This is my very first fanfiction, so I'm still learning as I go. I've always loved creating stories, but I never had the courage to publish one until now.
A quick heads-up: this story blends the Criminal Minds canon with my own original storyline. Some episodes will be adapted, some events will be changed, and others will be completely original. Because of that, there may be spoilers for the series, so read at your own risk.
I'd also like to mention that English isn't my first language. If you notice any mistakes in names, words, or expressions, feel free to let me know kindly in the comments. I'd really appreciate it, and it'll help me improve.
Comments, theories, and constructive criticism are always welcome. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.
Contents: 4k words, FLUFF, slow burn, Spencer Reid X Oc, awkward flirting, found family, elevator scene, enemies to friends, friends to lovers.
Synopsis: At first glance, Olivia Hayes seems like nothing more than a pretty, spoiled rich girl. But behind her polished appearance lies a brilliant mind with an exceptional talent for analyzing patterns and human behavior. As she joins the BAU, she'll have to prove that first impressions can be deceiving while taking on increasingly complex cases alongside the team.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing an office filled with desks buried beneath stacks of papers, folders, and closed case files scattered in every direction. The place seemed to exist in a permanent state of organized chaos, as though every pile of documents held its own meaning that only the people who worked there could understand. Among all those cluttered desks, only one stood empty—almost unnaturally tidy compared to the rest.
Olivia adjusted her jeans once more, more out of habit than necessity, then shifted the strap of her bag higher on her right shoulder as she walked toward the vacant desk. She kept her eyes fixed on it the entire way, trying to ignore the countless glances she knew were following her. Even without looking directly at anyone, she could feel the curiosity radiating from the people around her, as if they were all silently trying to figure out who the new agent was.
The few seconds it took to cross the room felt much longer.
When she finally reached the desk, Olivia took a quiet breath before glancing around. Most people had already returned to their own work, but one person was still watching her.
A lanky young man with light brown hair that nearly brushed his shoulders sat a few desks away. His gaze was curious and attentive, as though he were studying something he hadn't quite figured out yet.
Olivia held his gaze for a few seconds.
Then he looked away.
Before either of them could say anything, a voice rose above the office chatter.
"Olivia Hayes."
She turned immediately.
Standing before her was a tall, slightly pale man with black hair and equally dark eyes. His hand was already extended, waiting for her to shake it.
Olivia hadn't even noticed him approaching. Her attention had still been fixed on the long-haired young man. Not because he was especially handsome or familiar, but because he looked to be about her age. Before arriving, Olivia had imagined she'd be working alongside agents much older than herself—seasoned FBI veterans with years of experience. Seeing someone her own age brought an unexpected sense of relief.
Maybe she wouldn't be the odd one out after all.
"Olivia?" the man prompted again.
She blinked a few times, realizing she was still looking at the young man, who had now returned her gaze.
"I'm sorry. I'm still getting used to the environment," she said at last, shaking his hand. "You must be Agent Aaron Hotchner, am I right?"
"You are. It's a pleasure to meet you." He gestured toward the young man she'd been staring at moments before. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid."
It took Reid a few seconds to realize they were talking about him. Once he did, he stood a little awkwardly and looked back at Olivia, now on his feet, clearly making an effort to appear more engaged in the conversation.
"Hello. I'm Olivia Hayes. It's nice to meet you."
She smiled warmly—the kind of smile that perfectly matched the deep burgundy lipstick she was wearing—and held out her hand, repeating the same greeting she'd given Hotch.
But anyone who had known Reid for more than a week already knew exactly what was about to happen.
Olivia's hand remained outstretched for several long, increasingly awkward seconds. When it became obvious he wasn't going to move, she slowly lowered it, tilting her head slightly as a curious expression settled across her face, touched with just the faintest hint of sarcasm.
The silence became uncomfortable.
Hotch finally stepped in.
"Dr. Reid doesn't shake hands. It's... kind of his thing."
Trying to ease the tension, Spencer simply lifted one hand in a small wave and offered her a shy smile—probably the goofiest smile Olivia had ever seen.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Germs?"
Reid seemed immediately delighted to answer.
"Actually, the average human hand can carry around one hundred and fifty different species of bacteria, along with a significant number of other microorganisms that are easily transmitted through direct physical contact, especially in environments with heavy foot traffic—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Olivia was still looking at him with the exact same amused expression.
"...Never mind. Yes. Let's just say it's the germs."
Before the awkward moment could stretch any further, someone called for Hotch from the other side of the room.
"I'll catch up with you later. I hope you settle in quickly," he said before walking away.
Olivia was still processing everything that had just happened when a blonde woman stepped out of one of the offices carrying a box filled with what looked like office decorations. She wore several layers of brightly colored clothing, eye-catching accessories, and carried a blue handbag that was impossible to ignore.
"Gideon took everything except the photos."
The moment she noticed Olivia, she stopped dead in the middle of the bullpen and looked her up and down with open curiosity.
"Wait. Blonde. Green eyes. Burgundy lipstick. Who are you, and why are you in my unit?"
Olivia smiled immediately.
"Olivia Hayes, at your service." She extended her hand with a playful grin. "Do you shake hands?"
"I'm Penelope Garcia. Looks like you've already met Reid. Unlike him, I happen to love physical contact."
Garcia held out her hand, and Olivia shook it without a second thought.
Spencer watched the exchange for a few seconds before subtly taking two small steps backward, as if creating a safe distance between himself and the interaction.
Garcia rolled her eyes.
Olivia simply smiled, clearly amused by the whole thing, before saying,
"Dr. Reid, relax. I promise I didn't bring any deadly bacteria into the office today."
She let out a quiet laugh.
Reid looked at her with complete seriousness.
"So... you really take that seriously?" she asked.
He held her gaze for a moment, as though debating whether the explanation was worth giving.
Eventually, he decided it was.
"Statistically speaking, human hands can carry hundreds of different microorganisms, and physical contact significantly increases the probability of transmission."
"He's like this all the time," Garcia said, setting her purse on Olivia's desk. "You get used to it."
Before Olivia could respond, the sound of confident footsteps echoed through the bullpen.
"What's going on over here?"
The deep voice came from behind them.
"Oh, perfect timing!" Garcia exclaimed.
Olivia turned around.
The man walking toward them was tall, dark-haired, and had the kind of presence that made people look twice. Most people would probably call him incredibly handsome.
Olivia simply regarded him with mild curiosity.
He wasn't exactly her type.
Not that she really had one.
He stopped beside Garcia and looked at Olivia with interest.
"We got company?"
Garcia's smile widened.
"Derek Morgan, allow me to introduce the newest addition to our little behavioral circus."
Olivia raised an eyebrow.
"Circus?"
"You haven't seen anything yet," Garcia replied.
Morgan offered his hand naturally.
"Agent Derek Morgan."
Olivia shook it without hesitation.
"Olivia Hayes."
Morgan shot Reid a quick glance. The younger agent was still standing a respectable distance away, as though Olivia posed some kind of microbiological threat.
"Has Reid scared the rookie with statistics yet?"
"Not yet," Olivia answered with a grin. "But I think he was just about to."
Reid frowned slightly.
"I wasn't scaring anyone."
Garcia smiled.
"Sweetie, are you sure you want your first impression on the new girl to be a lecture about microorganisms?"
Morgan chuckled.
"So, Olivia, tell me something. Did you ask for a transfer here, or was this some kind of administrative punishment?"
Olivia crossed her arms and leaned casually against her desk.
"I'm still trying to figure that out."
A crooked smile spread across Morgan's face.
"Good answer."
Garcia let out a dramatic sigh, wearing an exaggeratedly sad expression.
"But seriously, guys... what am I supposed to do with Gideon's stuff?"
Reid stepped closer to inspect the box, still holding a small note in one hand as if he refused to let go of it.
"He said the photographs were of his family. It makes sense that those are the only things he took."
Olivia glanced at the box with quiet curiosity, but it felt too personal to ask about.
Before the conversation could continue, Hotch's firm voice echoed across the bullpen. He walked past them with a blonde woman Olivia hadn't been introduced to yet following close behind.
"Conference room. Now."
Everyone immediately started moving.
Olivia picked up her bag from her chair and followed the others toward the conference room. As she passed Reid, she slowed her pace ever so slightly.
"Hundreds of microorganisms, huh?" she said casually.
Reid looked at her, clearly surprised that she was still thinking about it.
"Technically... more than that."
Olivia laughed softly.
"I'll try to survive."
For a moment, Reid looked as though he was about to say something… but no response seemed technically correct.
The conference room was already almost full when Olivia walked in behind the others. The room was simple, dominated by a large table in the center and a whiteboard at the front, where several photographs had already been pinned alongside reports and quick notes written in black marker. A large television in one corner displayed a picture of one of the victims. The room had the familiar feeling of a place that was always in motion, as though each case left temporary traces before being replaced by the next.
Olivia chose a seat near the end of the table, trying to appear as natural as possible while discreetly observing the team's dynamic. Morgan leaned against the table with his arms crossed. On the other side of the room, an elegant brunette studied the photographs on the board with an analytical gaze.
Reid remained standing for a few seconds before finally taking a seat, arranging a few papers as though doing so helped him organize his thoughts.
The same blonde woman was placing case files on the table for everyone to review.
A few moments later, Aaron Hotchner entered the room carrying a folder. Without much ceremony, he spoke.
"I'd like to say something," he said to the blonde woman, and everyone's attention immediately shifted to him. "I imagine you're all wondering what happened. I've known Jason for a long time, but all I can honestly say is… I have no idea."
Olivia had no idea what was going on. She assumed that someone on the team—a longtime member—had decided to leave.
Hotch continued.
"But that doesn't matter. We're here, and we have to keep moving."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Olivia couldn't help thinking this had to be the worst possible time to arrive. It was already uncomfortable enough being the new agent, but it was even worse to be the new agent when someone had recently left the team.
Hotch's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"And this is the new agent Headquarters sent us. She won't be replacing Gideon—not yet. We're still deciding who will. For now, she's simply another member of the team. Her name is Olivia Hayes."
Olivia waved with the best smile she could manage. After being introduced as "just another member of the team," it felt like a blow to her self-esteem.
Without wasting another second, Hotch began presenting the case.
"The Portland Field Office discovered a mass grave containing three victims who had been dead for approximately six months. A second grave nearby contained another victim. Causes of death range from being burned alive to asphyxiation. No signs of sexual assault."
Morgan lowered the coffee cup he'd been drinking from.
"The torture is clearly sadistic."
Reid looked ready to speak, but Olivia beat him to it, sounding almost excited.
"But without a sexual preference, it's difficult to determine whether the unsub is male or female."
Reid looked at her with mild confusion—not because of what she'd said, but because of how quickly she'd said it.
Then the dark-haired woman with striking eyes crossed her arms.
"Most killers stick to the same method. This guy seems to like changing things up."
Still standing, Hotch pointed to the victim's photograph on the television.
"The most recent victim, Jenny Whitman, was found yesterday. Cause of death: asphyxiation."
Reid frowned at the image. Olivia was about to ask something herself, but he spoke first.
"How long had she been missing?"
"No missing person's report was ever filed," Hotch replied, walking closer to the table.
Olivia took advantage of the fact that Reid had asked the exact same question she had been thinking.
"What about the others?"
"Only one."
"One out of four?" she asked, now looking through the files.
Reid, still wearing a puzzled expression, looked at Olivia for a few moments before the blonde woman standing beside the television answered.
"Rick Holland was reported missing nine months ago, but the search was eventually called off."
"His family found his car at the train station," Hotch added. "More importantly, they said they kept receiving emails from him saying he needed some time to sort things out."
"And his family bought it?" Morgan asked, leaning back against his chair with the files in his hands.
"I think the alternative was simply too painful to accept," Hotch replied seriously.
Reid leaned forward slightly and looked at Hotch.
"Maintaining contact can be a sign of remorse."
Olivia subtly shook her head, making a point of not looking at Reid.
"Psychopaths don't usually apologize. He's covering his tracks."
Spencer immediately shrank back into his chair, clearly a little irritated, and looked at Olivia for several seconds before Morgan spoke.
"And it's been working."
He looked down at the files in frustration.
Without another word, the dark-haired woman stood up and walked over to the board displaying the victims' photographs and maps of the area.
"So, the first three victims were buried in the same grave, and then only Jenny Whitman was buried in the second one."
Olivia shifted in her seat, almost restlessly, before looking at the woman.
"Do you think it's a pattern?"
"It's hard to tell," the woman admitted, looking disappointed that she didn't have the answer.
Hotch picked up his copy of the case file from the table and looked around at the team.
"If it is a pattern, then we're missing two victims. Everybody to the jet. Wheels up in thirty."
Everyone immediately got moving. Some grabbed folders, others picked up jackets and bags, and began filing out of the room. The only ones who stayed behind were the two women Olivia hadn't met yet. As Olivia gave the case one last look, they walked over to her.
"Hi! It's nice to meet you," the brunette said, extending her hand. "I'm Emily Prentiss."
"Olivia Hayes. The pleasure's mine."
"Hi, I'm Jennifer Jareau," the blonde said with a smile. "But you can call me JJ."
Before any of the three women could say anything else, Morgan appeared in the doorway.
"If you ladies don't mind… we're waiting on you."
The three women exchanged glances before gathering their things and following Morgan.
On the way to the elevator, Emily turned to Olivia.
"So, what division were you in before joining the BAU?"
"Actually… none. I finished my specialization recently and had been working in statistical analysis applied to criminal behavior. I guess someone decided that might be useful here."
JJ, who was walking beside Emily, turned to Olivia as well, wearing a puzzled but kind expression.
"That's not exactly common. You don't have any field experience, do you?"
"Not really. I don't even have a license to carry a firearm yet. Hopefully I'll get one in the next few months. Until then, you'd better not count on me to protect anybody."
Olivia smiled as she said it, and everyone chuckled softly.
As they approached the elevator, Olivia noticed Reid reading through a file, probably the case notes. He looked up as the others approached and closed the folder, noticing everyone laughing.
"What's so funny this time?"
"Our newest teammate," Morgan replied, patting Reid on the back as he walked past him and stepped into the elevator, which had just arrived.
Emily and JJ followed him inside, leaving Olivia next. She walked past Reid without any hesitation, meeting his eyes, but he looked away before following her into the elevator.
The elevator lurched gently as it began its descent, accompanied by the metallic hum that echoed through the enclosed space.
"I never get used to that," JJ commented, discreetly holding onto the side rail.
Reid subtly adjusted his position, putting a little more distance between himself and everyone else. It wasn't obvious, but it seemed completely automatic—a habit.
Morgan noticed immediately.
"Relax, man. Nobody's going to infect you with some superbug in the next thirty seconds."
Reid kept his eyes forward.
"You never know," he replied evenly. "Especially with people you don't know."
The silence lasted about half a second.
Then, almost simultaneously, everyone's eyes turned toward Olivia.
Morgan raised an eyebrow.
"Uh-oh…"
Emily looked away, trying to suppress a smile. JJ wasn't much more successful.
Olivia simply tilted her head, studying Reid.
"So I'm the problem?"
Reid blinked a few times, as though only then realizing what he'd just implied.
"No. That's not what I meant. I wasn't saying you—"
"Relax," she interrupted calmly. "I get it."
The atmosphere grew awkward for a brief moment.
Then, without warning, Olivia stepped forward and lightly touched Reid's arm.
A quick gesture.
Simple.
Entirely intentional.
"There," she said. "Now you'll find out."
Morgan immediately turned his head away, clearly trying not to laugh.
"I can't believe you just did that…"
JJ covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. Emily looked away, but the smile on her face was already impossible to hide.
Reid stood completely still for a second, staring at the spot where she'd touched him. It wasn't exactly panic—more like he was trying to process something completely unexpected.
"That doesn't…" he began, stopping halfway through the sentence. "That doesn't eliminate the variables."
"But it reduces them," Olivia replied, folding her arms.
He looked at her for a long moment, studying her more carefully now.
"Familiarity isn't determined by physical contact."
"But it helps," she shot back.
A brief silence settled between them.
Morgan shook his head, still smiling.
"This is going to be interesting."
"This is going to cause problems," JJ commented lightly.
"Oh, it definitely will," Emily added, watching the two of them.
The elevator began to slow.
Reid looked away for a moment, as though reorganizing his thoughts.
"Even so…" he said at last, his expression as serious as ever as he stared ahead. "I'd still prefer a warning first."
Olivia gave him a small smile.
"I'll keep that in mind."
The elevator doors slid open.
Morgan was the first one out, still shaking his head. JJ and Emily followed close behind, exchanging a discreet glance.
Reid hesitated for a brief second before stepping out as well, keeping what he considered a comfortable distance. Olivia was the last to leave.
The walk to the jet was quiet.
Everyone boarded and quickly settled into their usual seats, leaving Olivia feeling slightly out of place once again.
As soon as she stepped inside, she noticed that, unlike the office, everything in the jet seemed to have its own place. It wasn't perfectly organized, but it was functional. Two rows of seats faced each other along the narrow aisle, with small tables between them already covered in case files and folders. The cabin was compact, yet comfortable enough for everyone to work during the flight.
Morgan was one of the first aboard. He headed straight for a seat in the middle of the cabin, dropped his file onto the table, and sat back comfortably, as if he were completely at home there.
