Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anakin examined the bruising around Obi-Wan's throat. It was deep purple, edged with green and yellow, the shadows of fingers imprinted violently on his skin. More bruises were sucked across his collarbone.

Anakin frowned, gently dabbing concealer across the worst areas. Obi-Wan sucked in a quick breath at the pressure.

Anakin’s teeth ground together. Obi-Wan was too old for this. He shouldn’t still be getting requested this often. Qui-Gon certainly hadn’t. From the stories Anakin had heard, his tonjaieh’s popularity had waned after his late twenties.

That was certainly not the case for Obi-Wan. If anything, he was getting more popular, especially since the start of the war.

Anakin squeezed the sponge blender a little too hard and his nails punctured it.

Obi-Wan cracked one eye open, then gently removed the sponge from Anakin’s grasp.

“It’s not fair,” Anakin spat, snatching back the beauty sponge and resuming his work. “You shouldn’t still be doing this. You’re too old.”

“Thank you, padawan,” Obi-Wan said, voice wry. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

Anakin glared. “You know what I mean.”

“I hardly think thirty is too old for anything,” Obi-Wan said.

“It’s too old for being throttled,” Anakan snapped. “If they want to play rough, they should request me.”

A hand fastened around his chin, lightening quick, and guided his face up. His jaieh met his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” Obi-Wan said, voice low and hard. “Never, ever say that. How would you feel if Ahsoka said that?”

Anakin averted his eyes. “Ahsoka’s different. She’s fourteen.”

“And in a few years, when she’s not?” Obi-Wan said. “You were fourteen once too, not too long ago.”

Anakin didn’t answer. It was different. He couldn’t explain it.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan dropped it.

“Nothing else?” he asked, when Anakin finished with the concealer.

“It’s just a meeting,” Anakin said. “I don’t think you need anything else.”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“And you?” he asked.

Anakin shook his head. “I don’t need anything.”

They were on leave on Coruscant currently, and that meant their schedules were always booked full of requests, but his last couple of ones had been women, and not particularly sadistic ones at that.

It wasn’t any better, in a lot of ways, but at least he didn’t have to reckon with any tearing or internal injury.

Anakin stood and helped Obi-Wan to his feet, feeling the older man wobble slightly in his grip.

After steadying himself, Obi-Wan pulled his hands back and smiled grimly.

“Well, then,” he said. “I suppose there’s no point in putting it off any longer. We wouldn’t want to keep anyone esteemed waiting.”

Anakin’s frown twisted back into a snarl, but he agreed.

“No,” he said. “No, we wouldn’t.”

They’d gotten word of the delegation a month prior. An anomaly in deep space had opened, bleeding distortion. No one had gone near it, but a ship had come out of it.

They were dimension travelers. The same anomaly had appeared in their universe, and their senate had sent a delegation of jedi of explore it. The fact that they were jedi surprised no one. The jedi weren’t people, after all, they were bodies to be thrown at problems. Who else would you send through a potentially dangerous anomaly?

The senate hadn’t wanted to risk displeasing the other senate, so they’d placed the foreign jedi in quarters within the senate itself and banned any requests on them.

The meetings between the two groups had dragged on for weeks. The foreign jedi had apparently been given diplomatic authority. Other than that, Obi-Wan hadn’t been informed of the specifics.

He doubted he’d be given much more information now, as he stood with his padawan in front of a regretful council.

“The senate had requested that you and Skywalker accompany the foreign jedi back to their universe. Skywalker will take his padawan as well.” Tonjaieh Yoda said regretfully, ears drooping.

“I see,” Obi-Wan said, voice cracking on the last word as the ache in his throat bloomed into fire. “Then we shall go.”

At least they were going together, Obi-Wan thought, focusing on the fact instead of the pain pulsing across the back of his thighs.

He hadn’t told Anakin about the belt marks, or any of his other hidable injuries. Anakin had enough to worry about, especially with Ahsoka, and he always seemed to be dangerously close to lashing out at people he couldn’t afford to lash out at.

Obi-Wan had already had several nightmares featuring him holding Ahsoka while Anakin was flogged to death in the temple courtyard.

He wished Anakin was still small enough to fit between the curve of Obi-Wan's body and the walls, bracketed safely in place, but he kept insisting on getting bigger and scrambling away.

And now he had a padawan, at the age of nineteen.

Obi-Wan tried very hard not to think about it.

“We were informed this morning,” Tonjaieh Yoda said. “You are required at the docks at five tonight.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course.”

The short notice wasn’t a large problem. It wasn’t like they had much to pack.

Jaieh Koon stepped forward and pressed a bag into Anakin’s hands.

“This is for you all,” he said. “Use it carefully.”

It would be ration bars and perhaps some medical supplies. Obi-Wan bowed in thanks, watching from the corner of his eye to ensure Anakin did the same.

“Thank you, jaieh,” he said. “We will endeavor to do our best.”

Chapter Text

Ashoka met her alternate’s eyes, her own widening.

Somehow, she hadn’t realized that there would be an alternate her, but she should have. There were alternates of both her jaieh and tonjaieh.

Her alternate was dressed skimpily, and Ashoka felt a shiver run through her stomach. Had that been a request? Was the age of request younger here?

Ashoka wasn’t a fool, she knew what her lineage was primarily used for. Some lineages were favored for certain types of missions, some as private guards, and some for any of the millions of other tasks that went into pampering the elite and keeping order in the galaxy. Her lineage happened to be favored for sex.

Her jaieh tried to shield her from it. He didn’t even let her put on his makeup, like she knew her tonjaieh had let him do when he was her age.

It infuriated her. She only had two years before reaching the age of request. He couldn’t protect her forever, and she was sick of watching him struggle through everything alone.

Some of his regulars had started looking at her, she knew. When her jaieh was out of sight, she even flirted with them a little bit, letting their hands stray just a tad bit more than what was appropriate.

Hopefully, in two years – well, more like one now –, they’re start requesting her, not him.

Given the look of her alternate, that might already be happening in this world. Ashoka clenched her fists, hidden within her draping sleeves.

“Hi!” her alternate said. “This is weird, but kinda cool, right?”

Ashoka nodded hesitantly. It was, from a certain perspective. It was also terrifying, not knowing expectations.

The excitement was slowly winning though.

A new dimension. It was undeniably cool.

And this was an extremely nice ship.

“Are we allowed to explore?” Ashoka asked.

Her alternate grinned. “Of course! Come on!”

Her alternate reached out her hand.

Ashoka took it.

Anakin wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his and Obi-Wan's alternates.

The padawans were off somewhere, probably exploring. It was safe enough, since there were only jedi and clones aboard.

They talked for a bit about nothing serious. Him and Obi-Wan tried to probe a bit into expectations, but their alternates deflected.

That either meant it wasn’t safe to talk about things here, or that things were so exponentially bad that they couldn’t bring themselves to explain things yet.

Anakin’s alternate’s comm beeped. He glanced at it.

“It’s the chancellor,” he said. “I need to step out.”

Anakin’s spine locked. He didn’t look at Obi-Wan. His eyes tracked his alternate as he exited the room.

Obi-Wan's alternate watched him too. He huffed, then turned back to them.

“I hate when he does that,” he said, voice purposefully light.

Obi-Wan thought he might be sick. It was fortunate his stomach mostly empty. He’d only had half a ration that morning, having given the other half to Ashoka.

The chancellor couldn’t do anything now, surely. They were still on the ship.

But it could be a request for when they got back. A party perhaps? To celebrate a successful mission?

The memory of Anakin’s first summons still haunted him. It'd been the chancellor, of course, and it had been for a party. His sixteen-year-old padawan had come back sobbing, covering in blood and bruises.

Obi-Wan had hoped, foolishly, naively, that things might be a little different here. A little kinder perhaps.

He should have known better. Any world run by the chancellor was a cruel one.

He sent a tendril of comfort Anakin’s way, then attempted to the same for his counterpart, but his shields were too high. Obi-Wan knew better than to push.

Bonds were a two-way street, and you didn’t pry into that sort of pain without permission.

Anakin, for his part, latched on to the comfort with his typical ferocity, wrapping himself in it. A few seconds later, he sent over his own attempt at comfort.

Obi-Wan could feel the helpless fear curdling the edges of it, but he appreciated it anyway.

His alternate was looking at him strangely and Obi-Wan did his best to straighten his shoulders further. He wished Cody was here. His commander always felt sturdy, like for once in his life Obi-Wan could collapse and have someone to catch him that could also protect him.

Obi-Wan knew the feeling was a lie. The clones were slaves. Battle slaves, yes, but slaves none the less. Cody couldn’t protect him anymore than his jaieh could.

But, gosh, it was nice to pretend.

“Will Anakin return soon?” he asked.

His alternate shook his head with what was probably well-practiced nonchalance.

“No,” he said. “The chancellor always insists on taking up a fair amount of his time.”

Only a thread of annoyance managed to creep into his tone. He was far more self-controlled than Obi-Wan had ever managed to be.

When it came to himself, Obi-Wan could smile and flirt and fake with the best of them, but Anakin always caused desperation to creep into his performance. It was something about his smile that ceased to be flirtatious and instead seemed to scream please, please please.

His alternate clearly didn’t have the same problem; his expression remained cool and collected.

“There’s an office down the hall,” he said. “The chairs are tolerably comfortable, if you’d like to relocate there?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said. “Lead the way.”

The chairs in the office were more than tolerably comfortable and Obi-Wan sunk into them with a sigh of relief.

They had lumbar support.

Next to him, Anakin stiffened as soon as he hit the cushion, breathing picking up just slightly.

His presence, when he reached out, was panicked, laced with memories of someone pressing him deeper into a different cushioned chair, one that was upholstered in the deep red of the chancellor’s office.

Obi-Wan did his best to smother the memories. He pushed the physical sensations currently playing across his own body across their bond to ground his padawan and encouraging him to synch up their breathing. After a few moments, Anakin relaxed minutely.

Obi-Wan considered asking after Anakin’s alternate again, then thought better of it. He asked about Ashoka instead. He hadn’t seen her yet.

“How is Ashoka in this world?” he asked.

Next to him, Anakin stiffened back up, their bond suddenly flooded outrage and images of Ashoka in a little tube top.

Obi-Wan's alternate waved his hand. “She’s as well as yours is, I assume. Energetic, enthusiastic, and entirely too chaotic for her own good. Her and Anakin feed off of each other, I swear.”

Yes, because that was what happened when you gave a nineteen-year-old a fourteen-year-old.

“And Anakin is still her master here?” he asked, just to be sure. Maybe they had assigned her to him in this world. That would be far better. He also purposefully used the common word for jaieh. If they were still speaking in euphemisms, then this area probably wasn’t secure either.

“Yes,” his alternate said. “I questioned the wisdom of it, but it is turning out slightly better than expected.”

The feeling of the cushion under him was still making Anakin slightly nauseous, despite his jaieh’s help, but the alternate’s praise settled his stomach somewhat.

He was trying with Ashoka. He was trying really, really hard, but the thought of messing her up make him want to crawl into some dark, deep hole and never come out. It was his alternate that had said he was doing a decent job, sure, but their situations were the same.

Some of that good job must transfer onto him, surely.

I’m doing a good job too? he sent his jaieh, more feeling than words. Just to be sure.

Yes, his jaieh sent back. A very good job.

Satisfaction uncurled in Anakin’s chest, and he settled deeper into the chair. Memories threatened him again, but his jaieh’s presence succeeded in warding them away this time, serene and strong in the force.

His jaieh and the alternate continued their conversation, and Anakin was content to let their voices wash over him.

Chapter Text

The ship was already pulling out of the docks when Rex received word of his general’s whereabouts. He staggered, started to run, then pulled up short. There was no point.

It’s a diplomatic mission, the natborn officer had finally sneered, once Rex had broken down and started begging him for information.

Rex settled for pacing in the hall, air panting in and out of his lungs and fists clenched so tight his fingernails punched through the skin, raising little half-moons of blood.

Diplomatic mission.

Rex knew exactly what that meant. It meant his general would be expected to sleep his way into good graces and a good deal.

Cody. He needed to call Cody. His general was on the ship too.

So was the little commander, for that matter. What if things were different in the other world? What if she was old enough for a request there? Even here she was almost of age.

Rex knew what some of the natborns thought of her. He’d heard the phrase “exotic beauty” being thrown around more than once.

Oh gosh, his little commander.

Rex barely made it to a nearby potted plant before heaving up the contents of his stomach. Please, please no. It was bad enough that he’d been essentially forced into the role of pimp for his general, sometimes being made to escort him to and from, but the thought of doing the same to Ahsoka was intolerable. Rex might rather die, if it didn’t mean leaving her alone.

He needed to get over there.

Cody would want to too. So would the rest of Ghost Company. They were all as protective of their general as he was.

He needed to call Cody. Cody would have a plan. That was what he and his general were good at: plans.

Rex fished out his comm with shaking fingers and maneuvered to the correct contact.

“What?” Cody said when he picked up.

“The generals,” Rex said. “They’re gone.”

There was a pause on the other side of the line, then: “Report.”

“Your general, my general, and the little commander were all sent back through the anomaly with the alternate ship. They left thirty minutes ago,” Rex said. “I don’t know why.”

Through the line, there was a deep breath.

“Be prepared to move,” Cody said, and hung up.

Rex lowered the comm and took his own deep breath. That was good. That meant Cody had at least an inkling of what to do.

He took out the comm again. He had a few more calls to make.

Cody was almost vibrating.

They sent his general through the anomaly without him.

His general was highly competent on his own. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that his general was a self-sacrificing di’kut and, without Cody dragging him back, he was going to either get himself killed or worked into the ground.

Cody called Bail.

The senator picked up on the first ring.

“Commander,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“They took my general through the anomaly,” Cody said. “Without me.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line.

“I knew they were sending someone,” the senator said. “I didn’t realize it would be him. I'm sorry, commander.”

“Don’t be,” Cody said. Bail was one of the few people who didn’t need to apologize for anything, largely because he was one of the few people who requested his general for no other reason than tucking him – fully clothed – into bed and telling him to sleep.

Cody highly approved.

“Does the other dimension still have a war going on right now?” Cody asked, rather than waiting for Bail to insist on his apology.

“Yes,” Bail said. “I don’t see how that’s relevant though.”

“Well, surely it would be amiss to send three jedi into a warzone but not even one squad to support them?” Cody said. “As marshal commander, it is my professional advice that I am allowed to pick a few squads of men to send after them.”

Cody thought for another second, then added, “It could also work as a display of power – since we can spare the men – or as a show of solidarity, since we’re giving them more men.”

Cody was quite proud of that idea. It seemed his general was starting to wear off on in.

“You said three jedi?” Bail said. “Who are the others?”

“Skywalker and Tano,” Cody said.

There was the sound of typing on the line.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bail said. “Anything else, commander?”

“No, sir,” Cody said. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Bail said. “Please, call me anytime.”

The line went dead. Cody smiled grimly.

They wouldn’t be left behind, not for long.

Chapter Text

The alternate temple was warm.

Obi-Wan hadn’t expected that.

Back home, him, Anakin, and Ahsoka climbed into the same bed, stacking their scant blankets on top of each other until their little huddle reached a tolerable temperature.

Once, at the very beginning of the war, there had been a true power outage while they were on leave. The jedi temple had been the last to receive power of any sort and Anakin had spent nearly the entire time frantically rubbing Ahsoka’s hands and feet, blowing on them periodically to keep them from turning blue.

Anakin himself had almost lost his pinky toe because he wouldn’t stop long enough for Obi-Wan to do the same for him.

