The Whispering Escapes

Noticeably, the sound is lacking when Sev sorts through his memories later. He is just taking cover behind a large boulder, on comms with Boss and Fixer.

Sev doesn’t hear the explosion nor the continuing salvos of fire from the battle droids. There is no cracking, no soft hissing of pressure doors opening, only silence.

The water is fast when it is freed from the dam and Sev remembers knowing it is coming but he can’t pinpoint his reaction anymore.

The wave crashes over him before he can fully turn his head towards the water, drags him under, off the plateau they were located on.

This was supposed to be a relatively easy mission. Easy as in, as easy as the missions that Delta Squad are tasked with go. Boss and Fixer are somewhere up inside the base, attempting to take over the control rooms of the droid base.

Sev hears them over his comms, shouting as he falls. They must have seen the dam break, too. At the bottom left of his HUD, he sees two little icons pop up, indicating that his vode have accessed the vital signs monitor and location tracker of his suit. For a moment he feels safe.

The pleasant feeling fades away fast when his body hits the surface of a wide river that is located under the plateau. His body breaks through the surface tension of the river and crashes hard onto the bottom.

His suit shields go down by half the bar in an instant, and they weren’t in good condition to begin with, after the exchange of fire with the guard droids. Sev most definitely does not want to know the height he just fell.

Slowly, the water slithers into the cracks of his suit and drains the undersuit, cold-wet. Instinctively, he finds the suit control on his lower arm and switches to internal air regulation, sealing the suit completely.

Kamino is wet. Always. On Kamino, where it is raining 22 hours per day, Sev learned to hate water. Towards the end of their training as special forces, most of the exercises had taken place outside in the wet and cold.

Upon leaving their birth planet, Sev fell in love with the sunlight.

A shake goes through his armour, and his suit systems warn him about low oxygen atmosphere and high pressure. Osik.

Sev tries to kick up to the surface through the dazed feeling, but he is blind down here. The wave of water has stirred up all the debris from the river ground, black sand mixes with the water and clouds his vision. Small pebbles and rocks hit his helmet and make metallic knocks ring through his head.

He stretches his arms out again and tries to find leverage against the ground with his feet. The waves drag him back under and twist his arms back painfully. He’s flailing against the stream but there is no place he can find that allows him to grip or tuck himself into until the wave passes or until he can get a clear view.

There is talking over the comms, and he sees his brother’s icons light up on his HUD but over the thunderous crashing of waves, he can’t make out any words.

He gets a glance at the map of his HUD and sees the sudden bend the river makes just a second before his body hits hard stone. His back slams into it first and knocks the wind out of his lungs.

Sev attempts to get a grip on the stone but before he can brace himself, he is already dragged on by the wave. Pressed deeper under the water, his head hits the riverbed.

At first, he can’t place the soft hissing noise correctly, but when the water hits his chin, he realizes that the soft hissing noise was the unsealing of his suit systems. A second later, the red, pulsing warnings pop up on his HUD.

Fear only grips him when he swallows the first mouthful of water. The water has drained into his suit by now, dragging him down and Sev is strong, but he has little to hold up against a force of nature like this.

From here on, everything happens in lightning speed but simultaneously, he remembers every snapshot of memory, every picture, every desperate attempts to get his head above the surface.

With intact suit systems, he could survive under the water for up for 30 minutes, if he were pushing it. That way, he would just submit his body to the stream and wait till it spits him out somewhere onto a sliver of shore.

With the current condition of his suit systems, he estimates the time he has left before losing consciousness to be about 30 seconds. He tilts his head up in an attempt to breath but swallows another mouthful of murky water.

The heaviness of his suit pulls him farther away from the light. He tries to get rid of his helmet, but he can’t quite get his arms to his neck, so he cruelly has to wait until the water rises too high for him to open his eyes anymore. His lungs are screaming at this point.

He lets the darkness swallow him and hopes for a quick death.

When Sev gains back his consciousness, he almost immediately shoots up into a seated position, violently coughing up his lungs. His chest compresses harshly in an attempt to get rid of all the water he swallowed while trapped under the waves.

Someone is hitting his back plate roughly, making him jerk forward and spitting more water onto the ground. His body is still longing for air, but he only manages a few weak gasps.

His shoulders jerk until he finally manages a breath with enough volume that it makes his body melt back into a laying position. His head hits the pebbled ground and now he also notices the soft streaming noise of the river in the background. Oh. It is still there.

“Sev, come on.” A hand pats his cheek a few times.

He tries to turn his face away sluggishly. He isn’t dead and he would like to enjoy that knowledge in peace for a few moments. Well, he isn’t dead, yet. He wouldn’t be surprised if things only get more osik’la from here on.

Aside from not being dead, he feels pain when he breathes in. His ribs aren’t extending with his lungs, compressing his chest painfully.

If he is being entirely honest with himself, everything from his pounding head to his burning throat and constricting stomach muscles feels like it is actively trying to kill him.  

“Sev!” Oh. That voice sounds like Scorch’s, actually.

He tries to pry open his eyes when he suddenly gets turned onto his side. His face scratches over the gravel and a hand is being pushed under his neck, gently tilting his face up.

“Mhh,” he hums sleepily, a little annoyed. This position isn’t actually that bad, at least it makes breathing a less painful act.

