nurses during operations. With less Trooper Medics needed in a surgery suite at a time, they’d doubled their dechipping speed; according to Suture, who was keeping track of the records whilst bed-bound himself, they had since dechipped fifty troopers, with each surgery taking less time, and were set to have a third of the Battalion secured by the time they docked. All the Captains and Commanders at least, those who had the authority to convey the chip orders… and those who, hopefully, maintained the authority to tell the rest to stand down in the worst-case scenario.

The Medbay was as busy as expected when Obi-Wan stepped through the doors. He hugged the wall as he went, keeping out of the way of the moving lines of gurneys, although he did spare some time to talk to each Trooper; memorising their names and faces and presence in the Force as he went, tucking his own guilt away for the moment.

He also noted a few of the men he'd seen on his last visit, glad to see them none worse the wear; Obi-Wan had come down straight after Cody’s surgery, several hours prior, but-

(Cody had been shockingly pale against the pillow behind him, the vitality leached from his skin, his presence in the Force muddied.

His eyelids had looked almost purplish, the surgical site hidden by the bacta tape Donor was applying across his temple. His breathing had fogged up the respirator over his mouth, nose, and chin. Even unconscious, he was frowning a little.

Obi-Wan had been frozen by the door, torn between the opposing urges to come closer - to feel the rise and fall of Cody’s chest beneath his own hand, to make sure his skin felt as warm as it looked cold - and the desire to flee, almost ashamed of intruding on a moment of vulnerability without his Commander’s consent.

Donor had looked up, catching Obi-Wan's gaze with his own dark eyes, and Obi-wan had barely managed a nod before he left.

He could be of more use elsewhere, he told himself, and spent several hours proving just that. And then, when he'd heard that Cody had woken only a few hours later, he'd gone down and-)

-there had been a lot to do. Considering Cody's discomfort around Obi-Wan until the chip - and its capabilities - were removed, Obi-Wan had deemed it best to stay away. Everyone had the right to privacy, Obi-Wan would never resent that.

Now, however, he crossed the Medbay, drawn to the far corner by the unmistakable glow of Cody’s presence in the Force. Finn was a little higher up the post-surgery line, in close quarters with Trapper and Wooley, and whilst his presence was still disconcertingly shielded in that strange way of his, he felt… content. Pleased. It was humbling, to feel how those positives echoed with unfamiliarity in Finn's mind, his childhood robbed of the simple goodness of life for far too long.

Obi-Wan allowed a trendle of himself to drift a little closer, brushing ever so lightly against Finn's mind, and felt Finn shyly reciprocate. Trapper, as Obi-Wan passed the curtains concealing the trio, was audibly showing him some card tricks.

Cody was with Waxer, their heads bent over Cody's private paad - their focus intense - when Obi-Wan carefully nudged the curtains aside, trying to be as non-disruptive as possible.

Cody, perhaps demonstrating that sixth sense that he occasionally mentioned needing to keep up with ‘Jetii nonsense’, glanced up and met Obi-Wan's eyes almost immediately.

He looked- better, much better. Skin back in full colour, eyes bright and presence once more glowing, warm and steady, against the edges of Obi-Wan's own shields.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan greeted him, and then found himself stopping right there. So much for being a great orator.

“General,” Cody at least had the good sense not to attempt a salute.

“Waxer,” Waxer deadpanned.

Cody pushed the paad completely into Waxer’s hands, mouth twisting into one of his not-scowls, before he straightened as much as possible against the pillow behind him. “Back to work,” he huffed at the Captain, “there's still six hundred hours to watch.”

“When Donor hurts me, I'm sending him right to you, vod.”

“Cody, Waxer,” Obi-Wan tried again, smiling as he pulled the curtain behind him, “I'm glad to see you're both awake and-,” he dipped his chin at the paad, knowing Donor would not have approved, “-resting.”

“Hypocrite,” Cody muttered, not quite quietly enough.

“Just a bit of light reading, sir,” Waxer said, the Force indicating a white lie but his flat expression giving off an air of mischievousness. “The Commander here was burning laser marks into the ceiling from the heat of his glare.”

“You're the one throwing ice around,” Cody huffed, kicking his feet to force Waxer to rise from the edge of his bed before gesturing for Obi-Wan to take the newly available spot. The guest chairs had been stolen by the slicers and engineers so they could work off their feet, so there wasn't any other option except looming, so Obi-Wan aquiested.

“Captain CT-1477 displayed keen reflexes whilst under the influence of a narcotic dosage that impeded-”

“Close the curtain behind you,” Cody barked, and Waxer wisely shut up as he yanked the partition back in place. Obi-Wan felt him moving around the space, settling into the neighbouring bed, before the low sound of battle footage started up again.

Cody didn't say anything else and the quiet dragged; feeling the weight of Cody's gaze against his profile, Obi-Wan extended a little bit of his presence beyond his shields, ignoring Finn’s proximity for now, in order to sneak a peek at Cody's… well, his well-being.