Hotch had already boarded before everyone else. He sat in one of the seats near the middle of the aircraft, a table in front of him with an open case file and several photographs spread across it. He looked so focused on the case that he barely acknowledged the other agents as they came in.
Emily chose her seat without hesitation, as though she instinctively knew where she belonged. She sat across from Hotch, crossing one leg over the other and leaning lightly against the table while reading through the reports without losing awareness of everything happening around her.
Reid, on the other hand, headed straight to the back of the jet.
Without stopping.
Without hesitating.
As if he'd walked that path a thousand times before.
He chose one of the seats nearest the rear of the cabin, where there was less movement and the conversations were quieter, yet he could still hear everything related to the case. The moment he sat down, he opened the folder he'd been carrying, his fingers turning the pages with practiced familiarity. His eyes moved quickly, absorbing information with remarkable ease, as though the world around him simply ceased to exist whenever he started reading.
Not entirely, though.
Every so often, Reid would glance up for only a second or two—just long enough to register where everyone was, who was speaking, who had moved—before returning to the file.
The back of the jet wasn't just quieter.
It was where he could think.
Olivia remained standing for a few seconds after everyone else had taken their seats.
It wasn't because she didn't know where to sit.
She was simply observing.
By now, she'd already noticed the pattern.
Morgan in the middle.
Emily near Hotch.
JJ organizing the files.
…And Reid in the back, exactly where she'd expected him to be.
She could have taken a seat in the middle. That was probably what everyone expected.
But Olivia had never been one to do what people expected of her.
Without rushing, she walked down the aisle, passing everyone without saying a word.
As she reached the back of the cabin, she slowed her pace slightly, almost as if she were making up her mind.
She wasn't.
She sat down directly across from Reid.
Just like that.
A narrow table covered with files and a laptop separated them.
She didn't sit unnecessarily close to him, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them.
Not enough to seem accidental, though.
She opened her folder and began reviewing the case files, just like everyone else.
Reid noticed immediately.
She didn't even need to look at him to know.
It was something subtle—the way he lifted his eyes for a second longer than necessary, silently assessing the situation.
He didn't say anything.
But he didn't ignore it, either.
Olivia fought back a smile.
She'd already decided it would be fun to tease him.
Not because she was a bully or anything like that.
There was just something about the way he carried himself that caught her attention.
Maybe, deep down, she simply wanted to break some of the tension she'd felt since joining the team.
And somehow, she'd started with him.
At least, that's what she told herself.
She calmly turned another page, as though nothing had happened.
Across from her, Reid went back to reading.
But it was obvious it wasn't quite the same anymore.
Something had changed.
Maybe he was uncomfortable.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that he now had to share his space with someone he clearly hadn't chosen.
Olivia still didn't know exactly what his problem with her was.
But she already knew there was one.
And, honestly…
That only made everything a little more interesting.
Olivia had always been that way.
Whenever someone disliked her, she'd never felt obligated to like them back.
But she never let it go, either.
She enjoyed the challenge.
Maybe it was a little childish.
But it was fun.
Hotch's deep voice pulled Olivia from her thoughts.
"Let's review what happened in Portland."
"A woman and two men were found buried together in the same grave," JJ said, now seated near Morgan. "They were all between twenty-five and thirty years old, and they'd all been dead for about six months."
She finished and looked at Hotch.
"Looks like three different MOs to me," Emily suggested.
Reid looked up from the file in front of him.
"Gary Taylor, the Phantom Sniper, was just as eclectic as this unsub."
"He changed his methods depending on what gave him the most control over the situation. That makes sense," Olivia said, glancing at Reid with her head tilted slightly.
He looked back at her for a few seconds before turning away to stare out the window. His expression was almost angry.
Almost.
"And the more recent grave?" Hotch asked, his expression unchanged.
"A twenty-eight-year-old woman. She died about forty-eight hours ago. Cause of death: asphyxiation."
"Good thing the dump site was compromised," Morgan said from his seat.
"As soon as the unsub realizes that, he'll feel the pressure we're putting on him," Emily said, looking toward JJ. "He may make a mistake."
The cabin fell silent for a moment.
Then a voice came through the speaker on the table between Olivia and Reid.
"Hey, you guys down there."
"Oh, hi, Garcia," Olivia said, turning the laptop so everyone could see and hear.
"Hi, my gorgeous new friend."
Everyone got up and moved toward the back of the jet to hear what Garcia had to say.
"Attention, members of my favorite crime-fighting family: our killer keeps sinking lower and lower. He's been impersonating the victims, manipulating two families into believing everything was fine even after they'd reported them missing."
Garcia's face looked genuinely heartbroken. She was clearly a deeply empathetic person, Olivia realized.
"One of the fake emails was supposedly from their daughter. She claimed she'd met a guy who was taking her to Australia for a few weeks. By the time her family contacted the Australian authorities… it was already too late."
"The unsub has a lot of information about the victims," Morgan said, leaning against the seat beside Olivia.
"How did he get access to their email accounts?" Emily asked from the seat next to Reid.
"The usernames were the same, but the email domains were different. The families never noticed. I'll let you know as soon as I put more pieces of this puzzle together. Bye!"
Garcia ended the call.
Everyone turned toward Hotch, who already looked ready to hand out orders again.
"The guy's creative. Let's go over everything again and make sure we haven't missed anything."
Everyone returned to their previous seats.
The rest of the flight turned out exactly as Olivia had expected.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
It wasn't an awkward silence. It was the silence of people concentrating.
Pages turning.
Someone making notes in a case file.
The steady hum of the jet engines filling the cabin.
Every now and then someone made a brief observation about the case, but nothing that truly interrupted the rhythm.
Olivia tried to absorb everything.
It was her real first day.
Her first case.
Her first flight with the team.
And despite how calm she appeared, there was a pleasant restlessness inside her—a mixture of excitement and curiosity.
The feeling that she was exactly where she wanted to be…
Even if she still didn't know whether she truly belonged there.
From time to time, she looked up from the files.
Hotch remained completely focused on the case, as though nothing else around him existed.
Morgan alternated between reading and making quick observations.
JJ and Emily quietly discussed details from the reports.
Reid remained in the same seat, though now he seemed even more absorbed than before, almost as if he were deliberately avoiding looking in her direction.
Honestly, that only reinforced Olivia's theory that he genuinely didn't like having her around.
She just wanted to know why.
And she had a feeling she'd find out before the day was over.
The landing came sooner than it seemed.
As soon as the jet came to a stop and everyone began gathering their things, Hotch was already assigning vehicles.
"JJ, Emily, you're with me."
Morgan grabbed a set of keys almost immediately.
"That leaves you two with me."
He gestured toward Olivia and Reid.
Reid didn't look particularly pleased about the arrangement.
Once again, Olivia found herself wanting to ask what it was about her that bothered him so much.
The walk to the car was quick.
Morgan got in first, spinning the keys around one finger before sliding into the driver's seat.
Reid climbed into the passenger seat right after him, opening his case file on his lap almost in the same motion.
Olivia got into the back seat last, settling in and pulling the door shut with a gentle push.
The car pulled away.
For a few seconds, the only sounds filling the car were the engine and the traffic outside.
"You drive so calmly," Olivia said, looking out the window. "Now I'm curious to see what you're like in a high-speed chase."
"Oh, I don't think you'd—"
"He drives normally," Reid cut in flatly before Morgan could finish.
Olivia looked at him through the rearview mirror.
"I don't think I was talking to you."
"I know."
Morgan let out a low whistle and kept driving.
At first, Olivia had only been curious because she thought Reid simply didn't like her. She had even considered leaving him alone after a while.
Not anymore.
After that, he was doomed.
Little did Reid know what he'd just gotten himself into.
"Is your arm okay?" Olivia asked.
With the windows down, she could see Reid's reflection perfectly in the rearview mirror. He looked back at her.
"My arm?" he asked, confused.
"You know… where I touched you. I figured it would've fallen off by now."
Morgan let out a quiet chuckle.
A few minutes later, Morgan turned off the engine. Just as everyone was about to get out, he raised a hand, signaling for them to wait.
He looked at both of them with a serious expression.
"Look, I don't know what you two have going on, and honestly, it's none of my business. But we've got a case. Whatever problem you have with each other stays in this car—at least until we've solved it. Understood?"
They both gave small nods.
Once they arrived at the FBI field office in Portland, they met up with the rest of the team and headed straight for the office of the agent in charge of the case.
His name was Bill Calvert.
After JJ quickly introduced everyone, Hotch got straight to the point.
"I'd like to take a look at one of the victim's apartments. Jenny Whitman's."
Bill simply nodded and handed over the necessary information.
"Thank you."
Hotch was already getting to his feet when he added,
"Olivia and Reid, you're with me."
Before he'd even finished speaking, Olivia was already out in the hallway.
She walked with flawless posture, the sound of her heels echoing against the floor as she absentmindedly adjusted a loose strand of blonde hair.
Reid followed a few steps behind, carrying the case file.
"Wittman's apartment is on the fourth floor," he commented, watching Olivia press the elevator button.
The doors slowly slid open.
Olivia stepped inside without hesitation.
"Finally."
Reid followed her in, only to notice that Hotch was still standing outside.
"You're taking the stairs?" he asked, surprised.
"I'll meet you upstairs."
The doors began to close.
As soon as the elevator started moving, Olivia frowned.
"This elevator feels… weird."
She gave a couple of small bounces on the balls of her feet, trying to figure out whether the elevator was actually moving.
Reid sighed.
"Could you please not do that?"
"What? I'm just trying to figure out if this thing's actually moving or if we've been scammed."
"I honestly don't know."
Olivia looked up at the control panel.
"Oh, you know what?"
She began repeatedly pressing the "Open Door" button.
"Don't do that!" Reid said, already sounding genuinely concerned.
She raised an eyebrow.
"And why not?"
"Because elevators cause around six fatalities every year. On top of that, more than ten thousand people are hospitalized annually due to elevator-related accidents."
Olivia slowly turned to face him.
"Dr. Reid…"
A crooked smile spread across her face.
"Are you scared?"
"I just don't want to get stuck in an elevator with you."
"Wow. Rude."
Even so, she kept pressing the button.
"Olivia…"
She ignored him completely.
Without thinking, Reid reached out and grabbed her wrist to stop her.
She froze.
So did he.
Olivia lowered her gaze to his hand wrapped around her wrist before looking back up into his brown eyes.
It took Reid a full second to realize he was still holding her.
Before either of them could say anything—
The elevator jolted violently.
Both of them lost their balance.
Reid stumbled forward, instinctively bracing one hand against the wall to keep from crashing into her completely.
Even so, he ended up pinning Olivia lightly against the side of the elevator.
Their faces were suddenly much too close.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Olivia could feel his breath.
Reid blinked several times, clearly having no idea what to do.
Then, as though he'd finally come back to reality, he quickly stepped away.
"I'm sorry."
Olivia remained still for a few seconds.
Strangely…
Her heart was beating much too fast.
She lifted a hand to her face.
"Oh, great…"
she muttered under her breath, taking a slow breath as she tried to regain her composure.
It's just an elevator.
You're not going to lose it over an elevator…
Or because Spencer Reid just fell on top of you.
Then she noticed one very important detail.
They were still stuck.
Reid repeatedly pressed the emergency button even after the alarm had already started ringing.
The two of them stood on opposite sides of the elevator.
The silence lasted only a few seconds.
"Hotch!" Reid called loudly.
Olivia crossed her arms, visibly annoyed.
"I knew this elevator looked suspicious."
She sighed.
"If my hair gets ruined because of this, somebody's paying for it."
Reid gave her an incredulous look.
"Seriously? That's what you're worried about right now?"
"Spencer, I spent almost forty minutes doing my hair this morning. It was my first day with the BAU."
Before Reid could answer, they heard footsteps outside.
The elevator doors finally began to slide open.
Slowly.
Both of them stepped out almost at the same time.
At the end of the hallway, Hotch had just finished climbing the stairs. When he saw the two of them walking out of the elevator, he gave them only a brief glance.
"Problems?"
Olivia discreetly smoothed her blazer and answered as naturally as if nothing had happened.
"Your decision to take the stairs was brilliant, by the way."
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A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.
TheGreatWicked
Summary: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker successfully resisted the pull of darkness, fulfilling his destiny as the Chosen One to bring balance to the Force, the Jedi Temple is abuzz with discussions about the traditionally forbidden nature of attachments. As Anakin assumes the role of a Jedi Master, his decision to ensure Palpatine's arrest rather than execution sets the tone for a new era.
On the way to an impromptu council meeting, where Anakin now holds a seat as a respected master, Obi-Wan Kenobi experiences an unusual sensation. A mysterious connection tugs at him when he encounters a young boy patiently waiting outside the council chambers. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the spotlight is about to shift from Anakin to himself.
As the secrets of Obi-Wan's past unravel, the Jedi Council finds itself thrust into action much sooner than anticipated. The delicate balance of the Force, once maintained by Anakin's choices, now hinges on the unforeseen revelations from Obi-Wan's history. The galaxy is on the brink of change, and the consequences of long-held secrets may reshape the destiny of the Jedi and the Force itself.
Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)
Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.
Chapter Eleven
Something was different. As the remnants of sleep faded further she became acutely aware of the plush cocoon of blankets swaddled around her. The fabric's gentle touch caressed her skin, in a comforting embrace that lulled her deeper into tranquility.
Safe.
That was how she felt when the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden strip across Cressida's closed eyes, making sleeping in later an impossibility. And whereas she used to greet the day with a minor grumble and a desire to send her timepiece flying into the wall, she found it was oddly silent. In fact, she wasn’t tired, true she was comfortable and cozy, and getting up wasn’t something she wanted to do but she didn’t crave more sleep like she usually did.
She rolled over, into the sunlight which was now spilling across her entire face, a sleepy smile playing on her lips as she stretched out her limbs, savoring the sensation of being well-rested for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Then confusion took hold.
This morning, there was no chill seeping through the hard ground beneath her; instead, she found herself nestled snugly within her bed, wrapped in blankets that enveloped her with a tenderness akin to a lover's embrace.
It struck her as profoundly odd, to find such comfort in the soft give of a mattress, after a decade of sleeping on solid ground. The subtle plushness of a mattress, even one as firm as the Jedi Temple provided, made it impossible for her to find proper rest. It felt too soft, too unfamiliar, leaving her strangely unsettled by the comfort it offered.
There were far stranger things than waking up in a bed and being well rested, but it was still downright strange for Cressida, given her years of accustomed slumber on the hard ground. Inherently she wanted to temper her skepticism with optimism and gratuity as for the first time in a long time her sleep was uninterrupted by the specter of nightmares, she was well-rested and for once felt completely ready to greet the day, but she would still have her cup of caf, of course.
Had she maybe crawled into the bed in her sleep? It seemed unlikely, though not improbable, that maybe she was finally growing accustomed to being back at the temple and finally feeling safe enough to let her guard down. She rolled away from the sunlight to look at the timepiece, curious as to just how long she could stay in this comfortable loaf of blankets, but her eyes widened in shock at the sight before her– she wasn't alone.
There, lying peacefully beside her, was none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi.
His usually tidy hair was mussed from the pillow's embrace, the morning light casting a more ginger hue over the sandy strands. In sleep, the lines of strain that often furrowed his brow were smoothed away, revealing an unguarded handsomeness, completely free from the burdens of stress and responsibility that weighed heavily on him while awake.
With no one to catch her staring, she allowed herself to stare a little longer at the sleeping Jedi Master, the way his bare chest rose and fell with each steady breath; a picture of pure tranquility. He was close enough to touch and every bit as beautiful to look at in sleep as he was when he was awake. She nearly reached out to touch him. Maybe just push his hair out of his eyes, as it was getting a bit longer, he’d probably be cutting it soon. Shame, the longer length of hair looked good on him.
Her gaze lingered on his long, thick eyelashes – a feature envied by many, not just her, but one she was grateful their son, Solan, had inherited. As an infant, it had been difficult to tell who Solan favored, as she had no idea what she looked like as a child. But as he grew older, it became clear that he was taking after his father and the thought made her smile. If her son continued to resemble his father he’d become a very handsome young man, no doubt following in his father’s footsteps of leaving broken hearts across the galaxy.
Her smile faded when she was a breath away from stroking the warmth of his cheek, it felt so real.
The momentary warmth that bloomed within her at the sight, withered as quickly as it came and her fingers recoiled. Sorrow seeped into the hollow space it left behind, as she realized that this was nothing more than a dream.
She didn’t crawl into her own bed last night any more than Obi-Wan had, and he wasn’t really there sleeping beside her.
As she lay on the too-soft mattress, misery swelled inside her, and she turned away, seeking refuge from her heartache. Even in sleep, she couldn't escape it. With a resigned sigh, she braced herself for the inevitable awakening. The bed would be empty and cold, and she would find herself stiff and a bit sore, just as she had been for the last ten years, still exhausted and still on the floor.
And even worse than the physical discomfort, she would return to the strained coexistence she shared with the father of her son. Hating every moment of it. Hating herself.
Despair hung heavy around her, like a palpable shroud that rippled through the air, touching everything in its path. Reaching beyond, until Obi-Wan's arm found its way around her waist, drawing her back against the solid plane of his chest. His breath danced warmly on her skin, as he gently nuzzled into the back of her neck, stirring strands of her auburn hair with each exhale.