The air in this temple was blissfully, shockingly, warm. It wasn’t even the baseline cold the temple sat at normally, held just warm enough that they could live in it without risking injury.

Obi-Wan could even feel the heat pumping out through the vents when he passed by one.

His alternate smiled at him.

“Is it different from your temple?” he asked.

Obi-Wan realized his mouth was hanging slightly open and he snapped it shut.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is very different. How did you earn it?”

Now that the shock was wearing off, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel sick.

Once, when he was still a padawan, there had been an outbreak among the younglings. They were running through their entire stock of medicine, and the cold was only making things worse, despite the crechemaster’s best efforts.

The council had begged and bargained for more, for more heat and more medicine. His jaieh had long been waning in popularity, but he was still a favorite among some select circles and so had been sent to some of the parties.

Some of the adult jedi had offered themselves for private contracts. The senate had accepted some, then demanded padawans as well.

The council had sent a list.

Obi-Wan had spent the day hiding in their apartment, shaking and crying, praying that his picture wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye.

Three days, fifty parties and twenty private contracts – nine of whom were padawans - later, they were awarded two weeks of heat within the creche and enough medication to treat most of the younglings.

Looking back, Obi-Wan realized that that was what the Senate intended to do all along. They wouldn’t risk losing an entire generation of jedi.

They’d made them beg anyway.

But this temple had heat everywhere, and there was nothing to suggest that it was irregular.

What had they done? What were they doing?

“Earn it?” his alternate said. “We don’t have to earn it. The senate provides it.”

Of course the senate provided it. The senate provided everything. That didn’t mean they didn’t have to earn it.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “I know the senate provides it. What do you have to do in exchange for the senate providing it?”

Maybe they called it something different here. They did seem to be fans of euphemisms.

“We serve the Republic, I suppose,” his alternate said. “For now, that means fighting this war. Most of our other duties have ceased, if I’m being quite frank.”

Obi-Wan blinked, processing that.

That... could make sense? If most of the jedi were being used for war, and they were losing higher than normal amount of jedi, then it would make sense that they didn’t want to lose more to preventable causes.

Normally, the senate didn’t care. Death via neglect occurred decently often, especially among the younglings. It kept them desperate and afraid.

It also kept their numbers under control. Force sensitivity wasn’t uncommon by any means, and Obi-Wan was sure part of the neglect was purposeful population control. There was enough of them to serve, but no more.

If this dimension’s senate was worried about their numbers, then it would explain the heat.

Did that mean they also got extra rations? Obi-Wan's stomach twisted longingly at the thought.

“Does that mean we’re at standard rationing?” he asked. “Even for the younglings and non-combatants?”

Ever since the war started, the fighting jedi received standard rations, or at least something close to it, while on active duty. They didn’t want hunger compromising them. The same did not hold true for any jedi not currently fighting, even if they were just on leave.

Realistically, even jedi on active duty still didn’t get enough food, even with standard rations. Most jedi saved out at least a little of their food to give to the younglings the next time they returned to Coruscant.

“Yes,” his alternate said. “Of course.” His eyes sharpened. “Are you hungry?”

Yes, yes Obi-Wan was. He was desperately hungry.

“Yes,” he said. “Will the Anakins and Ahsokas be joining us?”

“They can,” his alternate said. “I’ll comm them.”

“Please,” Obi-Wan said and then, because it was never good to take food for granted, “Thank you very much. You are very generous.”

His alternate gave him an odd look.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’ll bring you to the dining area.”

The first thing Obi-Wan noticed about his alternate was how thin he looked. The second thing he noticed was how stressed he seemed, his presence a low thrum of tension within the force.

What had happened to him?

Actually, what had happened to all of them? Anakin’s and Ahsoka’s alternates weren’t any better, and the flash of pure rage his Anakin had reported when the alternate Anakin saw Ahsoka for the first time was concerning.

It was probably just the effects of the war, but it was still disconcerting.

Now they were in the temple, and things were getting more confusing. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why he’d thought it was going to get better.

His alternate kept himself eerily still while they walked to the dining hall, hands tucked deep inside his robe’s billowing sleeves.

Obi-Wan wore robes often enough himself, of course, but the way his alternate wore his was... different, to say the least.

Obi-Wan wore his robes as clothes. His alternate appeared to be trying to use them as a shield, covering every inch of skin he conceivably could. It was a stark contrast to the alternate Anakin, who seemed to prefer to show as much skin as he could feasibly get away with in polite company.

It was bizarre, even without taking in his alternate’s odd reaction to the offer of food. And it was odd. His question about whether the Anakins and Ahsokas would be joining them had been hesitant, like he’d been expecting to be denied, and his gratitude had been almost palpable.

Had there been more severe shortages in their world?

Obi-Wan watched his alternate from the corner of his eye as they entered the dining room.

It was probably just the war.

It wasn’t like there was anything else it could be.

Chapter Text

Anakin was trying to find his alternate – he needed to ask about Ahsoka, it was driving him mad – when he heard the sounds.

He ducked behind a bush without thinking, pressing back against the wall and peering through the branches.

His alternate stumbled into view and was promptly pinned against a wall by Senator Amidala.

Anakin’s stomach plummeting into his boots. He hoped, desperately, that this wasn’t what it looked like.

The senator kissed his alternate. He faltered beneath her, then parted his lips submissively, letting her pillage his mouth with her tongue.

Anakin counted the seconds.

The senator didn’t let him up for air for nearly a minute, and, when she did, Anakin could see that his alternate’s lips looked bitten. His chest rose and fell in a ragged pattern instead of a steady one and his eyes looked hazy.

Anakin’s alternate jerked as the senator slid a hand under his shirt and up his chest, then he forced a flirtatious smile.

“Your room is only a few minutes away,” he said. “No one would notice if we stopped by for a moment.”

Anakin couldn’t blame him for asking for a more private space. Public sex, even when no one was technically around, was always a nightmare.

It was a risky move, though, especially if the senator though that he was trying to get out of something.

Thankfully, she seemed amused, though she did do something under his alternate’s shirt that made him jump.

Anakin winced in sympathy.

“No,” she said. “I suppose no one would. Though you would have to make the inconvenience up to me somehow. I have plenty of meetings I should be going to instead.”

She practically purred the last bit, eyes hooded with satisfaction at her own cleverness.

Anakin’s stomach twisted itself into a knot. Sex in meetings – or at least in private meetings between like-minded individuals – wasn't terribly uncommon.

There were also few things that Anakin hated more than being passed around like a toy, being placed on laps and under tables at equal turns while more powerful people talked business above his head.

There were plenty of scenarios that were more brutal, more painful, but nothing could beat a meeting for sheer dehumanization.

Clearly, his alternate felt the same way, as he readily agreed to the senator’s demand.

The senator’s smile widened, and she let him off the wall.

His alternate was just as skilled as he was, Anakin would give him that. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his alternate was eager, even when the senator grabbed his wrist and pulled him around the corner.

He hoped she wouldn’t be too rough with him, even though he had bargained for a private room.

Anakin watched the hallway for a long time, trying to calm the roiling acid making its way up his throat and hold back the hot tears of betrayal threatening to overspill.

Senator Amidala was supposed to be safe. She only ever requested him to feed him, or to let him rest. Very rarely, she wanted some entertainment, but it never went farther than a game of dejarik.

Early on, he’d tried to convince her to let him brush her hair or give her massage, to do anything that wasn’t sex that might feel good, so that she would decide to keep requesting him. So that he might be able to, someday, convince her to request his jaieh too.

She’d always firmly rebuffed him, even when he contorted himself into something enticing and young, on his knees with his head on her thighs.

Now, two years later, Anakin could almost trust it, the regular requests that resulted in nothing more than a hot meal and a soft bed. She even requested his jaieh sometimes, when the mood struck her.

But here -

Anakin choked on the rapidly growing knot in his throat.

It took a moment to remember how his legs worked, but he eventually managed to stumble back into the main hallway and through another doorway.

He needed his jaieh.

The rooms Obi-Wan was given were shockingly nice. They looked like a place where he would receive a request, not somewhere he would live.

And yet, there had been no mention of a request, only the acknowledgement that these were, in fact, the rooms they were to stay in.

Obi-Wan tentatively ran his fingers over the couch in the small living room. It was old, but in good condition. Not a single portion of it was threadbare. There was even a throw blanket tossed over the arm. Obi-Wan poked it and nearly gasped at its softness.

A warm glow started in his stomach.

It was good to see that, even in this strange world, the jedi remained kind. They had given them what was likely one of their nicest rooms, so that they could be comfortable while they were uprooted.

Obi-Wan dropped onto the couch, drawing the blanket closer around himself. He wondered who had sacrificed to earn it and he took a moment to silently thank them before settling deeper into the couch.

The door to the apartments banged open, then shut, and Obi-Wan's lap was suddenly full of overly grown, sobbing padawan.

He could tell immediately that Anakin was too distraught to speak, so he simply put his arms around him, carding one hand through his hair, and ignored the way his legs were already going numb.

It took twenty minutes for Anakin to stop shuddering quite so badly and start trying to talk.

“Slowly, padawan,” Obi-Wan said, after the second time Anakin choked on his own words.

Anakin, for his part, tried his best, dragging in a few long, gasping breaths before making another attempt.

“I saw my alternate,” he said.

“I see,” Obi-Wan said. “And what did you see him doing?”

Anakin let out another sob and buried his face in Obi-Wan's shoulder, hunching down so he was short enough to fit.

“Senator Amidala was with him,” he whispered. He faltered again, then: “She kissed him.”

Obi-Wan let his own head fall back, but he made sure to keep rubbing Anakin’s back.

That was disappointing. It was heartbreakingly, nauseatingly disappointing.

It was also so predictable.

He had seen the way the senator looked at his padawan sometimes, especially when they were both younger.

He’d kept a careful eye on them throughout the aftermath of the Battle of Naboo, ready to step in if he ever felt like the young queen needed a reminder that the age of request was sixteen, not nine.

When the newly appointed senator had arrived at the senate and immediately requested Anakin, Obi-Wan had been sure he knew what was happening. She had a reputation for benevolence, but everyone had their vices. Obi-Wan had just hoped that that benevolence would result in a kinder experience for his padawan.

Then his padawan had come back untouched and cautiously optimistic, and Obi-Wan hadn’t had the heart to tell him that some senators liked to play at courtship.

But then months passed, and she still didn’t touch him. She never even kissed him.

It baffled Obi-Wan.

Sure, some senators – like Senator Bail – requested certain jedi with the intention of helping them, but none of them looked at their jedi the way Senator Amidala looked at Anakin.

And yet – two years in, and Senator Amidala had never so much as ordered Anakin to his knees. Obi-Wan was almost starting to believe that, while she was attracted to Anakin, she would never act on that attraction, that she was truly trying to help Anakin, just like Senator Bail tried to help Obi-Wan

It must have taken a large amount of self-restraint on her part, though, especially when everyone expected her to indulge herself. The Senator Amidala of their world had remained strong.

It made sense that there were worlds where she had not.

His padawan’s sobs renewed, hands clutched at Obi-Wan's robes. Obi-Wan just held him.

There was nothing else he could do, other than do his absolute best to ensure Anakin was never alone with her. She already had one Anakin, surely she wouldn’t try overly hard to obtain a second one.

Chapter Text

Ahsoka wanted to hug her alternate, but she wasn’t sure how she would respond, so she didn’t. There was something seriously wrong with her.

Wait.

No.

That was wrong. Ahsoka didn’t think there was necessarily anything wrong with her, but there was certainly something wrong with the way she had been treated.

For one matter, there was her face. She had one larger scar bisecting her cheek and forehead, but no others. It looked like it had been caused by a close call with a blaster shot, but it wasn’t so severe that it couldn’t be fixed with bacta.

So why hadn’t it been?

Then there was the way she held herself, like she was trying to fold herself into a smaller shape. The only exception was when she noticed herself doing it, at which point she pushed her chin up and lengthened her stride in a show of confidence.

“Where did you get your scar?” Ahsoka asked, as they walked through the Room of a Thousand Fountains, trying to ignore her alternate’s awe-stricken expression.

They had the Room of a Thousand Fountains in their world, right?

They must. It was a centerpiece in the temple.

Her alternate shrugged. “Oh, you know how it is. Bacta shortages mean that there’s less for noncritical wounds.”

Ahsoka blinked.

No? No, she didn’t know? Even if the regular bacta ran out, there was still the crapta, which should have been enough to heal – or at least greatly decrease – the scar.

She voiced her thoughts.

Her alternate gave her a sharp, hard look.

“Sure, but that only works if you can get to it before the scar tissue sets in. Our force sensitivity makes it so bacta has to be applied before the scar sets, otherwise our body will still remember it,” her alternate said, voice so low it was almost a snarl as she gave Ahsoka an extremely pointed look.

Ahsoka resisted the urge to take a step back. Also, the force certainly did not work that way. Bacta worked on them just the same as everyone else.

Something in her alternate’s voice warned her that it would be a bad idea to argue though.

Her alternate was either very stupid, or this temple was very secure, Ahsoka thought.

No, duh, the Force didn’t work like that.

They just pretended that it did, so that on the rare occasion one of the pretty ones was allowed to scar, they got to keep said scar. It made them less attractive to most people.

They had kept the secret for centuries at this point, and they hadn’t done so by talking about it in the middle of a massive room.

Wait.

Did they not do that there? Had the senate figured it out and put a stop to it?

That would explain her alternate’s clean face, but that could also be explained by a lack of opportunity. Ashoka’s scar hadn’t exactly been easy to come by. It’d been a combination of luck and quick action on the part of her jaieh.

It had been the end of a battle and Ahsoka had been uninjured, fortunately. The same could not be said for many of the men.

Her jaieh had herded her back from the main camp, towards the far edges of the battlefield, and refused to let her come back to the ship. He didn’t leave either, hovering around her and scanning the area with nervous, darting eyes, fingers running over the blaster he’d taken from one of the destroyed droids.

An hour later, the alert had gone out.

The bacta was gone.

Her jaieh barely finished reading the message before he yanked her tight against him, grabbed the back of her neck to keep her still, and discharged the blaster less than an inch from her face.

The blaster was pointed upwards, so the bolt itself missed her, but the heat from it seared a narrow burn across the length of her cheek and forehead, barely missing her eye.

She’d screamed, legs buckling. Her jaieh had held her up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again. “I’m sorry, Snips, so sorry.”

He waited for her to get her feet under her, then held her at arm’s distance, hands clasped over her shoulders.

“Snips,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

She nodded, not daring to wipe her eyes for fear of brushing the pulsing burn.

“Ok,” her jaieh said. “I need you to go into those woods, right over there.”

He handed her a little pack that he’d previously had clipped on his belt.

“There’s food in here,” he said, “and some antibiotics so it doesn’t get infected. Don’t come back for as long as you can manage. When you come back, pretend you were lost.”

She’d nodded and taken the pack, then disappeared into the woods.

In the end, Ahsoka lasted a month, long enough for the scar to start to form. She’d emerged from the woods just as the campaign finished.

Her jaieh had fluttered nervously, checking the wound every few seconds until it was determined that it was too late for bacta to fix it.

Her jaieh had sighed, more for show than anything else, then smiled widely.

They’d had one more campaign after that and then were scheduled for leave.

They’d barely landed back on Coruscant before the senate guards grabbed her jaieh and dragged him off to be presented before a court.

A day later, he’d been charged with neglect, but everyone knew that they were just mad about Ahsoka’s face. Even with only a few months of padawanship under her belt, there were already people interested in her.

They’d dragged him to the main temple courtyard after the trial and cuffed him to the floor, then made her and her tonjaieh watch as they flogged him.

