Come and Read Awhile

He hadn’t; even when she was first at large, she’d heard him arguing her innocence with Commander Fox.  She’d understood—after some time—why Anakin had wanted her to go quietly, why he couldn’t force his way in to see her, but emotions were running high at the time; even still, neither man had ever abandoned her.  They had no idea if Anakin was even alive.  

The hand on her shoulder guided her back toward the ship, and after scrambling the origin she commed Bo-Katan to inform her of what happened.  While the Mandalorian was busy rebuilding what all Maul had broken, she offered to help where she could if they found themselves needing.  As the hatches closed and the ship’s engines started up, Ahsoka activated the  internal comm to ask where they were headed.  

“Saleucami,” Rex answered.  “To get advice from a friend.”

 Cut had been more than happy to offer his advice for living as a deserter, but admitted the tips he offered might not be of much help for more populated places.  He’d offered a grain sack for Rex to stow his armor while they were traveling, and Suu took Ahsoka to town to get civilian clothes for them both.  When they returned, the whole of them worked on a cover story, picking it apart and working out the details, how to answer without giving enough away to seem rehearsed.  

Neither of them had done undercover work during the war, and Rex wished for more than one reason for General Kenobi to walk in with his own input.  After taking the night to rest, and what good it did for him to see Ahsoka play a bit with the kids, the next morning they resumed planning.  The Lawquanes could spare a few credits, and despite their guests’ protests insisted on it. When it came time to take their leave, they promised only to speak of him to trusted brothers and of Ahsoka to no one.  

“We deserters have to look out for one another,” Cut had said with a wink.

Dressed in their civilian wear, the two found the nearest “safe” planet from the list Cut had provided and made their way there.  

  Rex was trying his best.  They had to be so careful not to be discovered with the Empire increasing its presence on most planets overnight, and he had a teenager to provide for. The credits the Lawquanes had given them went toward finding housing, which on the moderately busy planet they currently found themselves on meant inconspicuous inns and shady hotels.  Once they were in possession of a disposable yet easily scrambled comm, Ahsoka had gotten in touch with anyone who might be able to help them.  Senator Chuchi had been glad to hear they were vaguely safe, but ultimately her hands were tied by being on Coruscant.  King Lee Char, whom Rex hadn’t met but had heard good things about, was apparently willing for one of his smaller ships to ‘go missing’ should a desperate occasion arise. Bail Organa had gotten two calls; one to let him know they were alive, and one to establish that Ahsoka was going to help where she could to keep the Empire from taking over.  Rex hated when one of them left, either for a secret task of Organa’s or when Rafa Martez gave him the locations of other defecting clones. Leaving meant he couldn’t keep Ahsoka safe.

Not that he felt he was doing a stellar job when they were both “home”, but he was trying.  They both tried to find inconspicuous jobs; both of them had taken the occasional mechanic job when a nearby shop needed a hand, anything they needed be it hardware of software Rex and Ahsoka finished quickly.  However, that meant that jobs came and went just as fast.  Few people tended to look twice at a bouncer at the clubs near their hiding places, and it was easy enough work for a clone on the run. Rex had been less thrilled helping Trace and Rafa move goods, but sometimes their work and Organa’s “errands” had some overlap, and he and Ahsoka took home a share of credits either way.

Most of them went back into housing.  The rest, Rex dully noted after firmly shutting the manual door into its rust-covered jamb after a day of work, went into food.  Food he still needed to prepare.  Ahsoka stirred on the dingy bed across the room, atop the sheets they could finally buy instead of sleeping on their cloaks; what credits they pulled in meant they could have a place with a bedroom, or a single room dwelling and a meager amount of savings.  They desperately needed savings.  

Food had been a bit of a trial and error for them so far, and as Rex cut on the kitchen sink and waited for the water to run clear, he noted how for granted he took being able to head to a cafeteria and have a meal waiting for him. Ahsoka had admitted to the same, as apparently the temple had had a commissary for the inhabitants there, and General Skywalker had cooked for her when she felt like eating in.  He’d taken care of paying when the two of them ate out, she said. They’d both learned the hard way how to budget.  

The cracked tiles whined under Rex’s feet as he made his way into the small refresher for a shower while the vaguely clean looking water boiled.  They’d tried as best they could when they got this place to clean the grime and soot, but as with the last places, there was only so much the two of them could do.  Once more, the water needed to run a bit before it was clear, and it was never warm. At least there were no unexpected guests in the drain that day, he mused.  

After changing into his only other pair of civvies, Rex was able to take a bit of pride dropping another bit of credits into the savings jar before taking a small parcel from his discarded jacket’s pocket.  Ahsoka would be so excited to have real tea with dinner.  “Dinner” consisting of re-hydrated grain-meal and some fried meat from a can, but he’d pulled a few extra hours each day the last week to purchase a few ounces of real loose leaf tea to have with it.

  Rex hated parting ways with her, but his brothers needed him and she promised to keep in contact.  Ahsoka was doing more with the rebellion, so they were used to being apart—but he was not so used to it that parting ways felt any way similar.  They’d keep in contact.  She’d be fine, he and General Skywalker had brought her up to hold her own, and she’d yet to be discovered.  

Wolffe had frequent nightmares, and no small amount of guilt to match the grief over General Koon.  Rex couldn’t imagine how hard it must be, because he grieved for Skywalker and he had the luxury of not having seen him fall.  A burning starfighter was bound to be more than a little traumatic.  He and Ahsoka had had nights of mourning together, recalling and sharing memories of Generals Skywalker and Kenobi.  She supported him while he mourned Cody, as neither of them had heard of his whereabouts.  But Wolffe had watched Commander Jag take the shot that killed the man he’d called “Buir”.   Gregor would get headaches sometimes, would get confused about the details of things and Rex would patiently explain them again. He was sure Ahsoka was busy with the budding Rebellion, and didn’t begrudge her the delay it took for her to comm.

 Ahsoka never commed.  He didn’t have a habit of praying during the war, but found himself praying she was deep undercover, safe but unable to contact.  

She had to be safe.

  She’d grown so much, when he finally saw her next.  He told her later, when they were alone, that he thought she might’ve been taller than Skywalker was.  It was well possible, and he remembered a bittersweet time when Ahsoka barely reached his chest.  Back then, she hadn’t been used to the cold of space and was constantly stealing his spare bodysuit tops; the sleeves had hung long over her hands, making her look even smaller in the expanse of black fabric, and inevitably she would bury her pouting face into the large collar of the shirt when it was remarked to look more like a dress on her.  

Now, they could make up for lost time, and give justice to the Empire who took Skywalker and Kenobi from them.  

 He didn’t know what happened whenever she went on missions with Kanan and Ezra; officially, he knew every detail in the mission report, but something had been missing from each of them—something that was increasingly bothering her, because she sought comfort in the way she did when she was young.  When she came to him, seated in Zeb’s large wooden chair, and made a spot for herself against his side, he was almost tempted to ask again what worried her.  She hadn’t been sure enough to answer the last few times, and declined trying to explain it when prompted.  

So he held her, just as he held her when they’d both gotten terribly sick during that one mission on Naboo.   Quarantined in the Resolute, but away from the Senator for some inane kind of propriety, Ahsoka’d been scared and miserable.  Skywalker couldn’t be there for fear of catching the virus himself, so Rex let the tiny commander curl against his side and hold his hand while they both coughed their throats and lungs raw.  If him holding her made her feel safe, he’d never deny her the comfort; hadn’t then, and wouldn’t now.  

She’d talk whenever she was ready, and he would be there to listen.

He’d never abandoned her.  

 Something had happened at the temple on Lothal, he knew.  She’d been rattled by something, by the look in her eyes.  He would like to think she’d have called to check in either way, but there were some ways she still took after Skywalker.

 They’d be going straight to Malachore, and memories of long passed talks with General Kenobi made his stomach turn.  

“I can be there in two rotations,” he’d offered.  They joked briefly as if she were still the child playing at being an officer, before growing serious. 

“May the Force be with you,” he’d told her; the “while I can’t” went unsaid, but heard all the same. 