"Good morning, darling,"
She remained still and silent, his voice and the affection in it only making her experience more painful. She stayed stiff in his arms, tightly squeezing her eyes shut to prevent any tears from escaping.
"Are you planning to avoid me here too?" he asked softly when she remained silent.
Her silence stretched for a moment before she replied, "Avoidance implies intention, Obi-Wan. One can’t avoid what's not real."
He chuckled softly, the sound melodious and comforting. "You're the only Jedi I know who wouldn't take advantage of a pleasant dream, my dear." he teased, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Such a wet blanket, you are."
She breathed deeply, committing his scent, and his warmth, to memory.
Obi-Wan's voice, sleep-roughened but playful, teased her. "Are you truly so entrenched with your own sorrow that you won’t allow yourself to enjoy this while you can?"
“This is a dream,”
“Then there’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, is there?” His fingers danced a lighthearted path up her arm, it was so soft it almost tickled and Cressida hated being tickled. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. "Is it such a bad dream, this one? Worse than the ones where you wake up screaming?"
“No,” She replied quietly, her voice sounding so fragile.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You’ve never called me ‘darling’ before.”
“Is that it?” He chuckled again, “Well, perhaps that’s true, but you want me to.” His hand stroked the length of her arm, a tender touch that felt profoundly real. “After all, this is your dream, not mine, darling.” His lips gently brushed against her skin, sending tingles down her spine. "You know, I believe I've figured out why you've been sleeping poorly," he said after a momentary pause. "You're resting where you shouldn't be. I'm in my bed, and you're on the floor. One of us is undoubtedly in the wrong place."
"Always the clever one," she remarked, unable to keep the scoff out of her voice before finally turning her head to look at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself.
When she pinched his arm, he raised an eyebrow questioningly as if wondering why she would do that.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear, but I believe you’re supposed to pinch yourself if you wish to wake up.” He suggested with a grin, gently pinching her arm in return, which she, of course, didn’t feel. “Seems to me like you don't really want to leave this place."
It was true, painfully so.
“I’m not sure what’s worse, the reality that’s waiting for me when I wake up or this,” Her voice was soft as her fingers lightly grazed against his, while he continued to gently stroke her arm.
"Reality can be shaped by will, my love," he countered, pressing another more firm kiss to her neck. "If you truly desire this, all you need to do is pursue it," he responded, his grip around her a little more secure, his voice tender and affectionate, it was lovely but it wasn’t right.
“You make it sound so simple,”
Her words seemed to roll off him like water off a pelikki’s back, his expression remaining unphased. In fact, he wore a sly smirk and his hand reached up to gently caress her cheek, repositioning her in his embrace so that she faced him directly. His eyes were still heavy with sleep but still held an inviting warmth and tenderness towards her.
“And you think in such two-dimensional terms,”
He gently tilted her chin upwards, his warm hand cradling her jaw as he drew her closer. His lips met hers in a deep, all-consuming kiss. With a teasing flick of his tongue, he deepened the kiss and her heart began to race in her chest. Every nerve electrified by his touch, so close to the real thing.
"Imagine," he murmured softly, releasing her mouth from his. "This is how we wake up every day, safely wrapped in each other's arms." He paused, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Though preferably with fewer clothes." She smirked softly, feeling the vibrations of his words against her skin. For a man who was all propriety and rules and discipline, it was easy to forget that he had something of a naughty sense of humor.
"No blasted timepieces to rouse us from sleep, only the sunlight of noon or Solan telling us he's hungry for waffles. The three of us exploring the galaxy together as a family, our attachments making us stronger, not weaker. Training our son to be the Jedi he's meant to be, as the Force deems, no pesky High Council to shake their heads disapprovingly at us, or tell us what we’re feeling is wrong or dangerous."
Her smirk turned to a smile, her heart swelling at the thought. Obi-Wan had never boasted any particularly artistic abilities, but the portrait he was creating was undoubtedly breathtaking.
"And our nights..." he trailed off, tilting his head down to nuzzle his nose against hers. "Our nights are filled with staying up late, entwined in passionate love-making until we can no longer keep our eyes open, blissfully drained of all energy. And yet, every day it starts all over again."
She let her fingers intertwine with his, feeling the rough calluses on his palm and fingers born of years of lightsaber use. She observed him with fascination wishing all her dreams could be as peaceful as this moment. A somber smile formed on her lips.
“Growing stronger, as a family,” His hand cradling her hip, his lips leaving a trail of fire along her jaw and up to her ear. “Perhaps, we might even add to it,” She turned her head sharply, expecting to see a playful smirk but finding only honest sincerity in his gaze.
"Can you see it?" Obi-Wan whispered between gentle kisses.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing and she did a double take. Was he actually serious? He couldn’t be. She felt foolish even considering the thoughts as being his in the first place, knowing that this was all just a dream concocted by her own mind to ease her loneliness. But as Obi-wan had suggested; what was the harm in a little dream-like indulgence?
"It does sound nice,"
"Nice? Darling, it could be ours," His voice was dripping with longing and desire as he spoke, his hand moving to gently caress her stomach. His thumb traced over faint lines that were barely visible that she often covered up, she instinctively reached to cover the perceived vulnerability, but Obi-Wan’s hands encased her own in a firm grasp.
“Now, now, none of that.” His possessive tone sent shivers down her spine as his lips grazed her knuckles. "I missed so much of Solan's life.” His voice was filled with remorse and longing. “I never got to see your body swell with my child, never held him as a newborn, heard his first words, or watched him take his first steps. But it can be different this time. And Solan wants brothers and sisters, you know."
“How could you possibly know that?" she asked, curiosity piqued.
Obi-Wan’s smile widened.
"I've seen the way he looks at other younglings, and he told me so himself," he confessed. "And I promise you, this time, I'll be by your side for every single one of them, supporting you and loving you as a true partner should."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes blinking in surprise. Did she hear him correctly?
"Every single one?" She repeated, trying to control the warmth spreading through her chest. She looked down, pretending not to notice the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Just how many children are you expecting in this imagined scenario?"
"As many as the Force sees fit," he answered mischievously, his playful side finally breaking through and wrapping around her like the blankets they lay under.
Her mind began spinning with visions of a life entwined with Obi-Wan and their children. Children. Plural. She could see them under the golden hue of the setting sun, filled with laughter and unrestrained love. Solan, with eyes sparkling with pride, demonstrated his growing mastery of the Force, while his younger siblings gazed up at him in wonder.
Obi-Wan's presence and determination slowly chipped away at the walls she had built around herself. He spoke of a future where they could share the weight of their burdens and she could finally let go of the loneliness she had carried for so long. He promised to care for her deeply with every fiber of his being.
Yet, one last shred of resistance remained.
"It’s not that simple, I need to protect you," She whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes downcast to avoid his gaze.
"Protect me from what, darling?"
"From me," she replied, her voice barely audible.
He laughed, a sound not mocking but filled with gentle understanding, and then his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that spoke volumes, asserting that his attachment to her was irrevocable.
"Obi-Wan," she breathed, her voice cracking with emotion. "I-"
She tried to continue, to tell him how perfectly serious she was being and maybe scold him, but her words were cut off by more passionate kisses from him. Each one deeper than the last, and to further prove his point and silence any protest, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him. Her words were muffled against his lips.
The words rolled off his tongue in a low, rumbling murmur as he reluctantly pulled their lips apart.
It was clear he was hesitant to end the kiss.
"My dear, it is far too late for that realization. My heart has been hopelessly entwined with yours since the first moment I saw your face in the council chamber. And when I learned of our son, you became my fate." His warm breath mingled with hers as he spoke, the crackle of electricity still pulsing between them.
She had been about to bring up the Jedi Order's strict stance on attachments, but before she could even form the words, he stopped her with another soul-scorching kiss. The heat of his touch branded her skin and the power of their connection seemed to surge through them both.
"The Force is not the Jedi Order; it has no owner,” he said solemnly, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “It is not bound by any rules. It has existed since time immemorial and will continue to exist long after the Jedi are dust and less than memories." He paused, a seriousness settling over him.
The idea of leaving the Order was both thrilling and terrifying to her, causing her breath to catch in her throat.
"Never again will you walk alone," he vowed. "No more running. I'll protect you, always."
It seemed such a big thing, too big a decision to let him make and she shook her head in uncertainty.
“Cress,” he whispered gently with a soft touch, brushing away a strand of hair from her face as he stroked her cheek. “I see how tired you are, and I know you've carried far too much alone for too long.” Her eyes welled up with tears, unable to resist the truth in his words and she tried to look away but she couldn’t.
“I know about the nightmares and the sickness, and I know why they plague you. It's time for you to let someone take care of you."
She blinked back a tear. "And that someone is you?"
"Absolutely," Obi-Wan declared with unwavering conviction. "It's my duty to take care of you now, and I swear I'll protect you and treat you like my queen if you'll only let me."
She hesitated, torn between the dreamlike world he painted and the reality they lived in.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was insane. But in this moment, as his arms enveloped her and she felt the comforting warmth of his body, the idea of a life together consumed her. And though it was going to hurt later, she allowed herself to indulge in the dream, savoring every second of it.
What was the harm in enjoying a dream, if only a little bit?
The wounds from her time in the healing chambers may have healed physically, but nothing could ease the ache in her heart like these stolen moments with him. His lips were so close to hers that she could feel their gentle warmth, and all she had to do was lean in to make contact. So she did.
Without hesitation, she met his lips with her own, losing herself in his kisses that grew more passionate by the second
"Let's pretend," he whispered breathlessly between kisses, his touch tracing a delicate path along her collarbone. "Just for now... let's pretend that this is ours," his voice thick and husky with emotion.
“That nothing exists outside this room, it’s been far too long since I’ve touched you, darling,”
Drawing her closer, he captured her lips in another kiss, and as their mouths melded together, all thoughts of the outside world faded away and she gave in, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms.
Her longing for him, built up over countless nights of loneliness, surged within her and drowned out any remaining doubts. With an urgency she couldn't contain, she pulled him closer, desperate to fill the void that had grown insatiable in the ten years since she last felt his touch.
"See?" Obi-Wan murmured, his breath mingling with hers as their kisses grew more frantic and hurried. "We deserve this, Cressida. A moment of peace amidst the chaos we've faced."
Cressida nodded silently in agreement. His voice was a soothing balm to her, and she could listen to him speak for hours, but right now she had other plans for his quick-witted mouth.
"Just until my timepiece wakes me." She breathed against his lips before kissing him again, teasingly licking at his mouth.
"That's all I ask, darling," Obi-Wan replied, his smile evident in his voice.
Her hands traveled up his chest and tangled in his tousled hair, gently pulling at the locks she remembered he enjoyed, he’d positively melted at the sensation. She felt his approval reverberate through his body in a low moan, the hum of satisfaction warming her from the inside out.
Memories of the last time she had felt him unravel at her touch surged forward, emboldening her to take more from this dream-like moment and fully indulge in its pleasures, savoring each sensation as if it were a rare delicacy.
"Was that so difficult?" he teased with a playful smirk. The warmth of his hand cradling her jaw sent shivers down her spine as his lips left hers and planted kisses along her neck.
Every touch sent a flurry of sparks through her body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment and hungry kiss.
But then something changed.
The hand that had been caressing her jaw gently, suddenly clamped down on her neck with a vicious hold, cutting off her oxygen supply. A blackness crept over him like a shroud, shadowy tendrils wrapped around him obscuring his handsome face until he became an unrecognizable mass of darkness and malice. Her breathing became labored, each gasp a desperate struggle for air. Panic surged through her body as she gasped for air, each breath a frantic struggle against the tightening grip.
She was unable to take a breath, let alone speak. Her words trapped in her throat, and all that came out was a garbled response.
She clawed at his hand, trying to pry it away, but he only squeezed harder, sending sharp waves of pain through her throat. No longer recognizable, he was consumed by the darkness, a vessel for its insidious influence. Her heart clenched with impending doom, a crushing weight bearing down on her as she fought for every precious breath and she grew weaker.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the pressure on her neck vanished and she was left gasping and choking in the darkness. Clutching her neck and coughing, her head whipped around searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Obi-Wan?" Her raspy voice echoed into the endless void, but there was no response.
The warmth of the bed was replaced with a chilling emptiness, and the sunlight that once filled the room had faded to a distant memory. She was alone and vulnerable in this pitch-black world. Where had he gone? What had happened?
But there were no answers—only a suffocating darkness that threatened to consume her completely.
The eerie emptiness swallowed the warmth of the dream, leaving Cressida adrift in an endless void.
"Obi-Wan!" Her voice quavered, reaching out into the abyss for the man who had been by her side moments before. She fought against the panic in her heart. That wasn’t her Obi-Wan, it was something else. He was here somewhere, she had to find him.
A distorted echo of his voice responded, but she couldn’t understand his words, only the fear in his voice. The chilling sound sent shivers down her spine, her skin prickling with goosebumps. Desperate to find him, she stumbled through the nightmare landscape until she kicked something, she looked down to see her lightsaber at her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief and ignited the blade, feeling a bit more secure in its radiant orange glow.
"It's just a dream," she repeated, her voice trembling as she clung to the reassurance that none of it was real. "Only a dream." She could control this dream, she was the master of her subconscious.
"Obi-Wan!" she called out, her desperation evident as she sought the familiar presence that could anchor her amidst the chaos. "Where are you?"
In the nightmare's depths, she scanned the shadowy expanse, but there was no sign of Obi-Wan.
"Obi-Wan!" she cried again, her voice tinged with desperation. Each breath formed icy clouds in the cold air, dissipating into nothingness.
A sudden movement caught her eye, and she turned slipping into the Guard pose of form three, Soresu, to face a spectral figure emerging from the shadows. Her blood went cold in her veins. It bore the likeness of her Master, Deva L'rue, his eyes ablaze with an otherworldly intensity that accused and condemned her without a single word spoken. Cressida recoiled in horror, unable to tear her gaze away from the haunting visage before her.
“Master?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty.
She reached out tentatively with her senses, trying to determine if this was just another trick of her mind or a genuine message from beyond. She felt small once more, like the terrified padawan she had been all those years ago.
The phantom's form began to shift and warp, changing shape until it resembled Obi-Wan himself, but his eyes continued to burn with that same corrupted stare – a dark shadow of the man she cared for.
“It’s not real," Cressida muttered, shaking her head and taking a step back.
The menacing voice of the twisted apparition echoed through the darkness.
"Oh, but I am, Cressida, and you've led me here, to the darkness, just as you led your master."
He drew his lightsaber and ignited a red blade, adopting a stance she knew anywhere; form seven – Juyo. The same form her master had favored.
Phantom Stance.
Obi-Wan sank into a crouched position, resembling a feral beast more than a man; his lightsaber held high, poised for a strike, while the other hand was raised in a claw-like gesture toward Cressida as if beckoning her into the darkness.
"Tell me, darling," he sneered, venom dripping from the word 'darling', "Will you murder me too?"
As her heart pounded in her chest, Cressida gripped her lightsaber tightly, her body coiled with tension as she assumed Ataru's Gale Strike Pose. Her feet planted firmly, one leg slightly forward, and her lightsaber held high above her head, poised for a swift and aggressive strike.
With a guttural snarl, Obi-Wan lunged forward and their blades clashed in a whirlwind of searing hatred and fear. The crimson and burnt orange light danced around them, their weapons moved too fast for the eye to track, creating an otherworldly aura of fury and despair.
Obi-Wan's skills were unparalleled, parrying her strikes with alarming ease, he wielded this dark form of combat with a prowess that seemed to mock his serene mastery of Soresu. His eyes blazed with an intensity that deviated starkly from the calm focus usually associated with his fighting style. Every aggressive strike of his current form was somehow taunting the disciplined and centered approach he typically embraced.
Every strike of her blade against his felt weak and fragile, each movement she made felt slower and less effective than his. As if she didn’t have the decade of experience as a battle-proven sentinel, nor the skill to match it. Panic began to gnaw at her as she struggled to understand why she couldn't gain the upper hand, why this battle felt eerily familiar in a way that sent shivers down her spine.
It was as if some unseen force guided their movements, leading them down a path of destruction that they couldn't deviate from. Every strike felt preordained and filled her with dread and a sense of deja vu as if she had fought this battle before in another life.
Because she had.
A terrible feeling of foreboding crept up her spine
Her instincts screamed at her to end this nightmare, but she was powerless to stop it, she couldn’t lower her blade, couldn’t disarm him, couldn’t even allow him to strike her down. As though someone else was controlling her actions like a horrific marionette, she could offer no deviation. Trapped by the shadows of the past.
In an instant, their movements stilled, and the world around them froze.
Time seemed to grind to a halt as Obi-Wan loomed over Cressida, his lightsaber poised to strike. Every second stretched out in agonizing detail, etching itself into her mind with razor-sharp clarity.
With a surge of adrenaline, Cressida lunged forward, her senses heightened to an almost painful degree.
In a deafening cacophony, the sound of her lightsaber sizzling and then reigniting reverberated through the chamber, drowning out all other noise. The once pure and harmonic hum had twisted into a menacing growl, mirroring the corrupted state of Obi-Wan's blade.
The unmistakable scent of burning kyber crystals filled the air, assaulting her senses with an acrid tang. It was as if the very fabric of the Force recoiled in agony at the clash of their lightsabers, the tortured cries of the crystals reverberating through the chamber.
