It’s always been something of a point of pride, for Ponds, that he never really has to worry about his general.

When he rejoins the Order in the middle of the Clone Wars, all Ferus wants is to help as many people as possible. An emergency mission lands him in control of the 501st before he even has time to catch his balance, though, and the disappearance of the Chancellor means there's no time to waste. The galaxy's Deep Core is a treacherous maze of deadly planets and old traps, and fighting their way through is the sort of thing that would push Ferus to his limits, even without a squad of clones to protect at the same time.

With a sound of quiet sympathy, Kit reaches out, tapping his knuckles lightly against Rex's pauldron. “Forgive me, Captain, but I believe you would be far more comfortable without your armor. The beach cannot be a pleasant place for you right now.” Rex pauses, almost startled by the idea of taking his armor off. He’s on a mission, or at least the disastrous tail end of one, and unless he’s on leave, he almost never strips down to his blacks. And it’s been…months, since his last stretch of leave that wasn’t cut off before it even started. “Oh,” he says dumbly, and then flushes, reaching for the clasps on his armor. “Right, sorry, sir.”

“I'm not going to stay with the ship,” Anakin says, outraged. Savage closes his eyes, not quite praying for patience, but—reaching for it, certainly. Having a padawan has been good for his self-control in ways Savage hasn’t even wanted to consider too closely.

When Mace joins the 212th on a dangerous world, it's meant to help them end the campaign there more quickly. But his presence there sets into motion something that started a thousand years ago, and won't be stopped so easily.

This mission isn't going anywhere close to plan, and Mace is never again trusting Obi-Wan when he says it will.

Bly's new wife is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and she's graceful and charming and funny and so far out of his league that he's about to die.

Jon is not used to wanting anything, much less something he might be allowed to have. 

“You have a choice,” Cody begins. “I don’t want any of you to think that you don’t. If you want no part of this, all you have to do is say so. But if I know any of you half as well as I think I do, this choice won’t be particularly hard to make.” He takes a deep breath and counts his heartbeats against the reverent silence of the mess hall. “We may belong to the Republic, but we were made for the Jetti.” And thus, the 212th Attack Battalion abducts their General. (It's for his own health, really.)

It all comes down to this: the babies in his arms are just so little. “You should sit down, Sir. Let Waxer and I take the tubies for a minute,” Cody gentles. Despite the even, easy tone, despite knowing that it’s Cody and that, as the last twenty-four hours have successfully proved beyond a doubt, Cody would rather die than see any harm come to him, Obi-Wan can’t suppress his immediate reaction to the thought of putting the twins— his twins, his now, and he’ll die before he lets anything touch them—down. “Full disclosure, I don’t believe I am capable of letting go of them, at the moment.” He thinks for a beat and then adds, “Possibly ever.”

"I fear that, when you reached into the Force to ease this man's pain, you reached too far. And without proper shielding… it’s easy to see how a rudimentary connection might have been established," the force-ghost of his former master says contemplatively, as if he is not casually ruining Luke's entire life. Luke buries his face in his hands. “You’re saying I gave too much.” “In a sense, yes," Ben replies. “I’m a force-whore,” Luke moans. “Oh, kark. Leia is going to kill me.”