He’d be waiting for her when she and the boys got home, ready to welcome her back safe and sound. 

Part 2 will be from...a different point of view

“Kanan, keep close to me,” his master crooned as they made their way through the morning market, reaching the hand not holding their basket back toward him as he lagged behind a few steps. She couldn’t be faulted for being over protective these days.

“Yes, Mom,” he complied, taking her hand and a fistful of her cloak, looking every bit a civilian child.

The odd thing about playing a part, he thought, was how much opportunity it afforded you. Before, his master rarely bestowed physical affection with the same frequency as verbal praise, but now she squeezed his hand as a comfort without a thought. He’d lost his braid out of necessity, but she still combed her fingers through his hair before bed the way other mothers did with pride in her eyes. Despite the braid’s absence, she still tugged his hood further over his face when it slipped as they walked.

“Good news, we’ll have some leftover funds this month.”

Grey.

Grey had come to find them, after Depa had grabbed Caleb and ran. The day being a blur may have been in part to the Force—granting his master speed in their flight, having leant to an impressive Force jump and the second drop in Caleb’s stomach that hour—and adrenaline. After meeting new clones who had as much idea of what was happening as they did, and spending days dodging through the trees, Grey came to find them. Himself, on their private comm, not the blankness that had taken over the rest of their men; other than to tell Caleb not to worry, Gray wouldn’t say what happened with them before they fled the planet in a stolen ship.

His armor was back at their current hideaway, wearing instead a cloak that matched theirs and a thigh holster over the civilian garb Depa had been proud fit him.

“That’s good,” Depa replied easily, “We can build our savings a bit.” She paused at a stand to look over produce for the week, Grey guiding Caleb out of her path as she moved down the table.

“Delia! So good to see you!” A voice called, and Depa smiled charmingly at the stand’s owner.

“Good morning, I see the jogan fruit arrived,” she pointed out. The man scratched his beard and gave a relieved sigh.

“Finally! I was wondering if the shipment had been jacked, but—“ Caleb readily checked out of the conversation, leaning into Grey as the man’s thumb drew circles where he held Caleb’s shoulder. Somehow Grey not wearing gloves anymore was weirder to Caleb than the man not wearing armor. Caleb looked around, observing the other market goers doing their shopping before the heat of the day picked up, waving at a couple of the children he’d managed to make friends with.

Grey homeschooled him as part of their cover, partly because Caleb was currently ahead of the civilian curriculum for his age, and partly to avoid a paper trail. Among their neighborhood though, Caleb had managed to befriend a few kind children to play with while Depa chatted and made friends with equally kind parents while running errands. The war hadn’t terribly impacted this planet, most never having seen a clone without their helmet, so Grey could walk around without much fear of being labeled a deserter of the empire. As the empire spread its influence and troopers made their way planetside, nowadays Grey kept a scarf or a kerchief tied about his neck.

Caleb tuned back in when he heard his name—or his ‘public’ name, rather.

“Is that so? Kanan seems mighty grown to only be turning twelve!” The man looked at him in disbelief that Caleb knew to be kind teasing. He nodded appreciatively while Depa hummed proudly.

“He likes to think so. He’s grown up so quickly,” She said, and Caleb had to wonder at her meaning. She continued with a small grin, “Kanan is not so grown that he doesn’t want cake for his birthday.”

Grey leaned down to his ear and stage whispered, “Stay little so we get more cake!” He was rewarded with a true laugh from Caleb and a good-natured ‘hmph’ from Depa. After handing credits over to the chuckling vendor she leaned down to Caleb.

“I will make you as many cakes as you want, even when you are grown,” she said, pausing a moment to look at Grey before amending, “Within reason.” She pressed a kiss to Caleb’s head before adjusting his hood and settling their basket back in the crook of her arm. She straightened up and bid the vendor a good day while Caleb smiled to himself. Most boys his age seemed sick of doting mothers and kisses, but he couldn’t be happier to have them. He was, luckily for them, still small for a fourteen year old, and could pass off being a couple years younger with relative ease; Grey and Depa never missed a chance to remark about his still boyish features whenever he brought it up.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Grey hefting him up onto his hip, another thing he was still small enough for no one to question, and Caleb wound his arms around the man’s neck with practiced ease. Grey nodded to the stand owner and followed after Depa, slipping his free arm around her waist once caught up. Being in hiding afforded as many opportunities as it imposed limitations.

“Did you have anything in mind for breakfast, dear?”

“Nothing in particular. Did you, love?”

“Mmm, there are still some pastries left over from yesterday.”

Caleb turned his head to join in, “Those were good!” They had been, pleasantly; not having their food provided for them meant learning how to cook with what they could get ahold of. Depa nodded her agreement.

“They were; your father is getting quite the hang of baking,” she said warmly, and Caleb felt Grey puff up a bit at the praise. “But, if we’re willing to use some of the eggs, I can make us some flatcakes and we can save the pastries for after latemeal tonight.”

Caleb had been put in charge of minding the eggs they’d picked up anyway, excited at the prospect of warm eggs and flatcakes when they arrived home and content with the quiz Grey was giving him as they walked. They’d made one last stop to pick up fresh milk for the week, declining the offer of a delivered milk can in lieu of two smaller churns and privacy, and every time Caleb failed a question the freezing metal was pressed to his neck and arms through the cloak. While Caleb was of the mind Grey could’ve easily toted the bigger milk can home, and a delivery would’ve been normal enough, Depa and Grey felt better safe than sorry.

Today was washing day, and as the small apartment they were in for the time being had a large back balcony, open to the sky but walled to the world, it was inevitable Caleb and Grey would get into a suds war after breakfast. Caleb couldn’t wait. They always came in sopping wet once the clothes were on the line, and Depa would be holding towels out in the entryway and shaking her head smiling.

Depa suddenly stopped in front of him and in a fluid moment she turned and leaned into Grey in what would’ve looked like a kiss between the hooded figures, taking one of milk churns into the basket as they exchanged quiet words. As she leaned away she gestured vaguely in the direction they’d been heading and taking the eggs from Caleb. He saw the troopers approaching the second Grey had lifted him up again.

“Dad—?”

“We’ll see you at the house then, love. You sure you’re alright with the groceries?”

Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself?

“Oh yes, dear, I shouldn’t be long. I’ll see you and Kanan at home.”

I will be fine. Keep Caleb safe.

Depa calmly continued on the path they’d been walking, and Grey hurried away with Caleb down a side road. Caleb heard them, felt them in the Force approaching his mother. “Excuse me ma’am—“ came the mechanical, stoic voice as Grey rounded another corner.

Grey’s scarf had fallen down, but Caleb’s arms about his neck did enough in a pinch.

They wouldn’t know Depa, had no way of knowing the woman out with her family was a Jedi.

They rounded another corner and Caleb was jostled as Grey adjusted him higher.

No one seemed to be following them, but why stop Depa?

Another street passed and with his heart in his ears Caleb was holding on to his mother’s presence in the Force while he could. He could feel it slipping from him, in the way that told him she was making herself inconspicuous.

They didn’t go directly home, taking side road after alley after back way.

Grey didn’t put him down once they were in the door. Once the milk was in the conservator, he sank to the floor with Caleb. He ran his hand through Caleb’s curls and pressed their foreheads together. Taking a breath that filled his entire chest, Caleb realized they were both shaking; on his exhale, Grey squeezed him tighter.

“Did they see you?” Caleb ventured.

“I don’t know, son.”

Caleb tucked his head against Grey’s shoulder. He should let go and go pack in case they needed to get out fast. He should release his worry into the Force and fill his belly with pastries in case he needed to run with a clear head.

Grey pressed his mouth to Caleb’s temple. “I will keep you safe if things go south,” he said, a solemn vow. “If she isn’t back in half an hour I’m getting the credits and taking you to the ship.” Caleb nodded. As much as he hated the thought of leaving her, Depa’s priority had always been keeping him safe, and Grey was just as protective.

They sat in silence after that, listening for anyone coming up on the apartment and relaxing when approaching footsteps passed. Caleb was searching for Depa in the Force all the while. Grey kept an arm under him and unholstered his pistol after the first set had passed them by.

