“This is a war,” Nield says. “In war, soldiers sometimes die.”
Jaster wants to shout or grab these children by the shoulders and shake them. Yes, soldiers die in war, but children shouldn’t be soldiers. He presses his fingers to his forehead and takes a deep breath. “Will you agree to let us take point and draw the enemy fire?”
“Duh,” Nield says. “You’re blaster proof and we aren’t.”
Myles’s shoulders are shaking as he keeps himself from laughing out loud.
“You’re here on Mandalore,” Walon tells him. “You are Obi-Wan Vau, and you are safe here with me.”
“Be’Walon’ad,” Obi-Wan murmurs. He is Walon’s child. He isn’t a slave. He isn’t Xanatos’s victim. He isn’t an initiate or a padawan or a general.
When Jaster and Master Windu enter the mess hall for first meal, Obi-Wan can’t quite keep the horrified noise from squeaking out of his throat.
“Give me your helmet,” Obi-Wan tells Jango. “I need to stop knowing this.”
“You aren’t allowed to wear beskar helmets,” Jango says, and his Force signature has spiked, embarrassment and hope and something that is too similar to want and pleasure for Obi-Wan to deal with right now.
“Your buir and Master Windu had sex last night,” Obi-Wan hisses, because if he has to suffer than everyone else does too.
“What?” Jango whips his head around so quickly, Obi-Wan’s amazed he didn’t snap his neck.
“Would it really be so bad if Jango and Obi-Wan were interested in each other? I’d think you’d be proud. Jango’s following your example after all.”
“You.” Jaster would point a finger at Walon, but he has a cup of shig in each hand. “Are the worst.”
Walon presses a button and the door to his room slides open. Jaster takes the hint and leaves, with less dignity than he entered with.
- Strangers Like Me by K_R_Closson
https://archiveofourown.org/works/38620959/chapters/96547128
