Content: accelerated aging, genetics, author does not understand science, mention of stewjoni biology, mention of past clone trooper mistreatment, marriage proposal, engagement, background Codywan, background Blyla
Mando'a Guide:
sarad - flower
vod - sibling (used to refer to a clone)
kaminii - kaminoans
the Vode - used to refer to the clones as a group
the Tolase - system (used to refer to the Vode government
ner mirdala jetii - my clever jedi
kih'vod - little sibling
cyar'ika - sweetheart (used here similar to girlfriend)
riduur - spouse
Kresta
Kresta knew she was getting close to it. She could feel it in her bones. She pulled up the latest analysis, scanning over each data point as she leaned against the kitchen counter.
Then she saw it. One tiny, seemingly insignificant gene. This was it, the breakthrough.
“I brought you some tea,” Fluke hummed, appearing at her elbow. She nearly jumped out of her skin. He eyed her, clearly bemused. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I don’t understand how you do that,” she groaned as she accepted the mug from his hands, quickly shutting down her datapad.
“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow,” he grinned. “Especially since you’ve decided to spend all your time in that lab at the Temple–”
“I do not spend all my time–”
“All your time that you’re not here with your face buried in your datapad,” he corrected himself. “And you won’t keep up with your training.”
“My training is mostly medical,” she said.
“Oh, and all the combat training?” he teased, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her neck as he hugged her from behind. “Ni kar’taylir ner sarad liser cuyir burk’yc… tuu kaysh copaanire.” [I know my flower can be dangerous… when she wants.]
She chuckled softly, tilting her head to allow him more access. “If you say so, darling,” she smiled, sighing as he pressed soft, lingering kisses against the scars on her neck.
“I do say so,” he murmured against her neck. “Dangerous, smart–”
“Fluke,” she protested.
He traveled up her neck to that sensitive spot behind her ear. “Beautiful, kind, funny–”
“Okay, okay! I get it,” she laughed as she tried to pull away from him, the low rumble of his voice tickling her skin.
⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸
Fluke
“What are you working so hard on anyway?” he asked, releasing her. He hadn’t told her any other time he asked, so he didn’t expect it now.
He watched as she straightened herself up, smoothing down her dress and tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ears. He could see her wrestling with how much she could tell him.
“Well, I was able to find a… rather unique clone to aid in my research.”
His brow raised. “Your research that you refuse to tell me about? Or any vod for that matter.”
“Yes,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Hopefully, it won’t need to be classified much longer. I believe we’ve hit a breakthrough.”
He couldn't help the way his heart leaped as the excitement shone through in her voice. “Because of this vod?”
“This clone’s DNA is the closest we can get to an unaltered sample,” she nodded.
Fluke’s head spun. The kaminii had destroyed all of their data on the clones–the bastards–so she couldn’t have access to Prime’s DNA. “You found Alpha?”
“No, he remains under the radar as far as I’m aware,” she hummed. “Her name’s Omega.”
“Nala Se’s assistant?” he murmured. “But she’s not–”
He cut himself off as she smiled at him.
Realization swept over him, as well as that soft, warm feeling he got whenever he saw cadets nowadays. “We’ve got a little sister?”
Kresta nodded, grinning at him.
“Sister will be thrilled she’s not the only one,” he chuckled.
She laughed, then wrapped him up in a tight hug.
“Omega might be the key to slowing your accelerated aging,” she whispered. “We found the altered gene; that’s the breakthrough.”
The galaxy froze around him. He felt like his body was moving through honey as he pulled back to find nothing but sincerity and hope in her eyes.
⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸
Kresta
“Is- is that what you’ve been working on?” Fluke whispered. His voice sounded so small. “That’s what all this secret research has been?”
She suddenly felt somewhat self-conscious under his intense gaze.
“Yes,” she said simply.
His breath came out in a soft pant, his mouth slightly opening and closing as he processed what she’d just told him.
All at once, he nearly collapsed against her, hugging her tighter than he ever had before. A quiet sob escaped him.
Something uncomfortable roiled in her gut. She hadn’t meant to upset him. Only five years had passed since the end of the war, but that was ten for the clones. The eldest of them were in their thirties physiologically. Assuming that no fights, accidents, or diseases took them before their time, they’d follow the typical average age for humans and live into their eighties or nineties.
Kresta shuddered to think that was only about twenty-five to thirty years, whereas she’d likely live another eighty from her current forty-two. Part of her cursed her Stewjoni biology like she had many times over her adult life, but anyone part realized with dread that she would likely have to live another fifty years after Fluke had marched on, as would Obi-Wan without Cody and Aayla without Bly.