Cody wasn't in pain, although there was a kind of full-body fatigue that came from major surgery and the wearing off of drugs, and neither was he obviously uncomfortable or opposed to Obi-Wan forcing his presence on him like this.

In their office, earlier when Cody's shields had faltered during his outburst, Obi-Wan hadn't known what to make of it all; emotions, especially for trained Jedi, were roughly identifiable in a more generic sense but they were also felt and experienced differently between individuals. Obi-Wan, after these months of working together, knew the flavour of Cody’s mind reasonably well - he wanted to know more, he could privately admit - but there was a depth to Cody that the other man had always been so careful, from the very start, to keep as secure as possible. Everyone was owed privacy, the Jedi did not intend to intrude - it was just, rather, like trying not to pick up on comments when your hearing was naturally more advanced - but Obi-Wan could admit to wondering.

He respected - cared - for Cody a great deal; it was hard, amidst their duties and their losses, the nightmare scenarios of missions and the decommissioning misunderstanding, the overarching power discrepancy between them, to have any true grasp on how Cody saw him. As a commanding officer, yes, but also as another person. To know if Cody was just being professional, if he was making the best of an unsatisfactory hand, or if he actually-

In the office, in that moment, Cody had looked at Obi-Wan and he had been deeply, painfully afraid of himself, for Obi-Wan, and wracked with horror and guilt for actions that he had not taken or would ever willingly take. Cody had been disgusted with himself, the emotions twisting previous memories - Obi-Wan in the early hours, rumpled from sleep with tea in hand, Obi-Wan bent over their paads as they pushed through flimsiwork, Obi-Wan in the field, trusting Cody with his back without hesitation - into imaginations of Cody’s hands around Obi-Wan's neck, no one to hear him cry for help, or opening fire from a position of absolute trust. Of Obi-Wan not having the heart or the chance to fight back.

Obi-Wan, even now, ached.

“Waxer is looking over that footage you suggested,” Cody said, his voice a little rough, no doubt from the surgery. “Suspicious sightings, uncharacteristic behaviour.”

Obi-Wan swallowed before turning back to Cody. “Has anything of interest turned up so far?”

Cody’s eyes were dark, lashes even darker, and the skin beneath was faintly bruised. “Something, perhaps, but nothing chip-related.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan deliberately folded his hands into his lap, tangling his fingers; Cody's hands were right there.

“...I’ll get back to you on it when Waxer’s compiled a report,” Cody suggested, the only professional head between them, and Obi-Wan could only agree.

He needed to get his head on straight; Cody, all of the Vode, deserved nothing less.

“As far as  the Admiralty are concerned, we experienced an unfortunately-timed manual systems fault with our communications hardware,'' Obi-Wan said idly, so much so that Cody would know he was mocking Block. “Unfortunately, the manufacturing fault in the medical droids was deemed more important for the Troopers to dedicate their time towards.”

“Of course, sir,” Cody agreed. His mouth twitched sideways and Obi-Wan felt his own smile shade that bit warmer. “And the Troopers who have all come down with the same head injury?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Commander, there's been a new vaccination update, is all. You just bumped your head in the field… and why would Admiral Block need to be reminded of a widespread scheduled event beforehand, when the records show it has been weeks in the planning?”

Cody leaked a little satisfaction into the Force at that, the slightly mean kind that meant he was enjoying keeping Block on tenterhooks even if he’d never breathe a word of those sentiments out loud. “Hate for the Admiral to catch something from us, sir.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured, humour fading, “best keep a healthy distance from the halls and the barracks.” Then, biting his lip, Obi-Wan decided that he had wasted enough time shillyshallying. “Donor told me something, something you said when you first woke up.” Cody stiffened under the blanket, just enough to tell. It was not terribly encouraging. “Do you remember?”

Cody’s throat audibly clicked as he swallowed. “Not exactly, sir, but… I can imagine the gist.” He squared his shoulders, defensive even now. Obi-Wan didn't want to fight. “I didn't want you visiting until we knew for sure it was a clean removal.”

Obi-Wan’s heart wasn't doing well very. “Oh, Cody.” He cleared his throat, aware of how exposed the nerve was. “You won't-”

“We don't know, yet. We can't even test it until the kriffing-,” Cody interrupted, only to cut himself off when his heart monitor began beeping with increasing urgency.

Obi-Wan watched it flickering, letting himself feel his own mounting trepidation before sharing it with the Force. What was left behind was an understanding, more than he was comfortable with, of his own anxieties; in regards to the war, the plot around them, the lives of his men, the well-being of his Padawan and Jedi family, and- and Cody.

Cody, who was everything noble and bright and so dear. Cody, who was attempting to glare a hole in the side of said heart monitor.

Obi-Wan unlaced his fingers and, hesitatingly, reached across the blanket to touch Cody's hand as it rested there. It was shockingly warm, the skin supple beneath his own callused fingertips, and twitched at the sensation.