Ahsoka couldn’t remember much about it, aside from the overpowering smell of burning blood and the way her jaieh had screamed when his knees finally gave out.

When they were done, they put him in bacta for a week. He came out healed, scarless, but still wincing with phantom pain.

He said it was worth it after the comments on her appearance dropped. People were still interested, of course, but Ahsoka guessed maybe a fourth of the original group had ceased making comments.

Her jaieh had wanted to do it again, but Ahsoka had thrown a fit until he’d agreed not to, especially once she realized that anyone who didn’t request her would likely request him.

There were many things that had to align for Ahsoka to get her scar. It made sense that her alternate might not have had the same opportunities, especially if the senate knew the truth about bacta.

Ahsoka placed a comforting hand on her alternate’s forearm and squeezed lightly.

Her alternate looked down at the hand, her forehead scrunching in confusion.

Ahsoka smiled. “Can you show me the rest of the fountains? They are very beautiful.”

The fountains in her world were dry. They were considered too expensive to keep running.

“You’re very odd,” her alternate said.

Ashoka laughed, if only because of the absurdity of it. She was acting as any padawan would, especially one that belonged to a lineage like hers. It was her alternate that was acting weirdly.

“No, you are acting odd,” she said, and tightened her grip on her alternate’s arm. “Now show me the fountains.”

Her alternate obliged.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before they were sent out with the jedi of this world. Once the Senate realized that the portal was relatively safe, they sent people with real power through, not just pretty gifts.

Pretty gifts that had yet to be touched, Obi-Wan couldn’t help noting, trying to keep the hope out of the thought.

But here they were, two weeks into a campaign with the foreign jedi and everything was going surprisingly well. There were enough food and medicine for once, and everyone was a little less explicit about the obvious fact this war was mainly to line the pockets of the elite and siphon more powers to the heads of each faction.

It was getting to the point where Anakin had stopped squirrelling away a third of his meal for later, just in case Ahsoka or Obi-Wan got hungry, or if there wasn’t enough for all of them tomorrow.

It was nice. Obi-Wan wished his Cody and his battalion was here, if just so that they could experience what it was like to be called by their names by everyone, not just their brothers and jedi.

That was one thing that had confused Obi-Wan at first: the clone’s treatment. Even the Coruscant Guard, notorious for being the most soul-crushing and abusive posting available, seemed reasonably well cared for. No one had even pushed a shiny onto him, asking if he could please take a moment to help them rest. For the battalions, that made sense. They had their own jedi and they preferred to use them, but the Coruscant Guard generally took what they could get.

Obi-Wan also hadn’t seen a single natborn strike any clone, which was strange, though not as strange as the fact he hadn’t seen a single officer or senator strike a jedi.

Maybe they preferred private punishment here?

Obi-Wan couldn’t decide whether he preferred that or whether he preferred being beat the ground in the middle of the bridge with the butt of a blaster because he’d forgotten to tack a sir onto the end of his sentence. Nevermind that Obi-Wan had technically outranked the officer. But it didn’t matter, because Obi-Wan was a jedi. He was over the clones, but everyone else was over him, regardless of technical titles.

If a slave was given the title of general, then that made the title lower, not the slave higher.

As for which he preferred, private would be less embarrassing, but Obi-Wan was self-aware enough to realize that he would try to hide any damage. If it was public, Obi-Wan knew that the officer would be barely out of the room before Cody scooped him up and started yelling for a medic.

It was humiliating, but it was... nice, in a way. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he wanted to give it up.

Obi-Wan's comm beeped in his pocket, jerking him out of his thoughts. It was from Anakin.

“Supply shortage,” it read, and Obi-Wan felt his stomach twist, the ache of disappointment almost too old to be truly painful.

“Ok,” he sent back. “Does Ahsoka know?”

“Yes,” was the reply. “The other jedi know too. They seem concerned.”

Of course they were concerned. Starvation was concerning.

“What are our rations at now?” Obi-Wan sent.

“Half,” was the reply.

That wasn’t too bad, though they would need to save some out, for when it eventually dropped to quarters.

Just the thought of living on quarters again made Obi-Wan's stomach flip. It’d be far better just to stick to thirds throughout.

“Send word to Ahsoka,” he sent.

Anakin sent a thumbs up, then went off-line.

Obi-Wan sagged back against his chair.

And things had been going so well.

Anakin’s ribs felt like they’d been scraped out by the time they landed back on Coruscant. His jaieh side-eyed him, his lips pressed tight together.

“I believe the dining halls are still serving food,” he said tightly.

Anakin nodded, then winced at the way his empty head spun.

“I’ll go get something,” Anakin said.

“That’s what I would advise,” his jaieh. “You’ll protect nobody if you collapse.”

Anakin bristled them a moment, then his shoulders sagged.

“I know,” he muttered.

His jaieh placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“Eat, padawan,” he said. “Or else you’ll worry me.”

Anakin nodded and slipped down the hallway. Even if the halls weren’t open, he might still be able to beg some scraps from the kitchens.

He knew his jaieh hated it when he did this, as if he hadn’t constantly slipped Anakin food off his plate before Anakin figured out what was happening and started refusing the food.

Technically, when the shortage started, Anakin could have gone down to thirds, like Obi-Wan had, but then Ahsoka would have also had to go onto thirds too. If Anakin went down to quarters, then Ashoka could remain at half-rations.

The choice barely even deserved consideration, in Anakin’s opinion.

He was older, and human to boot. He could handle starvation far better than a teenage carnivore.

Anakin’s vision blurred and he stumbled into the wall. He blinked until his eyes focused, then cautiously pushed himself off the wall. He jumped when his eyes met a pair of blue ones.

The alternate Ahsoka stared down at him from across the hall, arms pressed tight around her midriff. Thankfully, half-way through the campaign, she’d been allowed to change out of her tube top into something more shielding.

There were still diamonds of bare skin crawling up her legs and thighs though, and the sight of it made Anakin want to vomit.

It’s better than the tube top, he reminded himself firmly.

He tried for a smile, but he knew it looked strained. “Do you need anything?”

Alternate Ahsoka shook her head and took a few steps forward, her gait strong, if hesitant. Anakin was pretty sure his alternate had managed to keep her on half-rations as well.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You don’t look too good, master.”

Anakin winced at the common word for jaieh. The alternate jedi insisted on using it, even when alone. Anakin couldn’t fathom why, though he supposed they must have a reason.

“I’m just hungry,” he said. “You know how it is.”

Her brow scrunched.

“I can walk you to the nearest dining hall,” she offered.

Anakin smiled. “Thanks, snips.”

She led him through the halls, following the steadily growing scent of food. Anakin’s stomach flipped until he thought he might be sick.

He tried to focus on Ahsoka instead.

She looked stronger here when compared to his Ahsoka, like she’d been fed right since she’d been young. Even her lekku and montrals were at a proper size, and her skin covered fat, not just muscle.

It was no doubt due to the free dining halls that the senate provided for some reason.

Anakin kept watching the alternate Ahsoka as she guided him through the alternate anohrah.

By the time they arrived at the dining hall’s doors, he’d come to a decision.

His Ahsoka wasn’t going back to their universe. She was staying here, with the laxer punishments and the plentiful food. Anakin would find a way, either by finding her another jaieh and pleading his case with the council and senate, or by bargaining for her to be placed under a private contract.

He’d do anything, just so long as she could stay here.

Chapter Text

Cody was going to start ripping heads off if this took any longer.

Getting them cleared to go through the anomaly had taken long enough – over a month at this point – and now the natborn officers were insisting on stopping before entering the anomaly.

For what purpose, Cody couldn’t be certain.

He was pretty sure that they just wanted to drink and socialize and were using the completely unnecessary equipment check as an excuse to dawdle.

Technically, since there was no combat they were being specifically sent to, Cody couldn’t complain about the delay. He couldn’t complain about anything, actually.

Bail had tried his best, but he hadn’t managed to send them through as troops. The best he’d been able to do was put them on body-guard duty for the next round of senators and diplomats going through the anomaly. It was just him and a few members of Ghost Company, as well Rex and a couple of the 501st.

Cody paced.

His general was okay. Of course he was. His general had the self-preservation abilities of a rat. Yes, he got crushed fairly often, but he never actually managed to die.

He was fine.

He’d be better once Cody got there.

In the end, it took another week before Cody was able to find his general.

He was standing, technically on guard duty, when a senator rounded the corner, his general walking next to him.

His general looked fairly serene, but it was the sort of internally screaming serene that Cody had become incredibly familiar with the last year.

Cody took a moment to scan his generally – walking easily, with no new facial wounds or bruises – then stepped in.

“Sir,” he said. “What are you doing with the jedi?”

It was wartime, so he could ask that. As marshal commander, he had the authority to ask about weapons seen in secure areas, such as the senate rotunda.

And, since jedi were classified as living weapons in at least three of the types of paperwork Cody regularly filled out, that meant Cody felt justified in asking what the senator was doing with his general.

The senator seemed flustered, but she didn’t hit or scream at Cody like she would have if he was a lower ranking clone or a jedi.

“I have had three assassination threats in the last two days and one of my aids has been murdered,” she said. “Master Kenobi is escorting me back to my home planet, since elections are coming up.”

Underneath his helmet, Cody raised an eyebrow.

“Paperwork?” he asked.

“What?” the senator said.

“May I see your paperwork?” Cody asked. Sometimes there were loopholes he could exploit. The senator looked confused, so he added, “For the jedi.”

“I- I’m sorry?” the senator said. “I don’t believe I was given any paperwork.”

No paperwork? Likely story.

“Did you pay the proper fees?” Cody asked. “They should have at least given you receipts for the payment.”

“No, I didn’t pay anything,” the senator said, voice almost snappish in tone. “I’ve never paid anything.”

That was a wild thing to admit. Generally, senators weren’t quite so blatant about committing fraud.

His general took a cautious step away from the senator, ducking his head politely when her gaze snapped to him.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I assumed everything was already confirmed. I can’t go with you unless you’ve gone through the proper channels.”

The senator gaped.

“What?” she hissed.

Cody to the opportunity to snatch his jedi, tucking him behind Cody’s armored bulk.

“I’m afraid that, since you don’t have the proper permissions, I must confiscate the jedi.” Cody said.

“But I do!” the senator said. “I’ve never had to pay anything before!”

Please, Cody wasn’t that stupid. His general was a negotiator – good with his mouth in more ways than one – and his services didn’t come cheap.

Good day, senator,” Cody said.

The senator stamped her foot and huffed.

“Well, I've never!” she snapped, then stormed off.

Behind Cody, his general shuddered.

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “She’ll be angry.”

Cody straightened his spine. “It doesn’t matter. She was trying to use a valuable bioweapon without going through the proper channels. I’m in the right.”

He turned to face his general and was horrified to see him bone-pale and shaking.

He wasn’t supposed to look like that. Cody had gotten rid of the senator. He was supposed to look relieved.

Cody caught his general just as his knees buckled, holding him up off the floor. His general’s heart beat bird-fast against Cody’s chest.

Cody checked his chrono. He couldn’t leave before his shift ended, otherwise it would be hell for both of them, but his shift fortunately ended in just over five minutes.

Cody stepped back against the door, rearranging his general so that they were both more comfortable.

They would wait.

Obi-Wan was shaking. It started in his bones, sending feather-fine tremors through his limbs and muscles. His stomach clenched every few moments, straining against the cage of his other organs.

A hand clenched around his forearm, dragging him up and against a body – don’t flinch -

No, wait. The person was Cody. Obi-Wan recognized his force-presence.

How was Cody here?

Obi-Wan felt as his head was guided down, until his ear was pressed against a hard, cold shell of plastiod. His legs were picked up next, just before they buckled.

Obi-Wan's stomach flipped again, the acid in it threatening to crawl up his throat and scorch his mouth.

The senator. She’d been angry.

No matter what Cody said, that never ended well.

But what was he supposed to do? He’d be punished for going with a senator who hadn’t paid for a request, for cheapening himself.

It was one thing in their own world. Punishments happened; there was nothing he could do about it. The best he could manage was to try to shield Anakin and Ahsoka from them, but here...

Here things were good, for the first time Obi-Wan could remember. He’d hadn’t gone so long without a new bruise since before his padawanship. And that wasn’t even mentioning the food and lodging. Anakin and Ahsoka were starting to fill out properly, and Ahsoka was slowly, but surely, losing the stress lines etched into her face.

But what if a senator complained about him?

He still hadn’t figured out what punishments were like here, and his alternate had been evasive. He knew they were less common, but that was all. If a senator complained, would it be a whipping? Deprivation?

It could be communal punishment.

Obi-Wan's heart rate kicked up another notch and he pressed his face against Cody’s armor.

Another clone arrived, and him and Cody spoke for a moment. Obi-Wan couldn’t make out the words over the sound of his own roaring heartbeat. His limbs trembled, even in Cody’s grip.

Cody.

Yes, Cody.

Focus on Cody.

How was Cody here?

His jaieh was crying, tears tracking thick and silent down his face as he flinched back, then, at the sound of a barked order, raised the crop again.

No -

Cody. Here. Strong. Currently holding him. Had just chased off a senator.

Oh gosh, the senator.

Cody started walking and Obi-Wan allowed himself to cling, just this once, willing the adrenaline and anxiety still coursing through him to stop. His chest hurt.

A few minutes later, he was placed on a bunk. There was the sound of armor being shucked, then came the deep pressure of someone laying on his chest.

Obi-Wan's breath hitched, then evened out.

The first time he’d asked Cody to do this, his commander had been worried. He hadn’t wanted to trigger him, especially with his request history. It had taken a long time for Obi-Wan to explain that his rahkadai and his enishee used the grounding technique regularly, much like how the clones used batch piles, and, since Obi-Wan's brain had already neatly slotted Cody into the position of rah, he was perfectly fine with his commander taking part in the ritual.

“How are you here?” Obi-Wan asked, once his breathing had evened out slightly.

His commander grunted.

“Later,” he said. “Once you’re feeling better.”

Obi-Wan huffed but didn’t argue.

After a moment, he let his head tilt back and his eyes slide shut. He could feel Cody’s breath and heartbeat pounding against his ribcage, and the feeling drove away the last of his anxious spiraling.

He didn’t know how, but Cody was here now, and Cody wouldn’t let anything happen to him, not without warning.

Chapter Text

“I think something’s wrong with our alternates,” Ahsoka said.

Her master looked up blearily from where he was fiddling with a droid.

“What?” he asked.

“I think there’s something wrong with them,” Ahsoka repeated. “Especially alternate me.”

Anakin sat up fully, rubbing his hands semi-clean on a rag. “Why do you say that?”

Ahsoka plopped down next to him, folding her legs underneath her. “They act weird. Like they’re scared all the time. And the stuff they say sometimes is absolutely bonkers.”

Anakin’s nose wrinkled as he thought of it. “I have noticed that. I was coming out of -” he cut himself off, flushing red “-a senator’s room,” he finished. “My alternate met me at the door and gave me some painkillers. Why would I need painkillers?”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka said, trying not to roll her eyes. Her master was so dumb sometimes. Of course she knew he was talking about Senator Amidala. Everyone and their mother knew at this point.

“My alternate is worried about me,” she said. “So is your alternate.”

“Why would they be worried about you? Aside from the obvious war, I mean.”

Ahsoka shrugged. She didn’t know. All she knew was that her alternate looked at her with a mix or horror and appreciation and that the alternates of her master and grandmaster looked sick at the sight of her more often than not.

Her master stood up.

“We should talk to Obi-Wan,” he said. “He’s better at this than either of us.”

