“There’s too much to be done,” Padmé says, and looks back to meet the holo’s flickering gaze. “Our base on Ithor was compromised, and I can't take the time to vet a bodyguard—” “Then it’s a good thing,” Obi-Wan says with careful cheer, “that I found one for you.”

Tup gathers his courage, leans in. With a flicker of humor, Mace dips his head to meet him, taking the kiss without hesitation. Behind them, someone chokes.

“Leia, it’s fine,” a man says, and it’s not quite soothing. More entreating, and Boba wrinkles his nose, shifting slightly. His hands are cuffed behind him, and one of his captors was smart enough to steal the lockpicks from his belt. Boba hates smart enemies. “It’s not fine,” the woman says acidly. “Luke, he tried to kill us!” “Only once,” Luke says stubbornly. “And technically he was taking Han alive.”

“Be careful,” Jon says, though Nico likely doesn’t need the reminder. “If the Sith Lord notices—” “Then he’d best not,” Nico says, and vanishes with a ripple of light. A moment later, the door opens, then shuts again, and Knol snorts. “Fancy tricks, all of you,” she says, amused, and takes the hand Jon offers her. “Says the woman who eats fire,” Jon says. “With the Force.”

A shadow falls over the mountaintop just as the first droid drops down onto the rocks above Fives.

“It’s Chancellor Palpatine,” he says clearly, as steadily as he’s able to. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord. I need your help to kill him.” There's one beat of stunned, frozen silence. Then, careful, Thire clears his throat. “You want us to kill the Supreme Chancellor?” he asks. “Yes,” Mace says, and when he sits back, all three commanders are staring at him. Something in his chest sinks, grim and resigned. “I can't—” “Thire, get those damn boxes open,” Fox orders. “Stone, we need some kind of distraction. Grab some detonators.”

This, Fox thinks, staring up at the fabric of the tent above him, is absolutely not what he remembers from before he closed his eyes. Right along with the realization comes the desperate, sinking sort of feeling that what he was most afraid of happened again. One step down the hallway in the Senate, heading somewhere, and then—

“I can’t believe you ruined my boots,” Leia says, outraged, and pushes Dooku’s face further into the mud.

“No,” Sabé hisses, catching the edge of Kycina's red hood and dragging her back down behind cover.

Fox has the galaxy’s greatest hero in his bed, he’s well-fed, he’s astonishingly well-rested, and he has a whole week of leave saved up that starts in about six hours, during which no one is allowed to bother him with anything work-related even if Coruscant gets invaded by brain-stealing worms. Again. He made sure Thorn and Thire both knew that. Which makes it ten times as unpleasant to wake up to someone bypassing the chime entirely and just pounding right on his door.

Padmé hears the sharp, ragged gasp, and she’s already turning when Fives jerks up off the bed, on his feet in an instant. A fist lashes out, almost too quick to see, but Padmé catches it, twists, pulls, and when Fives staggers, he falls right into her with a cry. “Easy,” Padmé says, and catches him, holds him up as he gets his bearings. “You’re all right, I swear. You’re safe, Fives.”

Wolffe looks like he’s regretting having a second Jedi with them. 

While cut off from the GAR during an extended campaign, Obi-Wan discovers an infant and a sense of self-preservation.

“What?” Rex's voice shades towards alarm. “Cody, that’s a bad idea—” “You can't go,” Cody says reasonably. “You have to monitor communications and make sure the generals have an extraction ready if they need it. Ghost Company’s down half its men right now, so I have the chance.” “That’s exactly the tone you used when you explained why you were overcome with the urge to punch General Grievous in the metal face,” Rex informs him. “Cody, no.”

There’s a hollow thud, a sound like a gong, a war-cry that makes Alpha-17 freeze in his tracks, and Priest goes flying back into the window.

“Can't kriffing believe he sent a Naboo to kriffing Tatooine,” Owen says, too loud, but—they're in the middle of the wilderness. There's no one who’s going to hear him except the Force, and if it does hear him, he hopes it turns around and beats some light-bedamned sense into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s skull. In his lap, fully entranced by the corner of the blanket Owen has him bundled in, Luke coos, beams, and flips his tail. The fancy, flowing, colorful fins slap Owen’s thigh, and he sighs, tugs the bottom of the wrap down to hide as much as he can.

Sometime between the end of the war and when Fox got shot, Coruscant Guard CMO Basher got their hands on the good drugs. That was the only explanation, really. Someone (Thorn) also made the mistake of giving Fox a datapad.

Stone was a solid weight, a shield for the Guard as much as he was able, built from the stone that he was named after. And if he didn’t have that, what did he have, in the end?

“Are you all the Council sent, then?” Bo-Katan asks, swinging one leg over the speeder’s seat. Her voice is raspy, and Cody wonders if it’s from smoke inhalation. “Considering they wouldn’t help with the first Sith, I guess I should be glad for any help at all with the second.” It's the first time he's heard someone use that word to describe Kenobi, and he bristles. “We’re not here on behalf of the Council, Miss Kryze. We're here for our general.” Or: Everyone has a breaking point. That includes Obi-Wan. That includes Cody.

There's a Jedi standing on the landing platform, entirely unmoving, and he’s been there for almost ten minutes now.

Xanatos has never met a single more infuriating man.