Maybe the Jedi were right and love was dangerous- not care, Bly would have to break himself back down into amorphous soup to build new brothers before he’d stop caring- a power of it’s own. Bly still did not know how, between Coruscant and Serreno, likely before she’d even struck the Count down, Ara had managed to drain the finances of the Duchy and by extent, half the Separatist Army. He didn’t know what the hell the Guard was doing with the money. He hoped Ara built Fox a house. “Maybe,” Ara said, propping up her chin on crossed arms. They’d need the room, if Ara kept taking apprentices. If Vos ever had another Padawan. Kids. Aayla called Ara her sister, which made about as much sense as anything, but he’d seen her on Ryloth. Mir’th’birum. It didn’t need to be said Aayla would be a great ori’vod. Or buir. Little tiny Vos’s, with little tiny, tiny, tiny golden face stripes. Tiny lightsabers. Itty-bitty armor. “Bly-bly,” Ara said, poking his cheek. “You alright?” Bly was fantastic. He could only be more fantastic if Aayla was here. “Your clan marks are pretty as fuck,” He managed to say, gold peeping out from the line of her spine, nicely highlighted by old silvered scars. Somewhere above, Kote’s also very pretty husband, if you were into that sort of thing, which Bly was fairly sure he was not, sighed. “Upstairs?” Kenobi was offering. Bly rolled over. “Kote. Kote kote, how’d you propose, ori’vod?” Wolffe reminded everyone he was in the room by once more trying to shove a water into Bly’s hand- like the fucker was not busy sulking that Ara was good company, and he, of course, had to hate her for at least a requisite year or until he realized she loved the absolute fuck out of Fox. “No,” Wolffe said. “Bly, shut the fuck up.” “No,” Ara echoed, “You’ve got to let Aayla propose to you, di’kut’ika.” “Perhaps,” Obi-Wan continued, “You should start by speaking to her about your feelings. Which means getting off the floor.” The floor was his only friend. Aayla was his best friend, but she wasn’t here and couldn’t look at him straight on anymore ever since he’d started wearing civilian clothes and he was fucked in the head, because Bly missed the godsdamned war-