The metallic stench of blood flooded her senses, overpowering all other senses until it was the only thing she could taste. There should have been no smell of blood, lightsabers cauterized wounds in an instant, burning hotter than the surface of suns and stars. And yet, there she was, surrounded by the coppery scent of death.
At best it should have been the smell of burning flesh but that too was horrific sensory input.
She looked down in horror at the glowing blade protruding from Obi-Wan's chest, his once vibrant blue eyes now dull and lifeless. His lightsaber clattered to the ground and he slumped to his knees before falling back with a dull horrible thud.
Waves of guilt and despair crashed over her as she trembled uncontrollably, memories flooding back of a similar scene long ago.
"Obi-Wan, no," she begged, her voice cracking with desperation. “Not again,”
The invisible force that held sway over her movements released her from its grip finally allowing her lightsaber to fall from her grasp. And a deafening tinnitus screamed in her ears, piercing through her skull like shards of broken glass, growing louder and more shrill until it was almost unbearable. She fell to her knees, hands pressed tightly over her ears as the relentless ringing threatened to shatter her eardrums. Even her screams were drowned out by the agony of the never-ending sound.
Suddenly, she jolted to wakefulness with a waterlogged scream.
Her body thrashed and flailed, violently in the bacta tank's healing waters, desperate to escape the torturous nightmare that had gripped her mind.
The tank now felt like a watery prison, determined to hold her captive within her mind.
And although the respirator provided her oxygen beneath the waters, in her panic it felt like she couldn’t breathe with it on and she clawed at the mask attached to her face, ripping it free in a frenzy as she broke the surface of the tank.
Gasping for air, she clambered out frantically, landing with a thud on the hard floor, convulsing and heaving as if trying to expel the memory from her being. Retching violently, the once peaceful Halls of Healing now echoing with her screams and cries for mercy.
Obi-Wan sat across from his son, observing him with a sort of morbid fascination as he devoured his breakfast. The boy's enthusiasm for the stack of waffles before him was reminiscent of a snake unhinging its jaw to accommodate larger prey. In contrast, Obi-Wan's meal was far simpler: Tythonian yogurt and honey, a bowl of fruit, spiced eggs, and a steaming cup of sapir tea.
Solan shoveled another absurdly large forkful of waffles into his mouth with no signs of slowing and Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder if his master, Qui-Gon, had ever regarded a young Obi-Wan with similar awe and slight horror. His once steaming breakfast was quickly growing cold, forgotten in the face of this bizarrely captivating sight.
"What?" Solan mumbled through a mouthful of waffles, catching Obi-Wan's gaze.
"Nothing," Obi-Wan replied, shaking his head with a small smile. He took a sip of his sapir tea, savoring its calming warmth. The foul mood that had greeted him upon waking was long gone, replaced by a sense of wonder and curiosity at the sight of his son, seated alone in the refectory.
He could feel the weight of their connection, both through blood and through the Force. Solan's blue and gray eyes, mirroring his parents, held an inquisitiveness that reminded him so much of himself at that age. The boy was eager to learn, ready to further his Jedi training, yet Obi-Wan sensed an underlying awareness of the implications of his heritage.
Obi-Wan's eyes flickered around the refectory, noting the empty chairs and half-eaten meals on the tables. The murmur of quiet conversations filled the air, but there was an undercurrent of tension that seemed to thrum through the room, as though a storm was brewing just beyond the walls. He turned his attention back to Solan, who remained oblivious to it all.
"Solan, you never said where your mother was. Do you think she’ll be joining us soon?"
Obi-Wan asked, not missing the way Solan's eyes darted away from his for a few moments, avoiding the question. Taking a bite of his eggs and chewing thoughtfully and slowly, Obi-Wan studied his son, trying to read the emotions that danced across the boy's expressive face.
"She went to the halls of healing late last night," Solan finally admitted, his voice barely audible over the din of the room.
Obi-Wan paused, a bite of eggs halfway to his mouth but the pause was brief, and he quickly finished the gesture. A shadow of uncertainty clouded his eyes as he looked up at Obi-Wan, clearly unsure if he should be sharing this information. It came as no surprise to Obi-Wan that his son offered up the answer so reluctantly; Solan carried his own wealth of secrets, and at times the psychological burden of such made him physically shrink. This was one of those times.
Obi-Wan chose his next words very carefully, he could see the worry in Solan’s eyes, and he didn’t want to give Solan any reason to feel as though he shared what was meant to be kept secret. He considered reaching out with the Force, trying to sense any disturbances or hidden truths in Solan's mind, but thought it too invasive.
"Is she not feeling well?" Obi-Wan pressed gently, trying to mask his concern with curiosity.
Solan hesitated, picking at the remnants of his waffles and looking down to avoid his father's gaze and Obi-Wan recognized the subtle tug-of-war within Solan – the desire to share what was happening with his mother, but also the fear of betraying her trust.
He could sense the weight of this information pressing down on Solan's young shoulders. Obi-Wan's heart tightened as he observed Solan's downcast eyes, the boy's small hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.
“I’m not sure,” Uncertainty colored his words and his eyes darted around the room before finally settling back on his father.
Obi-Wan understood he was holding a tool in his hands far more powerful than any lightsaber, the ability to ease his sons fears. With a sip of his tea and a nod of his head, he smiled softly. The warmth of the tea spread through him, granting him a momentary sense of calm. He tried to project this serenity onto Solan, knowing how important it was to keep his son's trust.
"Well, it's coming upon that time of year; colds and illness tend to spike a bit with the changing of seasons, and your mother's been off-world for some time. It could be that she's getting used to it again." He gave a soft chuckle, “It does tend to kick one in the backside though,”
Solan's eyes widened in surprise, the green pools reflecting the overhead lights as he looked up from his tea, its surface rippling with each tiny movement. "Really?" he asked.
"Oh yes," Obi-Wan replied, allowing himself a small smile as he watched the petals dance around his son. "The halls of healing will be a busy place soon, younglings, padawans, knights, and even masters tend to come down with a little something, I wouldn't worry though. But you'd do best to watch your own health as well, Solan, if you feel unwell, we need to make sure you're well-rested."
“A tired mind doesn’t learn,” Obi-Wan said gently, brushing away the unease coiling inside him. "I'm sure your mother will be fine."
He watched Solan's expression soften, the lines of tension easing from his brow. Relief flooded Obi-Wan, knowing that he had reassured his son, even if only for a moment. His concerns remained, however, burrowed deep within his thoughts, like a shadowy whisper he couldn't quite silence.
Why was she in the Halls of Healing?
"Did she say anything else before she left?" Obi-Wan probed, hoping to glean more information without pushing Solan too far. “Maybe any symptoms she was experiencing?”
Solan shook his head, his gaze skittering away once more. "N-no, just that she needed to go."
He hoped the words would bring comfort, and they appeared to as Solan offered a weak smile but a seemingly genuine one. The kind of smile given when the worry remains but the doubt is gone and he picked up his fork again.
But it was all a lie.
Obi-Wan didn’t like the way falsehoods tasted in his mouth - he had always prided himself on honesty, as any Jedi would. But at times a little misdirection to allay greater fears was the better option. Yes, the seasons were changing but not in any way that saw colds and illnesses the way Obi-Wan had described. There were an abundance of allergies, and casualties of the pollen in the air, and as someone who was often afflicted, Obi-Wan knew the difference all too well.
He glanced at Solan, who was staring down at his plate, breaking off another smaller bite of waffles. The morning light filtering through the windows cast a gentle glow on his son's face, emphasizing the resemblance to his own features. He knew Solan was hiding something about Cressida's condition, but pressing for more information would only make the boy withdraw further.
He had to be smart about this and form a strategy. So he opted for a change of subject that would ease Solan’s mind.
"Let’s talk about your training, are you ready to continue?"
“Are we going back to the archives?” Solan's eyes lit up with excitement, the topic of training after two days of rest did the job rather splendidly.
“Not yet, Solan, we need to discuss what happened.”
Solan's voracious appetite diminished almost instantly, and he paused, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he swallowed his food. Despite his youthful optimism, there was a noticeable change in his demeanor, a subtle acknowledgment of the seriousness of the situation.
"Am I in trouble?"
Before Obi-Wan could answer with a thought-out response, a delicate hand found its way into Solan’s hair, ruffling it playfully.
“Why? Did you do something or did you simply get caught?”
Cressida appeared giving them both a warm smile, a steaming cup of caf cradled in her other hand, as she took a seat next to Obi-Wan as though she had been right behind them the whole time.
With her arrival came a wave of pure relief, Solan smiled and fixed his hair, notably parting it back the way it had been which seemed to mirror how Obi-Wan styled his. Making Solan look like a smaller cleaner cleaner-shaven Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan too felt relief but it was short-lived as his keen eye began to take notice of small things, the tips of her hair were slightly damp, her olive pallor was a bit diffused giving her a slightly paler countenance and the almost indiscernible scent of bacta clung to her. He’d spent more than his fair share of time inside the damn tanks and he personally hated them, he didn’t like how trapped he felt, nor did he like the sterile smell, especially after the Clone Wars.
"Curiosity is no sin, Solan," she said softly, her voice carrying an underlying note of exhaustion. "But your father is right, we need to talk about what happened."
Her words seemed steadfast and certain, but there was a frailty to how she looked. His mind raced, trying to connect the dots between her appearance and the overwhelming sense of dread he'd experienced earlier that morning. The sudden chill he’d felt, had been all-encompassing like a bucket of icey water had been dumped on his and he’d felt every hair on his body standing on end.
Something was wrong, and it felt like it was lurking just beneath the surface, ready to emerge when least expected.
"Mom, are you okay?" Solan asked. “Dad said you might be getting sick from the change of seasons, are you feeling better?”
She didn’t miss a beat and nodded, “Well, your father would certainly know, and yes, it seems being back on world has finally caught up with me.” Cressida offered a weak smile. "I’m fine, just a little tired. Now, let's talk about your training, sounds like your father has quite the morning planned."
As they discussed Solan's progress and areas for improvement, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the feeling that they were dancing around a hidden truth. His instincts screamed at him to delve deeper, but it would have to wait until later, he made a mental note to investigate the matter.
"Solan, there’s someone I- your mother, and I want you to meet.” He corrected himself, remembering how this was meant to be a unified decision between them despite the disparity they felt. “There's a Jedi Master who shares your ability to touch objects and read their histories," Obi-Wan explained, noting the shift in Solan's expression from worry to wonder.
"Really?" Solan's eyes widened in amazement until Cressida gently nudged his open mouth closed, again. "I thought no one else could do it."
Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head, “Not at all, psychometry is indeed a rare skill and few Jedi have the aptitude for it, but I know of one who does. His name is Quinlan Voss and I’ve known him for many years.”
Solan’s waffles sat forgotten and he blinked in disbelief and awe. “Now? When can I meet him? Can I meet him today? Is he here?” His questions came off as rapid fire and he began to practically vibrate in his seat.
“He’s currently off-world but he will be back in two cycles. I've reached out to him and asked for some of his time, he’s agreed to meet with us, all of us. That we might better be able to help understand and help you in learning to master your ability.”
Solan nodded, not to a question but merely as an excited gesture, his appetite returned to full force and he began shoveling waffles back into his mouth.
“Until then we’ll work on your training and when we all have a better understanding of how to help you, then we’ll return to the archives.”
"If we're not going to the archives, then what’re we doing today?"
"How about some lightsaber training?" Solan's excitement radiated boundlessly as he bounced in his seat.
"Really!" Solan exclaimed eagerly.
Obi-Wan nodded, "And some meditation of course,”
"I think I'm ready to try the shielding exercise again," Solan declared confidently, earning a surprised smile from Obi-Wan.
"That's wonderful. Your enthusiasm is commendable, if you feel ready we will try it again." Obi-Wan praised, his satisfaction evident. "After our training, your mother has something planned, doesn't she?”
“Since your father seems to have the more physical aspect of training for the day, I think we’ll focus on force sensitivity and control as well as a discussion on ethics and morality and maybe we’ll talk about the Jedi Initiate Trials and what that entails of, they’re a few months away. I think if you focus, we could see you ready to take the trials this year.”
Her goals were lofty and Solan looked a bit worried and overwhelmed but Obiwan seemed pleased and he also seemed to agree with her assessment.
“Your mother’s right, if we focus and you tackle your training there’s no stopping you. A master could be right around the corner for you, and maybe a padawan braid along with it.”
With the vote of confidence from his parents and the mention of a braid possibly in his near future, he nodded and sat a little straighter before taking a large bite of his waffles.
"Solan, as delicious as those waffles may be, there's no need to make a spectacle of it," Cressida gently scolded, reaching to cover his mouth with a napkin. "You eat like your father," She remarked with a smile, and Solan grinned back, his face adorned with a crumb-filled smile.
"Meaning what, exactly?" Obi-Wan quipped a hint of indignation in his gaze, he looked to Solan who was stifling a laugh, and then back to Cressida. "If you mean a healthy appetite, then yes, it appears he takes after me,"
"Hollow leg and all,"
However, as she smirked and sipped her caf, it dawned on him that she was teasing him. The subtle curve of her lips betrayed her amusement, catching him off guard, especially considering their previous encounters. He was relieved to see it and a bit of the worry he was carrying slipped from his shoulders.
"Mom, aren’t you hungry?”
The relief he'd just felt vanished, replaced by a renewed heaviness in his chest.
She shook off Solan's concern with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'll eat later," she assured them, a subtle resignation creeping into her voice, leaving Obi-Wan unsettled.
His eyes darted between them, catching the tension in Cressida's stance and her reluctance to look at him, in fact, she hadn’t really looked at him at all. Yet, it struck him that she wasn't even looking at Solan either.
Carefully tracking her line of sight, he had a strong hunch she was staring at a nondescript spot on the opposite wall, her expression vacant, as if only half there, hiding something.
The tension from their earlier talk resurfaced, and he felt disappointed to suspect her initial playfulness might have just been a trick to divert Solan's attention. Yet, Obi-Wan stayed quiet, sensing it wasn't the right time for a confrontation. Luckily, Solan seemed oblivious to the subtle tension, happily focused on his breakfast. Although Obi-Wan wished to address the underlying issue, he couldn't quite figure out how to bridge the gap.
She glanced back at him, giving a brief nod that seemed almost rehearsed, her emotional walls still firmly in place. It puzzled him, like trying to solve an unsolvable riddle. Despite the tension between them, she appeared outwardly composed. Never had he felt so bewildered by a relationship. She wasn't his wife, nor were they involved romantically, though they once had been very intimately connected—she was the mother of his son. His mind raced with questions. What did he expect from her? A warm smile, a hug, maybe even a kiss?
Despite the invisible divide between them, it amazed him how quickly he had grown accustomed to enjoying their presence, how effortless it felt. Guiding Solan with a hand on his shoulder felt natural, as did sitting beside Cressida, whether as a partner or a parental figure. Uncertain of his own desires, he simply wished to understand Cressida's thoughts about him, whether there was something more between them—romantic or not. Or if there ever could be.
Those thoughts were vexing, everything about his relationship with Cressida was. He turned back to his tea, it was growing cold.
Obi-Wan handed Solan a training saber, then took a few steps away putting a distance of maybe two meters between them, igniting his own lightsaber, its weight was vastly different compared to a proper lightsaber though it still emitted a soft glow that cast shadows across the room. Solan hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing the hilt of the saber before he looked up at Obi-Wan.
"Are you going to ignite your saber, Solan?" Obi-Wan asked, curiously.
Solan shook his head. "No, Master.”
“Why not?”
There was a genuine confusion in his question. Solan had been so excited to train with lightsabers, had he somehow misread his son?
“There's no need for it. A lightsaber should only be drawn when de-escalation, retreat, or negotiation isn't an option," he replied calmly, catching Obi-Wan by surprise with the eloquent and diplomatic answer.
He nodded in agreement, impressed by Solan's understanding of the importance of exhausting all other alternatives before embracing combat.
"Very well said, Solan," Obi-Wan commended. "You have a keen grasp of the Jedi way."
Solan smiled modestly, but then Obi-Wan stepped towards him and Solan retreated the same distance.
“But, noble as your logic is, I still have a weapon drawn on you and there is nowhere for you to run to, what will you do now?”
“Is negotiation not an option?” Obi-Wan chuckled heartily at his son.
“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I won’t be swayed away from combat either, what will you do now?”
Solan heaved out a breath and ignited the training blade, slipping into the Guard pose of form three; Soresu. His blade held horizontally across his body, parallel to the ground, weight balanced on his back right foot. Obi-Wan smiled at the familiar pose and Solan’s impeccable posture.
"Now, let's begin with lightsaber forms," Obi-Wan continued, readying himself for the training. He raised his training saber in preparation to strike. "Why form three, Solan?" Obi-Wan inquired, observing Solan's stance with interest and a bit of pride.
Solan met Obi-Wan's gaze, his expression determined.
"I need to be defensive, Master. I don't know what form you're using, and I don't know my opponent. Form three allows me to adapt quickly and defend against any attack," he explained confidently, his words laced with tactical insight.
"Impressive, Solan. Your tactical thinking will serve you well in your Jedi training." Obi-Wan nods approvingly, a sense of pride swelling within him. “Tell me, by what other name is form three known by?”
“The Way of the Mynock. It was developed in the Old Republic in response to the growing use of blasters by Sith and enemies of the Jedi, by Jedi Master Cin Drallig during the Jedi Order's study of lightsaber combat.”
