Chapter Text
If there is one thing Anakin knows for certain, it was that space would always be preferable to the ground.
Despite the fact that he was – as his former master often put it – a danger magnet and eternally reckless, there was something to be said for the calm found aboard his cruiser. Having downtime with his men and not being forced to watch any of them die for a war that has gone on for far too long are definitely a bonus. They’ll be returning to the Negotiator soon enough, though, after the 501st and 212th finish up the last messes of their joint assault on Felucia. Like Geonosis, the planet had been used too much by the Separatists for the Senate’s comfort.
“With the amount of times we end up here, we should build a holiday home,” Obi-Wan says drily, coming up to Anakin’s elbow as they both survey the men reorder the tanks ahead of their command centre. There are few squads of droids left, but no one wants to take any chances.
Anakin grins. “Why would we need a holiday home? I’m sure Hondo would love to put us up.”
The scowl he gets from Obi-Wan is expected, but the considering tilt of the head that follows is not.
“Oh no,” Anakin says, regarding his master with something akin to dread. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering it.”
“I might be,” Obi-Wan responds lightly, a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “After all, he does have good alcohol.”
“Alcohol that he used to drug us,” Anakin points out, earning a low snort. “I’m not exactly ready to risk that again.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You know, you could just admit that you can’t hold your alcohol,” he teases, and Anakin whirls on him in offence.
“It was drugged!” he protests, glaring.
“Hmm,” comes the amused hum. “Yes, I suppose that would affect your tolerance.”
Anakin scoffs, crossing his arms and turning to look back at the men’s progress. The barracks and the command centre are a much better set up than the tents they’d had on Orto Plutonia, but they still lack the basic comforts of Coruscant. He honestly had never expected to eat anything worse than the slave food on Tatooine, but the never-ending supply of bland military rations was certainly giving it a run for its credits.
For once, though, Felucia is relatively quiet, the usual calls of the large wildlife giving way for the occasional sound of shifting machinery. At the very least, Felucia is one of the better planets they’ve been assigned to, the weather far better than having to burn in the desert or slog through torrents of rain.
Before he can continue to appreciate the momentary calm, there’s a hint of something in the force and his head snaps up at the same time as Obi-Wan’s, a split second before the base’s proximity alarm goes off.
“Shavit,” he curses under his breath, reflexively reaching for his saber and running towards the command centre, sliding through the doors with Obi-Wan hot on his heels.
“Generals,” Rex greets them tightly, expression grim. “There’s another line of droids approaching. Cody’s scouting squad is going to try and circle them, but we’ll still need to hold down the base until he can.”
“I’ll go help,” Anakin decides, getting a quick nod from Obi-Wan before turning on his heel and heading back out the way he came. Jesse and Fives are standing near where the speeders are, ready to go, and Anakin jerks his head to tell them to come with.
Fives snaps of a sarcastic salute as he swings a leg over the speeder. “Back to the front lines, eh, General?”
“More like the back lines,” Anakin mutters, flicking the ignition and steering the speeder towards a break in the line of flora, his man following behind him. There’s a tracker installed in all the mens’ comms, and Anakin zeroes in on Cody’s blinking beacon as he turns to head south, aiming to meet up with him just behind the main body of the Separatist forces.
The plants and trees of Felucia fly by as continues forward, the not-so-distant sound of blaster fire echoing in his ears. A lifetime ago, when he was only used to the blue of the sky breaking up the monotony of yellow and beige, he wouldn’t have believed how much colour the galaxy had. As much as he loves space, feels secure there, he has to admit that visiting as many planets as he can has always been a dream of his.
The blinking of Cody’s beacon gets more persistent and he stretches out with his senses, noting the group of six men in the trees ahead of them, moving forward towards where the sound of battle droids starts. Hopping off his speeder with Fives and Jesse behind him, Anakin ducks through the tall grass to join with Cody’s scouting group, the commander meeting him with a sharp nod.
“What’s the situation, Commander?” Anakin asks, glancing over at the others forming up behind them, Waxer and Boil neck and neck as usual.
“The clankers are less than half a click ahead of us,” Cody reports, nodding ahead and giving the signal to move. “We counted about five squadrons. We’re going to cut off their retreat so they can’t turn and flank us from either side.”
“Got it,” Anakin confirms. “Alright men, let’s –”
He’s cut off by a high pitched whine, shielding his eyes as a bright flash comes from up ahead, pushing back at the trees before disappearing suddenly, leaving silence behind in its wake. The Force hums, spiking strongly, and Anakin takes off towards the source of the light, ignoring the shouts of his men behind him. There’s something there, he feels it, something he needs to find.
His boots skid to a halt in the newly-formed clearing right where the tail end of the Separatist line begins, plants flattened and at least twenty battle droids dismantled as if by an explosion.
And, in the centre of the clearing with the waves of destruction spreading out from a single point, sits the trembling form of a boy. Anakin can’t help the sharp intake of breath he takes at the sight.
The boy’s head whips up, blond hair flying like a halo around his lightly tanned face and the bluest eyes Anakin thinks he’s ever seen. The kid is young, he’d probably still be in the crèche if he were at the temple, but behind the fear he’s obviously trying to keep hidden there’s an uncomfortably familiar spark of determination.
He and Anakin stare at each other, the Force circling them both as if trying to point out something important, but before he can look into it further the sounds of footsteps ring out and the rest of the men catch up to him.
The boy stares at them warily, crouched on the ground surrounded by battle droid parts, his posture defensive and ready to bolt.
“Uh, General?” he hears one of the men ask, and Cody comes up beside him, the same bewilderment at the situation resonating from his stance. “Why is there a tubie on the battlefield?”
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know, Commander,” Anakin responds absentmindedly, still focusing on the Force tendrils wrapping around the boy, the sense of important familiar unknown pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
“Osik,” Cody mutters under his breath, a sentiment Anakin wholly agrees with. He reaches up to take his helmet off, stepping a little closer to the boy. “Hey, kid –”
The boy’s eyes light up the moment the helmet is off, tracing the scar on Cody’s temple and then scrambling to his feet.
“Uncle Cody!” his voice carries delight and clear relief, and before Anakin can blink the kid is barrelling forward, Cody barely catching him as he flings his tiny body towards the clone. “You’re back!”
“Uh,” Cody stammers out, and yeah, Anakin can get on board with that sentiment.