Ahsoka nodded. Her grandmaster was way better at figuring things like this out than either of them.

Obi-Wan was drinking tea when his padawan and grandpadawan stumbled through the door.

“We have a question,” Anakin declared.

“Oh joy,” Obi-Wan said. “What is it?”

His padawan’s nose wrinkled. “That’s uncalled for. Ahsoka has the same question too.”

“I do,” Ashoka said. “It’s about our alternates.”

“Things aren’t adding up,” Anakin said, continuing the thought. “They act odd.”

Their alternates did, in fact, act very odd. Obi-Wan had been trying to chock it up to dimensional differences. He couldn’t quite explain the fear away though, or the quiet despair that seemed to radiate off his alternate. It put to mind Anakin’s mother in a way that made his skin crawl.

“I’ve noticed something of that nature,” he said. “I’m not convinced that it is indicative of a problem though.”

He did not think about the way his alternate’s mouth twitched whenever Anakin and the Chancellor were mentioned together, or the wide-eyed awe he exhibited at food and medicine.

“They’re too afraid,” Anakin argued. “And the way they dress is weird. Your alternate and Ahsoka’s alternate are covered neck to toe in what are, quite frankly, unflattering robes and my alternate looks like he’s trying to turn his body into a billboard.”

Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled. That was true.

“My alternate implied that the fountains in her temple weren’t working,” Ahsoka said. “And, not just because of the war. She acted like she’d never seen them running before.”

“My alternate calls the senators ‘sir,’” Anakin said. “Sometimes he calls them ‘depur.’ I looked up the word, but I couldn’t find it in any language anywhere.”

“My alternate called them purroch once,” Ahsoka said. “Then she went kind of pale and made me promise not to tell anyone she said that.”

“Did she kind of spit it?” Anakin asked. “Like the word tasted bad?”

Ahsoka nodded. “How did you know?”

“That’s how my alternate says depur,” Anakin said. “He says ‘sir’ all sweet-like and then he practically growls ‘depur.’”

“What about you?” he continued. “Has your alternate said anything?”

Obi-Wan hadn’t heard his alternate use either depur or purroch, though - “He calls the senators ‘sir’ too,” Obi-Wan said. “He fawns on them.”

“Like he wants favor?” Anakin asked.

“Like he’s afraid,” Obi-Wan admitted, even though he hated it. It would be so much simpler if his alternate wasn’t afraid.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, then re-focused on his padawan and grandpadawan.

“I’ll talk to the council,” he said.

The council, as expected, was being unhelpful.

Obi-Wan was dismissed for lack of evidence, especially since the jedi they’d sent to the other dimension had reported nothing strange.

Obi-Wan pointed out that the ambassador jedi were being kept separate from the alternate temple, hadn’t been told much, and weren’t allowed to wander alone.

The argument was ignored.

“I was told to ignore it,” Obi-Wan told Anakin and Ahsoka when they asked.

“That’s stupid,” Anakin retorted.

Yes, Obi-Wan thought, it is.

“I’m sure the council knows what is best,” he said.

Anakin and Ahsoka both looked disgruntled, but they thankfully dropped it, at least for now. Obi-Wan was sure it would come up again.

Not that it would be a bad thing, something was off about their alternates. Obi-Wan would keep his eye out, and his recorder on. If anything concrete did turn up, the Council had already shown they needed evidence.

Chapter Text

It was a rare day that Plo Koon panicked, but their comms still wasn’t going through and there was no sign of an extraction team.

He still wasn’t panicking, but he was getting closer every day, especially since their own senators, shipped over from their dimension, were protecting them less and less as time went on.

The door slammed open and Quinlan stormed in, rage steaming off him. Aalya followed behind him, slightly more composed.

“Some bastard,” Quinlan spat, “asked for Aalya.”

Plo’s breathe choked in his throat.

“What?” he asked, the words more of a thin whistle than anything else.

“It was a – what’s the word for it? - a request,” Quinlan said. “He asked how much we would cost for a night. He didn’t even ask us for the information, he asked a senator.”

“We?” Plo asked.

“My master,” Aalya said, “is forgetting that I was not the only one asked after.”

Her face was pale, fists clenched tight at her sides.

“I think,” she said, “we must face the possibility that things will get worst. I suggest we try to find a way to contact the native jedi to determine our best course of action.”

Plo nodded grimly. Ever since other parties from their dimension had arrived, their treatment had been in decline.

The reason why had become glaringly obvious after Quinlan had witnessed a jedi go to her knees to beg for her padawan to be taken off a mission, only to be slapped for her trouble.

Later, in a whispered, quick conversation with a native jedi, they’d learned that the mission in question was an undercover one, and that it had a high probability of the jedi assigned to it being murdered, mutilated, or raped.

“We should try to be moved down to the temple,” Aayla said. “I think that that would be best.”

“Agreed,” Quinlan said. “At least then we won’t be isolated anymore. We might even be able to get a real message back to our world.”

“If we move down to the temple,” Plo said, “we could potentially trigger a change in behavior towards us. They could start treating us like they treat their jedi.”

“They’re already starting to treat us like their jedi,” Quinlan snapped. “They asked how much it would cost to rape us, and I think our senator actually considered it for a moment.”

“If I am too be owned,” Aayla added, “then I do not want to be isolated as well.”

They weren’t wrong. Plo hated it, but they weren’t wrong.

“I will ask,” he said, feeling very heavy.

Plo had watched the jedi of this world carefully, especially once their own treatment began to decline in quality, so he had a decent idea of how to act when he walked up to a group that contained senators from both his world and this world.

He bowed, then waited to be acknowledged.

He could have acted like he would have in his world, but he wanted this to work, and it wouldn’t if he behaved as he normally did. Even the senators from his world had become less tolerant the longer they stayed here.

“Senators,” he said, when it seemed appropriate. He couldn’t make himself say ‘sir,’ not with the way it seemed to be a synonym for master here. “I have a request, if you would be kind enough to hear it.”

“Bold, isn’t he?” one of the senators said, chuckling. “Are they all like that where you come from?”

“Yes,” one of the senators from their home universe said. “Though I am beginning to see the appeal of your system. It certainly makes everything more manageable.”

Plo’s jaw clenched but he managed to keep silent. They needed to be allowed down to the temple, so they could figure out what was actually going and what they needed to do to fix things.

The native senator glanced almost lazily at their home senator, who nodded permission after only a moment’s hesitation. He opened his mouth, but, before he could say anything, Plo felt a hand anchor itself over the back of his neck, forcing him back into a deep bow, then holding him there.

Plo recognized Mace’s force signature a second later, different than the Mace in his world, but still distinctive.

The hand squeezed his neck tightly, then released it. Plo stayed in the bow. He could take a hint.

“Honored senators,” the alternate Mace said. “I apologize deeply for this one’s behavior.”

A shivered sense of pleasure rippled through the senators. Plo’s spine prickled. He automatically tried to rise, assuming the introduction was over, and the hand returned, lightning-quick, forcing him back down.

“As you can see,” Mace continued, “he has, unfortunately, never been taught how to behave properly.”

“We can see,” one of the senators said. “It is quite annoying. I trust you won’t be corrupted by his poor presence.”

Mace bowed deeper and Plo followed his lead.

“I shall endeavor not too, sir,” Mace said. “With your permission, may I suggest a possible solution, one that may benefit the honored guests as well?”

“Continue,” one of the senators ordered.

Mace continued, “I humbly suggest that you allow them to join us, where they can be properly acclimated. Their current abhorrent behavior will no longer need to be tolerated, and the honored guests will receive a properly trained jedi at the end of things.”

Plo did not like the phrase ‘properly trained.’

“Hmph,” one of the native senators said. “Well, what do you say? They're your jedi.”

Plo waited for his senators to refute the implied ownership. They didn’t.

They agreed instead.

Mace wasn’t sure what to make of the strange jedi. The only thing he could be sure of was that they were idiots.

He and the rest of the council had been trying to find a way to move the alternate jedi down to the anohrah, so that they could gain some understanding of the alternate world. It seemed to be a kinder one, if the way they acted was any indication, but they wanted to know details.

He waited, holding his breath, for the senator’s answer. The alternate Plo Koon’s pulse thundered under fingers. He wasn’t going to remove his hand, not after the alternate had tried to rise without permission.

“Fine,” one of the alternate senators said. “I don’t see the harm in it.”

Mace bowed deeper, pushing Koon down with him.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Good,” the senator said. “Dismissed.”

Mace bobbed once, then stood and hurried out of the room.

He waited for a few hallways, until he found one that was deserted, then spun to face Koon.

“What were you thinking?” he hissed. “You don’t approach a senator like that.”

Koon held up both hands, placating.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am unpracticed in the customs here.”

“That much is obvious,” Mace said. “No jedi here would be so stupid as to do what you just did, especially with a senator that they had to history with.”

“I’m sorry,” Koon repeated. “Thank you for assisting me. How did you know that we were trying to be moved to the temple?”

Mace blinked. “We didn’t. We’ve been trying to find a way to move you down since you arrived. I saw an opportunity and took it.”

It’d been a split-second decision, after he’d caught a glimpse of the alternate jedi making an absolute hash of things.

“Well,” Koon said, “thank you anyway. Your guidance is invaluable.”

“Yes,” Mace said, “it is. Come on, let’s fetch your companions.”

Mace strode off, the alternate Koon following.

Idiots, Mace thought, as he had to prod his companion into dropping his gaze once they began running into more people. Idiots, all of them.

Chapter Text

The rooms they were given within the temple were downright depressing.

For one, it wasn’t a set of rooms. It was one room. For all three of them.

“I don’t understand,” Aayla said. “There’s enough room for all of us to have our own room. The temple isn’t small.”

“There must be a reason they haven’t mentioned yet,” Plo said, trying to convince himself. It wasn’t even a particularly large room. “Remember, we are naive here.”

The room was stone cold as well, just like the rest of the temple, and there were only three blankets in the room.

They were some of the only things in the room, for that matter. There was a small kitchenette in one corner, a chest of drawers in another, and a small table with four chairs surrounding it. The remainder of the room was taken up with a fairly large bed – big enough for three to four people – that had a thin mattress on it.

The only reason the room looked full was because the room was tiny. There was barely enough room for Plo and the others to move around without bumping into each other.

Regardless, Plo was fairly certain the room was meant as a kindness, even if they didn’t understand it currently.

There was a knock at the door.

They jumped, then Plo made his way over to the door. He opened it.

It was Mace.

“Are you settled it?” he asked.

Plo nodded. “Yes, thank you very much.”

“Is it like the rooms you have at your anohrah?” Mace asked.

“Anohrah?” Quinlan asked.

“It means temple,” Mace translated. “Do you not speak Dai Bendu?”

All three shook their heads slowly.

Mace’s frown deepened, but he dropped the topic and re-asked his previous question.

Plo hesitated, then answered honestly.

“No,” he said. “We generally live in larger rooms, and we are more spread out.”

Mace’s eyebrows bunched.

“How do you keep warm then?” he asked.

Oh, that made sense, Plo realized. If they didn’t have heat here, and it looked like they didn’t, then a smaller room would warm up and stay warm quicker and easier. It also made sense why they were all crammed into one room. More bodies would result in a warmer room.

“We have heat,” Plo said.

Mace’s eyes narrowed further. “I see. Well here, we don’t. My advice for the nights is to all stay in the same bed. It’ll keep you warmer and you’ll be able to use all three blankets on all of you instead of having one each. Now come, there are people who want to speak to you.”

Plo, Quinlan, and Aayla followed obligingly.

“Is sharing beds... common here?” Plo asked, after a few moments silence.

Mace shrugged. “It is if you don’t want to freeze. Honestly, we share similar sleeping habits with the clones. It’s quite ironic.”

Plo had never heard of the clones sleeping together like that. A quick glance at Quinlan and Aayla proved that they hadn’t either.

Mace caught the glance.

“You know?” he said. “The way they form batch piles?”

No, Plo didn’t know.

“I don’t think they do that in our world,” he said.

Mace blinked. “Huh,” he said, and kept walking.

Considering that he’d responded well to the previous question, Plo asked, “What is our legal status here, exactly? No one has told us.”

“Indentured, technically,” Mace said. “Though it’s effectively slavery, especially since they invented private contracts a few centuries ago.”

“So, the senate can...?” Plo prompted.

“Do whatever they like,” Mace said. “Given the way you’ve acted, I’m assuming that your world is at least slightly laxer.”

“Yes,” Plo said. “It is.”

Mace arrived at a door, opening it and ushering them inside.

It was as cold as the rest of the temple and if Plo ever managed to return to his world he was never going to take heating for granted again. He hoped that the jedi sent to his world were enjoying it.

However, if the jedi weren’t free here -

“Did the jedi sent to our world volunteer or consent for the mission?” he asked.

Mace looked at him blankly, as did the rest of the council.

“No,” said one, and Plo jumped as he recognized his alternate.

“Jaieh Kenobi and Jehxah Skywalker were chosen for their prestige as generals and their history of satisfying a wide variety of requests. Skywalker’s padawan looked to be following in their footsteps, so she was sent as well,” his alternate said. “They were deemed pleasing gifts. Their opinion was not taken into account.”

Ah. That was horrific.

“Questions for you, we have,” the alternate Yoda said. “On your world, treated kindly you are?”

“What of the Ruusan Reformation?” Shaak Ti added. “How tightly were you bound by contract?”

Both Quinlan and Aayla let Plo handle the questions.

“We aren’t indentured in our world,” he said. “The Ruusan Reformation was an agreement to lay down our arms, disband our military, and swear allegiance to the Republic, not whatever travesty seems to be occurring here.”

“But answer to the senate, you still do?” Yoda asked.

Plo hesitated.

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose we do, but the senate cannot demand the things that they do here. Which, that was one question I had. What exactly can they do? I haven’t gotten a completely clear answer yet.”

Plo could forgive Mace for being a bit elusive, since walking down hallways doesn’t exactly lend itself to hard conversations, but the few times they’d had a chance to ask other people they’d been similarly difficult.

They needed to know what they were embroiled in.

It was his alternate that answered.

“Anything they like,” he said bluntly. “So long as they pay the proper request price, they are allowed anything they desire. They may use us for missions, for entertainment, or as bargaining chips. If we don’t give way, they cut our food and utilities, or they use more physical punishment. We’ve never found the cost to be worth it.”

“Why don’t you just leave?” Aayla asked. “That’s horrible.”

“And how would you propose moving thousands of people off planet without access to star ships or resources?” Agen Kolar asked, voice turning almost snappish. “And how would we get out of Republic space without being caught?”

Quinlan, who’d been about to add something, shut his mouth.

“Has anyone succeeded in running?” Plo asked.

“It depends on what you mean by succeed,” his alternate said. “There have been those who’ve gotten away, yes, but very few are willing to allow their lineage to pay the price for their freedom.”

“What does that mean?” Aayla asked.

“It means,” Plo’s alternate said, “that anyone who runs faces the knowledge that their padawan, or, if they do not have a padawan, their jaieh, will be flogged to death in the temple courtyard in retribution for their rebellion.”

Plo stiffened. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Quinlan go bone-pale.

Yoda slammed his stick on the ground.

“Enough,” he said. “Questions, we still have. Answer them, you must, for our benefit and yours.”

Plo bowed his head.

“Of course, jaieh,” he said, deciding to use one of their titles, not his.

“Tonjaieh,” his alternate corrected gently.

“Tonjaieh,” Plo repeated. “Please ask anything you like.”