Solan's in-depth and concise answer was surprising and Obi-Wan nodded approvingly, he took another step toward Solan. The hum of lightsabers filled the room as Obi-Wan's lightsaber clashed against Solan's in an overhead parry.
Sensing Solan's struggle as he attempted to maintain his defensive block, Obi-Wan advised, "You can't maintain a block forever, Solan. Eventually, you'll need to counter or find another way to defend yourself."
Solan considered Obi-Wan's words carefully, realizing the truth in his father’s advice. With a quick nod and a subtle shift in his position, Solan disengaged from the block with a push and took several steps back, creating distance between himself and Obi-Wan.
“A tactical retreat? Very well,” Obi-Wan watched Solan's movement with keen interest, noting the shift in forms. "Form four or five, Solan?" he mused aloud, recognizing the deliberate choice to create distance. “Aggression or balance?”
Solan gave a coy little shrug and a smirk.
"Why the switch from form three, Solan? Form three was working well for you. You had a solid defense." Obi-Wan inquired, curiosity evident in his tone.
Solan met Obi-Wan's gaze, determination shining in his eyes. "I know you're a master of form three, Master Obi-Wan. I didn't want you to predict my next move," Solan explained calmly, his words reflecting a practical mindset beyond his years.
Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgment, impressed by Solan's strategic thinking. "Your logic is sound, Solan. But be mindful—constantly switching forms can be tiring and may appear unfocused to your opponent," he advised.
“That would be their mistake,” Solan replied, bringing a smile to Obi-Wan’s face, Solan slipped back into a defensive posture.
Obi-Wan offers a small smile of approval. "Indeed it would be, Solan," he agrees. "But you must also remember that victory in combat often requires a balance between defense and offense. Sometimes, you need to seize the initiative and take the fight to your opponent."
Obi-Wan raised his blade and lunged to strike.
In a chamber of the Northwestern Tower, Cressida stood surrounded by holographic displays, each revealing a different aspect of Anakin Skywalker's life. Her deft fingers navigated the many displays, allowing her to pull focus, pause, or zoom in on any particular bit of information at any time.
From the dusty plains of Tatooine where Master Qui-Gon Jinn first discovered him, to the recent HoloNet broadcast of his somewhat scandalous marriage to Senator Padmé Amidala, no detail escaped her scrutiny.
Anakin's mysterious birth and the absence of any biological father shrouded in mystery, yet underscored by Qui-Gon Jinn's steadfast belief in the prophecy of the Chosen One.
Medical reports detailed his remarkable midichlorian count, sparking speculation and debate among the Jedi. His history unfolded as a tale of resilience, intertwined with the story of his enslavement alongside his mother, Shmi, and her tragic fate. Details of his family on Tatooine provided insight into his past. Records also highlighted Qui-Gon Jinn's involvement until his death on Naboo, at the hands of the re-emerging Sith. Obi-Wan Kenobi's pivotal role as Anakin's mentor, including archival footage of his impassioned plea to the council to honor Qui-Gon's dying wish, and the Jedi High Council's decision to allow Skywalker's Jedi training.
After becoming a knight, reports detailed General Skywalker's achievements in the Clone Wars. His bravery in battle made his name famous, but there were also controversial moments, such as his execution of Count Dooku. His relationship with his former Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, was rocky, from her trial and expulsion to her eventual exoneration and departure. Despite the fact, he had been vocal in his belief in her innocence. Skywalker's appointment to the Jedi High Council by Chancellor Palpatine raised eyebrows, and there was controversy when he was denied the rank of Jedi Master. However, his recent arrest of Senator Palpatine led to him finally being promoted to Master.
She’d read over it all many times, yet despite the work ahead of her and the vast amount of information available at her fingertips, her thoughts on her investigation stagnated and her mind wandered elsewhere. Her encounter with Yoda after she’d left Solan and Obi-Wan to train was still fresh in her mind, and it had left her pondering the extent of his knowledge regarding her personal situation. Yoda's ability to discern more than he let on didn't surprise her; he had always seemed to possess insights beyond the obvious. But it did worry her, she’d thought she was guarding her secrets well, yet after their discussion on the way to the Tower of First Knowledge, she was doubting herself as Yoda's words echoed in her thoughts, each line carrying a weight that she couldn't shake.
"Strength from burdens can be gained, yes. But weariness, they also bring. And weariness over time, erodes strength, it does."
"All Jedi are your family, including Obi-Wan. Do not forget."
"Over you, tiredness hangs, and only caf for breakfast, no breakfast at all is. Closely, the smell of bacta follows you. Neglecting one's well-being in favor of stubbornness, it does not do well."
Her contemplations were interrupted by the mechanical hiss of the heavy blast doors opening, for a brief moment the barrier that sequestered her from the rest of the Tower waivered announcing the intrusion into her solitude. Noxella’s shadowy figure seamlessly melded into the room's dimly lit corners. A practiced nod acknowledged her presence, unfazed by Noxella's otherworldly entrances; they had become routine. Yet, this was different. A solemn aura clung to Noxella, the uncharacteristic shift in her demeanor unsettled Cressida. It was as if the usually detached figure had been touched by an unfamiliar sorrow, casting an unexpected shadow over the chamber and stirring unease.
"Cressida," Noxella greeted quietly wearing a soft smile that looked so unnaturally forced, her hands clasped behind her back.
Cressida's apprehensive smile faltered at the sight of Noxella's unusual expression. It wasn’t to say that Noxella was often the bearer of bad news but rather if she was smiling in any capacity, it was usually to cushion the incoming blow.
"Noxella, what brings you here?"
"I have news," Noxella replied, her tone grave. "About Obi-Wan."
Cressida's interest piqued at the mention of Obi-Wan, "What news? Is he alright?"
Noxella paused for a moment, steeling herself before delivering her message. "You were aware of Obi-Wan's formal request to be briefed on your off-world mission, were you not?"
A glimmer of hope ignited within Cressida's heart. "I was. Did the council reach a decision?"
The darkness in Noxella's expression told a story all its own. "Yes, but the council's decision requires unanimity.” Noxella hesitated before delivering the crushing blow. “And I regret to inform you that it wasn't achieved."
Her hope plummeted like a falling star, replaced by a sense of disappointment and frustration.
“So, they denied his request?"
Noxella nodded solemnly, her eyes betraying her own disappointment in the council's decision. "I'm afraid so."
"I see," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. With a wave of her hand over the holo displays all traces of the investigation went black and the room darkened briefly before the lights shifted the illumination to a more acceptable lever.
Noxella's gaze softened, her expression sympathetic. "It wasn't my decision, you must know that," she reassured, her tone tinged with regret. "I share your belief that Obi-Wan deserves to know everything."
Despite her disappointment, Cressida nodded, her resolve unyielding. "I trust in the council's judgment, even if I don't understand it," she admitted, a hint of resignation in her voice. "Thank you for informing me, Noxella."
The news delivered, though it could have been communicated over a com, there was no reason for Noxella to remain, yet she didn’t leave, she took a step closer standing opposite Cressida. Her expression softened, her concern deepening
"How is your investigation proceeding?"
Cressida exhaled wearily, her posture drooping as she pondered the inquiry. "I've thoroughly reviewed all available information, and although there have been a few minor missteps, there's no evidence to indicate that Anakin Skywalker was aware of Palpatine's ulterior motives. Considering recent developments, his connection to the Force appears stronger than ever, and he remains steadfastly aligned with the light side. Anakin Skywalker poses no danger, in my estimation."
Noxella's brow furrowed in concern, "But you suspect Palpatine did have plans for him?" she asked, seeking clarification.
Cressida's nod was solemn, her demeanor grave. "Indeed, strategically speaking, Anakin would have been a prime candidate for an apprentice," she began, her tone measured. "His midichlorian count, the highest ever documented, coupled with his remarkable achievements at such a young age, would have undoubtedly caught Palpatine's attention." She paused, her expression thoughtful. "It's likely that Palpatine would have manipulated circumstances to lure Anakin, putting his friends, allies, and loved ones at risk. While the immediate threat has subsided, it's imperative that we remain vigilant, keeping a close watch on anyone in Master Skywalker's circle for any signs of danger."
Noxella's relief was palpable, though tempered by lingering worry. "I see," she murmured, her tone thoughtful.
Curiosity flickered in Cressida's eyes as she observed her friend's reaction. "Is something wrong, Noxella?" she inquired, sensing there was more to her mentor’s unease.
Noxella hesitated, "Extended stays in the bacta can cause one to lose their appetite," she began carefully, her words measured. “You look a little thin,”
Cressida looked weak and apprehensive, but didn’t bother to hide it, hiding things from Noxella would go over about as well as hiding things from Yoda. They simply couldn’t be done. Cressida's discomfort was palpable as she shifted uneasily in her seat, her gaze dropping to the floor.
With a gentle yet probing tone, Noxella ventured, "Another nightmare?" Cressida's response was a terse nod. “They are growing worse, aren’t they?”
This time Cressida didn’t answer, maybe too afraid of what she might say.
Noxella regarded her with a mix of concern and hesitation. "It’s been my greatest desire to protect you from the time you came into my mentorship as a teen girl after the loss of your master, as such I've been hesitant to send you off-world since your return," she admitted, her voice soft but firm. "I am well aware of the pressures you are under."
Cressida's brows furrowed in confusion, her mind racing to piece together Noxella's concern. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.
"I worry that sitting here, surrounded by holos, may be doing more harm than good." Noxella's expression softened, her concern evident in her gaze. "And with each nightmare, every dip into the bacta’s waters I realize that perhaps my concern for your well-being, is in fact, hampering it," she admitted gently. "But, perhaps it's time for a change of scenery, a new focus now that it seems your investigation is running its course."
"An assignment?" Interest sparked in Cressida's gaze, a faint curiosity that rose like the first star at twilight, her guarded demeanor relaxing ever so slightly.
Noxella nodded, her lips curving into a small smile. "Yes," she confirmed. "Low risk, just information gathering. And you wouldn't be alone; you'd have a partner. No thrilling heroics, I’m afraid."
Cressida's lips parted, then closed, as if she weighed her words against the weeks of isolation and convalescence that had become her world. Then, with a lift of her chin that echoed the lineage of countless warriors before her, she met Noxella's gaze squarely.
"I'm ready."
Solan had started mimicking his father’s mannerisms not long after the nature of their relationship became known to him, both his parents had seen it and at first, Obi-wan wasn’t sure what to think of it but it quickly became a source of amusement for him. It was quite entertaining to see a ten-year-old boy stroking his chin in the same absent-minded way that Obi-Wan often did when lost in thought.
He even had Obi-Wan’s controlled and graceful gait nailed as well; confidently, head held high, shoulders back, hand clasped behind him, taking slow measured strides, though admittedly Solan had to keep to a quicker gait due to his father’s longer legs. He looked very much like a much smaller Obi-Wan, minus the facial hair.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but be flattered by this imitation; after all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
It reminded him of his days as a young Jedi Knight, trying so hard to mimic the perfect poise and stoicism of the Jedi Masters whom he looked up to and admired. But ultimately found himself carrying himself more like his late master, Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon, who had very much so, always moved to the beat of his own drum.
But even that too felt a bit forced, and eventually, he developed his own unique way of carrying himself, which his son more often than not mimicked.
Solan wore a wide grin on his face that outshone even the brightest stars in the galaxy as they strolled through the halls after their busy morning of lightsaber instruction, a meditation session, and finishing off their time with a shared afternoon meal.
Their discussion of combat forms and principles had invigorated him in a way he hadn't felt in ages. Solan was always full of surprises when it came to his knowledge and insights. Not like Anakin, who used to butt heads with him over the proper techniques, and an endless barrage of questions that often felt combative. But Solan soaked it all up like a sponge, hungry to learn more, hanging off every word his father said.
Solan's true self began to emerge. His steps took on a lighter and more carefree cadence, with a hint of excitement in each bounce.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile as he watched his son, it was contagious, so much that he found himself smiling brightly too. And with Solan by his side, Obi-Wan found himself walking with a newfound casualness reminiscent of his early days mentoring Anakin.
No need to be so formal all the time, he mused.
"You did exceptionally well today, Solan," Obi-Wan remarked, his voice filled with genuine pride. "Your understanding of the forms is remarkable for one so young."
Solan beamed with pride, his chest swelling a little with each word of his father’s praise. "Thanks, Obi-wan,"
Obi-Wan studied his son carefully as they walked, questions brimming in his eyes, "I'm curious, though. How did you become so proficient with the forms, given the... unconventional nature of your upbringing?"
Solan's expression softened, a faraway look on his face as he recalled fond memories.
“Well, mom couldn't teach me like other younglings, but she said it was important and that we had to be sneaky about it."
He smiled slightly, reminiscing. "And we had to hide what we were doing, so no one would find out who we were or what she was really teaching me, so she taught me like she was teaching me a dance."
Obi-Wan's eyebrows raised in surprise at the revelation. "A dance?"
Solan nodded happily, “She started with form one when I was four, it was just before she had to leave me for a mission, and she told me to practice while she was gone and we would work on them together when she got back. She said I had to learn the footwork perfectly first. And while she was gone I would practice all day and all night until I fell asleep, when she came home, I’d show her what I learned, we would practice together and then she’d teach me more."
It was such a simple solution and it wasn’t unheard of for combat to be compared to a dance. In fact, the two boasted many similarities. What a delightful way to teach an excitable child!
"That's quite clever indeed."
“The tricky part was learning how to do the forms without being able to use a lightsaber,”
Obi-Wan paused, he hadn’t considered that, Solan’s form with even the training saber seemed as natural as breathing, like he’d been doing it for years.
“What did your mother use in place of a lightsaber?”
“She stole a scarf from a merchant!” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow shot up in surprise.
“Your mother did what?”
Solan laughed loudly and nodded, “Yup! She went to the market at night, snuck in, stole a bright blue scarf from a merchant, and told me to pretend it was a lightsaber.”
His voice grew more animated as he explained. "It felt really silly doing it at first,” Obi-Wan nodded, that he could certainly understand, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. “But then she told me it would make learning look more like it was really a dance and not lightsaber forms. She said it was all about precision and control, and when the time came all I would need to adjust to was the weight of a lightsaber."
Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully, a newfound appreciation for Cressida's methods dawning on him. Solan's movements did have a certain grace and fluidity to them. A scarf as a training tool? Obi-Wan chuckled at the simplicity of the solution, meant to keep Solan accustomed to something in his hand and be mindful of how his movements dictated the movement of something as simple as a scarf. And indeed, the more he thought of it, the more it did seem like the graceful forms of combat might look like an elegant dance to an untrained eye. Who looks for a Jedi with a lightsaber when all they can see is a boy with a colored scarf, dancing?
Obi-Wan stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, “Do you still have the scarf?” Solan nodded and reached into his robes pulling out a slightly faded blue scarf that looked like it had been his most treasured possession.
Obi-Wan smiled “Show me.”
Solan stood at the center of the large empty hall and began with his feet shoulder-width apart, holding the scarf in both hands. The pose was Whirwinds Embrace; he spun swiftly, using the momentum to propel himself forward in a lunging motion. As he extended his arms outward, the scarf flew forward as a lightsaber might deflect an incoming attack, creating a protective barrier around him. He moved seamlessly into Cascade of Serenity; beginning with a series of quick, evasive steps, weaving between imaginary opponents, the azure scarf fluttering in a way reminiscent of the blurred light of a lightsaber. He lowered his arms as if striking down adversaries with precise, flowing movements, the scarf acting as an extension of his will. Despite the intensity of his actions, his demeanor remained calm and composed, reflecting his mastery of the Force.
Obi-Wan watched transfixed at his son, as he executed these very same movements just hours earlier with a training saber but this was somehow different and it did, indeed look like a stunning piece of performance art. Who would have thought a mere scarf could be an effective training tool? Yet here was living proof of Cressida's resourcefulness as an unorthodox teacher.
The series of quick and agile spins of Zephyrs Dance flowed as beautifully as a ballet, evading imaginary attacks from all directions. Each whirl of the scarf disarmed imaginary opponents and created openings for counterattacks, his movements still graceful yet unpredictable to a degree, it would surely keep adversaries off balance and unable to predict his next move. It would be a perfect form for a craft assassin to get close to a target.
Obi-Wan watched attentively as Solan moved through the elegant motions of Form I, admiring the boy's natural talent and dedication to the art of lightsaber combat. Despite his unconventional upbringing, it was clear he had a natural aptitude for the art of combat.
His final pose was Cresting Wave; Solan exploded into motion surging forward with a spriteful leap, the scarf trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. As he moved, the scar flew before him creating an artful barrier that mimicked a flurry of attacks, each strike of the scarf delivered with precision. His movements like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless as a wave crashing on the shore, embodying the strength and ferocity of a Jedi in battle.
The scarf fluttered to his side as he came to rest in a ready pose completing the motions and looking to his father who simply watched in fascination before offering applause, clapping at his son who beamed brightly. To the casual observer, it may have looked like dancing, but Obi-Wan recognized the solid foundations of Form One.
"Remarkable," mused Obi-Wan. "Your graceful style is a testament to your mother’s wisdom."
Solan tucked the scarf back into his robes, and suddenly looked around and shrunk back slightly as a few Jedi passed through the halls, his voice was soft and he looked uncertain.