Cody was staring at their hands instead now.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan started, feeling rather like he would prefer to say anything else but was determined to power through, “if you're in distress with me here-”

“You're in danger from the men who are most loyal to you.” Cody huffed. Beneath Obi-Wan's touch, his hand contracted in a fist, feeling the movement of tendons and muscles until the knuckles pressed white against the skin. Cody still didn't pull away. “I'm a professional, sir, but there are limits even to my training.”

Obi-Wan wondered what his Commander saw in him, what he picked up from Obi-Wan's words and expressions, if he knew the depth of emotion that lay behind it all, at the heart of it all; if he was accepting, as a dignified and forgiving friend, or if he was trying now to remind Obi-Wan of his professionalism in an attempt to force Obi-Wan to retreat behind his own.

It had taken a lot, Obi-Wan knew, for Cody to admit to feeling he was falling short of something. He had to respect that honesty, feel honoured by that honesty, if nothing else. Cody’s shields were very impressive, considering his lack of sensitivity.

Obi-Wan moved his hand back into his lap, chastened.

“The chips don't appear to have been activated,” Obi-Wan said, looking away. His hands curled into the fabric stretched over his thighs. “Crys is checking each one that's pulled, which is good, but it means they can't track the controller, which is less than ideal.”

“What about the receipts from the Kaminoans?”

Obi-Wan inclined his head. “I have spoken to Master Gallia again, she is going to confer with Master Ti directly on Kamino but-”

Cody's heart monitor had returned to normal, now, beeping so calmly.

Cody’s gaze was heavy. “Sir?”

“…we’re being blocked on each side, Cody.” Obi-Wan wanted to have an answer for him, wanted to be able to tell Cody that they would fix this, that it was over… but real life wasn't that easy and it isn't that neat, no matter how desperately wished for. “The Kaminoans are stalling, perhaps for time or even indefinitely, and we have no leads on who their true customer might be. Dooku, perhaps, but there is little in the way of legal evidence beyond-”

Beyond the overlap.

Beyond the connection between Fett and Dooku.

Recruited by Tyranus, Fett had told him on Kamino at the very beginning of it all, and Obi-Wan hadn't made the connection for far too long, he’d been sloppy and distracted…

(What the Sith wanted, what the Sith had planned for, logic, the Force, told him.)

And then, his own Fallen Grandmaster…

‘What if I told you that the Republic was now under the control of the Dark Lord of the Sith….?’

Obi-Wan hadn't entertained it as truthful for a moment, had discarded it as another honeyed lie, as another bid for his cooperation, of Dooku's seduction to the Dark, and yet…

‘Hundreds of Senators, under the influence of a Sith Lord called Darth Sideous… can you imagine, Grandpadawan?’

Obi-Wan couldn't, hadn't, then.

Now-

They'd been looking outward, to the CIS, for the Sith. As the chips, their orders, and the suspicious activities of the Defence Council with the droids’ programming had proven, the web had possibly been woven from behind them, from within, all along.

“Beyond what? Sir?” Cody’s voice snapped him from his introspection, returning to the present to find a hand touching his, the Force filled with a smouldering kind of concern, like coals in a hearth. Cody was closer now, having sat himself up with one hand propping him up to reach Obi-Wan, and it was almost even more upsetting this way, to know warmth and anticipate it's loss.

Cody deserved to know his thoughts, though. To see the shape of his theories and take or discard them with all of his tactician’s mind.

“We’ve been terribly blind, Cody,” Obi-Wan breathed. He was, he could admit to himself, frightened. Maybe he could find the strength to admit it to Cody too. “I think… we've let you all down, let the galaxy down, more than we could ever have imagined.”

“What are you talking about?” Cody demanded, low. His hand gripped Obi-Wan's tighter. “You’ve done nothing but give your all, to everyone we meet, to our men, from the very beginning. If there is a trap, it has been set up around you, and that's not your fault, least of all your’s, Ob- General.”

Obi-Wan stared. His name, his actual name caught behind Cody's teeth, hung between them.

“General.”

Obi-Wan could not deny him. “I fear I know where this trail might lead us, darling.”

“Tell me where then, General,” Cody urged him, eyes fierce and dark.

“It’s something Dooku said to me, at the very start of all this… he told me where his Master was hiding, Cody. He told me… the Sith was in the Senate.”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

When they were an hour out from Coruscant - according to Trapper, who was apparently a Lieutenant and therefore ‘in the loop’ - Master Kenobi came looking for him.

It was mildly mortifying - but not world-ending, which Finn thought was a strange improvement to notice - to realise that a Commanding Officer, a General, had been looking for him like an equal. But the other Troopers treated General Kenobi with easy companionship - with obvious respect, for his rank and also for him as a person, Finn somehow knew - and greeted him as if the sight of their General made their day, instead of signalling an end of their casual set-up.

“I need to borrow Finn for a while, I'm afraid,” Master Kenobi opened with, a friendly smile stretching his mouth - his presence intentionally projecting much the same feeling - as he shouldered his way between the partitions that, whilst shoved aside between their beds, still cordoned off the surgery patients from the rest of the Medbay.