The meeting ended up taking three hours. They were an extremely informative three hours, but Plo was exhausted.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Aayla asked grimly as they trudged back through to their rooms

Plo didn’t answer. Neither did Quinlan.

Both were starting to have to slow, sinking realization that they probably wouldn’t be getting out, at least not anytime soon. It was terrifying how quickly the hope and resolve in Plo’s chest was turning to resignation.

They reached their cold little room. Aayla looked sick. Quinlan didn’t look much better.

Plo opened the door, and they filed in. The room was freezing, just like it was when they left. The three blankets on the bed were looking more and more inviting.

“Are we sharing the bed?” Quinlan asked.

“That is what they advised,” Plo said. “I’ve always thought taking the advice of the native population is best in situations like this.”

Also, sleeping on the floor with only one blanket sounded awful.

“I agree,” Aayla said. “That way we can at least keep warm.”

Quinlan nodded, but didn’t speak, just collapsed onto the bed.

Plo followed a moment later, trying to release the fear and despair into the force.

He wasn’t sure he was succeeding.

Chapter Text

Anakin stumbled through the halls, trying to blink away the pounding in his head. His stomach contorted itself with every step and his head felt stuffed.

He was too far away from the anohrah to find his way back before some senator or aid saw him, and he absolutely did not want them to see him fever-flushed and disoriented. He was too vulnerable like this.

Another wave of dizziness hit him and Anakin’s knees almost buckled.

He was far closer to the senators’ apartments than to the anohrah. Senator Organa was gone, he knew, but Senator Amidala was in residence.

His jaieh would kill him, if Anakin knocked on her door like this, sweat-slicked and weak as a kitten, but facing her was better than running the gauntlet of the Rotunda.

Anakin refused to believe that Senator Amidala, the same women who paid for his prosthetic and fed him good, filling food, would be overly cruel. She requested his alternate regularly yes, but Anakin never saw him with any bruises or damage, and he never once moved with the difficultly that would indicate harsh treatment.

Anakin arrived at the door, hesitating only a moment before knocking.

The door opened.

Anakin folded himself into a low bow.

“Senator Amidala,” he said.

“Anakin?” she asked, voice shocked. “Wait, you’re the different Anakin, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Anakin said. “May I please come in? I fear I am not feeling well.”

He was forgetting something – right, gratitude.

He bent deeper into the bow.

“I would be very grateful for your kindness, ma’am,” he said. “Even though I do not deserve it.”

There was a cough rising in his chest.

He could not cough, not directly in front of her like he was now.

For a horrible second, Senator Amidala was quiet, horror pulsing across her mind.

“Come in,” she said, and Anakin nearly gasped with relief. Regardless of what she did to him, she would be better than any of the other senators who would take advantage of him when he was like this, unable to accurately report what had happened to him.

For requests of a sexual nature, Anakin cost ten thousand credits a night. There were plenty of people who would love to bypass the fee. Plenty of people who would be cruel about it.

Senator Amidala was the better option.

His jaieh was still going to kill him.

Padme let the alternate Anakin stumble inside, his head wobbling on his neck. He kept his face ducked and his arms tucked tight against his sides, almost shrinking from her.

As he walked past, Padme felt the heat emanating from his skin.

“You have a fever,” she said, surprised. “Why aren’t you at the temple?”

“Too far, ma’am,” he rasped, stopping in the center of the room and folding his hands behind his back. “I wouldn’t be able to make it back alone. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t feel sorry,” Padme said. “I could call Obi-Wan – your Obi-Wan, that is – to come here and get you, if that would work?”

The alternate Anakin went pale, swaying where he stood.

“Whatever pleases you, ma’am,” he said.

Padme frowned. She knew that there was a chance her and Anakin weren’t married in every universe, but the submissive respect was throwing her.

Mainly the submissive part. In what universe was Anakin submissive?

In any case, she was pretty sure that the ‘Whatever pleases you’ had been a refusal, given his body language. Alright, no Obi-Wan than. That wasn’t too unusual. They’d been fighting more these days.

“I could send for Captain Rex,” she offered. “Your Captain Rex, that is. He was transferred here a day or so ago and I don’t think he’s been given enough time off to find you yet.”

Anakin’s head jerked up, eyes going wide. He wanted it, Padme could tell.

“I’ll send for him,” she said before her husband’s alternate could answer aloud. I don’t think he’ll be too long. In the meantime, how about you lay down on the couch?”

Anakin nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Padme smiled a little and reached for her comm.

She put him on the couch, but she didn’t join him yet. She commed Rex instead. Anakin tried to focus enough to listen, but the spinning in his head hurt to badly to pay attention. Hopefully the senator wouldn’t care that he was a bit out of it. Hopefully she wouldn’t change her mind and call for his jaieh.

Anakin would rather be given to the Hutt ambassador than fulfill a request like this alongside his jaieh.

Not that he would have a choice about it, but his feelings still stood.

But now she was calling Rex, which was better than Anakin had dared hoped for. He hadn’t even realized Rex was on planet. How had he managed that?

Hopefully the senator would be quick with whatever she wanted, then give Anakin back to his captain. If Rex was escorting him, no one would harass him. A clone walking or carrying an out-of-sorts jedi back to the anohrah wasn’t an uncommon sight by any means, and people knew better than to challenge it.

Anakin knew jedi weren’t supposed to encourage possessiveness, but he’d been thankful that his captain was a possessive man ever since the first time he’d carried Anakin – battered and high off the drugs they’d forced into him - back to the anohrah, snarling at anyone who even looked like they might be interested in taking advantage of his jedi.

For now, Anakin just had to stick it out.

The senator turned back to him. She smiled.

Anakin tried to stop his head from spinning as he smiled back.

The senator hung up the comm and Rex stared into the middle distance.

His general was in her rooms.

His general was in her rooms, sick as a dog, and she wanted him to come get him.

Rex pressed the heels of his hands against the visor of his helmet and took three long, deep breaths.

It would be okay. He’d walk in there, stare at the wall until she was finished with whatever she wanted to do, then pick up his general and leave. He’d done it a million times before.

At least she was a woman, which meant the risk of tearing or internal injury was far lower. Women had to try to make it hurt. It wasn’t something that would happen just because they were a little too distracted or a little too impatient or a little too aggressive.

Rex started walking, praying that Senator Amidala didn’t turn out to have a hidden cruel streak, that she’d be content to have his general on his knees or back.

The twenty-five minute walk to the senator’s apartments was torturous, but Rex hesitated for a full minute before he knocked.

Surprisingly, the door was opened by the senator herself.

Rex snapped a salute.

“Ma’am,” he said, remembering the properly gendered title just in time. He’d figured out a while back that some female natborns took offense at being called sir, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was cause offense.

“Come in, captain,” the senator said. “Anakin’s right through here, on the couch.”

She was fully clothed, Rex realized. Had they already finished? That was quicker than he would have expected, especially with the senator being a woman.

His general was on the couch, which was expected, and fully clothed as well, which was unexpected.

Rex flashed a quick glance to the senator. She made a gesture.

“Is there anything else you need?” she asked.

Rex shook his head.

“Well then,” the senator said, “feel free to take him and please let me know if there is anything else I can do.”

She smiled.

Rex was extremely glad for his bucket.

“I can... take him, ma’am?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said. “I imagine he will be far more comfortable in the temple, or on your ship, or wherever you are staying.”

That didn’t make any sense. Had she even touched his general? Even a little bit?

Rex took a cautious step towards his general, ready to stop at the slightest indication of displeasure. None was shown.

Rex stooped down and scooped up his general. The senator nodded and kept smiling as Rex slowly made his way around her and out the door.

He only relaxed when the door clicked shut behind him.

“General?” he hissed. “General are you alright? Did she do anything?”

His general pressed his face farther into Rex’s shoulder plate.

“She didn’t do anything,” he said. “She didn’t even kiss me. I’m just sick.”

Rex badly wanted to believe it, but he’d seen the alternate Senator Amidala rape his alternate general once already, and he’d only been here a few days. Why would she pass up the opportunity to bypass his request price? It wasn’t like his general and the alternate general had different bodies.

Unless...

“Does this Senator Amidala have your alternate under a private contract?” Rex asked.

His general’s head lolled back, and his eyes blinked once, wide and glazed.

“Oh,” he said. “I hadn’t considered that. I bet that’s how she’s affording him so often.”

So probably yes, then. That would explain why she hadn’t taken advantage of his general. What was the point, when she had free access to an Anakin who was already fully trained and broke to her sensibilities and preferences?

“Rex,” his general said, when he’d been standing still for too long, “can we go home?”

Yes, yes, they could. His general needed his master and Rex needed Cody.

Rex started walking, making sure to glare at anyone foolish enough to stare at them.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was comfortably curled up under Cody’s reassuring bulk when both their comms chimed.

Cody grumbled as he rolled off the bunk and onto the floor, reaching up with one hand to grab his comm. His mouth tightened into a grim line as he read it, then handed it to Obi-Wan.

The message was from Rex and read: Picked up General Skywalker from Senator Amidala’s room. She didn’t hurt him, but he’s sick. En route to your rooms in the temple now.

Obi-Wan shot up out of the bunk.

“Why did he go there?” Cody asked, far more calmly than what was warranted.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said, scrambling for his shoes. “I told him to stay away from her.”

Unhurt didn’t mean untouched, especially since, in this world at least, Senator Amidala seemed to be absolutely ravenous when it came to Anakin.

“Will you escort me, commander?” Obi-Wan asked, once he’d located his shoes and robe.

“Of course, general,” Cody said. “You don’t have to ask.”

Anakin clung to his captain as Rex tried to put him down.

No.

No, Rex couldn’t put him down. Anakin didn’t think he could walk for too long right now, and if his captain left then anyone could come get him.

Anyone.

Anakin tightened his grip.

“General,” Rex grunted. “General, it’s time for you to let go. We’re in your rooms in the temple.

No, no they weren’t. The anohrah didn’t feel like this. Wherever they were felt both too cold and too happy to be the anohrah.

Was Rex trying to leave him? No, no, no. He was Rex’s general, his jedi. Clones never left their jedi in the senate alone.

But there were hands worming under his torso, trying to push him off.

Anakin wrapped his legs tight around Rex and hooked his chin over the captain’s shoulder, anchoring himself further.

The hands stopped pushing. Anakin could feel as Rex heaved a deep sigh.

“You’re pretty out of it, general, aren’t you?” he asked.

Anakin wasn’t out of it. He was perfectly aware. He was perfectly aware that he was somewhere strange – probably still in the senate – and his captain wanted to abandon him to grasping hands and gaping maws.

Had he done something wrong? He’d been trying so hard.

Anakin suddenly felt like he was about to cry. He determinedly shoved the feeling back down. He tightened his grip instead, the plastiod creaking under his weight.

Rex sighed again.

“Alright,” he said, “you don’t have to let go, general, but I need to rest you against something. You’re too heavy for me to carry for this long.”

That was okay. As long as he didn’t make Anakin let go.

The surface Anakin felt under him a moment later was too soft and he froze.

That felt like a senator’s couch, or maybe a chair. It wasn’t comfortable enough to be a senator’s bed, but it was far, far more comfortable anything in the anohrah that available to rest on.

That was why Rex wanted Anakin to let go. He’d misunderstood, thought Rex was taking him home when in reality he was escorting him to another request.

Anakin thought his last request must have been easy. He couldn’t really remember anything about it, but nothing hurt. Hopefully this one would be the same.

His captain was being very patient with him, allowing him to cling despite the probably impatient senator waiting nearby. Anakin should let go now, on his own terms, before the senator’s patience wore too thin and they had him ripped off his captain.

Anakin pried his fingers up one by one, reminding himself that, if he took too long, they’d probably hit Rex as punishment for not handling him properly. That’d be a poor reward for the kindness he insisted on showing to the jedi skug.

Anakin unlatched his legs, letting himself fall back on the couch. It was an extremely odd feeling couch. It was too wide and, from what Anakin could tell, there was no back.

Obi-Wan's presence burst into the room, as did Cody’s, and Anakin shrank back.

No, no, no what were they doing here?

Obi-Wan walked into the room and immediately saw the problem.

Anakin was half monkey-clinging to his captain, removing himself at a truly glacial pace. As Obi-Wan's entrance, he seized back up, eyes squeezing shut.

He was muttering something under his breath, and, when Obi-Wan got closer he could make out the rambling liturgy of no, no, no, please, no, no, no, please.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out in the force. “Anakin, you’re okay.”

Anakin just shrank back.

Obi-Wan turned to Rex, taking comfort in the force-presence of Cody behind him.

“Did the senator drug him?” he asked.

Rex shrugged.

“I don’t know, sir,” he said. “By the time I got there, she was already done with whatever she did. The general said she didn’t touch him.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he believed that.

“Really?” he said, trying not to sound too skeptical.

The captain picked up on it anyway.

“We think she has his alternate under a private contract,” he said. “I don’t think she wanted to bother with breaking in a new Anakin.”

Obi-Wan's mouth made a little o. Maybe she hadn’t done anything. If she had an Anakin under private contract, why would she risk committing fraud with a new Anakin? Especially since she seemed to be on good terms with the Chancellor. She wouldn’t want to risk his favor for a night of cheap fun with a body she could access legitimately. She’d probably be able to get away with it, even if she was caught, but it was definitely a gamble.

A private contract would also explain how she was affording Anakin’s alternate so often. Even in their world, she only requested him once a week, at most, and the request only occurred if she could get to his request slots before they filled. It wasn’t always possible. It was also an expensive endeavor considering Anakin’s request price and the fact that she didn’t get anything out of it.

In the months he’d been here, Obi-Wan had noticed the senator making use of his alternate padawan multiple times a week, whenever they were in the same place. He had been incredibly close to breaking taboo and asking for the details behind the requests from the alternate Anakin. It simply seemed so implausible.

It was not implausible with a private contract, and Obi-Wan could kick himself for not realizing it sooner.

Anakin’s breathing picked up, and Obi-Wan could feel as his mind slid into panic, both scrambling for and pushing away Obi-Wan's mind.

“General,” Rex said. “His heartrate's picking up and his breathing’s too quick.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward, trying to ignore Anakin’s fearful, flinching mind, trying to smooth comfort and safe over it. It didn’t work and Anakin’s mind worked itself into a full-blown panic attack, the last of the reason flowing out of it like water gushing out of a sieve.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said. “Give me the sedative.”

There were other ways of calming the Anakin down, but they all took longer and the risk of being thrown into a wall was not insignificant. Obi-Wan didn’t want to risk it, not with two clones in the room. Items were already rumbling on the shelves.

Cody handed it over without a word and Obi-Wan decompressed it against Anakin’s shoulder.

His padawan sagged a moment later and Obi-Wan's soothing was finally able to take hold.

Rex set him down gently on the bed, and it only took him a moment to unlatch Anakin’s hands from where they were hooked into his armor. Anakin tucked his hands to his chest, folding one inside the other.

Obi-Wan sagged down next to him, draping his arm over his padawan’s back, rubbing up and down his spine gently.

The clones hovered awkwardly. Cody grunted, then dropped down on the other side of the bed, kicking his legs up to drape over Obi-Wan's.

Rex still hesitated.

“We don’t generally do this?” he said.

“Really?” Cody said. “You should. Jedi are like those stressed-out cats we saw, or those high-strung horses on that one planet. They need stability and they’re spread out too far to provide it for each other.”

Rex still looked a little skeptical, but he was starting to cave.

“Next time your general starts freaking out, just lay on him,” Cody said. “Ask before you do it for the first time, but mine seems to like it.” He turned to Obi-Wan. “You do like it, sir, right?”

