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asphyxiation (noun): the state or process of being deprived of oxygen, which can result in unconsciousness or death; suffocation.
As the shuttle drew closer to the Negotiator, Obi-Wan couldn't stop himself from running one hand along his face. It felt strange. It had been years since he'd not had a beard—he'd stopped being clean-shaven the moment his Padawan braid was cut off.
The light stubble that covered his jaw wasn't enough to make him feel comfortable. It would take a few weeks for his hair and beard to reach its prior state, and he could not wait until that time.
He knew it wasn't really the beard that was making him feel so uncomfortable. No, it was everyone's reaction that he was dreading.
Obi-Wan wouldn't change what he did. He had known the risks, known the possible costs. He had judged it worth the risk—the whole Council had. But it didn't mean he couldn't regret what it might have cost him.
He was returning to a ship full of people who looked to him for leadership, who he had badly deceived. They'd spent weeks believing him dead. It felt like a betrayal—no, it was a betrayal. One that Obi-Wan would have to live with.
The shuttle pulled into the hangar. Obi-Wan turned away from the view through the front port, moving towards the exit ramp in preparation for disembarking. He didn't have any luggage with him, and it struck him suddenly that he hadn't checked whether his personal effects were still on board after his presumed death.
Well. That would be a problem for him in an hour. First, he had to get through the next few minutes.
The shuttle jolted a little as it set down on the floor of the hanger, the metal groaning. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and regulated his breathing. He was in control of himself. It would help no one for him to appear as disconcerted as he was underneath the surface.
Play the role—that was all that Obi-Wan had done since the Force-forsaken war had started. It was starting to get difficult to remember what it had been like to just be a Jedi Knight, not a General.
The ramp lowered, and Obi-Wan squared his shoulders. His lightsaber bumping against his hip grounded him as he walked down the ramp. Familiar bright signatures washed over him as he spotted Ghost Company waiting in formation. Except—
There was Cody, standing at the front at attention. His Force signature should have been the first one that Obi-Wan noticed, so attuned was he to the man's steady presence after so long spending almost every waking moment together. But there was nothing in the Force, just the slide over shields as strong as beskar.
The realisation made Obi-Wan's stride hitch, though he quickly recovered. He hoped they hadn't noticed. As he drew closer, Cody barked a command and the whole of Ghost Company responded, snapping their heels.
"General," Cody said in greeting. His voice was carefully even, with none of his usual warmth that was always then when he was talking to him. Obi-Wan's gut clenched as the air of discomfort swelled in the Force. If they were any less disciplined, Ghost Company would have been visibly shifting from foot to foot with the way they felt.
Sometimes, Force-sensitivity was as much a curse as a blessing.
"At ease," Obi-Wan said, with a smile that he didn't feel. He had been right about what his actions might have cost him. Cody continued to remain at attention, even as the men relaxed into parade rest behind him.
He was barely aware of the small talk that followed before everyone was dismissed. A large part of his mind remained preoccupied on Cody—the Commander's shields, the way that Ghost Company as a whole remained ill at ease. His throat itched, a phantom reminder of the voice alteration.
What had been building between himself and Cody was the price that he would have to pay. Obi-Wan hadn't realised before then just how much he had grown to depend on it, not until there was only the careful professionalism between them and none of the affection that he had always struggled to hide. Cody was his good right hand, his common sense, the ray of sunshine ever watching his back. Now—there was none of that.
Obi-Wan walked back to his quarters alone. They were untouched, exactly as he had left them when he disembarked all those weeks ago, unaware of what he was about to do. There were the bedsheets he hadn't quite managed to straighten. When he ran his finger over the surface of the small table in the corner, it left a trail through the thin layer of dust.
His throat kept itching, even as the Negotiator took off into hyperspace, Obi-Wan supervising from the bridge as if it were any other day. Except now, no one would quite meet his eyes. It would be at least a week until they reached their destination in the Outer Rim sieges, providing backup to Ki-Adi Mundi. Until then, he had plenty of paperwork to catch up on from when he was gone.
It was just a phantom pain, a psychological manifestation of the stress he was under, Obi-Wan kept telling himself. The Temple healers had given him a clean bill of health before sending him back out. As his hair grew back and the troopers started to relax again, it would go away.