She might be able to ease that pain from their shoulders. Maybe that was selfish. She knew Obi-Wan and Aayla carried it with them the same way she did. She wondered if there were others like them. Jedi who fell in love with their troopers. It wouldn’t surprise her.
But now, standing here in the kitchen of his little apartment on Centax-2, she wondered if that’s what the Vode wanted. She’d been so caught up in trying to see if she could do it to think about if it was something she should. So many of the Vode had been poked and prodded constantly by the Kaminoans’ endless tests that maybe they wouldn’t want her to go in and manipulate their genetics even further. Horror dawned over her. She wouldn’t hurt them. She’d found what she was looking for; her curiosity was satisfied, and her questions were answered.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her chest feeling hollow. “I shouldn’t have–”
“What?” Fluke gasped, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were damp, and his brow was scrunched together. “Sorry? Sarad, what–”
“I shouldn’t have assumed that it was something you would want,” she said, solidifying her thoughts in an almost scolding tone. “You’ve all endured so much. I should have just talked to the Vode. I should have gotten my research approved by the Tolase or–”
Before she could continue any more of her guilt-ridden rant, his hands cupped either side of her face, roughly pulling her to him in a searing kiss. She was so startled she nearly forgot to close her eyes.
⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸
Fluke
He pulled back, cracking a smile at her confused face. “You’re not upset?” she whispered.
“Sarad,” he laughed. “What you’re doing, all your research? You’re giving us a gift; you’re giving us the possibility of living a normal life. How could anyone be upset about that?”
Her lips finally started to pull into a gentle smile. “I still shouldn’t have told you yet,” she murmured, her brow scrunching slightly. “It’s- it’s too much to promise, Fluke. I don’t know that I’ll be able to–”
“Kresta,” he said. “Ner mirdala jetii, I have every confidence in you and your abilities.”
“But–”
“But, even if it doesn’t happen, I will love you for as many days as we have,” he told her, pulling her against him and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
His hands started to shake despite the sense of calm that washed over him.
You’ll know when it’s time, kih’vod, Cody had told him at the wedding. He’d been skeptical at first, but, as usual, Cody was right. It was time.
“Sarad,” he breathed.
“Darling,” she replied. He could hear that she was starting to let her anxiety about the gene go.
He pulled away from her. “I do have… one question.”
She nodded. “Anything.”
Maker, she was so beautiful. Her eyes were bright and curious, their sea green wrapping around his soul as usual. The top layers of her hair were tied back from her face in a simple braid. He could see hints of silver at the roots of her long, auburn locks. He had told her it was just as beautiful despite her usual protests.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while and… I think it’s time you got a promotion, don’t you?”
She grinned. “What do you mean? I told you Jedi ranks function differently–”
“I meant from being my cyar’ika to my riduur,” he said. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee, taking her hands in his. Her soft gasp sent a thrill through him. “Kresta, I love you with everything I am and everything I ever could be. I want you in my life for the rest of it. You are my light, sarad. Will you marry me?”
He could see the tears welling up in her eyes as her face burst into a wide smile. “Yes!” she cried, practically tackling him backward, kissing him hard.
They lay like that for some time, tangled up on the floor, smiling, laughing, kissing without any expectation for more, eventually relocating to the couch to cuddle close to one another.
“I… I never thought I could ever be this happy,” she whispered after a while. “You make me happy.”
“You make me happy,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Ner riduur.”
⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸
To be continued…
⪡ Previous Day
Thanks for reading! - River
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A/N: I am not Muslim. I have been researching and have had a great deal of help and patience from Ayat @royalhandmaidens, but that doesn't mean I know everything I need to in order to make this the best story possible. I've done my best to be respectful while also staying true to Pova's sensory sensitivities and the history of these characters, and if anyone has any suggestions for how to be even more respectful and understanding, please feel free to leave them in the comments.
Pova tossed their headscarf unceremoniously onto their bed and slumped against the wall.
Obi-Wan followed them into the room a second later. “Are we going to talk about this?” he asked, and his gentle voice had an edge to it. His arms crossed in front of his chest, and his lips folded down in a frown.
It itches! Pova signed again. I don’t like it.
Obi-Wan groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. Raising an eleven-year-old was surprisingly difficult the second time around, and he was suddenly and almost uncomfortably glad that the Larses wouldn’t let him near Luke. At least he wouldn’t have to do this a third time. “Will you please put it away nicely, then?” he asked, trying desperately to keep the sigh out of his voice.
Pova’s expression became frustrated in a way only an eleven-year-old’s could, and they stood up only to storm over to their bed and pick up the headscarf. Nonetheless, they folded the fabric neatly and set it in a drawer that contained a stack of similar folded squares.