“Sev! Maker…” Scorch sighs audibly. “K'oyacyi. Fixer is on his way.”

He huffs grumpily. It’s not that he hates his brothers, but he also needs and values his alone time, and this is most definitely an alone-time-moment.

Scorch chuckles softly in response. He sounds so close…

Sev manages to open his eyes halfway and looks directly into the face of his brother who is crouched down and bend over by his side.

“Sev. Hi, vod. Gar jate?”

He hums affirmative. He isn’t well, per se, but he is so high on actually being alive that he doesn’t mind too much. What surprisingly is actually bothering him is the tiredness.

“Jor’lek,” he mutters, before letting his eyes fall shut again.

The next time he wakes, he is on his back again, and it is darker than it was before. He is no longer stranded on the shore, that he knows for sure, since his armour is missing completely now. He feels lighter, aside from a heavy weight on his legs, and when he rubs his fingers over the surface, he feels sheets under the tips.

His upper body is slightly elevated which makes breathing much easier but there is also something fixed over his face that he does not like at all.

He lifts his arm, lethargic, and tries to brush whatever is sitting on his face away.

“No,” a firm voice by his side states. “Leave it, vod’ika.”

He grunts in annoyance and ignores the voice until someone grabs his hand and holds it firmly, away from his face.

Slowly, he opens his eyes. The grey walls of the shuttle great him and he attempts to glare at the person next to him.

This time it is Fixer who is standing by his side. Sev would expect him to look unimpressed or raise his eyebrow at him, the way he does most of the time when he is the one who has to treat his di’kut brothers again for some stupid injuries.

Instead, Fixer looks worried, glances at his datapad and the monitors anxiously, before catching his gaze again. He continues holding Sev’s hand, not pulling it away from his face, but simply pressing it every now and then.

“Why are you looking at me like this?” Sev mutters.

Fixer’s eyes widen for a moment, his lips disappearing into a thin, concentrated line. He turns away for a moment and rests his hands on top of his head in a helpless gesture before he turns back to Sev.

“Fix?” He repeats quietly.

“I am looking at you like that” —oh no, not that tone— “because you, Sev’ika, almost drowned earlier. Not just dipped into the water, you were dead for a solid minute. Kyrayc.”

Fixer is slowly getting louder and Sev has rarely seen him get frustrated. Fixer is level-headed, seeing him like this is very much out of the ordinary.

“Boss and I watched you flatline. Scorch had to break seven of your ribs in order to do effective chest compressions.”

Oh. That explains the pain. He manages to lift his hand and rest it against his chest, finding a layer of thick bandages. Now he also registers the cleansing smell of bacta.

Fixer exhales slowly and ruffles Sev’s hair. Eww.

“Leave the oxygen mask in place. And rest. You’ll be okay. Just… just stay there and don’t move. Tayli'bac?”

“Rusuvari,” he answers, dutifully.

“Let Scorch sleep. You owe him.”

Only at Fixer’s gesture does he look down his body and learns that his heavy legs aren’t actually his minding playing tricks on him. It is their vod’ika, sleeping quite literally on top of him with his body tucked between Sev’s and the wall and his head resting besides Sev’s thigh.

“You scared the living hell out of him,” Fixer notes before handing Sev a blanket. Then he leaves, making his way into the cockpit of the shuttle.

Things like this always make Scorch clingy, Sev thinks. He grumbles to himself but the prospect of arguing with a more-than-usual-emotional Fixer isn’t really an attractive thought so he complies.

He opens the blanket slowly, moving his body only as much as necessary, to spread it out over their bodies.

When he leans forward a little bit to throw the edge over Scorch’s legs, his brother wraps his fingers around his wrist and blinks up at him sleepily.

He runs his hand through Scorch’s too-long, half-bleached hair once.

“Sleep, vod,” he mutters so Boss or Fixer won’t hear him.

It is almost midnight when Mace finally braces himself and knocks on the wooden door gently, carefully, to not wake up anyone who might be sleeping inside.

A soft shuffle lets him know that at least not everyone is asleep so Mace waits. He has been pacing up and down the hallway for a good few hours now.

He has meant to talk to Obi-Wan after Jinn’s funeral on Naboo, but the young knight had his hands full with his then soon-to-be padawan so he decided that his worries could be postponed until they returned to Coruscant.

Soon, the door opens and a slightly dishevelled Obi-Wan stares at him, surprised and seemingly very exhausted.

“Master Windu,” he greets and opens the door a little more, trying to straighten his shoulders.

“Good evening, Obi-Wan.” Evening is putting it generously, but Mace suddenly has the impression that right now is a very good moment to talk. “May I come in?”

Obi-Wan hesitates, his lips twitch barely in thought. “I just got Anakin to sleep,” he finally confesses.

It isn’t really surprising that Anakin is a bad sleeper, considering the things he likely has seen, growing up enslaved on a planet far in the outer realms of the Slice.

There are a number of Jedi who were born into slavery and while it is concerning, it isn’t too much out of the ordinary. A lot of times— during their crèche years and far beyond them— had he crawled into bed with Eeth to sooth his nightmares about things that happened on Nar Shaddaa.

“Take a walk with me, then,” Mace offers. He wants to talk to Obi-Wan in private, without the curious ears of a kid within range. Especially this kid.