Obi-Wan was still trying to figure out if he was offended by being compared to both a horse and a cat, and highly strung ones at that.

He did like it when Cody helped him through a panic attack though.

“My commander isn’t wrong,” he settled for. “But I would ask first.”

Obi-Wan decided to let the horse and cat comment slide. Rex decided to join the batch/creche pile.

Obi-Wan slept well.

Chapter Text

Anakin woke in the center of a pile of warm bodies. He could feel his jaieh wrapped around his back, one arm hugging Anakin tight against him. Ashoka was curled up in front of Anakin, hands and face hidden against his chest.

There were more though -

Oh.

It was Rex and Cody. Rex was curled up at their feet and around their backs while Cody was being a surprisingly good-natured pillow for Obi-Wan's and Anakin’s heads.

It was shockingly nice, Anakin realized as he snugged Ahsoka tighter against him. She grunted but didn’t wake up.

Behind him, his jaieh did. He propped himself up on one elbow and pressed his hand against Anakin’s forehead, then his cheek, then his neck. Anakin leaned into it.

“No fever,” he said. “I suppose that’s better.”

Anakin had vague memories of everything being hot and sick last night. The brief snapshots were all laced with desperate fear and resignation. He frowned.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

His jaieh remained relaxed, which indicated that it wasn’t anything too horrible.

“Nothing,” his jaieh said. “Nothing happened last night. You simply fell ill. The good captain found you and brought you back here.”

“I had a fever?” Anakin asked. “That went away quickly.”

“The anohrah gave us medicine,” his jaieh said. “Ahsoka brought it when she came.”

He made as if to get up, only to be grabbed by his still asleep commander and yanked back down. Rex curled tight around their legs.

“I don’t think we’re going to be moving anytime soon,” Anakin’s jaieh said wryly, carefully rearranging himself into a more comfortable position. “How are you feeling?”

Anakin concentrated. His fever was gone, and his head was clear. He reached out in the force to check the status of the others in the room.

“My body hurts,” he said, once he was certain everyone else was asleep. “Everything’s achy and I’m tired.”

His jaieh laughed softly.

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “You’ll feel better eventually.”

Anakin nodded. He yawned and let his eyes flutter shut.

When Anakin woke up again, the clones and his jaieh were gone, leaving just him and Ahsoka in the bed.

Anakin grunted, then stretched. His muscles still felt like they’d been strung out like putty, but he felt better overall.

Ahsoka burrowed closer to him, montrals digging into his chest, but Anakin didn’t mind.

Safe? she asked, still half-asleep, more feeling than anything else.

Safe, Anakin sent back, wrapping his padawan up in shields and security.

Ahsoka’s mind grumbled happily, then slid back into sleep.

Anakin watched her for long minutes, trying to memorize every aspect of her face, then settled back down and went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Cody watched from the corner as his alternate – who was, for some reason, playing bodyguard – told off a senator and picked up the alternate General Kenobi. He then proceeded to stand in front of the door he was guarding for five straight minutes while his general shook and clung to him.

Another clone arrived, who seemed to see nothing odd about the situation. He relieved Cody’s alternate, who did not put his general down.

Cody followed them back to their destination, which turned out to be the guards’ barracks. His alternate took his general inside and neither came out again.

Cody commed Rex.

“Rex speaking,” Rex said when he picked up. “Is there something wrong?”

“I want you to keep a close eye on your alternate,” Cody said. “Report back what you find.”

There was a pause, then, “Yes, sir.”

“Try to keep things discrete,” Cody said.

Tailing his alternate was turning out to be more boring than Cody’s message might have indicated. He mostly just stood guard, except for right now, when he was going off guard.

His alternate took a step, then stopped for one long minute. Rex turned on the recording in his helmet.

His alternate pressed his hands to his visor, then set off again, this time in a different direction. Rex followed him as discretely as possible.

He appeared to be heading for Senator Amidala’s apartments, which was... interesting, especially considering Anakin and the senator’s relationship.

The senator let him in, and Rex could practically see the tension in his shoulders.

A moment later, he exited, his general slung against his chest, almost sitting in the crook of his arm. The general was shivering and pale, hiding his face in Rex’s alternate’s neck.

Rex’s alternate stopped. The alternate general’s head lolled back and he said something.

Rex stood still until the alternate general spoke again, then started walking. They looked to be heading back to the temple.

Rex took a risk and darted ahead, taking shortcuts until he reached the temple. He made his way to the guest jedi’s rooms and slid a spy bot into the room, then slipped away.

He heard the alternates arriving a few minutes later and breathed a sigh of relief. His guess had been correct.

Rex stayed tucked in the corner and a few hallways down and powered up the spy bot, hooking up the audio outputs to his HUD.

The audio clicked into place and Rex jumped. The sound of his general’s alternate’ begging filtered into his helmet, as well as his own alternate’s whispered reassurances. The alternate general appeared to be holding tight to Rex’s alternate, unhooking himself by slow, painful degrees.

Rex blanched, suddenly feeling as though he was intruding on something terribly private.

He turned on the recording feature anyway.

Cody’s and his general’s alternates’ arrived a moment later, slipping into the room.

The alternate general was not happy about this development, and it only took a few minutes for the alternate General Kenobi to order him sedated.

Rex waited for the clones and possibly General Kenobi to leave the room.

Instead, Cody’s alternate started comparing his general to skittish animals and advising Rex’s alternate to lay on top of his general.

And then General Kenobi agreed with him.

There was the sound of cloth rustling.

Rex would have killed to have a visual right now.

His Cody rounded the corner.

“Anything interesting?” he asked.

“I think they just all climbed into bed together,” Rex said, because that was really the only explanation that made sense.

Cody blinked.

“What?” he asked.

“It could have been a couch,” Rex admitted.

Through the bot, he heard more rustling, then the sound of breathing evening out and deepening.

“And now they appear to be going asleep,” Rex said.

Cody was struggling to get his head past the idea of sleeping next to his general. It was both appalling in its impropriety and disturbingly appealing. Cody doubted his general would be able to sneak off to do insane stunts if Cody was right there, ready to drag him back and make him go back to sleep.

“Cody?” Rex asked.

Cody shook himself out of his head. He’d process the idea of a cuddle pile with his general later.

“Did your general’s alternate act strangely in any way while you were on campaign with him?” Cody asked.

Rex shook his head. “He was a bit jumpier than our general, and it looked like the war had hit him a bit harder physically than it had us, but other than that I didn’t notice anything.”

“Same with ours,” Cody said. “A bit skittish, but nothing too alarming.”

They both fell silent, trying to square their idea of jedi with the sobbing alternate General Skywalker, clinging to the alternate Rex like a drowning man.

“I’ll talk to my general about it,” Cody said.

Cody’s general was unhelpful.

“They told you not to bother with it?” Cody asked, just to be sure.

His general shrugged weakly. “More or less. My advice would be to put it out of your mind, though I will admit that it is concerning.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody said, and decided that there was absolutely no way he was going to put this out of his mind.

He left his general’s office and commed Rex.

“Keep an eye on them,” he said. “Record everything and save it. Step in if it seems prudent.”

The last piece of advice was risky with Rex, but Cody thought it was worth it. Anything that could make General Skywalker sound like that was worthy of concern.

They couldn’t do anything concrete now, but they could wait and watch, and record evidence. And, when the time came and they knew what was happening, they would step in.

Cody would not be caught unawares again.

Chapter Text

The senator gaped at Quinlan, one hand clutched within the other.

Quinlan did not flinch back, because he was a jedi master and a few months in this awful reality was not enough to make him cringe at a facial expression.

It was not.

“You hit me,” the senator said, slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Next him, Mace was looking at Quinlan with an expression of pure horror.

Idiot, he mouthed, looking as shocked as Mace ever did look.

Quinlan flushed. He wasn’t an idiot. He had acted like any person would if someone had randomly squeezed their butt. Getting his hand smacked should be the least the senator expected.

Two members of the Coruscant Guard entered the room behind Quinlan’s back. He could feel them, their regular pulse of pain-exhaustion obvious in the Force.

“We received a message saying there was an incident, sir?” one asked. He felt like he was on the verge of collapse.

Quinlan tried to feed him strength and comfort, like he had heard the other jedi talk about sometimes.

It seemed to work. The guardsman’s back stayed straight as ever, but his Force presence became more comfortable. It flickered to gratitude, then to guilt.

“That one hit me,” the senator snapped. “I want him punished.”

Quinlan looked back at Mace, hoping for a clue on what he should do, but the other jedi was gone. Quinlan swallowed, his skin shivering as the guardsmen bracketed him.

Mace reappeared, suddenly enough the Quinlan jumped.

His face was smoothed to a perfect neutral as he tucked himself into a deep bow.

“Of course, senator,” he said. “Please don’t worry about it.”

The senator arched an eyebrow. “I feel like I should be worried about a jedi who hit me.”

Behind his back, Quinlan’s fists clenched. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t afford anger, not now. He wasn’t sure what Mace was doing, but he wouldn’t be the one to mess it up.

Mace took the pushback smoothly.

“Of course, sir,” he said. “It is certainly worrying. I simply meant that you should not have to undergo anymore stress.”

Quinlan almost choked on the blatant flattery, but the senator seemed to enjoy it, thankfully.

“And how can I be assured the situation will be handled appropriately?” he asked.

“We’ll send video footage, sir,” Mace said. “You may view it at your pleasure, once the situation is far enough away to be less distressing.”

That finally seemed to satisfy the senator.

“Good,” he said. “I will be following up soon.”

“Of course, sir,” Mace said.

The senator huffed, then left the room.

Mace straightened with a groan, one hand pressing briefly against the small of his back.

“Jaieh?” Quinlan asked, the title almost familiar after a few months of using it. “What’s happening.”

Mace nodded to the Coruscant Guard and they fell back a few steps, but not before one squeezed Quinlan’s shoulder reassuringly.

“You’re going to be punished,” Mace said simply. “He insisted on a video, so we won’t be able to get you out of it.”

“What’s it going to be?” Quinlan asked. He’d heard rumors of punishments, but nothing too bad had happened in the past two and a half months he’d been in this world. Surely it couldn’t be too -

“Flogging,” Mace said. “Until you are unconscious. They’ll make your padawan do it.”

Quinlan’s mouth went dry.

“Aayla?” he asked. “Why her? Why does she need to do it?”

“Standard procedure,” Mace said. “Though I suppose that you could flog her. That would also be considered an appropriate punishment in this case due to the degree of emotional pain it would cause. Would you prefer that?”

Something about his tone had sharpened. Mace got the feeling that there was only one acceptable answer to the question.

It was also the only answer Quinlan would even begin to consider, so it worked out.

“No,” Quinlan said. “Of course not.”

The Coruscant Guard oversaw the entire thing, and they were gentle as they fastened the collar around Quinlan’s neck and leashed him to the post. They tied his hands too, just high enough that they would take enough weight off Quinlan’s neck to avoid him damaging his throat when his knees inevitably gave out.

The pressure and pull on his throat would still be painful though; Quinlan could tell that much even now. He swallowed heavily, feeling his throat bob beneath the heavy leather band.

There was the sound of protests behind him. Aayla. Quinlan didn’t try to turn his head. He’d throttle himself if he did.

Instead, he rested his head against the post, doing his best to block out any noise.

One of the clones made a sympathetic sound and gently placed his hand on Quinlan’s back.

Quinlan sagged further against the post. He’d heard somewhere that being relaxed made things hurt less and he hoped that it was true.

His padawan protested again, louder this time. Someone else snapped back.

Quinlan flinched, willing his padawan to just be quiet and do as she was told. It’d be easier for both of them that way.

It was his fault anyway -

Quinlan cut himself off, violently correcting that train of thought. This was not his fault. He’d acted normally. It was the senator who was a pervert.

It was the senator’s fault, not his.

The Coruscant Guard stepped away.

Relax, Quinlan reminded himself. You need to relax.

The first strike came without warning. It carved into his skin. Blood leaked hot and slick from the slitted skin.

Quinlan grunted, squeezing his eyes shut.

Another lash landed, then another. The fourth overlapped over the second and a scream strangled itself in Quinlan’s throat. He panted, pressing his forehead into the post.

His back, through the pain, felt slippery and hot.

Another lash peeled his skin back.

Quinlan howled, knees almost buckling. Only the bindings kept him from collapsing, and he gagged against their pressure. The sky, when his head rocked back, was as dark as it ever got on Coruscant.

The next hit landed across bared muscle. Quinlan screamed, then screamed again as another lash landed.

Five more lashes hooked into Quinlan’s back before he collapsed fully, hands and neck bearing his entire weight. Fire bit into Quinlan’s throat as the soft tissues bent around the harsh collar. He couldn’t scream like this, and he choked when he tried, lungs heaving against their restriction.

Two more lashes landed across Quinlan’s shoulders before his vison began to darken from lack of oxygen, and he realized that the leash was a mercy.

To unconsciousness, Quinlan could dimly remember Mace saying, even with his mind scattered from pain.

It took a lot less time to pass out from oxygen deprivation than it did to pass out from pain and blood loss.

Another lash landed before Quinlan sank into blissful darkness, the leash throttling the last bit of air out of his body.

Chapter Text

Anakin curled up next to his jaieh on the plush couch they had been so graciously given.

“I want to talk about Ahsoka,” he said.

His jaieh felt his head first, to make sure that he still didn’t have a fever, then motioned for him to continue.

“I want her to stay here,” Anakin said. “She’s happy here, and safer. She deserves it.”

“I know,” his jaieh said. “I’m not sure how it’d be possible though. They’re unlikely to approve a transfer to this temple.”

Anakin knew that. That route had always been a pipe dream anyway.

“I want to aim for a private contract,” he said.

His jaieh jerked, head whipping around. He examined Anakin’s face for a long moment.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

Anakin ducked his head. He knew it was stupid.

It would still be better.

“Not just anyone,” he said. “Someone we pick.”

If Senator Amidala had been like she was in Anakin’s home world, Anakin would have begged her to take his padawan. That would have been a good life for her.

“Maybe Senator Organa?” he said. “He’s kind to you.”

“I haven’t met this world’s Senator Organa,” his jaieh said. “He might be like Senator Amidala.”

Maybe, but Anakin hadn’t seen any indication that he was requesting jedi for anything nefarious. According to the holonet information Anakin had looked up, he also appeared to be blissfully married to his wife, with no signs of infidelity. His servants were paid well, and his planet was prosperous. He didn’t seem like someone prone to abuse.

“We’ll check him out,” Anakin said. “Carefully. I think it could work though.”

Senator Churchi could also be a good choice. Anakin and Ahsoka had run into her exactly once in this world, but she had been kind and friendly, especially to Ahsoka. She also seemed like she could use a better bodyguard, a post that Ahsoka was more than qualified to fill.

There was also the not inconsequential fact that Senator Churchi and Ahsoka were almost of age, with the senator being only a few years older than his padawan.

Anakin just wasn’t sure she had quite the same political power and pull Senator Organa had. Her position was newer, more precarious, which was risky for Ahsoka’s own stability. The last thing Anakin wanted was for Ahsoka’s senator to fall from grace, leaving her to be reassigned to someone like Senator Taa.

No, it was better to pick someone more established, if possible.

He jaieh was thinking.

“The senator did ask my alternate to accompany him on a diplomatic mission to a separatist-sympathizing planet,” he mused. “My alternate was already booked, but I could volunteer. He likes me, even in this world. I’m sure he would agree. In any case, he’d more likely to agree to me than to you.”

His jaieh also didn’t want Anakin going off alone with an unknown senator, Anakin knew, but he was right about the fact that Senator Organa was partial to him, not Anakin, so Anakin let the overprotectiveness pass without comment.