"That's ok, right Obi-Wan?” he asked, brow furrowing. “That Mom taught me with a scarf instead of a real lightsaber? It’s not, disrespectful or anything, right?"
Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Not at all, my boy. In fact, I believe your training has prepared you remarkably well. You show a grace and fluidity in your movements that surpass many trainees your age.”
Obi-Wan's hand rested reassuringly on Solan's shoulder as they continued walking, a simple gesture that spoke volumes to the boy. Though Solan tried to exude confidence, there was an unmistakable spring in his step now, a lightness that came from his father's praise.
“Solan, your understanding of Shii-Cho is well-rounded, few grasp the form so quickly. You're going to make a fine duelist someday."
Solan beamed, relief washing over his face, his cheeks reddened at the praise. "You really think so?" He had spent his young life concealing his abilities, but to have them recognized and encouraged lit a fire in him.
"I do," Obi-Wan affirmed. He was certain the boy would grow to be a skilled warrior.
And yet, glimpses of playfulness peeked through Solan's studious exterior - the bounce in his step. He was still a child at heart.
"The unconventional nature of your instruction is a testament to your mother's wisdom and creativity, the fundamentals are all there" Obi-Wan continued. "She did well to start you on the right path." As they continued on, Obi-Wan made a mental note to thank Cressida for instilling such a solid foundation in the boy. Her ingenious methods had served Solan well.
Obi-Wan gave his shoulder a paternal squeeze.
"You have nothing to worry about," the Jedi Master said warmly. "Now come, your mother awaits us. And I am certain she will be most pleased to hear of your progress today."
“When can I go to Illum and make my lightsaber?”
His enthusiasm was infectious and Obi-Wan chuckled. "All in due time, young one. For now, let's continue honing your skills."
As they stepped off the turbolift and neared Solan and Cressida’s quarters an idea struck him.
"You know, Solan," he began, a playful glint in his eyes, "I suppose I'll have to make sure you know how to dance properly as well."
Solan looked up quizzically. "Dance? Like, real dancing?”
Obi-Wan nodded. "Indeed. Combat and dance have much in common - precision, fluidity, reading your partner."
Solan arched an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Why would I need to learn that?"
Obi-Wan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You never know when it might come in handy," he replied cryptically. "Charm and poise can be as great a tool as a lightsaber sometimes."
Solan looked unconvinced, nose still wrinkled in distaste. Obi-Wan suppressed another laugh. The boy had his mother's stubborn streak, that much was clear.
"Come now, dancing isn't so dreadful," Obi-Wan cajoled. "It can even be fun, with the right partner."
Solan made a face. "Do I have to dance with girls?"
The thought seemed to disturb him greatly. Now Obi-Wan did laugh out loud at the boy's reaction, as it reminded him so much of himself at that age. He too had found the idea of dancing with girls thoroughly unappealing, long ago.
"Perhaps someday you won't mind so much," he said, eyes dancing with mirth. "After all, your mother is a girl, and you love her, don't you?"
"That's different," Solan insisted, though his expression had softened a bit. "She's my mom."
Obi-Wan nodded in understanding, an amused smile still playing about his lips. "Yes, I suppose you're right about that, “Regardless, a gentleman should know the basics. No lightsabers on the dance floor."
He added with a smile. “Manners matter, Solan, I should need to make sure you at least can grasp the fundaments of actual dancing. Perhaps we’ll get your mother to help teach you, no doubt she could probably use a lesson too, she was about as keen as you are when she was young.”
Solan didn’t seem interested, "Well, you can dance with Mom, and I'll stick to lightsabers." Obi-wan smiled at the thought. What would Solan do when he saw a girl he found pretty?
The doors to their quarters slid open and Solan strode on in, Obi-Wan braced himself for a conversation that he knew might not go as he would have liked but he wanted to continue to be present for Solan's training. Yes, that was it, he would simply ask if she minded if he stayed put for whatever lesson she had to teach. It wasn’t such a difficult thing, they were both mature adults and could certainly behave as such, couldn’t they?
He followed Solan inside and immediately sensed something was wrong. The boy's shoulders were slumped, his footsteps lacking their usual lively bounce. Obi-Wan noticed the somber expression on his young companion's face as he stared at the table in the living space. Following Solan's gaze, Obi-Wan spotted the objects that had given the boy pause - a data stick and a lightsaber.
Obi-Wan's heart sank, though he tried not to outwardly react. He had a dreadful feeling he knew what Solan had realized. The data stick and lightsaber could only mean one thing - Cressida had left unexpectedly. Though Obi-Wan was surprised by this development, he remained calm, not wanting to upset Solan further.
"Solan," he began gently. "Is everything alright?"
He did not respond right away, still processing this discovery. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's gone."
Obi-Wan's heart ached at the quiver in Solan's voice.
Solan's face fell as he lifted the cylindrical hilt, running his fingers over the ridged metal grip of his mother's lightsaber. Though unlit, he could almost see the brilliant orange blade humming before him. With reverent care, he looped the data stick's cord around his neck, tucking the precious drive out of sight beneath his robes.
"Even if," he murmured, gaze distant.
Obi-Wan's brows knitted together, perplexed by the odd remark. But the Jedi Master held his tongue, unwilling to pry into such an intimate, vulnerable moment. Whatever Solan's whispered words had meant, some sorrows were too tender to be touched so soon.
Solan's eyes refocused, meeting his father's concerned stare. "You can go, father. I think I'll meditate and eat, then I'll go to bed. I'll see you in the morning at breakfast." Though his words were polite, his tone was flat and lifeless.
Obi-Wan frowned. The complete lack of emotion in the boy's voice bothered him deeply. This was not the Solan he knew - usually so quick to laughter and enthusiasm.
"No," he said firmly, a decision made in an instant.
Solan looked up, confusion flickering across his features.
"Solan, go and gather your things. You'll stay with me in my quarters until your mother returns."
For a minute the boy didn't move, uncertainty plain on his face. Then, with a gentle nudge through the Force from Obi-Wan, he stepped towards his bedroom, movements slow and hesitant. Still, there was a spark of excitement in his aura at the prospect of spending this time with his father.
As Solan busied himself packing, Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the window. The sun was setting over Coruscant, staining the sky crimson and gold.
"May the Force be with you, Cressida," he whispered into the fading light, hoping with all his heart for her safe return.
A few moments later Solan emerged from his bedroom, a small bag clutched in one hand. He hovered in the doorway, shoulders hunched, as if reluctant to leave the familiar comfort of his room.
Obi-Wan gave him an encouraging smile and held out an encouraging arm to beckon him. "Come, let's be off."
Together they left the quarters Solan had shared with his mother, Solan walked slowly, dragging his feet. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, eyes troubled.
Obi-Wan set a gentle hand on his son's shoulder.
"I know you're worried for your mother. But have faith, my boy. She is resourceful and strong in the Force. No harm will come to her, that much I am certain of"
Solan bit his lip but nodded, some of the tension easing from his slender frame.
They continued on in silence through the maze of corridors that made up the Jedi Temple as they entered into parts that Solan had never been to before. Up a turbolift into one of the rising towers that often houses masters. Solan seemed deep in thought, though Obi-Wan could sense his curiosity about visiting his father's living space for the first time.
When they arrived at Obi-Wan's modest quarters, the door opened with the same mechanical hiss as all others did.
"Come in, make yourself at home."
Solan stepped cautiously into the inviting space, his gaze wandering over the sparse yet cozy furnishings. The room exuded warmth, with soft lighting casting gentle shadows across the walls adorned with rows of holobooks. Among the few artifacts carefully displayed were a couple of holocrons, their ancient wisdom quietly beckoning from their resting places.
"I know it's not much to look at, but I hope you'll be comfortable here," Obi-Wan said, suddenly self-conscious about his humble abode.
Solan set his bag down and turned to Obi-Wan with a shy smile. "It's nice. Thank you, Father."
Obi-Wan's heart swelled. Perhaps this arrangement would be good for both of them, a chance to truly get to know one another.
"You're quite welcome, my son."
Twelve
Hopefully, the length of this chapter makes up for my lack of posting on this story! What do you guys think? Do we have more answers or only more questions??? Well, hopefully, I'm over this writer's slump and I hope you guys enjoyed the latest chapter installment of my story. If you liked it then feel free to reblog and give me a comment on what your thoughts are, you guys make my day with your hilarious tags! Here's hoping Cressida's dream (at least the good part of it) turns to reality sooner rather than later! If you'd like to join my small but lovely taglist reblog or leave me a fun comment and let me know what you thought of it!
And for all of you who liked my Padawan one-shot Obi-Wan/reader insert/Master/Padawan story I am currently working on a second chapter! So stay tuned! Alright! Enough pandering, back to work, these stories don't write themselves!
@burnthecheshirewitch. @heyhawtdawgs. @pickleprickle. @split-spectrum(I know I've never tagged you in this story before but I thought you'd appreciate the Obi-Cress fluff in the beginning!) @bad4amficideasYo asked to be tagged in future Obi-Wan works and this is a longer story but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway and if it's not your thing no hard feelings at all and I will be posting a second chapter to Padawan soon! Gotta sere that smut nice and hot! ;)
Summary: When you were sent on a solo mission to San Francisco to find out what the Hydra agents were doing there, it did not go as planned. Luckily you met a new ally that will help you with defeating Hydra and their new creation. Though you and this new ally don’t get along all too well. But as time moves on, you and the ally start to develop this tension. Will y'all be able to take down Hydra’s plan? And be able to settle yalls tension? Or will you go back to New York City with a failed mission along with a broken heart?
Warnings: Cursing and people checking others out. Also, slight mentions of what turns on the Reader.
Word Count: 1,158
Author’s Note: Alright, so here is Chapter 2; I am sorry that this chapter is also short. I haven’t been writing for almost a year; when I took the break, I stopped writing unless it was little one-shots I have stored away in my google docs. So give me time to adjust, and I will get the hang of it. Please let me know what you like about the story so far; I would love to know your input. Also, let me know anything y’all may love to see in this series, and I may try and fit it in. Anyways enjoy this chapter. The Reader finally meets her new Ally.
Walking out of the airport, you looked through the file to see where you would be staying. You were just hoping wherever you were visiting would be decent, not like the last couple of hotels you stayed in for past missions.
But you couldn’t find anywhere in the file where you were staying, they didn’t book a room for you. You could just pay for a hotel, but the whole point was how they send you on a mission not even an hour after getting back from a difficult one and don’t book you any room.
Slipping the file between your arm, you got your phone out of your pocket and dialed Tony’s number. After 3 rings, he picked up.
“Hey (N/N), is everything okay?”
“I’m not dead yet…” unfortunately, “if that’s what you're asking. But no, I am extremely frustrated that the one-eyed demon spawns straight from hell did not have the decency to book me a hotel room. And…”
before you could even finish, Tony started to mumble something to whoever he was with at the moment before saying. “Don’t worry about it; I’m getting you a room now. On me.”
“Tony, you don’t have to; I was just going to ask if you’d talk to Fury about it.”
“I am not even going to bother with him right now.” you could hear clicking on the other line. “And done, I rented you an apartment. I’m sending you the directions now. When you get there, the key should be in the mailbox. The lady said it’s still fully furnished from the last resident.”
“Tony, you know the difference between a hotel and an apartment, right?”
“Well, I sure hope so; they don’t call me a genius for nothing.”
“Then why in the hell did you rent me a whole fucking apartment when you could have booked me a room for a couple of days at a hotel?”
“It was easier.” He sounded so nonchalant about the whole thing.
“Easier? Tony, many things are involved when renting an apartment. Signing contracts and waiting months till you can even move in.”
“Well, that's the luxury about being Tony Stark; women love me. And the woman sure as hell wanted it badly.” Now he was back to being his cocky, annoyingly sex addict self.
“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
“Oh and Tony”
“Yeah?”
“Tell Fury, Fuck you.” With that, you hung up, and as soon as you did, you saw a notification pop up. The directions to the apartment.
You caught a cab and went to the designation. Getting out of the cab, you grabbed your go bag and looked at the place you would be staying. It wasn’t horrible; it actually looked very nice. Before you went inside, you grabbed the key out of the mailbox.
You walked up the first flight of stairs and walked to the end of the hall, where two apartment doors were directly in front of each other. The left one was yours; you unlocked the door and went inside.
Walking inside, you took a look around; it was neat; whoever lived here in the past was definitely not a big decorator. But there was a guitar in the corner of the room. You were definitely getting rid of that guitar.
You threw your bag on the couch and grabbed the guitar, and started on your way to finding a dumpster. But the moment you made it out the door, you crashed into someone, causing you to almost fall. Before you fell, two strong arms went around your waist and caught you.
“Woah, you okay?” came from the person; he let go of you after you were steady back on your two feet.
“Yeah, I…” you finally looked at the person, and you were now at a loss of words. He was the hottest man you have ever seen before. He was tall, strong, and he had the most beautiful blue-green eyes you have ever seen. He was wearing a black shirt with a black leather jacket and jeans. But you could still tell how muscular he was with the coat on. “Um yeah, I’m fine; I should have been watching where I was going. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it; I should have been watching where I was going too.”
When you crashed into him, you looked down and realized he dropped a bag of tater tots and two chocolate bars. You bent down and picked them up and handed them to him. “Good food choice; it’s two of my favorites besides ramen.”
I like her, Eddie; she didn’t complain about it, unlike you.
Eddie ignored Venom and continued, “Yeah, it’s cheap and delicious food to live off of. Did you just move in?”
“What? Oh yeah.”
“Hopefully, you're not a guitar player, the last resident used to play guitar all the time. It became a big disturbance.”
“Oh no, I don't; I actually was on my way to throw it out when I accidentally ran into you. Where is it?” You looked around and saw it lying down a couple of feet away. Waking over, you bent down and picked it up.
Unknowingly, Eddie was checking you out while you were picking it up.
Your pulse quickened; you liked her.
But Venom was enjoying the view and had this sudden urge to want to just be by you. “Shut up, don’t ruin this.”
You now had a guitar in hand and turned around, facing back towards the man, “What?”
“Oh nothing, I was just mentioning how I’m glad you threw the guitar away.”
You laughed while walking towards him, “Oh, and I completely forgot, I’m (Y/N).” You stuck your hand out to formally introduce yourself.
He placed his hand in your and shook it, “I’m Eddie.”
He had a firm handshake; he could definitely injure somebody if he wanted to with those hands. Which was definitely a turn-on for you.
EDDIE FOOD, I NEED TO EAT!
He took his hand back, and as did you, “Well, I need to get inside, but we are right across the hall if you need anything.”
“Thank you, It was nice meeting you. Oh, and sorry for bumping into you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, and with that, he went inside and shut the door.
For a second, you stood there, just staring at the door. Something about him just lured you in. He was hot; every single thing about him, but also another part of him was mysterious. After a minute, you stamped yourself out of the transfix.
You had to go and throw this shitty guitar away and start figuring out what would be your first move for this mission. So that’s what you did. You found a dumpster and threw the guitar away. Then went back into the apartment, sat down, and read through the file. Trying to find a way to go about this mission.
Artblock attacks. So I made a meme of OC and Izuku. This is their friendship phase and I love them both very much. #bnhaart #bnhaoc #smallartist #friendshipdynamics #eventualromance #meme #isawthisanddecidedtodrawit https://www.instagram.com/p/CO1no2cDIHwcw4RcoWJp3Id8rMu6GbYTOdHHAU0/?igshid=1dpqoohuoi1nl
A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.
TheGreatWicked
Summary:
In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker has resisted the dark side and fulfilled his destiny as the Chosen One, the Jedi Order faces a new dawn. With Palpatine's arrest reshaping the galaxy, Anakin steps into the role of a Jedi Master, guiding the Order into a transformative era where the nature of attachments is under scrutiny.
During an urgent council meeting, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi encounters an unexpected and enigmatic young boy waiting outside the chambers. This chance meeting stirs something deep within Obi-Wan, pulling him toward a revelation that threatens to upend the fragile peace the Jedi have fought to rebuild.
As the Jedi Council grapples with the implications of their evolving philosophies and the resurgence of past secrets, the balance of the Force teeters on the edge. The galaxy stands on the brink of profound change, and the shadows of Obi-Wan's concealed past loom large, with the potential to reshape the future of the Jedi and the Force itself.
Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)
Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.
Chapter Eight
Obi-Wan reminded himself (more than once) that both he and Solan were on a journey of learning and growth, and it would require patience, especially on his part, to navigate this new and complex father-son relationship. Solan's demeanor was, initially, quite different from what he had experienced before, and he had to bite his tongue when he wanted to remind Solan that he wasn’t entitled to learn what he wanted, when he wanted simply because he wanted to. Solan was the student and Obi-wan, the teacher.
Obi-Wan had to adapt to his new role as both a father and an instructor, and Solan needed to learn the ways of the Jedi. Balancing their needs was going to be a complex task, one they would need to discover together.
He wanted to gauge Solan's ability to conjure a successful force shield. It would be a test of both Solan's defensive capabilities and his emotional control, both vital aspects that any youngling would learn. As they stood in a serene chamber within the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan began to explain the exercise to his son.
"Solan," Obi-Wan began, "I want you to create a strong force shield, as strong as you can manage. Focus on creating an impenetrable barrier, one that protects your innermost thoughts and emotions. And I will attempt to find a way past it."