Finn was saved from launching from the bed by the fact that Trapper, at some point, had started using his lap as a foot-rest. They'd been playing card games since Waxer had left, pulling the partition closed between Finn's bed and his own, before Wooley had come back from Donor's errands and taken him up another bed to meet Trapper.

It had been very difficult to stay formal with Trapper.

“G- Master,” Finn managed, when Trapper pressed down on his feet and, instead of just keeping Finn in place, crushed the wind from his lungs. He tapped the foot in question, trying to convey subtle urgency. “Can you-?”

Trapper sighed, long and gusty, as Master Kenobi hid a smile behind a hand. In the Force, there was still no impeding sense of danger. “Oh, if I must.”

“I'm afraid so,” Master Kenobi agreed, holding out a hand and, when Finn was close enough - pausing to pull his armoured boots back on, it wouldn't do to approach the General barefoot - resting it on Finn's shoulder.

Turning to the bed, the Jedi addressed the other two with that same easiness. “I’ll be taking a LAAT directly to the Temple hanger when we drop, with Finn, Reflex, and Cody accompanying me; depending on Cody’s final call, you might be joining us, Wooley. Trapper, you’ll have duties on board the ship, if I may depend on you.”

Trapper grinned, slow and easy. “Anything for you, General, just ring my bell.”

For some reason, that made Wooley cover his face with his hands, ears glowing red where they were visible on either side. What was so embarrassing?

General Kenobi only chuckled, bidding the two Troopers a speedy recovery before urging Finn through the partition and towards the Medbay doors.

“How are you feeling?” Master Kenobi asked, once they’d reached the elevator and the doors had closed behind them, cutting off the ongoing hive of activity.

On the surrounding floors, Finn could feel the Troopers scurrying around, tasting their focus and intensity of their tasks in the Force, and wondered what exactly had stirred them. Was it their imminent arrival? Was it the surgeries and the droids?

“I’m fit for duty, sir,” Finn replied. It was true, his head felt a little fragile and the bandage tape across his temple was strangely slimy and seeped cold into the surgical site, but he could - and had - run drills in worse states.

“I see,” Master Kenobi murmured, maintaining that unflappable presence but something stirring faintly behind it.

When Finn darted a glance at him from the very corner of his vision, Kenobi was gazing up at the blue-white lighting squares above them. He didn't look angry - Finn didn't think he’d seen his anger yet, even if he knew he’d tasted wisps of it - but, more importantly, he didn't look overly sad either.

“I’m glad you’re making a good recovery, I trust the men have been treating you well.” Then, mouth quirking into something small and knowing. “Trapper is a very friendly face.”

Finn dipped his chin, wondering if that was a joke because they were clones but- no, no, he thought Master Kenobi meant it. He was right, too. “Wooley told me he hid cards and he was right. He had an extra three up his sleeve before we even started playing.”

Master Kenobi actually laughed at that, ringing slightly in the confined space, and Finn enjoyed the sound of it for as long as it lasted; it made the Force resound, echoing, with a flare of warmth and light. Like the Force was laughing with him.

“I'm convinced he walks around like that, always prepared to hoodwink an unsuspecting Shiny,” Master Kenobi confided after his laughter had petered off.

His smile was broader now, crinkling the skin around his eyes and showing his teeth, framed by his reddish beard. It was such a warm expression, open in a way that was so utterly lacking from the First Order, and imperfect. The Officers on the Finalizer had always been crisp and slick, almost grey under the lights; Master Kenobi had hair that moved when he shook his head and teeth that were a little crooked, like Finn's.

When Finn had been bigger, but not yet as grown as when he'd graduated  to Stormtrooper, he’d gone into the growth tube with achingly painful gums at the back of his mouth; when he’d come out the other side, the cramped teeth splitting through at the back were gone. Finn had never really thought much of it before, except for those Cadets who struggled to speak clearly behind their helmets, until meeting the Clones, who all had teeth that glowed white and were a little sharper than standard.

“He tried that card swapping trick on me,” Master Kenobi continued, interrupting Finn subconsciously running his tongue along his own teeth. “But I was trained by Qui-Gon Jinn-” Finn didn't know the name, although it sounded like he should, and tucked it away in his mind, “-so he couldn't have known he was playing out of his league to begin with.”

Before Finn could drum up the courage to ask what had happened, they stepped out of the elevator and into a familiar corridor; Finn's stride stuttered when Master Kenobi urshered him to the door that one fruther down from his own cell. He almost asked, then almost bit through his tongue, and let himself be guided.

The new door opened easily, Master Kenobi having configured his vambrace to it's locking mechanism - which didn't particularly inspire confidence - and then Finn was inhaling instinctively at the sight on the other side. The scent of something leafy and tantalisingly familiar, but inherently unlikely, was just detectable.