Obi-Wan glances back and through the half-open bedroom door Mace can make out a sliver of Anakin who seems to have stranded in Obi-Wan’s bed rather than his own. He dismisses the discovery. This is not his place to judge.

“I’m sure he will come find you if he needs you,” he adds. Arguing Obi-Wan out of his quarters shouldn’t be this difficult. Anakin is almost ten years old which should be plenty old enough to be left alone, especially when he is snuggled up in a warm bed, in the safety of the Jedi Temple.

“He doesn’t wake up. Not usually,” Obi-Wan mutters but picks up his top robe from the cloth rack. “Just screams and cries, but he never wakes up.”

Obi-Wan takes one last glance at Anakin before he pulls the door shut behind them quietly. Mace has nothing insightful to offer about this, so he decides to just let Obi-Wan talk.

The younger knight throws his coat over his shoulders and joins Mace by his side.

Obi-Wan looks tired and his gaze is just a tad bit too far away to make Mace believe that this is merely caused by the stress of going from apprentice to master in less than a week.

Usually, a newly knighted Jedi would stay on their own for a good amount of years, being send out on missions by the Council or working on refining their skills before taking on a student of their own.

Some Jedi knights would assist in the teaching of younglings or occasionally help their fellow Jedi out with the training of their padawans, especially in areas they are exceptionally skilled in. They live communally after all.

Mace himself had quite a few memories of Master Saa teaching Eeth and him piloting, just because their respective masters belonged to species that weren’t suitable for generic starfighters.

Not that there weren’t exceptions to the unofficial waiting time rules. Mace himself included, since he took on teaching Depa after just a few short years of knighthood. Shorter than he would have liked, or so he initially thought.

Taking her as his student was just his luck and while he taught and trained her, he also had plenty time to train his own skills until they had even developed Vaapad further, together.

Admittedly, she was an easy child, delivered to him with little baggage, wide eyes and a certain obedience as long as her curiosity was plenty fulfilled. She was a Jedi through and through, no idea of her life before coming into the Temple and, seemingly, thoroughly content with serving the Order in the present and in all futures.  

“You are doing well, Obi-Wan,” he finally says when the other Jedi seems to make no attempt of conversation. Not really lost in thought, just seemingly absent.

Obi-Wan looks at him with wary eyes.

“You make sure Anakin sleeps, eats and attends all his health check-ups. Master Che told me so.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan answers dutifully.

Mace nods definitely. “I faintly remember Master Qui-Gon forgetting to do the same for you, a time or two.”

Or three. Or every other week. Mace still holds a grudge that is perfectly in line with the Jedi Code since it fits somewhere along the lines of protecting the innocent. Or that is what he tells himself. Still, he dodges Master Yoda every time he tries to bring the subject up.

Obi-Wan huffs but lets the topic pass between them.

“Well. If you put it like that, you almost make me sound like a good master.”

Mace smiles mildly at him. “You are, Obi-Wan.”

“What do you see when you look at him?”

His smile fades slowly and he redirects his gaze to the floor again. Together, they walk the quiet hallways.

“I am no natural telepath, nor very skilled in determining the future.” To be perfectly honest, Mace doesn’t concern himself with the future. He has too many duties lying in the present to think about what was to come.

He isn’t unskilled in meditating in order to get a glimpse of precognitive visions, a Jedi of his rank and skill is expected to be an all-round talent. Generally, combining a sense for shatterpoints with visions of the future is not advisable. It creates paranoia, a sense of impending doom, feelings that are far beyond him.

“That’s not what I meant. Master Qui-Gon was convinced he found the Chosen One. He waited and worked years and decades for this moment.”

Obi-Wan thinks that his personal goals clouded the judgement of his late master. Smart boy.

There are shatterpoints lingering in and around Anakin Skywalker more than Mace can count or has ever seen. Some feeling bright yellow like the Guard’s lightsabers, flickering but usually lingering consistently.

Others are like shadows that seem to follow him, sometimes there and sometimes not at all. A few are darkness that he refuses to interpret as possibilities of corruption by the Dark Side, even though he should know better than that. Every time his eyes fall on the kid, Mace breaths and reminds himself that he is looking at a youngling, a child in their care.

Shatterpoints tend to shift and fluctuate, not too quickly to miss but often enough to not startle Mace anymore. During different periods of their lives, his fellow Jedi carried more or less shatterpoints themselves that often enough passed in the span of a few rotations or weeks.

Lately, lots of them have been lingering around Master Dyas but Mace is yet to confront him about it. If he decided to do so, he isn’t determined yet. Often enough he doesn’t because it is not his duty to pry on the lives of adult Jedi.

“He hasn’t lived in the Temple for a long time,” he says. Barely long enough to get to know his fellow classmates.

“He will be alright,” he finally tells Obi-Wan. “With your guidance and training, he will turn out to be a capable Jedi.”

He directs Obi-Wan around the next corner towards his own quarters. “Sleep here, tonight and I will watch over Anakin.”

Obi-Wan looks like he is about to start arguing with him so instead, Mace rests a firm hand on his shoulder and steers him down the hallway.

“Sometimes it helps to get away.” Not that he would know, he always preferred Depa close by his side, her bright and sometimes feisty force presence resting gently against his own.