The half hour mark was getting closer and Caleb was drawing from Grey’s steady resolve to remain calm.

He didn’t feel any large numbers moving towards them, didn’t sense danger but their men in Kaller hadn’t felt like any—

“Mom,” Caleb uttered seconds before the door opened and a breathless Depa dropped their basket in the entryway, bolting the door twice before hurrying to them. Grey dropped his pistol and Depa fell into him, letting him hold onto her as she took Caleb’s face in her hands.

“Mom—“ did they follow you? Are we safe? Are we leaving? Caleb wanted to implore in that single word.

“Shhhh,” she hushed him, folding him into her arms and resting her head atop his. “They were looking for someone else, a local smuggler. Wanted to know if I’d seen them.” Caleb felt Grey wrap his arms around them both and was grateful for the embrace. He melted against Depa and relished in the warmth of her.

Grey adjusted them so Depa could lean against him with Caleb nestled between. “Do you think they recognized any of us?” Caleb felt Grey’s quiet timbre rumble against his side.

Caleb felt Depa shake her head, “I doubt it, you and Caleb left before they should’ve been able to. Our conversation was very brief, the time I took getting home was winding roads and doubling back.” Grey nodded in acknowledgement. “We’re probably safe here for a little while longer.” Another nod.

Caleb took a shuddering breath, relieved and finally truly calm. Depa was home and they were safe. That only left one pressing matter for the morning then…

“Mama?”

Depa gave him an amused hum before answering, “Yes, baby?”

“Can we please have breakfast now?”

Caleb was gently jostled as Depa and Grey chuckled against him and Depa pressed one of those treasured kisses to his curls, “Yes, baby.”

The flatcakes were met with almost twin hums of sweet-toothed appreciation, and afterward the family in hiding went about the rest of their day as they’d planned: with suds being thrown around the balcony after morning lessons, and warm towels scrubbed through dark curls. Caleb watched, bundled in warm towels, as his mother dried his father’s cheek before he leaned down to kiss her, watched her giggle in a way she never had at the Temple before squawking that Grey was dripping cold water on her, to go in and get changed while she snuggled towel-swaddled Caleb on the sofa.

Caleb noted—not for the first time and far from the last—was how much opportunity and freedom not being confined to who you were before afforded you. As Grey rejoined them in dry clothes and discussed plans for Caleb’s birthday while he prepped lunch, Depa combed her fingers through Caleb’s drying hair while they chatted. He’d bring them bits and spoonfuls to try and Caleb would venture that Grey’s brothers would be entirely put off or entirely jealous of the trio’s new life. Caleb was happy to have him in it.

Snow—as the long necks and trainers had led them to believe—was harsh and biting.  It came on heavy winds and cut into you as if the air itself was made of blades.  It stole the air from your lungs and left you frozen, a waste of resources, once the blizzard moved on.  Snow was blinding, terrible for visibility; dark clouds blanketing the sky and ice packing itself onto your viewplate and falling too thick to show anything else in the beam of your helmet light—or a clear, frozen morning magnifying a rising sun’s rays with a vengeance, reflecting them in a way not unlike staring at the offending star itself and giving the enemy an advantage. But as with most subjects they’d been trained on, preparedness and expectations for the worst of situations had meant a lack of details—or perhaps the long-necks just saw no reason for the details—regarding the moments that were not so unpleasant and battle-ridden.

Torrent Company, who were sure the higher-ups were determined not to give them more than a few days leave at a time, had been tasked with checking in on the state of affairs between Pantora and Orto Plutonia—or, rather, to confirm with the Talz that no one had gone behind Senator Chuchi and the new Chairman’s backs regarding trade (or theft) of the planet’s resources.  It seemed for once that the Jedi would be able to act as the peacekeepers they’d wished to remain; their men, while not getting the rest that leave would’ve provided, were at least in for a theoretically easy mission, acting as precautionary bodyguards instead of soldiers fending off an attack.

And the mission had been easy, for the most part.  As easy as making atmosphere and dropping to the surface during a blizzard, and speeding—very cautiously in the low visibility—toward the village of the Talz.  The check-in had gone well, Threepio assisting with the communications and Ahsoka getting to learn from her grandmaster in his diplomatic element. With a message recorded for the Pantoran leadership, they could be on their way; it was only halfway between the village and where they’d hoped to rendezvous that the snowstorm had become too harsh for the transport ship to land or to find their way back; that left the option of finding shelter until the storm died down.  

Through some miracle—be it dumb luck or the will of the Force, it made no difference to the men—there had been a rock face they’d almost crashed into, which featured a cave that was both wide enough to fit the troops present, and deep enough to offer some warmth once the small emergency heaters were deployed and the many warmer-than-normal-human bodies were at rest in the wind-shielded structure.  As the chill of the storm was slowly staved off, just as steadily did the laughter of relieved troopers fill the air and special snow-resistant armors become a pile for them to recline against as the temperature slowly rose.  Ahsoka had stolen Rex’s for a blanket, wedging herself between him and her master to leech what warmth they had for her to steal. General Kenobi had finally made contact with Cody—who had been left in charge of the Resolute—to inform him they’d not died in a bout of diplomacy gone wrong, but simply been grounded by snow until morning.  The slightly harried look Rex only knew from years observing his older brother had melted into relief and something warmer that he was sure he knew the reason behind.

Sure, because as much as he’d hoped Cody would confide in him if he was correct—as General Skywalker leaned against his shoulder, arching somewhat over Ahsoka who was happy as any warm child nestled between her guardians—he knew the hope was a bit hypocritical.  General Skywalker had laughed at something Fives pantomimed while recounting some wild event or another before settling back against him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, warping himself to not crush his padawan, and the small voice in Rex’s head admitted that the warmth in his chest was not coming from the small heater some feet away.  

 More than once in the night had Ahsoka woken up spooked by a noise breaking through the howling of the storm, or a particularly shrill gust whistling through the nearby smaller caves

The insulated armor suits were dragged away from the cave walls to be makeshift mattresses and pillows—she and her master had made a deal to share with Rex at the mere price of also sharing their parkas-turned-blankets—yet the thick fabric could offer little in way of blocking out the noise. Still nestled snuggly between her two most frequent caretakers, she wondered if they were having as much difficulty staying asleep as she was; every so often she felt one of them adjusting the overlapping edges of the parkas to make sure she was covered.  Ahsoka hadn’t minded, of course; Togruta were not made for cold environments, but with arguably the most blanket and a very warm Rex beside her, only the tips of her montrals had anything to say about a chill.

Had she not finally been somewhat sleeping again, she would’ve had several things to say when the sun began to rise, and with it went Rex—would’ve, had Rex not shifted the parkas back about their owners’ forms to make up for his absence.  

There hadn’t been any visibility until the storm had passed, just before sunrise, but habit dictated that at least one man be assigned guard duty in case of an unexpected need to defend or vacate.  Retrieving the emergency blanket from its canister in his kit—folded so tightly they were a pain to put back, hence why most of the men hadn’t bothered using them when they were warm enough during the night—Rex made to relieve the current guard, stepping over snoring bodies as he went.

Without sparing a glance outside, he nudged the trooper with the toe of his boot while wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.  The trooper—a shiny who still hadn’t found a name that fit quite right—looked dazed as he stared out toward the horizon, merely inclining his head with a hum in response to Rex’s prodding.

“Changing of the guard, solider,” Rex spoke quietly, not wanting to rob their brothers of what sleep they could catch.  “Go get some shut-eye before we break camp.”

The shiny opened his mouth to say something before glancing up and, upon recognizing his captain standing above him, jumped up wide-eyed. “Yes, sir,” He chimed, moving a hand to cover his mouth as some nearby brothers shifted.  He began again more quietly, “The storm settled out within the last half of the hour, all’s been quiet, sir.”

Rex nodded at the report and went to take up the man’s previous spot, expecting to hear footsteps retreating as the new addition found a place to settle between the sleeping bodies—and noticed he was met with silence.  Glancing behind him, Rex raised an eyebrow at the shiny, “Something wrong, trooper?”