The room was a little bigger than his own cell, although boasting twice as much floor space, with the bunk also bolted above the floor to one wall and the fresher door to the side. There was a box, a strange material that was scuffed a lighter brown in places and fastened with two straps that clipped across the seal, that was poking out from the storage space under the bunk, and piles of paads and slim rectangles everywhere, different sizes and colours with unintelligible writing down their sides. There was a crate with folded clothes under the bunk as well, a collection of rocks and shells balanced on the lip of the porthole window, and an oversized, obviously worn, blanket draped across the bed. Beside the door, three brown cloaks - one markedly smaller and seemingly untouched compared to the others - hung on metal hooks that had been jammed into the space between two panels.

These were private quarters, not a cell; Finn simultaneously felt the burning urge to examine every little detail - this was how real people lived? - and retreat as quickly as possible. He did neither of these things, in reality; he just froze in the doorway.

Master Kenobi had immediately started bustling around the room, bleeding calm into the Force and reaching to turn on the yellowish lamp set into the wall nearest the bunk, which then warmed the room in its glow.

There was a logical conclusion to be drawn. This was his room.

The Jedi turned from the bunk-side with a long dish and a grey stick in his hand, which he set up along the side of the mat spread across the available floor space. He fished a lighter from his belt - that was one of the few things Finn did recognise - and lit the end of the stick that was standing out of the dish; it didn't catch fire properly but instead began to smoke, a long curling tongue of something that smelled rich and pleasant in a way that Finn knew ash was not.

“Come on in,” Master Kenobi smiled at him, sitting with his back to the bunk, the burning stick to his left, and gesturing for Finn to sit himself down in the opposite space, sharing the mat between them. He’d pulled off his high boots at some point and crossed his legs, wrists resting on knees, and shed the darker, outermost cloak. Dressed in his strange cream fabrics and smiling gently, Master Kenobi felt so expectant that there was nothing Finn could do but obey.

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving the room that bit darker without the colder light from the corridor; it left behind a strange, almost still atmosphere.

Heart in this throat, Finn’s movement to sit was halted by Master Kenobi clearing his throat and looking consideringly at the armoured boots that Finn still wore, hidden for the most part by the oversized underblacks.

“Perhaps you'd be more comfortable without those boots?” He suggested, and Finn felt his neck prickle with embarrassment at the idea - this was a General , bare feet were… vulnerable - but he didn't refuse either.

The mat was slightly fuzzy, slightly spongy, beneath his soles as Finn set the boots to the side and folded himself down to mirror Master Kenobi. Finn inhaled deeply, ostensibly to settle his posture, and was relieved when he couldn't detect his own sweat, just the heady scent of the smoke.

“Lovely,” Master Kenobi smiled, the expression deepening and his presence flickering with some kind of amusement when Finn carefully peeked at him to make sure his wrists were resting on his knees just so. “The reason I wanted to bring you here was because Reflex has agreed that, your current condition in mind, it would be for the best to prepare you before we leave hyperspace.”

He looked at Finn then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes, and Finn knew he expected some kind of answer. “How so, sir?”

Finn just needed his armour back if he was to return to some kind of duty, yes, but… what about the cell? Why would they even consider giving him a post somewhere?

“The population of Coruscant is upwards of three trillion lifeforms, although that number is expected to rise as the conflicts in other Republic systems worsen the Refugee crisis,” Master Kenobi began, his voice falling into a practised cadence that made Finn hang onto every word. “Whilst most Jedi are away from the Coruscanti Temple due to various duties, including obligations to the GAR, there are still well over a thousand Force-sensitives planet-side as well.” He peered at Finn carefully. “That is a lot for someone who is unused to shielding and navigating the Force to this degree.”

Finn nodded, eyes blinking wide without conscious thought. The training facilities had harboured five thousand Cadets at a time, and the Finalizer had hosted eight thousand personnel in total, but that was miniscule compared to-

Finn wanted to straighten his spine. He wanted to say he could handle it. But-

Meeting Kylo Ren had completely undone him. He'd been useless, barely conscious in that hangar, and the feeling of being so utterly out of his depth had only worsened after that horrible, initial shock. Feeling Master Di’s last moments had been just as overwhelming, if in a very different way, and it was only Master Kenobi’s shielding that kept Finn, even now, from being blind to everything else going on around him. If he insisted that he could handle it, Finn would fail. He would drown.

The galaxy had been so, so dark and frighteningly empty before Ryloth. Even out there with the bodies, with no hope of rescue and the certainty of death, Finn had been almost overcome with a stronger sense of lightness amongst the stars than he'd never known in his life. He'd drifted, down there, in an existence only tangential to his body.

Finn couldn't say it, that he was fit for duty, or admit that he was weak. The words just would not come.

Master Kenobi read the hesitation, the nervousness, from his eyes, his mind, and knew, however. He smiled again, his presence tinting with concern like a blue aura was shifting his outline out of focus, and his blue-grey eyes were almost painfully gentle in the yellow light. “That is why we are preparing, Finn. You will be alright, I have taken several younglings back to the Temple before and the Jedi have a system in place to make sure they can acclimatise as best as possible. You will not be harmed or left alone, I promise you.”

“Other younglings?” Finn grasped at the reference, trying and no doubt failing to not make his avoidance too obvious.

Master Kenobi indulged him. He kept doing that.