Solan emitted a sigh, as if reluctantly accepting a lesson that failed to spark his enthusiasm. He settled into a cross-legged position, closed his eyes, and directed his focus inward. A subtle shift occurred in the air around him as Solan connected with the Force, sensing its dynamic energy. With deliberate concentration, he initiated the creation of a formidable shield to envelop his mind. Solan exhibited a distinctive and remarkable proficiency in force shielding, showcasing a talent that surpassed the usual expectations for someone of his age.
Obi-Wan was genuinely impressed. Solan's force shielding was not just a simple defense; it appeared to flow with an innate understanding that belied his youth. As Solan created the shield, he seemed to slip into a calm and serene state, showing a renewed engagement in the exercise.
"Good, Solan," Obi-Wan encouraged as he paced closer, finding it surprising how much he enjoyed praising Solan, seeing so much of his younger self in his son. "Now, I want you to think of something. Anything at all. It can be a memory, a thought, or a secret. Focus on your shield, and use it to protect your thoughts as if your life depended on it, but don't be afraid. Keep your attention on maintaining your shield."
Solan nodded, his focus now fully on the shield he had erected. Obi-Wan took a seat in front of Solan a few feet away mimicking his sons’ posture, extending his hand and began to reach out with the Force, searching for any gaps or weaknesses in Solan's defense. It was surprisingly no easy task; Solan's formidable shield presented a considerable challenge, one that brought a small smile to Obi-wan's face.
Several quiet minutes passed, with Solan maintaining his focus and Obi-Wan persistently probing for a means to break through. Solan's shield held strong, but like all defenses, it wasn't flawless.
Within the guarded walls of Solan's mind, his subconscious shifted into a vibrant dreamscape, bathed in a warm glow that matched the golden hue of his mother's tales. The memory he chose to focus on was a pivotal one, a moment when the fabric of his reality seemed to shimmer with the promise of adventure.
He found himself sitting on the bench within the warm halls of the Jedi Temple, the day he met Obi-wan. A moment that bridged the gap between the fantastical narratives spun by his mother and the tangible reality of meeting a living legend.
As the memory unfolded like a well-practiced holo-drama, the figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi materialized before Solan as he swung his legs on the bench. Obi-Wan, the hero General of the Clone Wars, stood before him – a beacon of Jedi wisdom and courage. Solan, in the innocence of youth, couldn't contain the wide-eyed awe that painted his face, and even in the exercise hips lips curled up into an almost imperceptible smile.
The memory was a kaleidoscope of vibrant emotions – admiration like a melody playing in the background, awe as a visual spectacle that unfolded with each step Obi-Wan took. Solan's heart beat in sync with the excitement of that moment, the thrill of meeting someone he had only heard tales of until that day.
And as Solan immersed himself in this cherished recollection, the exercise began to weave its magic, fostering a connection between the past and the present, between the hero of his childhood tales and the father who stood by his side.
It was as if the young boy had gathered a torrent of hyper-concentration around himself, using his focus to cover up his emotions. It was a different kind of vulnerability, one that Obi-wan hadn’t expected, but one that he knew he could overcome. Solan was trying to block out his emotions entirely.
A smile adorned Obi-Wan's face as he acknowledged the genuine emotions. Reflecting on how he reached out through the Force to touch the shield, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse at how effortlessly it shattered. At that moment, the shield faltered with the slightest preassure, allowing Obi-Wan a glimpse into his son's unguarded memory. Waves of excitement, happiness, and awe from the encounter with his hero washed over Obi-Wan, deepening the connection between them.
As Solan's force shield collapsed like fragile glass, his shock was palpable. The young boy sat there, staring at the ground with an expression of surprise etched on his face.
However, much to his surprise, Obi-wan greeted him with a smile and a nod of approval, despite his failure. "Solan," he said softly. "You did well."
Obi-Wan could sense the depth of Solan's confusion. He realized that this test had pushed Solan in a way he had never experienced before, and by Solan’s understanding he probably failed, but Obi-wan’s wisdom shone through as even in failure there is knowledge to be gained. He disliked seeing the look of disappointment in Solan’s eyes, the exercise served a valuable purpose. Obi-Wan wanted to ensure that Solan understood what had transpired and why.
"Do you understand what just happened, Solan?"
Solan shook his head, a frustrated grimace on his face, the hallmark look of a frustrated child who hadn’t expected to fail.
"Solan, your force shield demonstrated remarkable strength; your concentration on safeguarding that memory was a commendable instinct. Nevertheless, your emphasis was on suppressing all your emotions rather than harnessing them as a source of assistance. Emotions possess great potency, yet they can become a detriment if we let them dictate our actions or if we disregard them entirely."
With an irritated huff, Solan folded his arms across his chest, a display of youthful frustration. He didn't like this lesson, and it was evident on his face. His eyes remained averted, avoiding Obi-Wan's gaze until instructed otherwise.
Obi-Wan decided to provide a more detailed explanation to his son. "Solan, by supressing your emotions entirely you disconnected yourself from your shield," he explained. "You cannot force the Force; it doesn't belong to you. Instead, you need to find the balance between your emotions. The Force is meant to be used in harmony with your emotions."
Solan stayed quiet, grappling with Obi-Wan's words, a blend of confusion and lingering distress evident on his face. Obi-Wan empathized with his son, recognizing the weight of what must have felt like an utter failure. He allowed Solan a moment and space to collect himself, understanding the need for the boy to process this newfound awareness.
“Do you understand?”
“Not really.”
"Solan, let's try again. This time, I want you to think of something with a powerful emotion. But, instead of suppressing the emotion attached to the memory, imagine it passing through you like you're standing in the current of a river, and the river simply flows around you. You are as steadfast and immovable as an ancient stone." Obi-Wan maintained a watchful eye on Solan, recognizing the resilience it took for his young son to gather himself and face the exercise once more, as they prepared to repeat the shielding exercise.
Solan seemed surprised but intrigued by this approach. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded slowly and took a deep breath. He shook out his hands and adjusted his posture, sitting up straight and breathing out a heavy and shaky breath, and he tried again.
This time, when he created his force shield, it felt weaker to him. He spent a few minutes concentrating to make it stronger. Once he felt it was stable, he decided on a memory with a strong emotional attachment to practice on.
Obi-Wan observed Solan's deep focus and felt the young boy's force shield rising up again, slower this time, as if he were trying to build it more deliberately. It was a promising sign that Solan was taking the lesson to heart.
When Solan nodded his readiness, Obi-Wan concentrated his efforts and he delved once again into the Force. This time, he didn't feel the overwhelming hyperactivity or the absence of emotion that had been present before. Instead, he sensed a different kind of sensation within Solan. He sensed a hazy source of emotional turmoil, a well of sadness that radiated from the memory Solan was trying to protect. Drawing on the swirling pool of sadness, Obi-Wan tapped into that vulnerability and gently pushed against it. He had instructed Solan to think of a memory with a powerful emotion attached but he hadn’t anticipated what he saw. It wasn’t a river and Solan wasn’t an immovable stone, it was a maelstrom of churning waters and Solan may as well have been a piece of driftwood, being tossed almost violently under the current of emotions he struggled to maintain control over.
Obi-Wan pushed gently against Solan's shield, seeking a way through, but this time, he decided to do more than just that. He called out Solan's name within his mind, his voice echoing gently. It was an unexpected intrusion, a father addressing his son in a moment of vulnerability. Solan was caught off guard, his focus shattered by the sound of his father's voice within his mind.
As the breakthrough unfolded, the floodgates of Solan's guarded memory opened wide for Obi-Wan. It was as if a hidden chamber of the young boy's mind had been unlocked, revealing a poignant recollection from Solan's earliest years—the first memory he could consciously recall. Despite the passage of time, the edges of the memory were clouded and fuzzy, bearing the mark of age, but within this haze, the emotions were crystal clear.
The scene played out like a poignant tableau from Solan's past. In the memory, he was a mere three years old, left in the care of a service droid as his mother embarked on a mission. The loneliness and vulnerability of the young child were palpable, his small form sitting alone, tears streaming down his face. The sadness and fear etched across his innocent features were heart-wrenching, unaware that Cressida would return to him, calling out for ‘mommy.’
As Cressida prepared to leave, a look of distress and heartache shadowed her face, mirroring the emotions that raged within Solan. The memory captured a moment frozen in time, Solan reaching out his tiny hand towards his departing mother, a silent plea for reassurance. The image of Cressida walking away, her figure becoming smaller through the eyes of the young child, held a weight of separation and sorrow.
Lightsaber in hand, Cressida turned to glance back at her son. In the midst of her own turmoil, Solan saw the glint of glassiness in her eyes. The pain of this shared moment was palpable, the glass partition between them acting as an insurmountable barrier. Obi-Wan observed Cressida's poignant gesture—placing her hand first to her lips and then on the cold surface that separated mother and son. And then, with the heavy finality of a closing door, Cressida left, and the memory dissolved into the mist of time.
Obi-Wan's heart ached as he touched upon Solan's deep emotions, seeing the memory as a powerless observer, unable to reach his son in his time of distress. It was this well of sadness that had ultimately allowed him to penetrate Solan's formidable force shield. As Obi-Wan gently withdrew from Solan's mind, he looked at his son with a mixture of concern and empathy, understanding the young boy's struggles with his emotions a little better. He hadn’t expected such sorrow.
Solan had attempted the exercise twice now and failed on both occasions. His young face reflected shock and defeat as he stood before Obi-Wan, his lips moving as if he were trying to find the right words but ultimately failing to speak.
His features contorted with distress and the sorrow of the memory he had been trying to shield, its raw sadness breaking through. His eyes were glassy, and his hands trembled, unaccustomed to this level of emotional exposure brought about by the exercise.
Acting on what he could only explain as instinct, Obi-Wan, was again, by Solan’s side with a hand on his shoulder to steady him. When he asked if Solan was alright, he just looked shaken and didn’t answer. He asked if he understood what had happened this time. Solan, his frustration mounting, shook his head. It was clear that his emotions were giving way to sadness now rather than annoyance.
"Solan, initially, you suppressed your emotions, severing your connection with the Force. This time, you allowed them to overwhelm you, like a tumultuous river in full force," he clarified. Solan's expression reflected bewilderment as he grappled with the idea. He hadn't yet realized that neither the extreme of complete emotional detachment nor letting emotions run rampant would assist him in this exercise. He was exerting considerable effort, perhaps too much, and needed to discover that delicate balance. Additionally, it didn't help that he was still shaken by the depth and power of the emotion associated with the memory he had chosen, he sniffled several times and rubbed at his eyes, trying to hide any evidence of his sadness.
"Look at me, Solan," Obi-Wan gently commanded.
Reluctantly, Solan met his father's gaze, his eyes filled with shame at his repeated failure. He was finding it challenging to strike that balance. He appeared to withdraw into himself, his shoulders slumped with a weight that seemed too heavy for a young boy to bear. It was just as Cressida had said.
Obi-Wan, determined to impart this crucial lesson, told Solan that he had one more opportunity to succeed. Now that he had experienced both extremes of the emotional spectrum, he could try to find the middle ground—the balance between the two. Balance was what would lead to success.
Obi-Wan resumed his seat across from Solan, a subtle shift in the distance between them that spoke volumes. Solan still didn't seem keen on trying again. He muttered that he didn't want to do it once more, complaining that it was too hard. But Obi-Wan wasn't about to let his son give up so easily.
The training room seemed to hold a hushed anticipation, carrying the echoes of the emotionally charged moments they had just shared. Solan, still recovering from the emotional release, stifled a lingering sniffle, his attempts to compose himself evident in the way he straightened his posture.
In a tone edged with firmness, Obi-Wan addressed Solan not as a father but as a master, posing a question:
"Who led you to believe this journey would be without difficulty? You gave your word to Master Windu that you would make an effort. Are you prepared to abandon the task at the first setback, especially when it's merely a training exercise? There will be instances where much more will hinge on your capacity to surmount challenges—perhaps even your own life or another's. If you falter in your commitment after a failure, your path to becoming a Jedi may be insurmountable."
Solan's mouth dropped open, and he stared at his father. His shoulders slumped, and he shrunk into himself, giving a reluctant nod. Obi-Wan, unyielding in his determination to help Solan grow, encouraged him to try the exercise once more. It was a lesson in perseverance and balance, and one that would help shape the young boys’ journey.
Obi-Wan observed Solan's progress with a mix of patience and encouragement. As they stood in the tranquil training chamber, he could sense the boy's determination to master the art of maintaining a force shield. Solan had initially struggled, but his determination was admirable.
"Try one more time, Solan," Obi-Wan gently encouraged. His words were meant to convey a sense of "don't worry; we can always try again later." However, Solan interpreted them differently. He perceived it as an ultimatum, a challenge to prove himself right then and there.
The increasing pressure bore down on Solan, and his palms became clammy. He paused briefly, feeling the weight of expectations on his young shoulders. Suddenly, in a burst of nervous energy, he leaped up, bouncing on his toes, shrugging his shoulders, and shaking out his anxiety like a playful child. After letting out his pent-up energy, he confidently marched back and resumed his seat, his expression a mix of frustration, determination, and sheer stubbornness.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but be amused. He had seen Anakin, his former padawan, do many things, but never had he witnessed such a display of childlike animation and anxiety. For a moment, it was a welcome sight, as it reminded Obi-Wan of the age and innocence that Solan carried.
After a few seconds, Solan calmed himself and turned back, determination etched on his features. He sat down and breathed deeply, eyes closed, attempting to find the delicate balance between emotions and control that the exercise required.
Solan sat in silence for a few minutes. The air around him trembled slightly, mirroring the unsteady rhythm of a hesitant breath. He struggled to visualize the river once more and to allow his emotions to flow through him, not controlling him but guiding him.
Obi-Wan's words about protecting others had taken on a profound resonance, revealing a truth that had already woven itself into the fabric of his past.
Solan could do this. He focused on visualizing the river in his mind, feeling its current without allowing it to drown him or push him down. The emotions from the memory surged through him, but they didn't control him. He was determined, knowing that one day he might have to protect others, just as he had protected his mother.
His mind was awash with that determination, and it took him several long minutes to reconstruct his force shield. It built slower than before, and every so often, it crumbled slightly under the weight of the pressure he was putting on himself. But he continued to will it back, never forcing it.
Memories of the fear he felt coursed over him as the shield neared its completion. He stood in the raging torrent of his emotions, just like he had as a young boy when he believed only he could protect his mother. It was challenging, and his mind became cluttered with many voices, his own, his mother's, and Obi-Wan's.
Obi-Wan watched with both concern and admiration as Solan wrestled with his emotions. He observed the storm within his son as he struggled to find that delicate balance. The gentle river Obi-Wan had described seemed more like a raging torrent, and he could see Solan losing his footing, on the verge of being overwhelmed.
In this memory, Solan saw himself as a four-year-old, a pint-sized guardian in the making. His mother, Cressida, returned home from a mission, battered and injured. The little boy's heart raced as he witnessed her weakened state, blood staining her clothes, and her steps faltering. Solan, driven by a sense of responsibility beyond his tender age, reached out to help her, tugging at her arm with small, determined hands.
The portrait of maternal strength that was Cressida, struggled to stand, her body betraying the toll of her recent ordeal, clinging to life out of what he knew to be sheer stubbornness. In Solan's memory, he could feel the fear pulsating through his veins, an unspoken understanding that he had to do something to help his mother. The word 'bacta' echoed in his mind, a mantra he repeated with all the conviction a four-year-old could muster.
The scene played out as if in slow motion: Solan guiding his mother towards the bacta tank, uttering words of encouragement like a mantra of hope. "Come on, Mama," he urged, his voice a tiny beacon of support. "Almost there," he assured her, his small hand reaching out as if trying to bear the weight of her injuries. "It’s ok," he declared, his determination turning a mundane task into a sacred duty.
In his own innocence, Solan clutched a blaster, feeling an unspoken responsibility to protect his mother. The imagery was both heartwarming and heart-wrenching – a child shouldering a burden far beyond his years out of love. The memory revealed a snapshot of Solan's early understanding of what it meant to be a guardian, a sentiment he would carry with him into adulthood.
But as the memory unfolded, a poignant realization washed over him. The pride he once felt was soon replaced by the vulnerability of a child who had underestimated the severity of his mother's injuries. When Cressida emerged from the bacta tank earlier than expected, Solan's world crumbled. He begged her to return to the healing waters, his tears flowing as an outpouring of worry and love.
The memory ended with Solan, still a child in his mother's arms, the weight of responsibility momentarily lifted. Yet, the memory left an indelible mark on his young heart, planting the seeds of understanding that love and protection sometimes come at a cost.
Obi-Wan observed with a mix of concern and admiration as Solan grappled with his emotions. The storm raging within his son's heart seemed more like a tumultuous torrent than the gentle river Obi-Wan had envisioned. Solan appeared on the brink of being overwhelmed, struggling to find that delicate balance. Throughout the ordeal, Solan's lips moved, uttering a repetitive mantra that carried both determination and a poignant vulnerability, "I can do it, I can do it."
Obi-Wan didn't attempt to push past Solan's struggling shield. Instead, he merely spoke Solan's name gently, and the force shield shattered into oblivion. The memory rushed out with such force that it knocked the breath from Obi-Wan's chest, and he knew that they had taken an important step forward in Solan's training.