“Ah—no, sir.  Just getting one last look before turning in,” he answered, pointing past Rex. The captain felt his brows draw together a moment before turning to look at what the man was pointing at, and—

Oh. Oh wow.

“From what they told us, I never expected it could be so pretty,” the trooper said, echoing Rex’s thoughts as if he could hear them.

Outside, in the first light of morning, was snow as he’d never seen during any training or mission.  The clear morning sky held scarce clouds, still without more than the crisp, gentle breeze to usher them along and painted pink from the dawn; no flurries or sleet to be had.  Instead, the overnight storm had left them the parting gift of a landscape blanketed in soft white powder, the harsh forms of the surrounding rocks and trees made soft where the snow clung to the edges and the whole of it tinted with the warm pallet of daybreak.  

After what could’ve been seconds or minutes, the footsteps Rex had first expected fell quietly against the stone, and he was left to watch the sunrise in peace.  After some time, though it couldn’t have been more than an hour, he heard some of the other early risers shifting and letting out their own claims of wonder at the morning that greeted them.  Footsteps he recognized as Hardcase’s—they dragged a bit when he wasn’t marching—stopped beside him, and in perhaps the most focused state Rex had seen him, the trooper knelt where the snowfall had ended and reached out to press his hand in it. The powder gave a muted crunch as it compacted into a perfect imprint under the un-gloved hand.

“It’s soft when it isn’t whipping into you from all sides…” he remarked.

All at once the focus Rex saw in Hardcase melted into giddy mischief.  Rex watched as he stood and trotted off to the pile of brothers Rex assumed he’d slept in.

“Fives!  Fives, come look at the snow!” The man in question groaned as he was tugged into sitting up until he looked out.  Soon enough, several troopers were curiously poking out into the snow, some testing the waters in just their blacks before their Captain scolded them to at least put on their snow armor before going out to play.  

With their still groggy generals’ leave, of course; the lazy wave Anakin gave from his bedroll and Obi-Wan’s grinning nod were accepted with several loud whoops.    

Ahsoka stirred at the commotion, the less serious of Torrent tripping over each other in their haste to pull on their snow armor and the more serious complaining about being dragged into theirs by excited brothers. The padawan stretched under the blanket of her and her master’s parkas, snuggling into the line of her master’s back to doze off while the morning was still young.  

A quiet hum disturbed her, “You don’t want to go play in the snow, Ahsoka?”

Well if the option was there—

Ahsoka stretched one more time in the warmth she was loathe to leave before removing herself and her parka from the fold, tugging on her boots and gloves before pausing.  “I haven’t had breakfast.”

Anakin re-situated his parka while nodding towards the mouth of the cave, “You go have fun, work up an appetite showing the boys how it’s done.  I’ll make you breakfast after.”

 Anakin knew what growing up in a stagnant climate was like. Everyday looked the same on Tattooine; hot, hazy, with sandstorms in the afternoon, rain on three days of the year if they were lucky.  It never snowed.  The first year on Coruscant had been exciting and terrifying in many ways, the simplest of which was Obi-Wan getting to explain the planet’s weather to him.  The spring rain had left him in awe, seeing so much water falling all at once and racing in droplets down the windows, down his cheeks and palms when he and Obi-wan were caught outside.  The winter snow had been even more surprising. While nights on Tattooine were certainly chilly, there was never enough moisture for a frost, much less snow. Obi-wan had woken him early, carried that boy to a veranda in a bundle of blankets to watch his first flurry fall, quiet but for the whistle of wind.  

He assumed the clones had and were still going through similar after only knowing a planet of perpetual rainstorm; what was it like for them to first feel dirt under their feet?  To smell grass and feel sunshine?  Geonosis must’ve been a shock in more ways than one.

Anakin watched, still bundled up and comfortably resting on his captain’s warm armor, the white fabric thick and plush beneath his head. Said captain was watching their men play, still sitting in his watchmen’s spot wrapped in an emergency blanket Anakin swore couldn’t actually be of much use.  He mourned the heat he’d amassed through the night as he stood and bundled up their winter wear, taking the armful with him as he made his way to Rex’s side.

He could hear Obi-wan moving something about behind him, likely starting tea to stave off the chill.  Their men were getting the break they needed, throwing snow up in the air and at one another, some screaming if any found its way inside not-quite-fastened suits, a few rolling around in it and making snow people where there was space to do so.  Ahsoka was laughing, more freely than Anakin had seen in a while, throwing balls of snow and dodging others with glee.  Rex was watching the scene with a small smile.

Anakin laid the winter armor across their laps when he sat and offered half of his unzipped parka, holding it out for Rex to lean into if he wished.  

“Thank you,” Rex accepted with a wider smile, draping his half of the parka about his far shoulder, pressing his arm against Anakin’s to make the coat fit over both of them.  Anakin would be sure to start a kettle of instant caf—weak and cheap but effective and warm—once he got to making breakfast, as the chill had already tinted Rex’s cheeks pink.  It was an amusingly domestic thought given the circumstances, and one he was happy to indulge in.  Rex always seemed happy to be made breakfast.

Anakin never made Padme breakfast.  Not that either of them didn’t want him to, she had just had a particular preference when it came to food and presentation.  She had a particular preference about most things, which he didn’t begrudge her for; he simply acknowledged that, a year into a war that was only getting worse, deciding to quietly annul their already quiet marriage had been best for both of them.  

“Thank you for the pillow last night,” he replied.  The clones were so wonderfully warm; he was tempted to lean a little further into Rex.  A quiet ‘of course’ met him just before a snowball did.  

Rex watched in something between amusement and horror as Skywalker sputtered, snow dropping from his face down past his collar, and Hardcase straightened up from having thrown the snowball meant for Kix.  Ahsoka tried to choke back a laugh, but the lilt of an accented “oh my” from slightly behind Rex’s shoulder made the padawan guffaw. A couple of the men chuckled as well, and as Skywalker wiped the snow from his eyes Rex could see the lines of his face pull into a revenge-filled smirk.  A few of the laughing men stood underneath snow-laden trees, and with a brief wave of the general’s hand the heavy branches shook and dropped mounds of frozen powder onto his men.  

A few shouts of “No fair!” went up before his general stood and stretched his arms.  Skywalker resettled the parka about Rex’s shoulders before cockily stomping off into the snow, intent on giving their men a lesson on aiming at the right targets. General Kenobi voiced a half-hearted warning about getting soaked and freezing without his coat while taking up Skywalker’s abandoned spot and handing Rex one of two mugs.  

 Rex would not get to finish that mug before being urged into his snow armor and dragged out into the fun.  To make things more fair the Jedi split into different teams, erecting their own walls of snow to take cover behind during a snowball barrage. Hardcase was dutifully making as many snowballs as he could, watching with glee whenever Ahsoka managed to get a hit on their general.  Jesse and Fives were having no trouble dodging, and they had been a great asset to Skywalker’s team with how merciless they were and how fast they rolled up their next frozen projectile.  It was all in good fun, throwing snow and being hit by it, the cold bite of the powder refreshing when it sprayed from impact on a shoulder or chest.  But as the sun crept higher in the sky, General Kenobi reminded them of their approaching rendezvous with the 212th, and upon throwing the last of their collected snowballs the men filed back into the cave to warm up and prepare to leave.  

Skywalker fell in next to Rex, chuckling as he brushed snow out of his hair and slipping on his parka once they were properly inside. The Jedi started towards their packs and rations, and Rex began the arduous task of once more folding up his emergency blanket.  He unzipped his suit to the waist and sat, needing his hands without the thick winter gloves for the task.  He nearly jumped when a pair of cold arms circled him from behind.

“We never had snow on Shili, even when I visited it was always too warm,” came Ahsoka’s voice, still slightly giddy from the fun.

Rex chuckled and continued to work, “We never had snow on Kamino, always too wet.”  Ahsoka chuckled against his back before tightening her grip.