“Yes, on occasion,” he said. “Jedi have Seekers, those who are specifically trained to locate and - in many cases, unfortunately - rescue Force-sensitives throughout the galaxy. As a Diplomat, it is not exactly my role, but all Jedi are trained to help for a reason; I helped my own Master escort two younglings and, as a Knight, did much the same with the aid of my own Padawan when the circumstances unfolded.”

Finn tried to imagine some kind of version of life where it had happened to him; Master Kenobi had said Finn was strong in the Force - which felt so wrong, because Finn was just Finn, FN-2187 - but couldn't get far with the fantasy. He had no home planet, no family to leave behind; imagining Master Kenobi rescuing him from the First Order directly did nothing but spike Finn’s anxiety, imagining the Jedi and the painted Troopers clashing head to head with Kylo Ren, Captain Phasma, and the Stormtroopers… that wasn't a rescue fantasy at all. It felt like a nightmare.

Finn swallowed, clamping down on the urge to shudder but felt the hairs on his arms lift up anyway. He was glad the reaction was hidden by his sleeves. “How do you- acclimatise them then, Master?”

“Shielding, some gradual desensitisation, and practice,” Master Kenobi replied. “You’re very good at it already, I’ll admit, but I would like to examine your technique myself before we risk it. You have taught yourself admirably but, if there are faults, you would not have been able to see them for yourself.”

“My shields never fell until I met Kylo Ren,'' Finn admitted. “Then, I couldn't keep them strong no matter how I tried, I was sweating a flood just keeping it together so he wouldn't see me.”

“Yes, I imagine the mental shock translated to a physical one,” Master Kenobi stroked his fingers through his beard. “Especially since you said you’d had no experience with others who are Force-sensitive until then, yes?”

Finn nodded, feeling shaky from the sheer sensory strength of the memory. “Yes, sir, that was part of the initial- reaction.”

Master Kenobi, if he also thought that Finn sounded pathetic, didn't show any hint of it. “Still, it gives us some baseline to work with. We can assume, when shocked, that you lose some degree of outward awareness. We can work with that; if you find yourself disassociating in any way, I will be there to ‘cover’ and ‘ground you’, so to speak. Similarly, if your shields begin to buckle, I will be able to bolster them for you. That is best saved for inside, I believe, where the Temple Guard - Knights,” he explained at Finn's blank look, “who dedicate themselves to the safety and security of our home - maintain a mental barrier over the boundaries of the Temple.”

That sounded… smart. It was relieving, in fact, knowing that the Jedi had systems in place, even if everything else felt like he was so far in over his head there was no way to avoid drowning; functionality and control were familiar, at least.

“Before we reach that point, however,” Master Kenobi was still speaking, “we will have to leave this ship and travel in a smaller transport shuttle, from orbit, through ground-control, until we can dock at the Temple; this journey, Force willing, usually takes between ten minutes to an hour, if there is a lot of air traffic, as there usually is on Coruscant. During that time, you will have to remain as shielded as I can make you. That is what our meditation now will prepare us for.”

Finn understood the heart of the gesture here; Master Kenobi was taking responsibility by blocking out the fullness of the planet until they had sufficient cover. He was acting as shield, like when Finn was the path-finder for his unit during training simulations and had to work out how to move the others through the shooting droids and wreckages. It was a responsibility. Finn just didn't know how to repay it.

Still, following a strange instinct from the Force, Finn bent at the waist, and dropped his eyes to the mat as he bowed a little. “Thank you, Master.”

Master Kenobi's smile twitched, his presence flickering with a strange kind of alarm - as if seeing something clearly after too long confused - before he gestured for Finn to follow his lead and closed his eyes, his own hands returning to their rest on his knees. Finn followed suit, although it felt strange to be so vulnerable. The space between his shoulderblades itched with the need to remain vigilant.

“Breathe slow and deep, feel your ribs moving out and in, in through the nose and out through the mouth,” Master Kenobi murmured, so softly it was like Finn was half-imagining it.

Finn tried to follow his voice, the almost sleepy tugging of the Force, and barely felt his breathing even out.

“That's it, nice and slow. Feel the air around you, feel the way it shifts with your breath…”

Finn felt it.

“Feel the tension in your brows, your jaw, your shoulders, and let it drain away.”

Finn did so, relaxing muscles he hadn't even known were clenched. Master Kenobi's voice echoed strangely, heard less through Finn's ears and more from within the space between their minds. The observation caused no feeling of alarm.

“Feel the Force, the way it moves around you.”

Finn did. He knew the sensation better than his own voice or his own reflection. His constant companion, more certain than gravity or the burn of a blaster bolt.

“Feel how it moves through you, how your mind touches against mine-”

Master Kenobi was the stirring of the wind, cool without coldness, fresh without bitterness, free but not wild. He felt like relief. Where his presence touched Finn’s own, Finn felt settled, like ripples in a pond relaxing and disappearing as the tension dispersed. He couldn't feel his legs anymore, nor his hands, was only vaguely aware of how air moved slow and steady through his lungs, in perfect synchrony with the Jedi in front of him, as the Force reberated with a low, resounding hum. It was unlike a bell, nothing like the clang of metal or the whistle of a human voice; it was like the groan of a great animal in deep water, the felling of a tree, the shudder of an earthquake.

