Hey Everyone! I'm back! Please don't hate me for not posting in months and months for this story... my bad. Really, I'm very sorry. This chapter is nice and long as a sign of my sincerest apologies. Hopefully that makes up for it a little. As always, hope you enjoy and leave me a comment with any thoughts! Lot of love - Lorna:)

DS2010: Both is good.

Guest: I'm so glad you enjoyed... hopefully you like this next chapter! We're getting there, slowly but surely. This chapter has lots of clone interactions because I love them!

Guest (the other one): Here's the next chapter! Thanks for the compliment and sorry for making you wait so long :)

The echoes of their footsteps on the cold floor felt distant, like they were walking through a fog. Every step away from the room felt like a betrayal, each one tearing at his soul.

Cody, ever present, walked beside him, his hand steady on Obi-Wan's shoulder as he led him back inside Vader's room and what Obi-Wan considered his "cell." "General, trust Kix to do his work."

Obi-Wan froze mid-step, the weight of the decision sitting heavily on him. He didn't respond immediately, his thoughts tangled in a storm of confusion, guilt, and sorrow. "I do."

And yet, it didn't feel like enough.

He let Cody guide him the rest of the way, feeling oddly like a lost initiate being led back to the Temple after a misstep. Once inside, the door hissed shut behind them, sealing him away from Anakin's suffering. The knowledge of it clawed at his mind, but there was nothing he could do—not now. Not yet.

Obi-Wan sat on the edge of his humble bed, rolling a small metal cuff between his fingers. An inhibitor. He hated the weight of it, hated what it represented. But what truly disturbed him was how normal it had begun to feel in his hands.

Across from him, Cody stood at attention, arms crossed. He wasn't in full armor—just the blacks underneath—but his stance was still stiff.

"You're thinking too hard," Cody finally said.

Obi-Wan hummed, not looking up. "Am I?"

Cody exhaled, shaking his head. "You've been quieter. More still. If you were anyone else, I'd say that was a good thing. But you? That just means you're planning something."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Obi-Wan's face. "Perhaps I've just learned patience in my captivity."

Cody scoffed. "With all due respect, General, that's the biggest pile of bantha dung I've ever heard."

Obi-Wan let out a soft chuckle, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I suppose I should have expected that."

There was a pause. The comfortable kind. The kind that didn't need words to fill it, but Obi-Wan knew that if he didn't speak now, the moment would pass.

"Cody," he said at last, looking up. "Why do you stay?"

Cody stiffened. It was only for a second, but Obi-Wan caught it.

"I was assigned—"

"No, you weren't." Obi-Wan's voice was gentle, but firm. "You could leave the Empire right now. You could stop being a soldier, you could leave."

Cody looked at him, eyes slightly widened, before they softened like melted butter. "No, General. No, I couldn't."

The ooey gooey warmth of loyalty floated in the Force, cocooning Obi-Wan in a blanket of security.

"There are still people on this ship that need help, and I don't leave my brothers behind."

Obi-Wan smiled minutely, just a flicker before his thoughts were roaming back to his distressed Padawan, one he could no longer feel in the Force.

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know. But that doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

Cody swallowed, the weight of a thousand buried emotions flickering in his gaze before he looked away again. "No," he said hoarsely. "It doesn't."

He took a breath. "He sent you away because he didn't want you to have to watch, General, not because he didn't want you there."

Obi-Wan sat up for a moment, turning to face the clone. His eyes searched Cody's face for any sign of deception. "Why do you say that?" He forced his voice not to crack.

Cody didn't respond for a moment. "Did you know I was the first clone the Emperor contacted?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, confusion flickering across his face.

"You were the only person Palpatine was afraid of," Cody continued, his voice steady but edged with something dark. "Because he was worried you could stop his apprentice." He spat the last word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Obi-Wan's grip on the inhibitor tightened. "But I couldn't."

Cody arched a brow. "You certainly slowed him for a time. Mustafar was not pleasant for either of you. It took him weeks to recover—weeks that probably saved many lives." He paused, his voice softening. "He used to beg for you. He lost a lot of spars because he expected to have you there, a weakness that was exploited bitterly." Cody hesitated before adding, "Palpatine may be a crueler master than he is a captor at times."

Obi-Wan hardly dared to breathe.

"I say that because I know he wanted you then. He wants you to be there now, but he can't bring himself to hurt you by making you watch." Cody's jaw tightened. "And he would rather suffer than admit to any of it."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile all at once.

Obi-Wan finally looked up, meeting Cody's gaze. Something between them settled in that moment—an unspoken understanding, forged in war and reforged in captivity.

"For what it's worth," Cody said after a long pause, "The 212th stand with our general, and I'm sure the 501st would agree."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the words settle deep into his bones.

"Thank you, Cody."

The sterile white walls of the medbay felt suffocating—too clean, too bright. They stripped away the shadows where Anakin could hide, leaving him raw and exposed beneath the harsh overhead lights. His face was pale and drawn, bruises and scars standing stark against his skin, each one a testament to the Emperor's lessons. He hadn't spoken since Kix arrived, hadn't even reacted when the medic moved to remove his tunic. His breath was labored, a sharp, shallow rhythm that sent waves of frustration through Kix. It wasn't just exhaustion. There was something deeper at play, something festering beneath the surface.