Pova and Obi-Wan didn’t talk much the rest of the day.
:::
Pova tossed their headscarf unceremoniously onto their bed and slumped against the wall.
“Kid,” Cody began, loitering in the doorway, “why are you and Obi-Wan fighting?”
Cody could hardly even understand Pova, so they said nothing, only giving him a glare.
“Well, I’ll be in the living room if you need me. Obi-Wan says to put it away nicely, though.” Cody watched Pova fold up the piece of fabric and set it in the drawer. “Thanks, kid.”
:::
Pova folded their headscarf and slammed the drawer closed before slumping against the wall.
“Thank you for putting it away,” Obi-Wan sighed, “but please don’t slam things.”
Why not? Pova signed, but they knew they were just being contrary. They flicked their thumb out from beneath their chin with more aggression than was strictly necessary, and then crossed their arms to glare at Obi-Wan, the way Cody always did right before Obi-Wan caved.
“Well, for one thing, I can’t afford to buy you a new dresser if you break it.” Obi-Wan’s tone was starting to get that edge to it. “I don’t understand why you have such qualms about the headscarf. Please just talk to me.”
Pova kept their silent glare for five minutes, shoulders against the wall, unmoving.
Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, little one.” He turned away, tired--thirteen-year-olds were much more work than eleven-year-olds, and he was sure Pova was giving him more grey hairs with this behavior than Anakin or the war ever had.
:::
“I want to show you something.”
Pova raised an eyebrow and looked up over the edge of their book, one of the real flimsi ones that Obi-Wan had managed to purchase from the antiques dealer in town.
Obi-Wan smiled, because Pova wasn’t ignoring him anymore, and sat next to the little Mirialan, datapad in hand.
On the screen was a pair of people with green skin and geometric markings on their faces, wearing dark clothing. Each of them wore a head-covering. The smaller of the pair had a hooded style that seemed to be connected to a short cape, two-toned with an irregular pattern. She was tucked under the arm of the taller, whose head-covering was folded in such a way that it stood tall and broad over her head. Pova had a sudden itch to learn how to do that.
They did not laugh at the irony of itching to learn how to do something that would just make their scalp crawl, but it was a close thing.
Both of them smiled in the direction of the camera, expressions warm and happy and good. Pova realized they recognized these two from the Temple. They had never been formally introduced that Pova remembered, what with the war on, but Pova knew those faces.
Pova set their book down to sign up at Obi-Wan. Who are they?
Obi-Wan’s expression turned reminiscent, somewhere between melancholy and happy. “This,” he said, pointing to the taller woman, “was Jedi Master Luminara Unduli. She was a dear friend of mine; we grew up together. And this,” he continued, and pointed at the smaller one, “was Barriss Offee. She was Luminara’s Padawan at the time this was taken. It was customary for Mirialans to take each other on as Padawans, so Luminara taught Barriss at the same time that I taught--” he cut off, coughed, the sound sad and choked and aching in Pova’s heart.
Pova nodded, thoughtful, and tried to send a flash of reassurance through their still-growing Force bond. They pointed to the head-coverings Luminara and Barriss wore.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, his voice thick with something. “Head-coverings like these are common for Mirialans. It is a cultural tradition. Luminara explained that it was an outward expression of modesty, and of cultural identity. According to some--although this is somewhat disputed--you Mirialans also have more sensory receptors under your skin than most humanoid species do. Dressing modestly is also a way to protect your senses. Luminara never told me whether that was true or not; I don’t think I ever asked.”
Pova considered curling up next to their father, but instead chose to stand, abruptly, almost startling Obi-Wan. They went to their room and gently opened the drawer containing a dozen or so headscarves Obi-Wan had purchased for them over the years. They grabbed the one at the top, because it was the softest--still itchy, but the softest. Obi-Wan had really tried, had made an effort to connect them to their culture and they had fought him every step of the way.
Obi-Wan was halfway down the hall when Pova left their room. “Are you alright, little one?” he asked, gentle as anything, all hints of his earlier hurt gone.
Pova held up the headscarf before wrapping it, carefully, around their head, leaving their hands free to sign. It itches. I can’t wear it all the time. But thank you for teaching me. They gave a little, regretful smirk. Sorry I was mad about it before.
Obi-Wan smiled. It was soft and warm, and he held his arms out just a little to the sides.
Pova leaned into the embrace.
“I only wish Luminara or Barriss could teach you, my little one. You deserve to learn from people who know more.”
Pova pulled back. You’re doing your best. And then, I love you, Papa.