It was like the hum of a saber.

(Finn was like a shooting star, blazing ahead and trailing a universe in his wake, everything from nebula to atoms bending into his path. There was an irrepressible spark to him, the dichotomy of old tragedy and youthful zeal.

He lit up the cavernous darkness around him.

Where Obi-Wan had peered into his own fate and felt infinite sadness, Finn was washed with this urging sensation of change.)

Slowly, by increments, Master Kenobi's shields weakened, not quite like peeling back layers but more like a thinning shroud of smoke, almost like the musky kind still curling up from the burning reed to one side. It was like pressing their hands against each other, one on each side of a plane of glass, and feeling the material warm and warp and escape as they came together.

It was bright, and breathless, so clear headed it was dizzying. Finn had never felt anything like it before. It was the nicest sensation he'd ever known, better than cold floors against his overheated cheeks, sleep when he was staggering with exhaustion, as incredible as Wooley's grin had been. As their minds tangled closer, Finn could feel Master Kenobi experiencing the echoes through him, his responding understanding, grief and that strange, warm tenderness again; through Master Kenobi's thoughts, Finn could finally put a word to emotion… protectiveness. He wasn't sure what to think about that also, and Master Kenobi saw that too.

Here, Kenobi thought, currents sweeping Finn deeper and deeper into the Force, and showed Finn where the boundaries of his mental shielding were. His voice, half imagined, was different from his real one, formed of his own impression of himself and then amended with experiences like this one, but still his; it was like a reflection in water, a version of the truth that was still recognisable.

Like this, Kenobi showed him, tugging Finn deepered and erecting his shields to include him too. Finn's mind squirmed, unused to the sensations, to the closeness, but Kenobi was there through it all, soothing, echoing memories of a little blonde boy who was so strong and bright that Obi-Wan's shields were stretched wafer-thin to encompass him, of a little redhead who was overwhelmed by the strength of his new Master after the collar had been removed-

The memories staggered before colouring with surprise and shame as they were forcibly dispersed - Obi-Wan hadn't lost control of his own mind in decades, but there was something about Finn, about the way the Force converged around him-

And it was deepening, even the lingering scent of the burning stick - incense, Finn learned through Obi-Wan's mind - disappearing as they went deeper and further and higher and-

(The Unifying Force was uncommonly strong in Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The Cosmic Force was even stronger in Finn.)

There were children, scurrying amongst shattered fragments of duracrete - it had been a hospital, Obi-Wan had been making a hospital, and the Elders had bombed it - as they were hunted like vermin by their own parents-

There was the crunch of impact as FN-2187 fell twenty feet from the edge of the climbing wall, Slips' foot having lost purchase and crushed down on his clinging fingers. Double-Naught had deliberately chosen not to catch the rope as it skidded after him. The snap of his collarbone, the white noise of pain, and the wet grind of the break beneath the skin, holding his arm in and begging begging begging the universe to hide him, please don't let them decommission-

There was a Zabrak with a screeching red blade bearing down on him, arms trembling with the force of each blow, Darkness dragging at his mental shields, and the unravelling bond in the back of his mind where his Master lay bleeding out behind him, the urgency pushing him on and on and on-

FN-2187 dreamed of Stormtroopers marching on a vast, white building that shone like moonlight in the night. He'd never seen any kind of moon and, yet, instinctively, he knew such a description was true, that the Shadowed Man leading the Troopers -  robes sweeping behind him and a gleaming blue sword in hand - had felt the same, once.

The Temple, Obi-Wan recognised it.

This was the Temple, glowing white to match the armour of the Clonetroopers as they stormed the entranceway and opened fire on the Guards posted there, as the lethal bolts of their blasters illuminated streaks of paint-

The children, this time, knew they were in danger, barricaded behind doors and their guardians slain; the problem was that they hadn't expected the blows to come from those they trusted. They'd turned to the Troopers, to the Shadowed Man, with relief and hope and had died with surprise on their small, expressive faces but Good Soldiers Follow Orders and-

Obi-Wan ripped himself to the present, gasping for air through half-collapsed lungs, and trembling like a newborn colt. Finn wasn't sure how he knew that, knew the sight of an animal sliding wet and weak from it's mother in a green field, his Master exhaling such joy for the Living Force, but he did because Obi-Wan knew, and his hands were on Finn's arms, gripping hard for some kind of stability as-

“Oh,” Finn realised, as though bursting through deep water to the surface. “It doesn't usually hold you like that.”

The weight of the Force was a familiar one, wrapped around Finn so closely it saturated every cell; their minds were still so tangled, Finn knew the lighter touch that Obi-Wan had always known, having to take a second to commune, having to ask and ponder each reply.

The Force was a companion, a guide here; for Finn, the Force had been half of his soul.