In the training chamber, a somber silence prevailed, broken only by the desperate gasps for breath. Etched with despair and frustration, his youthful visage struggled to grasp the intricacies of the recent ordeal. The focus had shifted from the mere physical exercise to the profound emotional scars that Solan carried from the tumultuous first decade of his life.
Obi-Wan, was in an instant in front of Solan. He held onto his son, sensing that Solan was not just physically unsteady but also emotionally overwhelmed. It was as if Solan had been caught in a rushing river's current, and now he stood shivering and taking in deep, ragged breaths as though he had nearly drowned.
Obi-Wan meant to steady Solan until the boy could regain his balance and find his footing under his own willpower. But he was taken aback when Solan threw himself at his father, small arms wrapping tightly around Obi-Wan's neck. Solan's body quivered under the weight of his failures, and Obi-Wan found himself momentarily frozen, unsure of how to react.
He was clutching onto Obi-Wan for dear life.
Obi-Wan remained still, feeling the weight of Solan's trembling form in his arms. The young boy struggled to regulate himself after the intensity of the exercise, and Obi-Wan called Solan's name gently, repeatedly, like a lifeline. He had experienced similar intense moments with Anakin, but Anakin had never hugged him the way Solan did, and he certainly didn’t have the relationship with Anakin that he shared with Solan. Obi-Wan had no guidebook for this unfamiliar territory.
Solan clung tightly, his grip unyielding, yet Obi-Wan persisted in calling out to him. His voice acted as a calming anchor amid the internal tumult Solan grappled with. Obi-Wan's words were a reassurance about the present, assuring Solan that everything was fine, and that he was right there by his side. In his soothing tone, Obi-Wan reminded Solan that Cressida was safe, emphasizing how he had protected her. It was as if Solan remained ensnared in the memory of the earlier exercise, and Obi-Wan was resolute in his determination to pull him back to the present moment. The memory that had seized Solan's consciousness was a poignant one, and Obi-Wan experienced a profound pang of sorrow witnessing a fragment of his son's childhood burdened by fears and hardships not intended for him to bear.
After a long and agonizing minute, it worked. Solan gradually loosened his hold on Obi-Wan, though his eyes were still wide, full of turmoil. Obi-Wan shifted his hands to rest on Solan's shoulders, his voice gentle and reassuring. "You did well, Solan," he said, despite the apparent failure of the exercise.
Solan's voice quivered as he responded, questioning how he could have done well when he couldn't do it at all. Obi-Wan regarded the young boy with a profound wisdom that stretched far beyond his years. "Failure is a part of life," he said softly, his eyes filled with understanding. "It is how we learn. Without failure, victory would be meaningless. You will get there, Solan, in time, and I will help you. I promise you."
Following the shielding exercise and the unsettling memories Obi-Wan had witnessed, he considered meditation a natural progression for the day's lesson. However, his immediate concern was Solan's well-being. While he had always been aware of Solan's unique and perilous upbringing, the vivid images and memories he had glimpsed during the exercise had been emotionally distressing. Taking a walk through the temple grounds, father and son engaged in a conversation where Solan shared what he could remember from the two dark memories. Though challenging, this presented Obi-Wan with a unique opportunity to deepen his training with Solan.
The absence of Cressida, though notable, allowed for a more personal connection between father and son. Transitioning from the training room to a quieter space within the temple, Obi-Wan took a moment to contemplate the events of the day.
"Mastering the art of shielding is crucial, Solan, but equally vital is the cultivation of meditation. It forms the bedrock of a Jedi's connection to the Force," Obi-Wan began, his tone gentle yet unwavering.
They found themselves in a tranquil chamber, enveloped by the soothing hum of the temple. Obi-Wan continued, "Meditation goes beyond mere stillness and mental quietude. It is a practice that tunes you into the Force, heightening your awareness of its currents and the energies that course through every living being."
"Like the river you mentioned during the shielding exercise?" Solan inquired, drawing connections between the two practices on his own.
"Exactly! You've grasped it perfectly, like the river," Obi-Wan affirmed. Solan absorbed his father's wisdom, prompting Obi-Wan to gesture for them to sit in a cross-legged position, mirroring the traditional posture of meditation.
"So, they're intertwined, right? Meditation and shielding can strengthen each other?" Solan sought clarification, piecing together the components.
"Yes, that's precisely right. The two are connected." Obi-Wan's grin widened, and he nodded, commending his son, "The Force is always there, Solan, like an invisible thread connecting all living things. Meditation allows us to feel its presence, to understand its will. Close your eyes, focus on your breath, and let your mind become like a calm lake. Observe the ripples, but don't let them disturb the stillness within."
Solan followed his father's instructions, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Obi-Wan guided him through the process, encouraging him to let go of external distractions and turn his attention inward.
"As you meditate, you'll begin to sense the Force around you. It will reveal insights, guide your actions, and grant you a profound understanding of the world. Patience is key, Solan. The Force moves in its own time, and as Jedi, we must learn to trust in its wisdom."
A serene quiet settled over the room as father and son immersed themselves in the meditative practice. Through these shared moments, Obi-Wan aspired to convey not only the techniques of a Jedi but the very essence of the Jedi path – a journey that went beyond lightsabers and combat, delving into the profound connection with the Force that meditation could unveil. However, the tranquility was intermittently disrupted by the unmistakable growls emanating from a small, empty stomach. Each occurrence prompted hearty chuckles from Obi-Wan. When it happened for the third time, he had to insist that they make their way to the refectory for a belated lunch.
"I hadn't realized how time had slipped away. Come, Solan, let's get something to eat. I'm sure your mother won't be pleased with me if I send you back to her on an empty stomach."
As the afternoon sun bathed the Jedi Temple in warm hues, they sat in the Jedi refectory, the atmosphere between Obi-Wan and Solan was a blend of contentment and familial warmth. The training had been intense, yet fulfilling, and now they found themselves enjoying a well-deserved meal together upon realizing just how much of the day had slipped away. Obi-Wan leisurely sipped his tea, savoring the moment and appreciating the simple pleasure of baked dru'un slices with fish sauce, while Solan attacked his waffles with the voracious appetite befitting a ten-year-old boy, the occasional muffled words escaping from his mouth as he spoke between bites. His speed and urgency in consuming his food were noticeable, prompting a chuckle from Obi-Wan. The contrast in their eating styles was comical, the measured and deliberate pace of the Jedi Master versus the hurried and eager appetite of his son.
Observing Solan's rapid approach to meals, Obi-Wan couldn't help but ponder the source of this apparent urgency. He mentally noted the need to discuss it with Cressida later, suspecting there might be more to Solan's eating habits than initially met the eye.
Amidst the clatter of utensils and the hum of conversations in the refectory, Solan's eagerness to absorb information from earlier training sessions spilled over into a barrage of questions. Obi-Wan, wearing a patient smile, found himself navigating through the inquiries, gently reminding Solan to take it one question at a time.
"One query at a time, Solan. I'm not going anywhere," Obi-Wan teased, his words carrying the weight of a deeper understanding of Solan's past and the gaps in his training. "And slow down, chew your food."
At one point, Obi-Wan simply stared at his son, as though he were watching a holodrama. He had never seen anyone devour two plates of waffles as quickly as Solan did, not even Anakin, who had known a life of slavery and sparse meals. Eager to address the issue, Obi-Wan reached forth and stopped Solan's hand, preventing a forkful of food from reaching his mouth.
"Solan, could you please slow down a bit?" Obi-Wan voiced his concern, and Solan, seemingly aware of it, adjusted his pace, taking the time to chew his food slowly. Obi-Wan attempted to continue, "Solan,--"
"I don't like foodstuffs," Solan cut in unexpectedly. His response was swift, almost defensive, as if anticipating trouble. "They don't taste very good. And I hate how they're cold a lot of the time." A silence settled over them for a few minutes all that could be heard was the ambient noise of the refectory.
"Well, on that point, we agree. There's nothing quite like a hot meal, is there?" Obi-Wan sensed he had stumbled onto a sensitive topic for his son. "Did you eat them often?"
Solan nodded, "Mom tried to make sure I had real cooked food, but a lot of the time, foodstuffs were all we had. This tastes way better." Obi-Wan still had more questions, but he was uncertain about how to approach them. "I never went hungry, though. But Mom did sometimes so I wouldn't have to." Once again, Solan seemed to understand what Obi-Wan wanted to know, as if he had plucked the question from his mind.
Solan wore a somber expression, staring at his waffles as if burdened by guilt. "Well, we mustn't waste them; finish your food." There would be another time to address this particularly sensitive issue, but not now, especially after how Obi-Wan had challenged Solan today. "I liked waffles quite a bit too when I was a boy."
Upon hearing his father share this similarity, Solan perked up a bit and smiled, seemingly pleased to have something in common with his father.
Observing Obi-Wan's cup of tea, Solan looked thoughtful, as if a question lingered in his mind. "What's wrong?"
Shaking his head, Solan replied, "Nothing. I was just wondering, did you and Mom ever drink tea together?" Obi-Wan was taken aback, especially since he knew for a fact that Cressida didn't like tea; she much preferred caf.
"No, your mother has never liked tea as long as I've known her. Why do you ask?"
"I know she doesn’t like tea, but she always drank it during when we were off-world. Every day, I watched her make Sapir Tea. Then I started making it for her when she came back after being away. She always looked kinda sad when she drank it, and I never knew why. It didn't feel right to ask, so I wondered if the two of you used to drink tea together or something. Otherwise, why would she drink something she didn’t like?"
Why indeed? Solan's observations were unexpectedly perceptive for someone so young, revealing more of his close connection with his mother. Obi-Wan had a theory, but perhaps he'd test it later.
"Maybe it reminded her of home," he suggested, reaching for a sip but hesitating. "Would you like to try it?"
Accepting the cup from his father, Solan smiled when their fingers brushed. He cautiously sniffed the cup, made a skeptical face, took a slow sip, and then grimaced, sticking his tongue out.
"No wonder Mom doesn't like tea; that's gross."
Obi-Wan's laughter echoed through the room as he reclaimed the cup, saying, "It can be an acquired taste, I suppose." Solan, determined to rid himself of the bitter aftertaste, continued sticking his tongue out in an exaggerated manner.
As the two continued their banter, their attention was suddenly diverted by the approach of a familiar voice. Obi-Wan and Solan turned to see Cressida striding towards them, a playful amusement in her eyes.
"Well, I can see you two have had a very productive day," she remarked, taking a seat next to Obi-Wan. “I leave you two for training and I come back to waffles…”
Obi-Wan, feeling slightly caught, muttered, "His second helping..."
"Only his second? He'll eat five if you let him," Cressida replied, relishing the shock on Obi-Wan's face.
"Five!?" he exclaimed incredulously.
"Growing boys, you know?" Cressida teased, savoring Obi-Wan's expression. She accepted the forkful of waffle that Solan offered her with a smile. "How are they?" Solan nodded happily, and she took a thoughtful bite. "Tastes like waffles," she mused with a smile.
"Better than foodstuffs," Solan added eagerly. Cressida nodded in agreement, and it seemed the small family was in unanimous accord on that matter. Solan turned to his mother and asked, "Are you going to eat something, Mom?"
Cressida winked and nodded, "I think so." She rose once more and strolled away. Once she was out of earshot, Solan's smile faded, and he looked as though he had just tasted the bitter tea all over again.
Obi-Wan finished chewing his mouthful of dru’un, setting the utensils down as he observed Cressida interacting with the surroundings in the bustling dining area of the Jedi Temple. Solan's keen perception had drawn his attention to subtle details that Obi-Wan had overlooked. The father-son duo had their eyes trained on Cressida, silently communicating through shared concern.
“Somethings wrong.”
"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan asked, glancing at Solan as he voiced his unease. “She seems fine to me.”
Solan shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "I know her tells."
Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow, intrigued by Solan's assessment of his mother. "Tell me."
"She's shifting her weight to her left foot when she stops walking but she's right-handed and usually places her weight on her right foot, it’s like she's trying to be ready to act or strike," Solan explained. Obi-Wan followed his gaze and saw Cressida unconsciously favoring her left foot, a subtle sign of her sentinel training. As Solan continued his perceptive analysis of Cressida's behavior, Obi-Wan couldn't help but marvel at his son's keen observation skills. It was clear that Solan had inherited not only his mother's Force sensitivity but also her knack for reading people. Obi-Wan considered it a valuable trait, one that would serve Solan well in his future as a Jedi.
Solan continued with his astute observations. "She also has these little things she does, like she's trying to be guarded or defensive. She rubs her arms like she's cold or trying to comfort herself, closing herself off. And look how she's clenching her fists; I bet she's clenching her jaw too. Even though there are people nearby, she's keeping a bubble around herself, like she's trying to self-isolate." Obi-Wan focused on her, now noticing the nuances that Solan had pointed out, each movement spoke volumes about Cressida's emotional state. It was a side of her that Obi-Wan rarely witnessed, and it concerned him.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but be impressed. Solan's insight into Cressida's demeanor was uncanny. "I remember she used to tap the toes on her right foot whenever she was nervous as a Padawan," Obi-Wan remarked, a touch of nostalgia in his voice as he observed Cressida.
Solan nodded in agreement. "She still does that too, not so much in public, though. It's more of a behind-closed-doors thing. She doesn't want anyone to think she's afraid." The idea that she still carried these habits, even in private, hinted at the depth of her experiences and the challenges she had faced throughout her life.
As if on cue, they both watched Cressida's right foot anxiously tap on her toe, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil.
"I think she got some not-so-good news," Solan said, wearing a sad expression. "Means she'll be going somewhere soon.” Solan's statement hung in the air, a mysterious proclamation that left Obi-wan speechless. At times he was a paradoxical blend of childlike exuberance and sage-like insight, and he had just dropped a cryptic statement that lingered in the air like an unspoken riddle. Obi-Wan, still getting accustomed to the unpredictable nature of his son, couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity and concern.
"How can you possibly know that?" Obi-Wan questioned, his gaze searching Solan's face for any clues. Solan, however, remained stoic, as if holding a secret that transcended mere words.
"Just do," Solan replied cryptically. Obi-Wan's mind raced with various possibilities. Was Cressida planning something? Was she facing a threat? The Jedi Master wrestled with the urge to probe deeper, to uncover the source of Solan's intuition.
As thoughts whirled through Obi-Wan's mind, he hesitated. Would pressing Solan for more information breach the trust he sought to build with his son? Would Cressida share her concerns with him if he asked? The haunting memory of her cautionary words echoed in his mind: "Two may keep a secret if one is dead."
“Well, I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you to dwell on this,” Obi-Wan finally said, opting for reassurance over interrogation. Solan nodded in agreement, and a sense of relief washed over Obi-Wan. "Let's not give her anything to worry about," he added, hoping to steer the conversation toward lighter matters.
Solan nodded again, diverting his attention to the plate of waffles before him. Obi-Wan seized the opportunity to inject a bit of levity into the moment. "You know, when I was a padawan, if I'd wasted food, I'd be in the kitchens long after training, washing dishes." Solan's eyes widened briefly, the realization of potential consequences sinking in. Without further ado, he resumed devouring his waffles, seemingly content to avoid extra chores at the moment. The weight of the unspoken lingered in the air, leaving Obi-Wan to wonder about the mysteries surrounding his family and the enigmatic bond between them.
"You're going to get a stomachache if you keep eating like that or—" Cressida's voice was cut off by Solan's immediate onset of hiccups, confirming her prediction. She shook her head with a knowing smile, her voice cut through the hiccuping, adding a touch of humor to the situation. "Yes, or that too." She gestured to his water and gave him some rather unconventional advice. "Drink, hold your breath, and swallow three times."
Obi-Wan watched with a curious and slightly skeptical expression as Solan followed his mother's instructions. To his surprise, the hiccups vanished. "Better?" Cressida inquired, and Solan nodded before returning to his waffles.
Curiosity piqued, Solan inquired about the steaming bowl in front of Cressida. "What's that?"
"Nuna Noodle Soup. Try it?” Solan looked skeptical and shook his head a bit hesitantly.
Obi-Wan interjected with a playful comment, recalling Solan's previous encounter with tea. "He might be less than inclined; he tried my tea. I don’t think he approved."
“Coward.” She playfully scolded her son who in turn stuck out his tongue, Obi-wan felt a little surge of nostalgia, recalling the time she’d called him a coward and the memory it led to.The steam rose enticingly, and Cressida took a deep, appreciative breath before taking a bite. The warmth of the soup seemed to have a comforting effect on her. It was a moment of vulnerability, a glimpse of Cressida beyond the stoic shadow sentinel. "Had dreams about this," she muttered, savoring the taste, clearly feeling the same as Solan had about the edibility of foodstuffs. Obi-wan wondered how long it had been since she had a comforting meal.
The trio continued their meal, unaware of the inquisitive stares directed their way in the refectory. Jedi Masters, knights, padawans, and younglings observed with curiosity, concern, and perhaps even a touch of envy. It was an uncommon scene – two Jedi parents and their son sharing a meal, embodying the semblance of a regular family. The sight hinted at the potential shift and change they might bring.
Nine
This one felt a little longer but I packed it full of dad Kenobi goodness, maybe a few tears too! Hope you guys liked it! Feel free to like, comment, reblog and don't forget your tags make my day! If you want to join the taglist all you have to do is let me know and give me a reblog if you can!
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