“You guys are so warm,” she remarked appreciatively. Finally succeeding in getting one end of the blanket to fit in its tube, Rex wiggled away from her to shove the rest of the fabric in and deposit the cylinder on his pack.  Turning about to face her, he crossed his legs and opened his arms.  Ahsoka took the invitation, using her parka once more as a blanket over her legs.  He caught Skywalker glance at them and saw the warm grin that sprouted at the sight they made.  There were still snowflakes on his lashes.

Ahsoka burrowed into Rex, earning a few soft looks from their men, while her master continued preparing food.  It was a warmer variation of rations; they’d been given dried, spiced meats and soups for the cold weather.  Skywalker held out a warm mug, and the smell of caf met Rex’s senses. His insides felt warm before the first sip hit his stomach.  He was debating how much time he’d have to prepare his own food once he was free of the little commander trapping him where he sat, when a portion was set down by his thigh.  Skywalker nudged Ahsoka’s shoulder with his knee.

A similar portion to his own was lowered to the Togruta’s face.  “Here’s yours, get off Rex so he can eat his.”  Ahsoka accepted the bowl with a pout, clearly unhappy about moving so soon after getting comfortable.

“She’s fine, sir.  I don’t mind,” Rex assured, reaching for his own bowl before pausing. “Er, not to undermine you, of course.”

Skywalker simply sighed before sinking down next to him. “You spoil her, Rex,” he remarked, shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth.  As if to prove the point, Ahsoka wriggled down a bit, curling around her bowl to balance it and making room for Rex’s arms while he ate.  He heard a content hum leave her as she settled and tucked into her meal.  But—

“So do you, sir,” he replied, blowing on the steaming spoon in his hand.  He’d been awake to remember with some fondness Skywalker fretting over Ahsoka being warm enough the previous night.  Skywalker hummed in acknowledgement before quiet fell between them, the murmur of their men eating and packing up a comfortable white noise under the sounds of their spoons scraping and clinking.  Somewhere behind them a recently rebooted Threepio was asking General Kenobi about their departure time. Rex didn’t expect the silence to last around Skywalker, and it didn’t.

“It seems we’re well matched then.”

 Anakin was felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was pleasantly surprised. Instead of indignant choking or sputtering, a wide-eyed blush briefly overtook his captain’s features and melted into a soft smile.  Ahsoka was glancing between them both with avid interest, the last spoonful of her meal held halfway to her mouth.  

Rex was pointedly not looking at either of them, scraping the last of his bowl into one pile to scoop from.  Raising the spoon to his mouth he agreed with a barely there smirk of his own. “Seems so.”

 As if to save him from the skipped heartbeats caused by Skywalker’s comments, General Kenobi received word from Cody that their pickup was coming in half and hour, their original rendezvous point finally clear of storm and clouds—and all of twenty minutes away.  At that, remaining packing was sorted quickly and remaining food vanished even quicker.  Before long, speeders were loaded and they were off.  

If the snow had been pretty just before the mouth of the cave, it was lovely to race past.  Mountains and valleys of it seemed to sparkle in the late morning light, glistening just enough from the slight melt to look like fogged glass.  Some of the flurries kicked up by their speeders caught the light just right to glitter as it fell.  The snow shone gold and white in the sun, while long blue shadows stretched out behind the tall thick icicles they sped between.  While certainly not a break, and relieved to return to somewhere above freezing, Rex was almost sorry when they finally came to a stop in front of the transports that would bring them back to the Resolute and found himself taking in the sights one last time while the men loaded their supplies.  A blue shadow approached with the sound of crunching footsteps.

“Ready to go, Rex?”

He gave a light sigh, “Back to reports and central heating.”

Skywalker chuckled beside him, bumping their shoulders. “We’re a team, we’ll handle the reports together.”  Something about the way he said ‘together’ made that funny warm feeling return in full force, and Rex was glad his snow armor hid the blush that came of it. There was snow caked to the edges of Skywalker’s goggles and sprinkled throughout the fur of his hood that, were he bolder, he’d be tempted to brush away.  

They walked shoulder to shoulder up the transport’s ramp to rejoin their men, Threepio having awkwardly waddled into the supply area and Ahsoka asking General Kenobi where he thought they’d be sent next.   Rex turned before the doors were closed and came to a conclusion; snow could be as lovely as it was harsh, and as wonderful as it was dangerous—despite the Kaminoans and their simulations.  And perhaps, he thought—looking towards Skywalker fussing over Ahsoka’s hood—that applied to most of the Kaminoans’ teachings on clone life experiences.  

Cody was waiting to greet them once they were safely docked on board the Resolute, and Obi-wan was grateful to be back in a climate-controlled environment.  Once the Senator and Chairman had again been reassured of how the visit went, he left the war room with Cody in tow to stretch his legs after the last mildly cramped rotation.  As they walked Cody held out a cylinder, “Thought you might want this now that the call is over.”

Taking the cylinder with a curious hum, Obi-wan was met with the scent he knew as his favorite tea upon removing the cap.  A happy sigh left him.  “I missed you.”

“You were gone a day, sir.”

“Am I not allowed to miss you when we are parted, Commander?”  The answer to which was a quiet chuckle.  Turning a corner into another empty but familiar hallway, Cody spoke up again.

“Any progress on those two?”

An amused snort came from his dignified Jedi, and after a sip of tea a pleased hum followed.  “Oh my, they were almost flirting.”  A scarred eyebrow raised in response.

“Really?”

“Truly, dear.”  As they neared Obi-wan’s quarters he shifted the thermos between hands to shimmy out of his parka, before Cody took the entire cylinder and held onto one of the puffy sleeves.  “Ah, thank you.”  

“Of course.  Who was doing the almost-flirting?”  

The question was met with a fond eye roll.  “Anakin, of course, though he’s about as tactful as he was before the war.”  He entered the code to the door and sighed as it opened, “Oh Cody, they looked like a little family, like it was the most natural thing in the world.”  As he stepped through the threshold he felt a hand on his waist and a kiss on his temple.

“Rex is usually pretty good about knowing what he does and doesn’t want.  If Skywalker is making an attempt, it probably won’t be long until that little family is official.”

Obi-wan folded the parka over the chair and accepted the thermos when Cody offered it back.  Unscrewing the cap once more he ventured, “Would you want to go with them? After the war?”  

Cody pressed their foreheads together and two gentle hands rested on Obi-wan’s shoulders, “Only if you come with me.”  A warm moment passed before Obi-wan chuckled.

“You’re such a sap, dear.”

It had been in an offhand comment when inquiring after the boy’s usual meals, their captain worried about her charge’s small size for his age. That night, Ezra found vegetables on his plate. More accurately, he found some mashed root vegetable he was sure didn’t grow locally on Lothal, and sections of a gourd, shining with the oil and salt Kanan had baked it in, next to the slices of rehydrated, ration pack meat.

The boy’s deep grimace was met with the offer of trading the meal for a couple of ration bars and gifting Zeb an extra portion that cycle (and the lasat was more than agreeable to the deal), and Ezra’s distrust of the new food was quickly outweighed by his disgust for ration bars. It was a well-baked squash that created the monster.

There was a noticeable difference in the teen after that. He and Kanan trained more often, Ezra’s increased energy needing an outlet during long space travel. He ate more often too, often crunching on some green stalk or another between meals; soon enough, it seemed he was taking in enough vegetables to make up for his years-long deficit, and it was all Kanan and Hera could do to keep their reserves stocked when the former street rat was so good at sneaking snacks.

“At least he’s eating”, they’d say. It wasn’t as if any real trouble had come from their vanishing stores beyond smaller dinners.

Then it became a problem when Ezra started picking market goods he didn’t know, curiosity over compatible and interchangeable food items. Almost poisoning Hera with a stock loaded with greens lead to a conversation about asking a vendor the use of a plant before buying harmful lookalikes to soup ingredients.