“I,” Master Obi-Wan gasped, bent beneath it's weight, and Finn leaned in and met him halfway, foreheads meeting with a ‘thump’, damp with adrenaline. Like two bent beams, holding each other up in the middle. “What you saw-”

Finn's vision overlapped, the too-close angle of Master Obi-Wan's features drowned out by the pale Temple columns, recognisable through the other's mind.

“Good Soldiers Follow Orders,” Finn echoed, feeling the words pull from his mouth without conscious thought.

“The chips, the orders,” Master Obi-Wan agreed. He was trembling still, and Finn remembered echoes of the small boy he'd once been, and couldn't find it in himself to be wary any more. Their minds were too close, the visions too overwhelming, to fear consequences of rank or conditioning.

Feeling Master Obi-Wan witnessing Finn's mental conclusions, there was no surprise when his grip shifted, dragging Finn in closer until his knees were folded to the side and he was huddled directly within Master Obi-Wan's arms.

He'd never been held before, not once before Ryloth and never like this. Obi-Wan's mind tried not to think - of the tenderness of the Creche, the love of his friends, the increasing loneliness as he grew (some self-inflicted as he sought propriety, most rebuffed by his turbulent relationship with his Master)  and the insecurity that coloured his own delve into Masterhood - but the Force had bound them tightly in these moments and it was impossible not to leak such thoughts.

It was warm, yes, but it was more impossibly intimate; Finn could feel Master Obi-Wan's pulse, the movement of his torso as he tried to get his breathing back under control, the strange feeling of sitting in another's lap. It made Finn’s skin crawl in a way that was rapidly proving overwhelming, not entirely pleasant but contemplating moving was somehow even worse; there was a solidness beneath his cheek - Finn had pressed in closer - and something raspy against his scalp - he'd tucked his head under Master Obi-Wan's chin, by his beard - and that earthy but human scent against his nose - tea, fabric cleaner, and beard oil, Master Obi-Wan's mind provided - and a cold bar pressed against Obi-Wan's shoulders where he'd fallen backwards against the bunk behind him.

“Easy,” Master Obi-Wan said - Finn could only tell it was out loud by the intent and the vibration of his throat pressed against the side of his temple - and slowly smoothed a warm hand up the length of Finn's spine. He'd composed himself rapidly, demonstrating a method to the madness that Finn sloppily tried to mimic. Finn, in doing so, was unwittingly made aware that it also helped to ease the shock of a Force-restraint.

Obi-Wan pointedly did not think of the deep-mine collar. Finn did not think of the deep-mine collar with him.

“Easy, good, come out of it slowly, Finn.”

The sound of his name was almost jarring, said with an unidentifiable understanding behind it now. Master Obi-Wan had seen more of what it meant, the idea of a name - different from the Nameless slaves, different from the anonymity of the masked Temple Guards, from the defiant community of the Vode - and that made it even more precious. There was a tenderness to how he said it, one that left Finn feeling fragile and inadequate, which only made Master Obi-Wan's ache burrow deeper.

Master Obi-Wan held him more firmly, Finn's legs curled to one side and his head tucked beneath the Jedi's chin. Cradled, Master Obi-Wan didn't think, and Finn didn't think of the Creche along with him. Together, they didn't feel Finn's spike of longing, of his own memories of cold facilities and terrified yearning for a way to escape.

Finn felt Master Obi-Wan mentally ease backwards, strengthening his physical embrace to supplement the waning presence of his mental one, whilst keeping a strong shield around both of their minds.

Finn didn't know how long they'd been unaware but they were undoubtedly close to being out of time.

“When we get to the Temple,” Master Obi-Wan breathed against the bandage - bacta-plast - on Finn's head, “we're going to need to speak to the Crechemasters and Master Che about your shielding.”

The thought, out of everything they'd just witnessed, was almost funny.

Master Obi-Wan had the vague thought that Finn was a little hysterical. Finn wondered if he'd noticed that Finn had been like this for as long as he could remember. Obi-Wan had, now.

“And the, the younglings?” Finn asked, testing out the strange Jedi term. He'd said it before, earlier, but there was…context, now.

“We'll speak to someone about them too.”

Master Obi-Wan's thoughts, uncharacteristically vulnerable under the weight of Finn's presence in the Force - recognisable, as they looked at each other like catching reflections through refractions - were already picking apart their shared visions with a fierce, protective intensity.

The Force, Finn now knew, was never so direct. Master Obi-Wan had experienced visions before, those images carefully tucked out of his reach, but there was a reason the Unifying Force was treated with such delicacy and caution; it was so fragile, warped and often unintelligible through the receivers memories and perspections of reality.

This was- it was thrillingly vivid, so heavy-handed that Obi-Wan was still shaking slightly from the adrenaline of what Finn had always known. The visions were so clear, they were almost like memories.

Were they too solid to alter, then, if the future was so certain?

No, Master Obi-Wan's mind was determined, only gaining confidence when the Force vibrated in direct agreement with his course of action.

No, it wasn't too late at all.