He opens the door to his quarter and Obi-Wan hesitates before stepping inside. His presence feels lighter, relieved from his responsibilities even if it is just for a night. He strips from his top robe and sits down on the small sofa by the window.

Mace sets up some water for boiling and takes two cups from the cabinet. The water is coming to a boil slowly and while he stirs a few kinds of herbs together, he slowly reaches out to Anakin with the Force.

He doesn’t feel guilty when he starts weaving sleep suggestions into the Force around him. It will do little harm to make the kid sleep through the night. More important, it will Obi-Wan a chance to sleep through the night without having to sit by the kid’s bedside and sooth him back to sleep every hour.

When he returns to the living space, Obi-Wan’s boots are neatly places by the end of the couch. He is curled up under the blanket, head resting on the  armrest.

Mace can make out the spot of hair over his ear where his padawan braid had been cut just a few rotations ago.

Rain is pouring down the sky on Triple Zero that night like it is proclaiming the end of all eternity for its inhabitants.

Thire is patrolling Level 2038 alone. It has been two weeks since Rys got killed in the crossfire of what should have been the successful arrest of Ziro the Hutt and Cad Bane.

He only got away with his life because he had been promoted to commander just weeks before the incident, granting him a durasteel-enforced breastplate. Lucky him.

The bruises still tuck at his nerves, pulling and aching with every move and when he had put on his armour that morning, the pressure on his ribs made a wave of nausea rise up to his head.

Now he is doing his rounds alone, until more shinies arrive from Kamino and are integrated into the shift cycles of the guard. Soon he will have two or three wide-eyed tagalongs with him on patrol. He will cherish the silence until then.

His steps drag tiredly. Jek is away on a mission. He signed up for the first assignment offered after the incident and Thire doesn’t blame him, he gets it, but he is also lonely and he misses his vode.

As one of the lower levels of Coruscant, consists of 2038 mostly bars and tight corner shops. The living spaces are packed to the brim, families sharing just two or three rooms together.

The thunderstorm in the sky has brought power outages with it, especially in the lower levels. This level in particular has been bathed in darkness for a few hours now. Over comms, Thire has loosely followed the maintenance orders for the power reactor all night.

The water splashes gently when his feet hit the puddles. The water isn’t really raining from the sky here, just running down the side of the buildings and collecting in little streams that run down on both sides of the street.

Only a few citizens are still out on the streets, standing together under the small overhangs of the bar doors, some ignoring him and some eyeing him suspiciously. Hands reach for blasters, cautiously, but Thire doesn’t bat an eye.

Even though level 2038 is down in the underworld of Coruscant, attacks on the guard by civilians are relatively rare above level 1500, so Thire isn’t too worried.

Onwards he strolls, through the narrow streets when suddenly, a wailing scream captures his attention.

His head snaps towards the source, and his blaster is at the ready before he can make a conscious decision about it. He turns on the lights of his helmet, lighting up a short side corridor. Three pikobi are bent over an unmoving pile of fur on the floor, hacking in on it and letting out high-pitched hunting screeches.

The initial tension drains from his shoulders again. He really is getting a little paranoid.

With a frown, he approaches the little herd slowly. Once he steps closer, they perk their heads to the sky, sniffing. Their yellow eyes reflect the lights of the neon screens of the corner shops. Swiftly they scatter away, little claws tucked to their chests, leaving the pile behind.

Upon closer inspection, the pile turns out to be a feline, more precisely, a small loth-cat. Thire clips his blaster to his belt and kneels down next to the furry creature.

He has a soft spot for loth-cats. There are a lot of stray ones roam the lower levels of Coruscant in little packs. Some have settled down near the guard’s barracks since he and his brothers sometimes feed them.

Thire scoops the loth-cat up into his arms. It is drenched from the rain and a little dirty from the puddle it was laying in. Blood seeps onto his gloves from tiny, deep wounds he can only guess were caused by the pikobi.

“Hello,” he says to the loth-cat and bends over a little to shield the feline from the wetness. It lets out a weak mewl but doesn’t attempt to run. Instead, it curls in on itself, back pressed to Thire’s breastplate and nose tucked under its drenched tail.

“Oh. Okay.”

Following an impulse, he removes his helmet. The wetness hits his face and drenches his hair almost immediately, but he doesn’t mind anymore, once the loth-cat understands his offer and crawls inside of the bucket. It curls up tightly and it’s definitely a tight fit with part of the tail sticking out but Thire just tucks the helmet to his chest and turns to leave.

His hair isn’t dyed right now so even if someone finds out he removed his helmet in public, they will never find out who to write up for it.

It’s almost shift-swap anyways, and he most definitely can’t leave this little one out in the rain, unattended to its wounds. Least he can do is have Tal check it over. And maybe feed it something. Hound probably has some massiff food to spare.

The stroll to the speeder is a good distance but Thire doesn’t hurry. You should never hurry in front of citizens, so you don’t startle them. The presence of guards puts them on edge anyways.

At some point, a tiny nose pokes out from the helmet. Small talons rest on the lip of his bucket and the cool nose pokes against his chin.

“Stay down,” he says firmly and rests his hand on top of the opening to keep the loth-cat safe inside. It mewls softly in return and nudges its snout against his palm repeatedly before quieting down.

The feline is slowly drying inside the helmet and the feeling of warm fur that brushes against his palm every now and then shoots right to his heart. The loth-cat breathes deeply, its humming heart beating under his fingertips.