Except Obi-Wan's throat still ached when he woke from restless sleep, and everyone still refused to meet his eyes or talk to him outside of what was necessary. Obi-Wan took his meals alone, sitting at a table in the mess by himself. Normally he would be joined by Cody and some of the men, but they continued to keep their distance.
It was lonely in a way that Obi-Wan wasn't used to. There had always been others around him, his crechemates, then later his Master and his Padawan. Yet here he was, on a ship where the natborn officers kept to themselves, and despite being surrounded by the 212th he had no one who would talk to him.
Despite how lonely he was, Obi-Wan didn't press the matter. He was still their superior officer in the end. If they didn't want to resume the more casual manner of communication from before, then that was their prerogative, and he wouldn't push. They had so little choice in what happened to them, Obi-Wan couldn't deny them this.
Everything came to a head on the bridge. Obi-Wan had woken up gasping again, feeling like his throat was closing in on itself. It was becoming far more common than Obi-Wan had anticipated. The nightmares were expected, of course, but the sensation of struggling to breathe was a new and unwelcome way to wake up.
He'd not bothered with firstmeal. Despite knowing there was nothing wrong with him, the thought of swallowing the rations that passed as food only made him feel queasy. Instead, Obi-Wan had gone straight to the bridge after morning meditation. He'd tried to release the anxiety that was becoming his constant companion to the Force, but was unable to manage it by the time he was due to leave.
Obi-Wan would have to keep trying. He would endure, as he always had, if the Force willed it so. There were still a few rotations until they would reach the Outer Rim sieges, and he needed to get a handle on himself by then, for all their sakes.
The bridge was quiet. After all, they wouldn't get any new information until they reached the planet. They were on their final hyperlane stretch, and were cut off from external communications until they exited.
They were rehashing the siege they were to join again, picking over their strategy, what they knew about GAR and Separatist movements on the planet. Most of it would be thrown out the moment they arrived, of course, that was how battles went. But the more ideas they had before they arrived, the less improvisation they would need later, and hopefully it would help keep the casualty numbers low.
"What about that ridge?" Obi-Wan asked, pointing at the elevated area on the holotable map. "If we need—" He stopped mid-sentence as the tickle in his throat got too much for him. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "We could position the tankers—"
Force, he was struggling to even finish a sentence. This psychosomatic pain was affecting him too much. If this continued on the field… Obi-Wan raised a hand to press lightly against his throat, breathing in carefully.
Why was breathing suddenly so difficult?
"I—" The word didn't make it past his lips. He tried to breathe in again. Nothing. No air was making it into his lungs.
The edges of his vision were starting to go fuzzy. He staggered, his legs weak, reaching a hand and bracing himself against the holotable. He kept trying to breathe, but it wasn't working.
Voices around him. "General?" Hands on his shoulders, holding him, lowering him to the floor, cradling his head.
"—the medic—" he couldn't make out any of the words. Could only lie there, a gauntletted hand gripping his, stopping him from grasping at his throat.
He turned his head. It was Cody holding his hand. The Commander had ripped his helmet off, and amber eyes were boring into him. Cody's mouth was moving, but Obi-Wan couldn't hear him. Could only hold on, even as black spots blocked his vision and his body grew heavier.
A jab in his leg, and Cody's face disappeared as the current pulled him under.
"What do you mean, you intubated him?"
Cody couldn't stop himself from pacing up and down the medbay. Adrenaline still itched under his skin, leaving him twitchy. Stitches watched him, arms crossed and a deep glare on his face.
"He can't breathe," Stitches ground out. "His throat closed up on him. So yes, we intubated him! Better to have him hooked up to the oxygen machine than dead."
"Why?" Cody demanded. "What's wrong with him?"
Stitches' arms tightened in front of his chest. "It's a reaction to whatever the jetii used to—to change his voice."
This halted Cody in his tracks. He wheeled on the spot, staring at Stitches. "They said he was fine," he said, eyes wide. "The jetii said he was back to normal health."
"Well, they missed this," Stitches spat out. Then he sagged. "We missed it too. By the looks of the scans, this has been building the whole time, and none of us noticed."
More specifically, Cody hadn't noticed. He was the Commander—normally, he would spend most of his waking hours with the General. He should have spotted an issue like this long before it got to this point, made the General come to medbay. It shouldn't have ever gotten this far.