Things escalated to eating random things planet-side. As time went on and Ezra’s taste for cellulose and iron grew, he developed a bit of a habit with Sabine about taking nibbles of plants he found on different planets they visited. As most grass on Lothal is inedible but workable, Kanan shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was the slightly feral teen was munch on plush green leaves from different fauna; most of the places they went didn’t have very toxic flora anyway. Until one planet where Ezra, Force help Kanan, took a respectable chomp out of a spiny purple stalk, claimed his tongue went numb, and took another chomp out of the plant while giggling. He didn’t giggle when he vomited a minute later. No one was giggling when it didn’t stop until they were back on the Ghost and Sabine jabbed an antidote hypo into Ezra’s neck. Hera certainly wasn’t giggling when the boy was finally lucid again and on the receiving end on just how not okay that was.

Ezra didn’t nibble random plants after that without asking first, and Kanan kept a healthy stash of crunchy snacks for the kid from them on when they could afford it. When they couldn’t, more than one argument had been caused two weeks into a hyperspace trip by Ezra snatching some of Sabine’s dye plants (rich green dried leaves or deep red roots for boiling the colors from), or ripping off unseemly sections of Zeb’s pet cat-grass.

It became another natural thing among the Ghost crew, make sure Sabine has paint, treat Hera with Meilooruns, make sure Ezra has vegetables. So on and so forth were these upheld the best the crew could even after more additions to the family came. Don’t touch Rex’s helmet without leave, don’t speak too loudly around Ahsoka (Ezra still struggled to not be loud around the Togruta’s sensitive montrals), don’t mess up AP-5’s system. Sometimes Rex and Ahsoka would look at Ezra, smile fondly, and reminisce to him about an old friend of theirs who loved fruit best instead, having grown up on a desert planet where plants of any kind were hard to come by.

Ezra got a partner in crime when they took in Kallus.

The former imperial was lithe and slender for his size, but upon seeing his reaction to the food he was given and hearing what an imperial cafeteria rationed out, no one was surprised that muscle mass was about the only mass he had to speak of. Ezra made a point to try to eat lunches with him—both to make sure Kallus was eating and to be a bit annoying—and slid over portions of his vegetables to the tired, beaten officer.

Boba had clung to Kenobi as soon as the man had set down the clanking bundle he’d brought back to the ship with him, and had held fast from the moment they’d left Geonosis’ atmosphere—even as a medic was fussing over Kenobi’s leg, the redhead simply shifted Boba out of the way, half onto Anakin, who’d sat next to the pair on the flight to Coruscant. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, Boba noted how the teen’s attention was torn between him and his new caretaker, and the older girl closeby also being fussed over by a medic.)

Kenobi was certainly trying to make the transition easier. Becoming a High General in the newborn war with the Separtists, in addition to finding out his current padawan had just weeks ago lost his own parent while they were separated, had certainly given Kenobi enough to deal with without unceremoniously adopting a child. Yet he had, and here they were; two grieving, angry children and an already exhausted Master Jedi.

The Jedi bigwigs—council, Kenobi said—hadn’t taken his impromptu claiming of a child lightly.

He was clinging still when they’d arrived to the temple; an emergency meeting of council members to discuss Kenobi’s findings and their concerns of the dawning war had been called. Kenobi had made no move to separate the child from his person and did quite the opposite when the matter was immediately brought up. Boba remembered thinking that if he held on any tighter, he risked choking his new-found guardian. Kenobi simply shifted him a bit higher on his hip, a better hold, at the deep-voiced inquiry. Over Kenobi’s shoulder, Boba noticed an old Master—surely, the person must’ve been one—with a long snake’s tail instead of legs, peering at him kindly from under a thick mane of white hair.

“He’s mine,” was the explanation Kenobi had given. “I will raise him.”

The same deep voice, that had already sounded tired to Boba, now sounded tense. “You already have a padawan, Master Kenobi.”

“Then it is good that I have no intention of keeping him as a padawan,” Kenobi, replied coolly. “I’ve claimed him as a foundling under Mandalorian law.”

“We are not Mandalorians, Obi-Wan,” said a different voice, less deep than the first and oddly accented. Boba could only see a large pink ear in that direction from where he was hiding in Kenobi’s throat. “I would’ve expected this behavior from your master, but not from you.”

Boba did not need the Force to feel the righteous fury the remark inspired in his guardian. A woman—a togruta, his father once called her people—turned slowly towards the pink ear’s owner.

“Master Piell,” she spoke lowly, “that was uncalled for.” The few other people Boba could see looked similarly indignant, and he felt the tensed arms holding him relax minutely at the woman’s admonishment.

The first deep voice spoke again, “Be that as it may, Master Piell is correct in that we are not Mandalorians.”

“The bounty hunter was, and this boy is.” Kenobi responded as if the last minute hadn’t happened.

“We do not take in civilian children, Kenobi, and that doesn’t change because of your fondness for Mandalore’s people.”

“What would have had me do? Leave him on Geonosis?”

“The Republic’s foster system would’ve been alerted of the boy.”

“—and he could sit in the sand by himself, grieving, until they picked him up? You know how difficult it is for older children in that system to find homes.”

“We,” a pause fell that Boba guessed was spent sending a look to a certain Master, “are not attacking you, Master Kenobi. Even if we could adopt every orphaned child into our fold, there is also the issue of attachment.”

“Are we not honor-bound to help those in need?”

“This is not a simple matter of helping! You know that this goes against our code,” The deep voice replied sharply. Boba felt Kenobi tense again.

“You would choose to abide by our code so strictly and whole-heartedly even if it conflicts with the interests of a child?” There was a chill to Kenobi’s tone that made Boba hope to never receive it. A new voice, old and squawky, huffed.

“Both of you, enough. Argue like children, you do. A bad example, this sets.” A cushion shifted. “On this matter, what does Skywalker say?”

Kenobi shifted his feet a bit before answering, “Anakin’s recently lost his own mother; he’s struggled with his attachment to her the entire time I’ve trained him. It’s my hope they will help each other work through their grief in ways I might not be able to. He’s accepted this boy already, Master.”

The ancient voice hummed, a Boba heard the airy taps of wood against tile. “Master Koon,” the voice sounded undecided. “Helpful, your view may be.” The lilt at the end of the sentence, and the quiet sighs of some councilors gave Boba the impression there was a joke he wasn’t getting. A new voice—not unlike the horns the Cuy’val Dar blew on special occasions, noble and deep despite their hollow resonance—joined the fray.

“There is already a strong connection in place,” this Master stated. “It would most likely prove more traumatic for the boy to remove him from Master Kenobi now.” Another cushion shifted, “Besides, who better in this Order to raise a Mandalorian than Obi-Wan?”

“Matters, does it not, that coming, a war is?”

“From my understanding of their customs, certain sects of Mandalorians took their children to war about this one’s age. Am I correct?” The question must’ve been for Kenobi, because he turned his body and answered.

“Yes, Master. Their coming of age rites are performed at thirteen, but most clans start training and going to war as young as eight. I am familiar with their fighting styles and customs, enough to get this boy through his Verd’goten.” Kenobi turned back to the first, critical, deep voice. “Even if I must do so without the approval of this council. I will not go back on the vow I made.”

The voice like strong music hummed thoughtfully, “An admirable conviction, Master Obi-Wan. Your master would be proud of your morals.” The air suddenly felt warmer to Boba, and the voice sounded resolute as it continued, “A Jedi of this Order killed this boy’s father, so a Jedi of this Order will raise him in his father’s place. That is my opinion on this matter.”

The togrutan woman spoke softly, “Exceptions have been made to the code before now, surely they will again.”

“A vote, we shall have,” declared the squawky voice; in the next terrifying minute, silence filled the chamber as hands were raised or stayed, with the blood pumping loud enough in Boba’s ears he wasn’t sure whether or not they’d announced their decision and he’d missed it until the deep voice from the beginning spoke, tight and stern and tired.

“This council has ruled in favor of you keeping your foundling, Master Kenobi. Raise him as befits this order.” Two sighs of relief echoed into the chamber, and Boba saw as the man with the snake tail nodded, smiling under his beard.