During the flight back to the barracks, Thire puts the helmet into the footwell of the passenger seat, tilting it lightly so it doesn’t rain into it and drenches the loth-cat again. It stays put, not attempting again to leave its newly acquired, relatively cozy nest.

The halls of the barracks are silent when Thire strides through them. It is late and everyone who isn’t strictly necessary as per shift schedule is catching some shut-eye.

He knocks on the medbay door before pushing the button to slide the door open. Upon the first step inside, Tal is already glancing around the corner of his office. His purple hair is already growing out, only the tips are still shimmering amethyst in the dimmed lights.

“Hey Thire. Everything alright?” The medic asks, leaning against the doorframe. He eyes him down with a glimpse of concern. Thire is pretty sure that Tal knows he is still in pain from his injuries, but he will deny it until he keels over and dies. He learned fleeing the medbay from the best— or, in Tal’s opinion from the worst— and he will make Thorn and Fox proud.

Thire removes his hand from the helmet and shows the contents to Tal. “I found a cat,” he says proudly.

Tal nods and peaks into Thire’s bucket with a tired smile. “Copikla.”

“Can you check it over? It has some wounds.”

“Sure.” Tal directs him to one of the biobeds. Thire takes it as cue to dump the loth-cat out onto it, gently shaking it.

The cat mewls offended and forces itself up on shaky legs. It stumbles a few short steps towards Thire and crashes into his vambrace, clumsily. He picks it up under its belly and turns it over to face Tal.

“No, no. Stay right there. Tal will look you over now, yeah?” He explains to the loth-cat.

It seems to ignore him because it immediately starts to wail loudly and struggles in his grip, batting his claws at Tal. It scratches over the plastoid, creating a brain-wrenching sound.

“Grab its neck!” Tal commands, barely dodging the next hit of the sharp talons.

The cat attempts to wriggle out of Thire’s grip but he is faster and manages to grab it by the neck. He leans forward and traps it with his body on the table. It goes still, suddenly, trilling offendedly.

“Nice catch, vod,” Tal notes. Thire looks up at him with a mixture of concentration and effort in his expression. At Tal’s comment, it twists into a soft grin. Thire’s heart fills with warmth at the simple exchange.

He misses his vode, even though they are all here. Well, all except Rys… He swallows forcefully.

“Thire?” His gaze snaps up.

“Alright?” Tal asks. He nods and redirects his gaze to the loth-cat. Now that the dirt is crumbling from its fur, he can make out the white colour with red and black flecks. It ironically fits the guard.

“Just thinking about Rys. He would have liked this little scoundrel,” he admits quietly. Rys had a habit of getting little drawings of the loth-cats that lived around the barracks tattooed across his arms. It was silly, really.

Of course, the loth-cat on their hands uses his moment of weakness to immediately go after Tal’s hand with its teeth.

“No!” Tal snaps. He is only attempting to disinfect the wounds but clearly the feline wants nothing to do with that and instead starts wailing loudly again.

Tal is lightning fast when he wraps his hand around the loth-cat’s snout, muzzling it effectively but Thire can see the gentleness in his movements.

“Gev!” Tal says sternly with the exact same tone he usually uses when someone tries to sneak away from the medbay to get back to work. ‘Someone’ usually meaning Fox or Thorn.

Treating the loth-cat for its injuries is nothing short of a wrestling match but together they manage to pin it down long enough so Tal can apply some bacta spray and wrap the worst wounds in bandages.

Once he finishes, the medic puts his supplies away before leaning heavily against the biobed.

“Easy,” he breathes out slowly before looking up at Thire. “Don’t think I forgot about you.”

Suddenly, Thire feels threatened again. He attended all of his post-check-ups. Could Tal have noticed that he started patrolling again when he was still on strict flimsi-duty? Did someone rat him out?

“I’m fine,” he answers in an attempt of casualness.

“Sure you are, vod.” Tal checks his commlink. “Thorn is just starting his rest cycle. Go find him and talk to him about why you feel guilty for Rys’ death.”

“Mhh,” Thire hums non-committing and swiftly scoops the loth-cat up, intending to leave.

“That is an order, commander,” Tal adds, making him turn back. The medic stands with his arms crossed, holding his gaze. “I will ask him later so I will know if you complied.”

“Tal. I’m alright. Gedet'ye,” he attempts.

“I will make Stone stage an intervention if you don’t talk on your own terms. Think about it.”

With that, Tal turns and disappears back into his office. Thire knows that these threats are by no means empty. He sighs.

The loth-cat uses its position to brace itself against his shoulders, gently licking the tip of his nose.

“It’s your fault we had to see Tal. And now look at what you got me into,” he accuses.

The cat licks his nose again. Its tongue feels rough on his skin, but he doesn’t push the loth-cat away. The feeling of the warm, breathing body against his neck is nice. Deep inside him, it wakes the urge to pile with his vode for a good night’s sleep. Maybe…

“How about we find you a snack, mhh? And I have to introduce you to Hound. He loves animals.”

“General?”

Obi-Wan perks up from where he is slumped over on his meditation mat.

“Cody? What are you doing here?”