He let his head drop onto his jaieh’s shoulder instead.

“Please do that, jaieh,” he said. “I can’t bring her back with us. I just can’t.”

He could stand anything once they went back if he had this. He could endure a thousand parties, a thousand requests, a thousand beatings, if only he could remember that his padawan was safe and warm and well fed a galaxy away from wherever he was himself.

His jaieh’s hand rubbed the back of Anakin’s neck, trying to sooth.

“Of course, padawan,” he said. “We’ll make sure she’d safe. Trust me.”

Chapter Text

Senator Organa accepted Obi-Wan's proposition, thankfully. His demeanor was warm and kind, just as it always was in Obi-Wan's own world. He’d offered tea too, which Obi-Wan accepted.

There had been no aggressive or suggestive behavior, only the familiar rest and hot drinks.

So far, it seemed Anakin’s hunch was on the right track.

Obi-Wan hoped things worked out. A comfortable private contract would be the best-case scenario for his grandpadawan, even if it resulted in isolation from the rest of the jedi. It would certainly be better than what he had managed to secure for Anakin, Obi-Wan thought, feeling slivers of guilt twist his stomach. The best he’d ever managed to get Anakin was two months of rest after his hand was amputated.

The senator showed him out after they discussed the details of the mission, his eyes soft and concerned. Obi-Wan smiled at him. The expression was familiar. The Senator Organa of his world also seemed perpetually concerned about him.

But, here, there was really no need to be. He was fed, his padawan and grandpadawan were well, and they were sleeping in a warm set of rooms. They weren’t even particularly small rooms.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” Senator Organa said. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

Obi-Wan bowed, folding low enough that his head almost touched his knees. He always went especially low for any of the senators with a history of mercy-requesting jedi. Technically, this wasn’t his Senator Organa, but the man seemed like he was close enough.

Obi-Wan rose after a few seconds. The jedi in this world didn’t have to wait for permission to rise, he’d realized.

“Thank you, senator,” he said. “I look forward to it.”

Obi-Wan stopped in the restrooms nearest to the starship to apply some makeup. Nothing harsh, but enough to increase his appeal. It was subtle enough that a man like Organa wouldn’t realize he was wearing anything, but it bent his features just enough to be a tad more enticing than his bare face.

There was no point of a test without temptation, after all.

Obi-Wan wanted to be absolutely sure of the man’s character before he asked him to request to be given Obi-Wan's grandpadawan under a private contract.

Obi-Wan finished up and arrived at the starship a few minutes before the appointed time.

Senator Organa smiled when he saw him.

Obi-Wan smiled back.

The seat Obi-Wan was offered was across from the senator, not next to him or somewhere in the back. It was similar to how Obi-Wan's Senator Organa treated him the couple of times he’d requested him for an actual purpose.

Obi-Wan sprawled a bit, since he knew most people liked the pose. Supposedly, it made him look more relaxed. Obi-Wan never felt relaxed in situations like this, so he wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about, but he went along with things anyway.

Senator Organa seemed to appreciate it.

The actual mission went south a week after they landed on the planet, but everything else was going shockingly well.

Senator Organa hadn’t touched him. He'd acted exactly like Obi-Wan's Senator Organa would have in the same situation: kind and respectful.

The separatists clamped force-restraining cuffs around Obi-Wan's wrists, then threw him in a cell with the senator.

Obi-Wan began fiddling with the cuffs immediately, scanning the room for potential weaknesses.

The senator next to him laughed weakly.

“I suppose they were a bit more sympathetic than we realized,” he said.

Obi-Wan didn’t feel like laughing. The cell seemed secure, which meant their main opportunity for escape would come when someone opened the door. That meant fighting was a near certainty.

They’d managed to set off their emergency beacon, so help was likely coming, but Obi-Wan knew better than to rely on it.

In the meantime, he might as well sit down. Obi-Wan sagged down next to Senator Organa, close enough to feel the heat of his body.

Senator Organa just tilted his head back, resting against the wall.

There were a few minutes of silence before the senator broke it.

“What is your dimension like?” he asked. “I admit, I have been wildly curious. The official reports have all been... sterile, to say the least.”

Obi-Wan didn’t want to think about his dimension any more than he had to.

“It’s harsher than this world,” he said, shying away from the details. “I prefer it here. They’ll want us back eventually though.”

“You don’t miss the people there?” the senator asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged. He missed the rest of the jedi, but he also liked not starving and freezing and being raped and beaten.

“My lineage came with me,” Obi-Wan said. “They’re who I would miss the most.”

Senator Organa hummed.

“I’ll see if I can put in a word for you,” he said. “Surely your dimension can’t be overly concerned with three singular jedi.”

Obi-Wan jerked, glancing over at the senator. He hadn’t expected that.

A warm glow bloomed in his chest. It was good to see that Senator Organa remained kind. Anakin was right; he would make a good purroch for Ahsoka.

Now, they just had to convince the senator himself.

An idea for how presented itself a moment later, when the senator spoke again.

“I only have a wife myself,” he said. “I’m not sure if my alternate does, but I certainly do.”

“Your alternate does too,” Obi-Wan said.

“Ah, good,” Senator Organa said. “My wife and I are also looking to adopt soon. A little girl, hopefully.”

“You should,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin was nine when he became my padawan and he’s one of the best things that has happened to me.”

Also, if Senator Organa adopted a little girl, that gave Ahsoka a potential job opening. Senator Organa was a member of the royal family. His daughter would be a princess, and a princess would need bodyguards, nurses, and companions.

Ahsoka could be all three, with none of the risks that accompanied hiring free people. Pitching her as a potential protector and servant of Senator Organa’s daughter was far more feasible than a vague plea to take her into his household.

Obi-Wan's head was starting to hurt from the force repression, but he took comfort in the idea of Ahsoka safe as a protected companion to a pampered princess.

Now wasn’t the time to suggest anything though, not when both Senator Organa and Obi-Wan were locked in a cell together. That was fine, Obi-Wan's home senate hadn’t shown any indication they wanted them back just yet. They had time.

Ideally, they would find a way to have Senator Organa and Ahsoka meet before Obi-Wan went to bargain. His grandpadawan was young, strong, and capable. The senator would only have to look at her to realize that.

The conversation kept going, the topics jumping from one trivial thing to another, but Obi-Wan kept the idea of the senator’s daughter burned firmly into his head.

The rescue ended up being of the standard variety. One of the guards had been a little sloppy and Obi-Wan had nicked his keycard. From there, it was easy to slip out of the cell, break the force-represent cuffs, and make their way to an escape pod.

There was already a battalion, ready to retake the planet, in orbit, and they were picked up with little fuss and sent back to Coruscant.

Anakin met Obi-Wan the second he stepped into their apartment.

“Well?” he asked. His eyes were shadowed, deep and dark, and his fingers fidgeted with each other. “What do you think?”

Obi-Wan didn’t leave him in suspense.

“He’s a good man,” he said. “And he’s looking to adopt a daughter.”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “A daughter? We can work with that.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “Yes, we can.”

Anakin smiled, then wavered, tears starting to trickle down his face.

Obi-Wan just opened his arms and hugged him close.

Chapter Text

Fox waited for his jedi’s alternate to finish in the bacta. Well, technically, he didn’t have a jedi, but the jedi who hung around him like a starved stray tooka had an alternate who was currently resting in bacta.

The tank beeped, then started to drain.

Finally.

Five minutes later, his jedi’s alternate was spat out from the machine. The jedi healer standing by finished unhooking him, then gave Fox a nod.

Fox nodded back and scooped up his jedi. The jedi flinched, a whimper escaping his mouth as Fox’s arms pressed against phantom pain.

Fox glanced at the healer, just to be sure that what he was doing was fine.

“He’s okay,” she said. “Honestly, a pile will probably do him the most good right now. All the pain is in his head at this point.”

“Thank you,” Fox said. “That’s good to know.”

It was distressing, actually, but it was nice to know that Fox wasn’t causing any physical harm.

Fox hefted his jedi higher and made his way back to his speeder.

Hound was on Fox the moment he walked through the door, Grizzer trotting at his heels.

“How is he?” he asked.

“He’s healed up,” Fox said. “He’s too pretty for them to withhold bacta. Where are the others?”

“Your office,” Hound said. “They’ve got the space heater in there. I figured I’d bring Grizzer in, for emotional support, you know?”

He leaned over to see Fox’s jedi for himself, as if Fox would lie about his state.

“How bad was it?” he asked, referring to the whipping itself.

Fox’s mouth pressed tight.

“Bad,” he said. “The skin on his back was almost completely gone.”

Hound flinched, then ran his hand over the top of Quinlan’s hair.

Fox grunted.

“It’s his own fault,” he said. “He’s the one who hit a senator. If he ever tries something that dumb again, I’ll whip him myself.”

His jedi should have called him. So long as the senator hadn’t put in an official request, Fox could have gotten him away without it resulting in a punishment.

But no, his jedi insisted on doing everything by himself.

Maybe next time, he’d remember the feeling of skin peeling off his back and call Fox.

Fox hefted his jedi higher and started walking towards his office.

Quinlan woke squished between two bodies, with another beneath him and someone part-way on top of him as well. He felt genuinely warm, for the first time since he’d moved down to the temple.

The presence under him felt like Fox.

Quinlan blinked his eyes open slowly, trying to hang onto the comfortable mental fog currently creeping through his brain. His head tilted to the side.

Quinlan jumped as his own face fell into view.

The clone on the other side of him looped an arm over his back, clamping his limbs down.

Fire split down Quinlan’s back. He choked, eyes bugging until his skin stopped twitching. When he stopped shivering, he sagged back down, gasping a little.

When his eyes focused again, he looked at what he now realized was his alternate.

Like all the jedi in this world, he didn’t look good. He was too thin, too pale, and had a black eye.

He was half-draped over Quinlan’s stomach, just like Quinlan was half-draped over Fox, and starting to stir from sleep.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Quinlan with a slightly miffed expression.

“They’re going to be insufferable after this,” he said. “So thanks for that.”

“It’s not my fault,” Quinlan protested.

“They’re not going to care,” his alternate said. “They didn’t even ask me if I wanted to join the pile. They just grabbed me.”

Quinlan winced. “Do they do that often?”

“Only when someone puts the idea in their heads,” Quinlan said.

“Only when we have reason to believe that you are doing something inadvisable,” Fox said. “It’s a more frequent occurrence than we would like.”

Quinlan jumped. His alternate didn’t.

He flopped dramatically instead.

Fox coughed as his knee caught his stomach.

“Uncalled for,” Fox said.

“Completely called for,” Quinlan’s alternate said. “You’re being an overprotective di’kut.”

“Says the man who was just flogged,” Fox said.

“That was my alternate, not me,” Quinlan protested. “And everyone knows the new jedi are idiots.”

He glanced at Quinlan.

“No offense,” he said.

Quinlan wasn’t going to absolve him. He was not an idiot. He just generally expected to be treated like a person. He didn’t think that it was too unreasonable.

Fox grunted again, noncommittal.

Quinlan’s alternate glared at him, then at Quinlan.

Your fault, he mouthed.

Fox’s hand latched onto Quinlan’s arm, yanking them up so they were face to face. The clone previously holding onto him made a noise of protest, then rolled over.

Quinlan hissed as his back was aggravated, then sputtered as Fox grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him.

The clone’s eyes were hard.

“Don’t ever pull something like that again,” he said. “Because, next time, I’ll bring you here, not to the jedi temple, and we’re not nice enough to put a noose around your neck.”

“So, I'm supposed to just let myself get groped?” Quinlan asked.

Fox’s mouth curled. “Next time, you’ll send an alert to me instead of trying to handle everything on your own. So long as nobody has put in an official request, I should be able to intervene most of the time.”

Quinlan didn’t say anything.

Fox raised an eyebrow.

“Understood?” he asked.

Quinlan nodded slowly.

That seemed to satisfy Fox, though he still didn’t look pleased. He let go of Quinlan, who dropped back down to his original spot, rubbing his jaw.

Ok, call Fox the next time a senator was getting handsy. Quinlan could do that, especially if it meant not repeating this particular punishment.

On second thought, he could definitely, definitely do that.

Chapter Text

Anakin hurled into the fresher.

His jaieh rubbed soothing circles across his back with one hand while carefully holding back the front portions of Anakin’s hair with the other.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, once Anakin could sit up a little.

It was a lie. This was not okay. Nothing about this was or would ever be okay.

They wanted to send his padawan to Zygerria as a slave.

Anakin threw up again, even though there was only bile left in his stomach at this point.

Technically, they were sending his padawan’s alternate, but that didn’t matter. She was still Ahsoka.

And Anakin knew exactly what Zygerrian slavers would want from a pretty Togruta girl.

His jaieh was still rubbing his back, muttering reassurances, but Anakin could feel the despair spilling off of him. Anakin hadn’t felt it this strong since he’d been requested for the first time.

At the planning meeting, Anakin looked between his master and their alternates, trying to see if Obi-Wan knew what was going on.

Both their alternate’s force presences were roiling messes of helpless pain and anger. Their faces were overly pale too.

Anakin’s alternate, in particular, looked like he was going to be sick, swallowing convulsively every few seconds.

Obi-Wan shrugged minutely when he caught Anakin’s eyes. He didn’t know either.

It was definitely another check in the ‘wildly concerning’ box though.

The alternates looked horrific, especially the alternate General Skywalker.

Rex turned on the recorder in his bucket.

Anakin swallowed again when they reached the portion of plan involving Ahsoka, then stepped forward.

His jaieh shot him a concerned glance and Anakin tried to send him assurance and confidence through their bond.

His jaieh did not look assured or confident. He looked the opposite actually.

Anakin tried to ignore him.

Ahsoka had wanted to be a part of this meeting. She started wishing she wasn’t when her jaieh stepped forward and began bargaining to take her alternate’s place on the mission. She cast a frantic look at her alternate. Her alternate just stared back.

Ahsoka’s stomach flipped as her jaieh started listing his qualifications. He was more skilled, more experienced. He was male, the gender the queen seemed to prefer. He was still young too, out of his teens by a mere month. If he acted right, he could pass for even younger.

Ahsoka didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to listen to her jaieh attempt to sell himself for her alternate’s sake.

But she was stuck, so she tightened her grip on her bond with her tonjaieh and kept listening.

Anakin wasn’t sure what his alternate was doing. His force presence felt almost tortured with worry, which seemed like a bit of an overreaction for the situation.

He was also arguing for his own placement as the slave while undercover – and arguing quite well, at that.

The other members of the meeting were trading glances.

Anakin sighed softly, quiet enough that no one else heard.

Well, almost no one. Obi-Wan sent him a warning glance.

Anakin ignored him and stepped forward.

“We could go as twins,” he said. “That’s exotic, right? It could also help keep us from being recognized, since I don’t actually have a twin.”

His alternate started pulsing gratitude/relief at him almost immediately.

“Besides,” Anakin said, “that means you have three fully trained jedi in position if something goes wrong, not one jedi knight and one jedi padawan.

Anakin really didn’t want to dress up and parade about as a slave – just the thought made him want to crawl out of his skin – but he also wanted to get a better handle on his alternate. He didn’t care what Obi-Wan and the council said; something was seriously wrong with them. Going undercover together would hopefully facilitate some conversations. Ideally, they would be enough for Anakin to get an inkling of what was going on.

Also, the more he thought about it, the more he hated the idea of Ahsoka acting as the slave. His padawan shouldn’t ever have to experience even an inkling of slavery, undercover or not.