“Before we begin Master Obi-Wan’s debriefing...” the voice like horns chimed in, trailing off behind the sound of linens shifting. “It has been some time since a Mandalorian youngling was within these temple walls.” The voice was closer now, and Boba startled as a hand landed on his head. Turning around in Kenobi’s hold, he met eyes—or assumed so, with the mask between them—with a being he’d never seen before. Boba’s first thought was ‘ugly’, and then immediately felt a pang of guilt for such a thought toward the one who’d spoken so in favor of keeping him and his new guardian together. The clawed, orange hand resting on his head gently ruffled his hair before retreating into the Jedi master’s sleeve.

The togruta had made her way over to them as well, peering down at Boba with wide, steel-blue eyes; she swept a gentle hand over his head much as her fellow master had done. He did his best not to scramble as Kenobi made to put him down. “We should give you a proper introduction, then, shouldn’t we?” He kept a grounding hand on Boba’s shoulder as he spoke. “Masters, this is Boba Fett. Boba, these masters are…” and Kenobi went down the line, first beginning with Masters Ti and Koon, who the. Went back to their fancy chairs, and then turning to go around the circular room. The squawking voice had apparently belonged to an odd little green creature, and then Boba met eyes with his neighbor.

He’d have liked to throw up as cold dread wrestled with hot fury in his gut.

Kenobi quieted, he and the other masters going tense and stiff at the boy’s vast and sudden emotional shift. The one Kenobi called Yoda crossed his clawed hands over his cane and spoke as if he expected Boba to bolt; Boba had half a mind to. “Quite distressed, you are. Why?”

Boba wasn’t quite sure how the words got out with how tight his throat had become. “He killed my dad.”

He’d have spat the syllables had they not been choking him. “He killed my dad with a purple lightsaber.”

Boba remembered little of what happened next—torn between running away and lunging at the jedi master’s neck as Kenobi scooped him up and practically ran out of the chamber—somehow ending up in a garden with a winded Anakin to wait out Kenobi’s debriefing. They’d talked, both of them trying to distract the other from recent losses; Anakin even taught him how to blow off steam by skipping stones in one of the larger fountains. Upon his return, Kenobi snatched Boba up and apologized profusely, not having known Mace’s connection to the boy.

They’d gone back to their quarters, Kenobi promising Anakin they’d spar the next day and discussing plans for latemeal with Boba settled back on his hip. The lull in activity only allowed the boy’s mind to wander back to the events leading to his current situation, and both jedi noticed the spike in Boba’s grief and frustration; Kenobi gave him a gentle squeeze as the first sniffle came. “Any ideas for latemeal, little one?”

“Neither of us have spent much time in the temple the last couple weeks but the commissary will be open for a while if nothing else,” Anakin chimed in, sarcasm threading the edges of his tone. Kenobi gave a small ‘tsk’ in response.

“There were plenty of shelf-stables when we left,” Kenobi pointed out. “Besides, a large loud room full of strangers is the last thing Boba needs at present.” He repeated his previous question, and Boba was more than happy to turn his thoughts to potential answers.

“Something warm...and salty, maybe?”

Kenobi nodded beside his head, “There’s a start. What else?”

They carried the conversation on until the trio reached a door set into the wall. Entering the small apartment for the first time, Boba had been struck at the differences, as well as the similarities, to the dwelling he’d been raised in. The jedi clearly weren’t material people, but compared to the sterility of Kamino’s white halls, the room awash in afternoon sun was extremely inviting despite its foreign nature. Plants, slightly wilted from their master’s absence, littered the space’s windowsills, with books in neat piles and rows within several bookcases nearby. Blankets draped over some on the furniture that Boba could see, and the glimpse of a table around a corner hinted at the location of the kitchen.

Anakin had been tasked with showing Boba around the living space while Kenobi went about the kitchen’s stock. He’d been all too happy with the excitement Boba had shown while admiring his collection of ship models, and once latemeal was well underway, Obi-wan had been relieved to pop in and find, despite recent events, his nineteen year old wasn’t too old to play starfighters.

Boba slept in Anakin’s room that night, a belly full of warm soup—it had been just what he needed—and grateful his first night in this foreign place wouldn’t be alone.

The next few days had been a flurry of activity, between the Jedi preparing themselves and their padawans for war, barely being instructed on how to lead the men they’d be assigned—who Boba tried not to think of—and bouts of quiet, where Boba tried to become more comfortable with his new home. Obi-wan, who insisted Boba call him that instead of ‘Kenobi’ his second night at the temple, had begun trying to teach him to meditate, saying it would be a good tool for when he felt stuck or frustrated. The Jedi master said they would pick up Boba’s training soon from where his dad left off.

Boba missed his dad. It certainly leant to his hatred of being alone, and despite the newness of their situation Boba couldn’t help feeling paranoid whenever Kenobi left to attend to some matter or other. What if something happens? What if they change his mind? Will someone else take me? Would someone else want me? What if Obi-wan never comes back?

Yet, each time Obi-wan would return with a tired smile and hug, asking how he and Anakin got along that day. There had a time within the first weeks, with warning of course, that Obi-wan had been gone for a couple of days, and after Boba’s anxiety at their separation came to a head the first evening, Anakin had pulled out a holocomm. He’d pulled Boba onto his leg and suddenly a blue hologram of Obi-wan, unfortunately soaked, sprung up from the device. They’d called again the next night, too. Boba had run to the door the next day when it opened, and was briefly halted. He’d used to run to the door when his dad came home from a hunt; was he forgetting his dad by showing this Jedi the same excitement?

He filed the conundrum away for later when said Jedi called his name. The man’s arms were filled with boxes, with more trailing behind him. “I’ve got some things for you,” he’d said.

To say Boba could’ve cried at what was in those boxes would’ve been inaccurate. Because he did, in heavy sobs, when he opened the first and pulled out one of his dad’s shirts. Going through the boxes with tear-filled eyes and an almost frantic determination to make sure, Boba found that everything personal from the Kamino apartment was in those boxes; his and his dad’s clothes, his dad’s books and even some that had belonged to his ba’buir, and the entirety of the armory his father kept apart from Slave I, among everything else. He tackled Obi-wan’s legs in a hug, wet hiccups making him unsure which language his stuttered thanks was given in. He’d slept in his father’s shirt that night, clutching two more like lifelines.

Boba began his education modules shortly after Obi-wan’s return, content to do them while Anakin went through his saber practice or as a distraction when Obi-wan was busy in with the council. Grief was difficult, especially so sudden a loss, but he was adjusting while working through it. He and Anakin sometimes swapped stories of Jango and Shmi, and it felt good to talk about them even if it left the boys misty-eyed afterward. Boba was trying to adjust.

Each posts sees a comical increase in the surfaces covered in lace doilies and runners, as well as a new topic for Fox’s venting.

A picture of an pillow embroidered with “Kriff the Seppies” is briefly posted to the 104th’s account before being taken down and replaced with a censor bar. Rumors begin to circulate when Senator Chuchi posts a picture wearing a gifted lace shawl; Senator Amidala comments on her confusion being resolved as to why Riyo kept bringing little baskets of crochet thread with her before a senate meetings.

A competition for ship nose art starts up, many votes going to the 501st, and the holonet’s heart once again melting at “Plo’s Bros”. Personal art begins popping up soon after. Fives starts posting spray paint tutorials, Rex and Hardcase become popular for clean graphic art. Bly gets his hands on metallic paint and the crowds go wild. Kix has taken his clean haircut game to the next level.

And then Colt and Shaak Ti make an account to post art the Littles make, most of them representations of their older brothers with wishes of safety and good luck, and of the only Jedi they’ve ever known, sometimes creatures they studied in their preparation for worlds outside of Kamino. Of batches passing their final tests with a congratulatory post.

Suggestions and instructions are sent out for clones who want to take and sell commissions, allowing them to finally make some money; most Jedi are more than happy to help make sure the finished work mails out properly to the buyers.

Ships of the non-nose art kind surface on the holonet. It’s generally agreed upon that command_212 is run by husbands, and Aayla is the protector of the 327th and Bly’s heart, even if she’s a clumsy menace around his artwork (caf spilled over a drying watercolor can be interesting or terrible depending on the circumstance). No one can agree whether Skywalker is married to his captain or Senator Amidala, but everyone agrees that Ahsoka is their baby. The holonet declares Plo to have Big Dad Energy. Shaak Ti’s Big Mom Energy is a friendly rival. The Jedi council has made no official statement denying or denouncing these attachments.