The Jedi looks beyond drained. The deep blue circles under his eyes aren’t really new, Cody has learned that fast and the hard way. Their general is a caffeine addict and a workaholic, and as much as Cody despises it, he won’t blame him for it.

What is new, however, is the more than pale, almost grey, complexion and his shimmering eyes, each iris glowing faintly red in the dim light. It makes a shiver run down Cody’s spine.

“Bacta thinks he found the antidote,” he explains. It was just their luck, during the last stretches of the Umbara campaign, they managed to stumble over some sort of blood drinking rodent that bit their General and transmitted him the same… condition.

It isn’t like Obi-Wan had gone absolutely feral, that seems to be a trait that luckily isn’t transmitted with the bite. Nevertheless, with a sudden, very eerie lust for blood, he had handed over the command to General Tiin, Commander Ven and Cody before locking himself inside his quarters as soon as they boarded the Negotiator.

“Thank the Force.” The Jedi releases a long held breath and immediately jumps up, making him stagger into Cody’s hold, weakly.

“Sir, respectfully, the medics have a reservation.”

Obi-Wan looks at him in confusion.

“What kind of reservation?”

Cody hesitates. He is about to shy away from this part of the conversation and maybe just lie to Bacta, but he is pretty sure that the medic would notice anyways. On top of that, he might put his Jedi’s life on the line with it and that is the last thing he wants.

“Bacta thinks that the retransformation of your digestive system will take a while, so you have to replenish your energy before he is willing to give the antidote to you.”

“I tried to meditate since we returned, Cody. To no avail, I regret. I’ll just have to be fine.”

Cody wants to facepalm, but you don’t do that in front of your general so instead he squeezes his eyes shut and suppressed a groan. Usually, Obi-Wan is less clueless. Not that he holds it against him, this is a foreign situation for all of them.

Cody pulls his bucket off and catches Obi-Wan’s gaze. “He wants you to drink blood,” he clarifies, seriously. “Which is what I am here for. As soon as you finish, they will get to work.”

He watches the gears in Obi-Wan’s head turn until the realization seems to hit him, judging by the mask of utter disbelief on his face.

“No. No, Cody, I can’t expect that of you.”

“You aren’t, Sir. I volunteered.”

“No. I can wait until we get to Coruscant,” he argues. “I appreciate your care and concern, Commander, but I cannot accept such an offer.”

Obi-Wan turns to stagger over to his bunk and Cody follows suit, just in case the Jedi decides to faceplant himself onto the floor.

“It’s not really an offer. Actually, anything but. It is your medic’s order. Wouldn’t want to anger Bacta, now, do we?”

It is foul play, but it is also THE life hack for every CO with a stubborn Jedi. Cody has to know because matters like this are hot topics whenever he is bitching with his batch over comms.

He has little clue what actually happens inside of the Jedi Temple, but almost all Jedi hold healers in high regard, and this thankfully does includes clone medics. A famous exception is General Skywalker who virtually seems to respect no one and apparently made it his life’s purpose to give Coric and Kix grey hair.

“I’m not sure that kind of decision falls within a medics line of work,” Obi-Wan notes and sinks onto the bunk, trying to melt himself into the thin mattress but it has little effect. Cody stands by the bunk, quietly.

“I’m confident in the knowledge that Bacta does not care about details like that,” Cody replies and picks up on the opportunity to remove his helmet.

Obi-Wan’s stubbornness falters and he leans against the wall. “Alright, I guess I will have to accept the conditions. But you have to tell me when I hurt you.” When… not if, Cody notes.

“I’ll shoot you before you can suck me dry,” Cody says, perfectly serious— but with a gentle smile nonetheless— and sits down next to the Jedi.

Obi-Wan sits up and leans against his shoulder. “That is a surprisingly comforting thought, Cody.”

“Just doing my job, Sir. I think the boys need both of us back alive.”

Obi-Wan huffs but relaxes a little so Cody will count it as a win.

“Bacta did some thinking and determined that biting should be our method of choice since it resembles the natural process,” he quotes the medic.

And Bacta told him that he will pump him full of a kark load of antibiotics and the same antidote after this because they don’t know if the general is infectious, like that Umbaran rodent, and apparently, human bites are pretty unhygienic in themselves.

Which is not something his Jedi needs to know so instead he takes off cuirass and piles the pieces neatly and efficiently on the floor.

“I’m curious about the thinking he did and yet I do not want to know any details… alright, where?” Obi-Wan asks.

Cody bares his neck at him. “Neck would be preferred due to the increased blood flow, meaning it will be over quicker”— he quotes their medic— "however, if you don’t feel comfortable with that, wrist will suffice.”

“Are you alright with me biting your neck, Cody?” The Jedi asks.

“More than alright, Sir. Whenever you are ready.” Again, he bares his neck to the smaller man.

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, seemingly steels himself, although he seems to lightly tremble with excitement when he scoots closer to Cody. The Jedi pulls his legs under himself and wraps one arm around Cody’s back.

Obi-Wan breathes and his breath fans against Cody’s neck when he suddenly hauls his teeth into the other’s neck.

The skin breaks almost immediately, and Cody barely suppresses a painful wince. A burning shots through his neck, down his spine and right into his legs, making his muscles tense. He has to fight the urge to pull away from the Jedi and holds still instead.

The feeling lasts only a few short moments when suddenly, a blissful, all-consuming calm floods his body. The pain fades into the background fast.