Instead, Cody had been avoiding his General. Had left the man as alone as their respective ranks allowed. He swallowed back a snarl, furious at himself. His weakness had allowed this to happen.
"He's been on the ship for days. Surely someone should have—"
Stitches was shaking his head, and it was enough for Cody to halt before he could continue any further. "You forget what an impact you have on this company, Commander," he said, voice resigned. "They look to you. What do you think happens when you avoid the General?"
Cody closed his eyes, stomach churning. "They avoid him too." It grated him to say. Hearing it out loud made it impossible to ignore just how badly he had karked up. "And the General wouldn't chase them if he thought they didn't want him near. Not him."
He started pacing again. Tried not to look at the only occupied bed at the far end of the medbay, or listen to the rasping of the oxygen machine. This was his fault. This was all his fault. He'd been so caught up in his anger that he'd let the General become isolated enough that no one noticed his symptoms.
The sight of his General collapsed on the floor clutching at his throat was one that was going to haunt his nightmares for years to come.
For the first time since his General had returned to their ship, fear was taking over the anger that had been consuming him from the inside out.
"I karked up," Cody choked out. "Stitches—he's going to be alright, isn't he?"
Stitches sighed heavily and placed a hand on Cody's shoulder, squeezing tight. "We caught it in time," he said. "He's got the machines to breathe for him for the moment. Once we receive the files from the jetii about the procedure they used, I'll be able to treat him properly. There shouldn't be any lasting effect from this. He'll recover and be back to being a pain in your shebse soon enough."
Little gods, he had to look bad if Stitches was trying to comfort him, instead of the other way round.
"Now, don't you have a battalion to run?" Stitches said, trying to give Cody a shove toward the door.
Cody planted his feet, making Stitches' attempt useless. Finally, he allowed himself to look at his General, lying on the bed at the end, looking far too pale even with the oxygen mask covering half his face.
"No," Cody said. "I think I'll stay here. Just until he wakes."
He had reparations to make. Until then, he wasn't going anywhere. The battalion could keep for a while longer.
Awareness returned to Obi-Wan slowly. His mind felt soupy, his limbs too heavy. He was able to recognise the dulling sensation of being on strong medication. The beeping of machines came to him as if from a far distance, and a steady rasp of—something unfamiliar.
Medbay. He was in medbay.
What had he done this time to require it?
And what in the name of the Force was wrong with his throat?
He tried to take a deep breath in, only to discover that he couldn't. His body flinched at the failed attempt. Yet air still flowed steadily into his lungs, at a rate that he could not control.
That was a tube down his throat. The press of a mask on his face, sealed tightly around his mouth and nose. His beard—no, his face felt too bare even for the sorry excuse for a beard he'd been growing, he'd been shaven so that he could wear the mask. There was a pressure in his arm, too. One that he recognised from the last time he'd been put onto an IV.
And making all of these realisations had taken Obi-Wan far too long. There was panic at his vulnerable state, slowly rising, but kept in check by a familiar presence in the Force at his side, albeit a muted one.
Obi-Wan forced his eyes open, then immediately winced and closed them again. It was too bright, and even with all those medications, it hurt.
"Oh—sorry." Rustling. "Try again. I've turned the lights down as low as they can go."
He blinked his eyes open again, no more than a crack. The light was—tolerable. And sort of wavy? Obi-Wan could see every individual particle floating in the air, the low light glinting off them, the waves of colour—
"General?"
Right. He was in the medbay. And on drugs. Very strong drugs, if Obi-Wan was reacting like this.
He turned his head to the side. It was a slow movement and took more effort than he liked.
There he was. Cody. Sitting by his bed. Bucket off, datapad on his lap, looking at him.
Shielding. Still shielding.
That was right. He'd broken what had been building between them. Such a small, hopeful thing, built from little moments and shared laughter. There was a cost to being a Jedi, and this had been the cost.
He must have managed an audible sound, because Cody twitched. "Don't try to talk," he said, a sharp note in his voice that made Obi-Wan's brows draw together in unconscious concern. "Let the machine work. It can't come out until Stitches knows how to fix your throat. You almost asphyxiated there on the bridge."
Knows how…? Obi-Wan can't stop the flinch. Does that mean that they might not be able to fix it—fix him?