Anakin didn’t want to be the slave, but it was better him than Ahsoka. The conviction settled in his chest like a burning coal.

Fortunately, the rest of the group agreed to his alternate’s changed plan.

The two Anakins would be going undercover as slaves, not Ahsoka.

Anakin closed the door to their apartments and almost collapsed with relief.

His alternate had backed him. His alternate had backed him, and they’d agreed to swap the alternate Ahsoka out for Anakin and his alternate.

Behind him, Ahsoka slammed the door open, then shut. She spun to face Anakin, fists clenched at her sides.

“Why would you do that?” she said, voice rising into a shout. “It would have been fine!”

Anakin held out his hands. He probably should have anticipated this. He would have been spitting nails if Obi-Wan had pulled what he just had when Anakin was a padawan.

“I couldn’t let them send any version of you into that hell pit if I could help it,” he said and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Ahsoka swelled.

“So you’re going into the hell pit?” she snapped. “That’s not better.”

Anakin wasn’t sure how to explain that he would rather live the rest of his life chained to a Zygerrian’s throne than send Ahsoka to spend a week in their palace.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think he could. He hadn’t understood most of Obi-Wan's actions until he’d been given an overly confident, reckless teenager of his own to look after.

“Ahsoka,” he said instead. “Please, I just couldn’t. Seeing you – any version of you - hurt is far worse than being hurt myself. It’s better this way, trust me.”

“Well, seeing you hurt hurts me,” Ahsoka retorted. “Besides, it’s not me, it’s my alternate.”

“It’s a version of you,” Anakin said. “It counts, trust me.”

Ahsoka’s fists were shaking at her sides.

“I don’t like it,” she said.

“I know,” Anakin said. “I’m sorry.”

His padawan’s face started to crumple.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said again. He opened his arms in an offer.

Ahsoka flung herself at him, arms latching around Anakin like a vice.

Anakin hugged her back.

They set off a week later.

Their alternates were being weird again.

Before they’d left, Obi-Wan had asked about possible preparations, in terms of costumes, since clearly Ahsoka’s get-up wouldn’t work for the Anakins.

His alternate and Anakin’s alternate had traded looks and said they’d take care of it.

Now they were sitting just outside of Zygerria’s orbit, and Anakin’s alternate had snagged him to go get ready.

Obi-Wan's alternate had stared at them mournfully as they left.

“They’ll be okay,” Obi-Wan said, mostly trying to get his alternate to stop looking like that. They weren’t actually selling the Anakins into slavery. It was an undercover mission.

His alternate took a deep, steadying breathe, and flashed Obi-Wan a grateful smile.

“I know,” he said. “I just worry.”

Anakin really shouldn’t have let his alternate pick out the costumes, since he clearly had different modesty standards than Anakin did.

Anakin stared at the slip of fabric in his hands. It far smaller than what was acceptable. He looked up at his alternate, who had already shimmied into his disguise.

“That covers nothing,” Anakin said. “Could you not find something that covered more?”

His alternate blinked. He looked down.

“This is how dancers dress,” he said. “It’s not like we’re being billed as laborers. We wouldn’t be acceptable as gifts if we were. And it does cover things. It covers the important things.”

Anakin stared at him.

His alternate was wearing what amounted to two gauzy stripes of fabric, attached to the chain circling his hips. His legs and thighs were almost completely exposed, and what was covered was covered only by the strips of fabric hanging down to his ankles, just sheer enough to be suggestive without being technically revealing. It was also about as low rise as it could get without being indecent.

It certainly did not cover things.

“You should put it on,” Anakin’s alternate said. “We still have the make-up and jewelry left to do, and the make-up will take some time.”

“Make-up?” Anakin asked.

His alternate picked up on his tone. He put one hand on his hip, the movement causing the fabric to sway dangerously.

“Make-up,” he said. “I understand Senator Amidala doesn’t like it, but most people do. We’ll look odd if we’re not wearing anything.”

He punctuated the end of his sentence with a pointed look at the clothes Anakin was holding.

Anakin closed his eyes briefly. It was fine. He was a jedi knight. He could certainly manage to play some dress up.

“Can you turn around?” he asked.

His alternate seemed to think that was funny, going by the quirk of his mouth, but he obliged.

Anakin pulled off his clothes and slipped into the disguise. It was as bad as he’d feared.

It was a mirror image of his alternate’s outfit, just in a deep rust red fabric instead of blue one.

He managed to hook the belt together.

“I’m done,” he said.

His alternate turned around, and this time he did laugh.

“Do you want me to help?” he asked, one hand pressed against his mouth.

Anakin frowned. “I think it looks okay.”

“The drape is wrong,” his alternate said. “You look ridiculous. Also, one wrong move and everyone’s going to see everything.”

His alternate crouched in front of him, manipulating the cloth with a few deft movements, then stepped back.

“Better?” he asked.

Anakin took a step. It did feel more secure. It also wasn’t bunching oddly anymore.

“Yes,” he said. “How do you know how to do this stuff?”

His alternate shrugged.

“Oh, you know,” he said. “Requests, missions, that sort of thing. It’s just practice.”

Anakin blinked. “What are requests? I don’t think we have those here.”

“I’ve noticed,” his alternate said. “It’s like what you do for the Chancellor or for Senator Amidala. Favors, help with personal and political problems, stuff like that.”

That didn’t sound right. There was no way the jedi were fine with his marriage to Padme and, besides, it didn’t sound like his alternate was married to Padme anyways.

“Like, friendship?” Anakin asked.

His alternate looked aghast.

“No,” he said. “They ask for you, specifically. Generally, senators have certain jedi in mind for certain tasks.”

Okay... that could make sense, Anakin thought. It would certainly streamline things if senators and representatives were able to directly contact jedi instead of going through the endless maze of forms.

“Well,” his alternate amended, “it’s not quite like what you have with Senator Amidala. How long have you...?” he trailed off suggestively.

Anakin flushed. “About a year,” he said. “It’s been good.”

His alternate’s face softened. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Me too,” Anakin said, glad his alternate understood, even if he wasn’t married himself.

Anakin was gentle as he traced his alternate’s eyes with black liner.

It was good to know that his alternate was happy with Senator Amidala.

Anakin thought he could learn to be as well, if he was in his alternate’s situation. Senator Amidala still let his alternate see his jaieh and train a padawan. She let him go back to the temple instead of isolating him. And, while she did sleep with him, she didn’t seem to share him with anyone but the Chancellor, and she was careful not to injure him or be too rough.

Having one, easy to please person to keep happy would be miles better than what Anakin had been doing in his home dimension.

His alternate twitched as Anakin did his inner corner and Anakin had to suppress another laugh.

It was so painfully obvious that his alternate was out of practice, if he was ever in practice in the first place. The parties and requests that would require dress and make-up like this seemed to be far less common here, to the point where they were almost non-existent.

Anakin picked up a gloss from the bag by his feet and applied it to his alternate, then reached for the setting spray.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

His alternate did and Anakin misted him.

“You’re done,” Anakin said. He held up the mirror in front of them both.

“We match,” he said. He’d chosen their make-up, jewelry, and clothes to be complements of each other, not exact mirrors but still meant to highlight their similarities.

His alternate looked dubious.

Anakin laughed again. Strangely enough, seeing his alternate’s discomfort was keeping him from feeling nauseas about being dolled up and paraded about.

“We’ll do good,” he said reassuringly. “Trust me.”

Chapter Text

Before they left the ship, Anakin bent down and whispered in Obi-Wan's ear.

“Not a single word,” he hissed, “about what I'm wearing under this cloak.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Just wait,” his padawan said darkly. “I look like a whore.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. Anakin was always so dramatic.

“You’ll have to bear with it, I suppose,” he said.

Anakin only grunted, folding his arms tight.

His alternate stepped forward and tapped him.

“Keep your hands behind your back,” he said. “It looks less aggressive.”

Anakin’s force presence soured further, but he did as his alternate said.

Obi-Wan hid a smirk, turning to the rest of their group.

“Ready?” he asked.

The rest nodded.

“Then let’s head out.”

The slave market stunk.

Anakin hung close to his alternate’s jaieh, trying to use him as an anchor within the swirling misery.

A twi’lek woman fell next to him, and Anakin flinched as her depur raised his crop. His alternate made as if to move and Anakin’s hand whipped out, latching onto his wrist with near bruising force.

His alternate’s eyes looked confused.

“We’ll make it worse if we step in,” Anakin whispered, because they would. A Zygerrian wouldn’t take kindly to a pair of dancing slaves getting in the way of his brutality.

His alternate didn’t appear pleased, but he kept moving anyways, following after his jaieh.

Anakin breathed a sigh of relief as he kept in lockstep with his alternate.

Attaining an audience with the queen was easier than Obi-Wan had feared it would be.

The Anakins stood quietly behind him as he paraded about, making his arguments with honeyed words. He yanked the robes and veils off his padawan and his alternate and -

Oh.

Anakin had not been exaggerating.

They were wearing chained belts slung overly low on their hips, with strips of fabric falling down between their legs. Jewelry circled their necks and collarbones and crawled up their legs and arms. His Anakin had earrings in, little hoops. The alternate had a ring dividing his bottom lip. Their make-up made them look almost doe-like, with wide, dark eyes and glossy lips.

Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan hated it.

The queen clearly did not. She leaned forward on her throne, eyes alight with interest. She looked hungry.

Obi-Wan shivered, then forced a smile and kept talking.

Shortly after they were given to the queen, everything ended horribly. Anakin should have predicted it.

His alternate tried to fight without bothering to break the shock collar around his neck. It ended predictably. His jaieh’s alternate tried to fight as well, when he was required to whip Anakin’s jaieh. That also ended predictably.

Anakin chose instead to slip to his knees besides the queen, resting his head against her legs. Her force presence turned confused, then gleeful, and her hand found his hair.

Fighting was idiotic in this situation. They were outnumbered, completely surrounded, and outgunned. It was far smarter to submit, to be docile, to coax their captors into lowering their guard until they found a way to escape.

And, besides, they hadn’t completed their mission yet. There was no point escaping until they found the colonists. The Senate would be infuriated if they were forced to lose face just because a mission went south.

What was the alternate jedi’s plan, honestly? Fight their way out and then – what? Go back and report failure?

The queen’s hand slipped down from Anakin’s hair to the nape of his neck. Anakin forced himself to lean into it.

“You’re far better behaved than your twin,” she said. “I thought jedi were supposed to be brave?”

Anakin pressed his face harder against her thigh and didn’t answer.

Above him, the queen laughed.

The training center was miserable. Obi-Wan's alternate was taking it better than expected, considering how well he’d appeared to have been treated so far. There had been a brief incident with him stepping between a guard and a slave, but he hadn’t done anything since.

Captain Rex was faring much like Obi-Wan himself was: badly, because they were in a slave training camp, but at least he knew how to act properly. He wouldn’t end up hurting either himself or the people around him through pointless heroics.

Obi-Wan realized he’d slowed down when a whip lashed across his back. He choked on a cry, hurrying back to the appropriate pace. His alternate’s mouth twisted and Obi-Wan sent him a warning glance. Rex kept his own eyes on his work, thankfully. An intervention at this point would only harm them both.

There would be a time to fight back, but that time was not now.

For now, there was nothing to be done but endure, and Obi-Wan was very, very good at enduring.

Anakin woke tied to a bed. His alternate was curled up against him with his neck littered with mouth-shaped bruises.

His alternate blinked his eyes open. He smiled.

“You’re awake,” he said. “That’s good.” He motioned to the bruises peppering his neck and shoulders. “I managed to keep her off of you.”

Anakin tugged weakly at the cuffs anchoring him, noting the force-suppressing collar now circling his neck.

“Who?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

His alternate sent him a sympathetic look. “The queen,” he said. “I distracted her. Don’t worry, she didn’t touch you.”

That was a bare comfort, considering that the queen had clearly touched his alternate.

“Are you okay?” Anakin hissed, eyes darting around the room. There was no one else in the room but them, still wrapped up in their disguises.

“Both our clothes remained on,” his alternate said, which meant nothing, especially when his clothes amounted to a suspended slip of cloth.

Anakin’s alternate curled tighter against him, tucking his head under his chin.

“Rest,” he said. “She’ll be back soon.”

The alternate General Kenobi collapsed. Rex barely caught him before he hit the ground. He hitched him up, like he’d seen his alternate do to the alternate General Skywalker – and gosh he was heavy. How strong were their alternates, exactly, that they could manage this for an extended period? The alternate General Kenobi was thin, but he was still an adult man.

The alternate General Kenobi coughed weakly into his neck.

“Sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse from the smoke and dust.

The whip came down across Rex’s shoulders an instant later. He stumbled.

“He’s sick,” he pleaded. “He needs to rest.”

The Zygerrian paused for a moment, then let the whip fall again. He didn’t stop until Rex crumpled, body arched to keep from crushing General Kenobi.

“Back to work,” the guard snapped. “Lazy skugs.”

Anakin was in hell. He was in hell, and it was an especially sharp hell because it was the lesser of two hells.

His alternate’s cries leaked through the pillow Anakin had pressed to his head.

The queen still hadn’t touched him.

She wouldn’t stop touching his alternate.

One week in, they were dragged before the officer in charge of the camp.

For whatever reason, they hadn’t bothered to put force-suppression collars on them.

The officer taunted Obi-Wan's alternate.

There was an alert for an unauthorized ship entering the atmosphere.

Ah. Time to act then, when rescue was actually feasible.

Even weakened with fever and hunger, Obi-Wan was fully capable to choking the officer while the alternates cleared the rest of the room. He couldn’t afford to have him press any buttons.

He didn’t kill anyone, but his alternate still looked at him with concern when the officer slumped over, unconscious with a bruised neck.

The queen had taken them on one of her ships, meaning to travel to one of her secondary palaces. Anakin hadn’t cared much, just curled up on the pillow they’d been provided with and tried to ignore the smell of dried blood still clinging to his alternate.

He slept.

Anakin crawled off the pillow and propped his head up in the queen’s lap as she took a call. His alternate was sleeping, thankfully. The sensation of his anger and horror in the force always made Anakin’s job feel more difficult.

Anakin listened closely to the conversation.

The other jedi had found the colonists and there was a battalion closing in on the facility currently holding them.

Good, they’d completed the mission. That meant return wouldn’t also mean failure.

The queen sipped from an ornate glass. It was a well-done piece, a glass that looked like it’d break, not shatter.

Anakin made a show of nuzzling his way up the queen’s thigh, getting his hands and body in a better position.

The glass, when he lunged for it, broke just as he thought it would. The pieces were large and sharp, and Anakin didn’t even feel the pain when he gripped one.

His alternate woke Anakin with a whisper.

The scent of blood was fresh now.

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked, voice so low it was almost inaudible.

“Yes,” his alternate said, and Anakin realized that the scent of blood wasn’t coming entirely from him. He looked around.

The queen was laying reclined on her sofa, wine spilled across her dress, with her mouth agape and her eyes glassy. A crimson blanket flowed from her neck to cover her chest.

The two guards and the pilot were in much the same position.

“I need you to fly,” Anakin said. “My hands are too messed up for me to do it.” He held them up, showing dripping lacerations.

“What did you do?” Anakin hissed.

“I eavesdropped on the queen’s conversation. They’ve found the colonists,” his alternate said. “I figured it was time to get out of here, and I was within reach of the queen, as normal. So, can you fly?”

Anakin blinked. “I - yes, yes I can fly.”

They met up with the fleet two days later. His alternate collapsed as they stumbled onto the larger ship, blood leaking down his legs.

“Medical,” Anakin rasped at the clones sent down to meet them. “We need medical. Please.”