Maker, hopefully he never finds a drug that feels this good. Cody exhales slowly and closes his eyes. Obi-Wan drinks eagerly but his hold on Cody’s is gently, his hand resting between the other’s shoulder blades and holding him upright.

Cody feels safe. And drugged out of his mind but that is beside the point.

They sit in silence while Obi-Wan drinks. He barely lets go off Cody to breath and if he does, he immediately latches back on, apparently starving.

Cody has no idea how much blood he has already given when his vision starts to cloud up. He feels dizzy, the same way he feels when he has one too many drinks on a night out.

He attempts to raise his free hand to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his body feeling so very heavy that he barely manages. He squeezes the Jedi’s shoulder gently.

“General. I think you have to let me go,” he states but hesitates to push the Jedi away. Only if he doesn’t let go.

Obi-Wan swallows a few more mouthful of blood, panting heavily. Cody sluggishly runs his hand from his Jedi’s arm over his shoulder and to his neck, squeezing lightly.

The edges of his vision cloud and fade to black slowly. Suddenly, he can hear his own breathing very loudly.

As much as the blood fervour seems to have gripped Obi-Wan, now he immediately pulls himself away from Cody’s neck and helps the other slide down onto the mattress slowly.

Slowly, Cody’s vision clears up but it still keeps tumbling over so he lets his eyes slip shut. The sheets are nice and cool under his cheek and hands, but he cringes at the drops of blood that run down his neck and soak the edge of his blacks.

The mattress dips and just a moment later, a wet cloth is run over his neck, wiping away the sticky blood and cooling down his overheated skin.

“Cody?” The clouds lift a little from his mind, but Cody feels so drained that he only manages an acknowledging hum, hoping it will suffice as a sign of life for now.

Obi-Wan reciprocates his hum and presses the cloth over the twin wounds.

He nudges Cody to the side a little and the commander complies, lets himself be man-handled just a little, mostly because he is too weak to fight back. Obi-Wan already seems a little livelier and that reassures him in the best way. He lets himself relax.

Obi-Wan lies down next to him and they simply breath for a moment before Cody sluggishly lifts his comm to his mouth. He winces lowly at the pain. The muscles on the side of the bite are straining painfully against the movement.

He pings Bacta but he lacks any more energy to actually call him. The medic will probably come check on them soon.

“Thank you, Cody,” Obi-Wan says against his shoulder.

The smallest of Coruscant’s moons looks almost like a miniature version of the planet it rotates around, light polluting its surface and stretching in a net around the small sphere.

Even during daytime, one can make out the faint glow of it in the blue sky. Now it is dark night, Comet is sitting on the landing platform of the clone bunks between the Jedi Temple and the Senate Buildings where the battalions usually stay for shore leave.

He can’t sleep. Virtually, none of them have been sleeping well since the whole Malevolence disaster. He wasn’t in the Abregado System with the rest of the Wolf Pack due to a half-exploded broken leg that demanded a trip to Kamino, but the pain doesn’t linger any less deep.

On one hand, he is glad he wasn’t there. He is still alive and, rationally thinking, there is nothing he could have done to help. It is very likely that he would have simply died alongside the rest of his pack. This way, he gets to live.

On the other hand,… his pack is dead. Almost everyone he ever knew is dead. All of his batchmates are dead, all nine of them. He was lucky that he grew up with all of them and now they are gone, somewhere in the cold of open space or crammed together in a defect escape pod, waiting for the clankers to get them. He has to live.

Steps approach from behind, dragging a little, tired and while it is far more likely that it is one of the guys from the Guard, he knows these steps a little too well.

Sinker sinks down next to him and crosses his legs.

“Holding up?” His brother asks. He’s wearing the lower half of the armour that he brought back from Abregado. They’ll pick a new colour sometime soon, once the puppies from Kamino arrive and earn their stripes. Run out has the time of the burgundy Wolf Pack.

Comet nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Boost and Fox finally dragged Wolffe to sleep,” Sinker answers. There is humour in his voice, although they have worried about their commander a lot over the last few days. Sinker’s eyes don’t smile.

“Took both of them to keep him down?” Comet huffs and turns his head away.

“Something like that.”

When they returned to Triple Zero, Fox had enlisted a few of his closer brothers from the Corries to join the Wolf Pack in their almost entirely unoccupied bunk room.

It is a small comfort. At least it has chased away the dead silence in the corridors and filled the nights with the quiet life of slow, regular breathing. Thorn’s snores aren’t quite loud enough to resemble the noises Growl used to make. It doesn’t matter because Comet rather wanders the halls than sleep and he should really stop thinking about his dead brothers unless he wants to make a fool of himself in front of Sinker.

Silence hangs between them for a few moments.

“Can’t believe someone actually came to save us,” Sinker mumbles, almost too low for Comet to understand if he didn’t know the exact words, hadn’t heard them quite a lot of times before and even more so after Abregado.

“Maker, will you shut up,” Comet can’t help but hiss.

“It’s true. You know it.” He hates that low tone. Sinker is supposed to bicker and shout and howl with them. Not carry this kind of bitterness in his voice. It makes heat rise to Comet’s head.