Kix let out a slow breath, steadying himself. He wasn't supposed to care. That was the unspoken rule when it came to the Empire. But this wasn't just anyone. This was his general.

"You're gonna have to help me out here, Lord Vader," Kix muttered, carefully working around Anakin's prosthetic arm. "I can't do this if you're gonna pass out on me."

The title tasted wrong on his tongue.

Anakin flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Kix caught it. It wasn't the name itself that got to him—it was the way he said it. The way it didn't quite fit in Kix's mouth, like he didn't believe it. Like he didn't accept it.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things. The only sound was the rasp of Anakin's breath and the slight tremors running through his frame.

Kix shook his head, tapping the button on his medical belt to activate the scanner. He ran it across Anakin's body, his frown deepening as the readout flashed. Lungs congested, heart irregular, the list went on. Kix swallowed. The Force had always been unpredictable, but this? This was something else entirely. Palpatine had left his mark, body and mind.

"I need you to stay with me, alright?" Kix pressed, voice edged with something dangerously close to concern. "I don't care how much you want to retreat into that void in your head—you need to be present for this."

A low sound rumbled in Anakin's throat, something between a groan and a breath, as he shifted sluggishly. He tried to push himself upright, but his movements were slow, uncoordinated.

Kix sighed. "Come on, General."

The word was out before he could stop it.

And just like that, something flickered in Anakin's expression. It was brief, like the dying embers of a fire, but Kix saw it—the split-second reaction before Anakin locked it all away.

Anakin Skywalker. Jedi General of the 501st. The man who led them through hell and back, who could take on entire battalions alone and still come out standing. The man who fought for them, who protected them even when all the odds were stacked against it.

But that man wasn't here anymore.

The yellow eyes that met Kix's were unfocused, bloodshot. Kix had seen exhaustion before, seen battle-worn men crumble under the weight of war. But this was different. This was a man standing at the edge of something vast and terrible, barely holding on. The yellow eyes that were watching him so intently were nothing like the clear blue ones he had come to associate with his general. It was like an infection that Kix didn't have the cure too.

Anakin parted his lips as if to say something, but then the coughing started, a deep, ragged sound that rattled through his chest. Kix moved quickly, steadying him, grimacing at the way Anakin tensed beneath his hands.

"Just keep breathing, sir." Kix tried and mostly succeeded in keeping his voice detached.

Anakin wasn't listening. Or maybe he was—just not to Kix. His mind was elsewhere, caught in the phantom grasp of something unseen. The room was spinning, not in the chaotic way of battle but in the slow, suffocating way of drowning. His knees hit the durasteel floor before he even registered that he was falling.

"Son of a—" Kix barely caught him, cursing as he adjusted Anakin's weight against his shoulder. "You always do this, you know that?" The words came out sharp, frustrated, but his grip was steady, careful. "Go off to the Emperor, come back half-dead, and expect me to just patch you up like it's some sort of sick routine!"

Anakin didn't answer. Couldn't.

He felt stretched thin, his body raw and aching, his mind caught in the storm raging inside him. Palpatine's voice curled around his thoughts, whispering promises, twisting the pain into something sharp and consuming. But then there was this—this moment, Kix's hands anchoring him, his voice cutting through the fog, grounding him in something that wasn't the darkness.

Kix worked efficiently, grabbing a medical device to ease Anakin's breathing and hooking it to his neck. The physical wounds were easy. The rest? That was another matter. Even as Kix touched him with practiced precision, Anakin flinched, the reaction automatic, like a wounded animal expecting the next blow.

Kix snapped in the silence, frustration coming to a peak. "Why is it always like this with you?"

It wasn't really a question. It was frustration. It was grief. It was something dangerously close to care.

A sharp sting made Anakin hiss. Kix had jabbed him with a painkiller.

"This was a bad session, you can't put yourself through that again." the medic muttered, scanning the deep bruising along Anakin's ribs.

Anakin swallowed thickly. "I handled it."

Kix's unimpressed stare was a thing of legend. "Sure. That's why you're collapsed on the floor instead of storming around like a kriffing nightmare as usual."

Anakin let out a breathy, humorless chuckle, but it faded fast. The pain wasn't just physical. The weight of his choices pressed down on his chest, heavier than any wound Palpatine had inflicted.

"You know," Kix said, voice quieter now, "one of these days, you're not gonna come back from one of these 'meetings' in one piece. And I'm not just talking about your body."

Anakin didn't respond.

What could he say? That he knew? That it didn't matter? That sometimes, he wasn't sure if he cared enough to be worried about coming back?

Kix exhaled sharply, wrapping Anakin's ribs with careful precision. "You need to rest. For real this time. And no, I don't mean meditating while standing on one foot or whatever nonsense you call resting. Sleep."

Anakin let his head fall back against the wall, eyes sliding shut. "No promises."

Kix muttered something about stubborn generals under his breath but didn't push. Instead, he adjusted Anakin into a more comfortable position, dimmed the lights, and left him alone with his thoughts.

The silence was deafening.

Anakin didn't sleep.