Cody leaned forward and grasped Obi-Wan's wrist carefully with an armoured hand. "You're going to be fine. Stitches just need some files, is all. You'll be back to jumping off buildings without a jetpack in no time."
Now that was fun. But it was a fleeting thought, one easily lost as every iota of Obi-Wan's drugged focus went to the pressure on his wrist.
"Hey," Cody said. Gentle. Too gentle. Didn't Obi-Wan break them? "Look at me."
Obi-Wan couldn't say no, physically or emotionally. He tilted his head back towards Cody, giving the man his full attention, or as much as he could manage as his focus kept scuttling off after every little distraction. The lights were sort of wavy—
"I made the wrong call." Obi-Wan blinked up at Cody, wrenching his attention back. This was the last thing he had expected Cody to say.
"I've been angry," Cody admitted, his fingers tightening on Obi-Wan's wrist. He ploughed on, even as Obi-Wan's heart sank in his chest. "It's—it's been rough, without you here. I didn't cope well. Ask Boil later how many training dummies I've been through."
Obi-Wan turned his wrist in Cody's grasp, brushed at Cody's vambrace with his fingers. Even as the words pierced him, he couldn't help but want to comfort Cody.
"It's not you I'm angry at." Cody looked away, swallowing. "It's everything. This war, the Separatists, the politicians, even the Chancellor. Little gods, I hate this. I hate sending my vod to die in battle after battle. And losing you—it was too much."
Cody looked at Obi-Wan again, and this time he held Obi-Wan's eyes. "You've been through enough. I didn't want to put that on you. Thought I could handle it by myself."
Well, that was Cody's right. For all that he and Obi-Wan normally spent most of their waking hours together, Cody deserved his privacy.
"It was the wrong call," Cody repeated, with an unhappy twist to his mouth. "It left you alone. You shouldn't have been alone. We should have worked through this together."
Obi-Wan struggled to follow along through the drug haze. His confusion must have shown in his expression because Cody sighed deeply and raised his free hand to massage his temple.
"I'm going to lower my shields now," Cody said. "Please—just hold on."
Then Obi-Wan was battered by a sudden storm of emotion, enveloping his mind, surrounding him, until all he could feel was Cody.
Rage, mixed with grief, and fear. All twisting together, until Obi-Wan couldn't tell where one ended and the next began. But Cody was telling the truth—it wasn't directed at Obi-Wan. And buried underneath it—
—trust-hope-affection-he's-alive-thank-the-Force-can't-lose-him-not-again—
It was pure Cody, and Obi-Wan was helpless to untangle himself from it. His own shields were stripped away by the state of his body and the drugs coursing through him. Not that Obi-Wan wanted to keep Cody out. No, if he could, he would hold Cody close to his heart and never let the man go. It was a very un-Jedi-like attitude, but one that Obi-Wan couldn't bring himself to regret.
The storm reigned in, Cody breathing in deeply as he forced himself back under control. As it faded, leaving Obi-Wan bereft, Cody looked back down at the bed and made a horrified sound.
The hand at Obi-Wan's wrist let go, and a suddenly ungloved hand came to swipe the tears streaming down Obi-Wan's face away. Obi-Wan blinked. When had he started crying?
When was the last time he cried?
"We'll get through this," Cody said. "Together. Like we should have from the start."
Obi-Wan liked the sound of that. He leaned into Cody's light touch, closing his eyes. The oxygen mask stole his small sigh of relief in its steady mechanical pattern.
He hadn't lost Cody. That was the most important thing. Cody was right, as always—if they stuck together, they would get through this.
"After the war, we should talk." Cody's voice had grown soft. Obi-Wan liked it, blinking up at Cody, losing himself in the man's soft amber eyes. "If we survive."
We will, Obi-Wan vowed to himself, closing his eyes as he leaned more into Cody's touch, the drugs threatening to bring him back down into the safe darkness of sleep. I'll protect you.
The Force was clouded, still. The future was uncertain. But if Obi-Wan had any say in it, he would make sure that both made it to the other end of this war, and the bright future that surely lay beyond it.
"Go to sleep, Obi-Wan," Cody murmured. Had he ever said Obi-Wan's name out loud before? "I've got the watch."
And Obi-Wan slept.