Agen digs his fingers into the silver-veined bark, smiling a little. Pushes upright, flicking his hair back behind his shoulder, and pulls his outer robe off, draping it over a branch. “A trooper in distress,” he says, stepping forward. “I believe Jedi are supposed to rectify such things.” Two pairs of dark eyes snap to him, and Fives's widen with glee. He wriggles harder under Echo's pinning weight, like a landed fish, and cries, “General Kolar, help! I'm being overrun!”

The hydrophones have been picking up nonsense for the past three days and Zhenya has had it up to here, honestly.

“What will happen to me now?” Anakin asks much later, voice very quiet as they make brief, fleeting eye contact in front of Qui-Gon’s blazing pyre. Obi-Wan doesn’t have an answer for him. ----- “I swear to you, Anakin Skywalker, no one is going to own you while I breathe,” she tells him fiercely.