Public interest begins to shift from producing more soldiers to making sure the ones the Republic has stay alive, when the realization hits that within a couple of years the children posting art and losing teeth would probably be losing blood and brothers on some far away planet. Of making sure the men are eating well instead of just surviving. Well certain account-holders don’t post for a while, grieving a loss, posting again to reassure their followers they’re alright, the public questions what’s being done to keep the men emotionally and mentally well outside of the hobbies the public knows them for. “Born to handle any stress” is very much the wrong answer.

Pressure is put on the Chancellor to let the Separatists sucede, no one quite sure anymore why allowing them to would be harmful when at worst new trade agreements would need to be brokered; if they want to leave so badly, let them. And let the men have their hobbies.

(Sad thoughts ahead)

Sometimes commissioners never receive their orders, simply a refund with a letter from that clone’s Jedi after the latest battle ends. Any money they’d made would be split however their closest brothers decide.

The channel that always posts pranks and spray paint tutorials makes a post saying they’d be away to look after their sick little brother. It’s the last post they make.

The Coruscant Guard’s account stops posting a few nights later.

After Order 66 goes out, a new account goes up posting any pictures and cute videos of Aayla. Reposting old ones that the public is sure they’d seen somewhere before, posting new ones of funny faces and ridiculous videos of silly dances. The last one is the only one captioned, “she wasn’t a traitor.”

The account is deleted the same night, and the one of the 327th’s adventures never posts again.

Wolfpack_104 does not post, but is still there.

Command_212 is deleted almost immediately the night of the order.

He tried not to be an impulsive man, something he had tried to instill in Anakin with only moderate success. He tried. But the Jedi were known as protectors and peacekeepers, and no one was paying a bit of mind to the grieving child. A grieving orphan who knew no one but the older (younger?) brothers firmly ignoring him and one separatist-aligned and already-fled Count. Obi-Wan changed his direction and made no answer when Anakin asked where he was going.

He approached the boy quietly, but with his injury and the crunching sand, there was plenty of noise for the little one not to be spooked. He didn’t get too close, merely letting himself be known in the boy’s peripheral vision before moving to sit in the sand—something his leg greatly protested—a few feet away. He didn’t speak, perfectly content to wait to be openly acknowledged while the boy failed to hide his sobbing. He didn’t have to wait long.

“What do you want, Jedi?” The child spat, his voice thick and choked with tears. Obi-Wan could tell he wasn’t looking for condolences or pretty words, so honesty was probably his best course.

“You don’t need to be alone right now,” he started. “I’ll leave if you truly wish but you need someone right now.”

The boy scoffed and held, if possible, tighter to the silver helm. “How would you know what I need? Just leave me alone!” The bite in his voice cracked at the end.

“Because I’ve been exactly where you are,” Obi-Wan almost flinched at the cliche. The child clearly felt the same.

“Sure you were. Of course you were,” came the bitter words the young Fett had every right to. “Because every other guy’s dad is—was k—” He choked once more as tears drowned out the mournful retort.

Obi-Wan extended a hand and continued somberly. “I saw my Master killed by a Sith’s lightsaber, and I spent so long hating myself for being powerless to help him.” The boy had bit his lip, shaking as Obi-Wan watched him sob. “Being alone with that kind of grief was a terrible thing, something I would never wish on you or anyone.” He was content once more to let the boy grieve in peace, merely offering his company and the hand he kept extended upon the red sand between them. He could feel Anakin lingering in the alcove he’d parted with him in, confusion and apprehension rolling off him steadily in the Force; he should’ve been seeing a medic about that arm of his. An idea that had been forming in his head was finally matched with words. As the boy’s cries slowly turned in wet hiccups, Obi-Wan scooted a little closer—and his leg still was unhappy about it—and the boy turned his gaze, tearful and suspicious, back on him. Obi-Wan spoke gently.

“Copanni olaror ti ni?”

The boy’s tear-streaked face snapped up at the words. “Tion gar lise jorhaa’ir Mando’a?”

He nodded, answering softly, “We can speak in whichever you prefer. You didn’t answer my question.” Mando’a would offer familiarity, but that familiarity could also be painful at present. Based on the scrunched face the child made, Obi-Wan accepted it was probably the latter. He watched the little one drop his head to rest his cheek against the helmet. Taun We had said the boy’s name, but Obi-Wan found himself struggling to remember it through the rush of the last cycle’s events.

“I can take care of myself,” the boy answered quietly. “Dad taught me how.”

Obi-Wan nodded, not terribly surprised. “I’m sure he did a fine job, but he couldn’t have wished for you to have the need so young. I’m sure he’d want you looked after.”

The little one sniffled pitifully and nodded, and some minutes passed as Obi-Wan watched the cogs turn in the child’s head. Then, unsure and still shaky, a little hand moved to grasp the one still extended between them. Obi-Wan squeezed the little fingers gently before moving carefully to stand. The other arm opened as he turned, and the boy stood, still clutching the helmet, and allowed himself to be scooped up. Obi-Wan kept most of the boy’s weight directed to the hip of his uninjured leg, noticed how the little one’s body sagged against his own once he was settled, and began a course back to his padawan. He pressed the boy’s head under his chin, allowing him to hide in the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat.

“I’ll do my best to look after you,” he promised. He would—he knew plenty enough about Mandalore and her people to get this child through his trial of adulthood when he reached thirteen, and enough about his own trauma to never assume the boy was alright. “If you aren’t happy with me, I’ll do my best to get you somewhere you are.” They boy only sniffled and nodded in response, but that was more than enough right now. A moment, and several steps, passed. “Taun We introduced us but could I ask your name again, little one?”

A croaked reply fell against his collarbone, “Boba.”

Obi-Wan nodded once more and brought the hand not supporting Boba’s weight to the back of the boy’s head, “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad, Boba.” To this, the hand gripping his shirt clenched and Boba nodded into his throat, and if his collar was soon wet with fresh tears, Obi-Wan made no mention of it.

He walked the both of them back to Anakin and Senator Amidala as quickly as his leg and Boba’s added weight allowed him, and together they made for the ship. Anakin, blessedly, didn’t ask about the child in his arms until they were aboard the ship they’d be taking to Coruscant, once Boba was wrapped in a shock blanket and assured, when Obi-Wan put him down and made to leave to get something, that Obi-Wan wouldn’t be far for long.

“Master, the boy?”

“The bounty hunter’s son,” he provided. He didn’t stop on his path out of the ship—they wouldn’t be taking off quite yet but he felt no need to dawdle. “Your new little brother.” Anakin looked like he’d been struck.

“A new apprentice? You’re replacing me for disobeying you?”

That stopped him very effectively. He turned as he spoke. “You listen to me now if never again, Anakin Skywalker,” he began lowly. He would not let the boy he raised go on with the same doubts he’d had with Qui-Gon. “I will never replace you. You are mine to me, if I was ever a father to you.” Anakin had grown taller than him just in the last year, but Obi-Wan had no qualms about putting a palm on the back of his padawan’s neck to ground him. “But that boy just lost his only family, and he needs someone.” Anakin nodded solemnly. The boy understanding, Obi-Wan lightened his tone. “Which means that I now have one padawan, and two sons. Unfortunately, you’ll have to learn to share.” He finished with a grin.

Anakin huffed out a laugh and nodded again, smiling. “I understand, Master, thank you.” As Obi-Wan gave his neck a pat and moved once move to exit the ship, Anakin inquired after him, “Where are you going?”

Obi-Wan merely called back over his shoulder, “I have to retrieve something before we leave.” Something that neither boy needed to see at that moment, but Boba was sure to treasure in years to come—it would certainly fit when he stopped growing. So onward Obi-Wan moved, making his way back into the dreaded arena, speaking to exactly the people he needed to for certain arrangements before moving on to find his quarry. And he would.

Every piece of Jango Fett’s armor.

A look at next chapter:

“Are we not honor bound to help those in need?”

“You know that this goes against our code!”