Rationally, he knows that without the General, there in the pod with his brothers, it is… very possible that no one would have come to get them. It is not like the Republic notoriously leaves their troopers behind but in a battle against a weapon like that, with their forces stretched thin to begin with and no real prospect of survivors…

His muscles tighten up. He swallows down some unpleasant emotions and instead hauls himself at Sinker.

Sinker looks more than surprised and is slow to react, so Comet quickly gains the upper hand in their fight and manages to pin his brother face down on the concrete.

Usually, when they wrestle for fun, Comet got little on Sinker but with ten pounds more armour on him and the rather unfair advantage that the latter crawled out of an escape pod half dead just a few rotations ago, he manages to hold him down.

“Stay down and listen up, you di’kut,” he growls.

Sinker writhes under him and tries to get a dirty kick to his back but Comet is quick enough to dodge and block his thighs with his other leg.

“Let me go, kark— Comet, you ass!” Sinker hisses back but tones down his resistance so it does little more than protect his ego.

“I said stay down! Stay down—,” Comet is struggling for words. His blood is boiling with anger, and he really doesn’t want to hurt Sinker, but he digs his fingers into his wrists just a little too tight.

“We got the best Jetii you could possibly want to serve under and all you— all you do is try to convince him to throw our lives away. What is wrong with you?!”

Sinker goes still under him and for a moment, both of them breath heavily without sharing any more words.

Finally, Sinker taps out and Comet does let him go, even though there is a high chance he will get his shebs kicked in return or worse.

Sinker turns to look at him, but he doesn’t jump at Comet, doesn’t even throw a punch at him, actually. He looks guilty.

“Comet…”

“Don’t— just, just— don’t.” Comet turns away and wishes for his bucket. Suddenly he feels uncomfortable with his expression so open on display. “All we ever wanted is to be treated like people.”

“The general knows,” Sinker mutters and sits down close enough to him to nudge their shoulders together. “He cares. Doesn’t matter if I get it or not.”

Comet is still angry but the prospect of fighting with anyone from his pack right now is unbearable. Instead, he forces himself to nudge Sinker back in an attempt of making peace.

They won’t come to an agreement today or on any day in the future. He leans heavily against his brother and lets his eyes fall shut. The cool air bristles against his hot face.

Sinker flicks his forehead. “I demand a fair rematch, tomorrow.”

Comet huffs but nods lightly. “I’ll kick your shebs. Make Boost tease you mercilessly about it, forever.”

1: "Stay down." Rules | Unfair Fight | Dehumanization

After the remainders of the Wolf Pack return to Coruscant, Comet can't help himself and addresses Sinker's dehumanization. They punch it out and make up.

2: "You have to let me go." Bite (AP)

It is just his luck that Obi-Wan got bitten by a blood-feral rodent on Umbara and it is even more his luck that a certain lust for blood is now clinging to his every step too. Luckily, his medics have already found a cure. Responsible they are, there are a few strings attached.

3: "Don't move!" (AP) Grief (5) | Muzzled (27)

Thire is alone on patrol, finds a loth-cat and is coping badly with Rys' death. The Corrie's medic tries to push him towards acceptance.

4: "Hopefully." (AP) Dragged | Blankets | Scream (AP)

Obi-Wan Kenobi goes from apprentice to master in less than a week. With Qui-Gon Jinn dead, Mace Windu sees it as his duty to look after the young Jedi Knight while pointedly trying to ignore the shatterpoints that linger around Obi-Wan's young padawan.

5: "Why are you looking at me like this?" (24) Lost at Sea | Drowning (2) | Flood (15) | Near-death experience (30)

During a mission, a dam breaks right in front of Sev and pulls him under. When the water swallows him, he soon realizes that he might have to say goodbye to his life. Luckily, he still has his brothers with him, who are not willing to let him go yet.

6: "You're next." Forced to Watch | Denial

7: "Can you hear me?" Adverse Reaction | Fever | Buried Alive

8: "Don't you dare." Protective | Bedridden (AP)

9: "I made a mistake." Crying | Friendly Fire | Broken Glass

10: "Where am I?" Blind | Overthinking | Handcuffs

11: "Maybe it's better this way." Left for Dead | Pressure | Anxiety

12: "Don't lie to me." Last Wish | Hidden Injury | Stabilization

13: "I just want to forget." Touch Aversion | Lost | Locked Door (AP)

14: "I'm so sorry." (AP) Darkness | Trembling

15: "Watch Out!" Earthquake | Sandstorm | Flood

16: "Take me instead." Kidnapping | Curse | Whimper

17: "I'm worried about you." Missing Time | Concussion | Mind Control (29)

18: "How long have you been like this?" Withheld Medication | Below Zero | Weak

19: "Whatever happens..." Major Character Death | Carry | Regret

20: "It'll be fine." Self-Surgery | Crutches | Sprain

21: "You'll be okay. Maybe." (AP) Heatwave | Spite | Dissociation

22: "You're still you." Recovery | Quiet Company

23: "But you promised." Plea | Innocence | Unreliable

24: "Why are you looking at me like this?" Drugged | Dislocated

25: "This is all my fault." Confession | Fool | Pushed Away

26: "You're only making it worse." Flare | Virus | Poison Ivy

27: "You're pathetic." Kneeling | Muzzled | Manipulation

28: "I'll never stop." (AP) Stalking

29: "Trust me." Forbidden Love | Doubt