Chapter Text
It had been three years since Obi-Wan felt any sort of disturbance along the Bond he shared with Iza.
In those three years, a lot had changed. The Chancellor had been discovered to be the Sith Lord puppetmaster pulling the strings behind the Separatist movement—he was still quite proud of Anakin for resisting the man’s influence; it had made him swell with a sense of pride that he’d quickly had to beat back with a very large baton in order to maintain his natural inner balance—and the damage caused by the war was slowly being repaired, one world at a time. For the first time in the longest time he could remember, there was peace among the galaxy. The Clones had been given the freedom to go out into the universe and do as they pleased for the rest of their lives, as soldiers were no longer required by the Republic. Jedi returned to their normal way of life as peacekeepers, continuing to travel where they were needed to maintain that peace.
He still carried Iza’s lightsaber at his belt, though he’d never used it even once. Anakin would often tease him about how he must harbor some secret affections for the young woman, but he simply brushed him off. Nobody had to know anything about the things that he held locked away in his head and heart—not even Anakin. As far as anyone else was concerned, he was simply holding onto it for her. He would see her again one day, he was sure of it, and he didn’t want to be caught without it.
He never expected to hear her call to him so desperately one night while he slept. It was like having someone scream in his ear, jolting him awake with a fiery sensation that reminded him of the Force lightning that had been used upon him by Count Dooku a handful of times before. He’d leapt into action without realizing the threat wasn’t in the room with him, lightsaber filling the room with its steady hum and bright blue glow as he stared around trying to figure out where the scream had come from. Something like fear weighed heavy on his chest and he realized it wasn’t his own.
Iza.
Powering off the lightsaber, he waved a hand to open the door and rushed out at top speed, nearly mowing someone down in the process. Tossing an apology over his shoulder, Obi-Wan wasted no time barreling down the steps leading out of the Temple, trying to pinpoint just where her Force signature was coming from. Was she on Coruscant? She would have to be. Their Bond had never been strong enough for him to reach for her while she was off-world. A strange shiver went up his spine at the thought of her having used Dark Side energy in order to call to him, but he suppressed it and did his best to concentrate.
The city.
He couldn’t get to a speeder fast enough. There’d been no time to ask to borrow the one parked on the civilian walkpath, but he made note to at least return it to the right owner when he’d finished with it. Following the signature was a tricky thing because it seemed to come and go in strange waves. Something was very wrong and as he weaved in and out of the thick traffic leading into Galactic City; he could feel it worming into his gut, grabbing hold and twisting in such a violent way that he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pull over quickly enough if he got sick.
THERE.
Slamming on the speeder’s breaks hard enough to nearly toss himself from the seat, he hastily parked the thing and jumped down to continue his search. People moved out of his way with almost no hesitation—was that his influence or were they not willing to be knocked down to the very bottom of the city?—and when he got to where the crowd was gathered in a thick circle, he knew he’d found her.
“Iza!” Barging right through the ring of bodies, Obi-Wan felt that horrible need to be sick again when he found the brunette kneeling over what appeared to be the body of a child. A young child. A young child that bore a striking resemblance to Catcher, he noticed the longer he looked.
Her head snapped up at the sound of her name and she stared at him with those damned pleading eyes of hers and just crumbled.
“Help me,” her hands were shaking as she held them over the child’s chest, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t wake him up.”
Oh, Force.
Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to do. With a wave of his hand he gently pushed the crowd back and knelt beside Iza to see if he could provide some kind of assistance. He knew he wouldn’t be able to. He sensed no life in the child, and he did not have the kind of power needed to draw from to bring him back. Iza hadn’t been dead when he revived her—but it’d been dangerously close.
“Come on, baby,” Iza’s voice shook as her fingers spread out wider, shaking so violently that Obi-Wan worried about what sort of energy she was calling upon. “Daddy’s waiting for us…”
Daddy .
The child was hers for sure. That thought only made his stomach wrench into tighter knots and he fought hard against the need to be sick.
“Iza,” laying a tentative hand on her shoulder, Obi-Wan wasn’t surprised at all when she smacked him away. Swallowing, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip and tried again. “Iza, he’s gone.”
“No…” her voice was so soft and tiny, and Obi-Wan could hear people in the crowd letting out sympathetic murmurs as she leaned over and rested her forehead to the child’s tiny chest. “NO. Not my baby, please, not my baby!”
Getting to his feet, the Jedi quietly began trying to disperse the crowd. He could feel that familiar thickness beginning to build in the air around the Fallen Jedi, but there was no raging heat. Just a cold, harsh sorrow that crept into his soul and chilled him—grasped his heart and lungs and made it hard to breathe. When the ring of people had thinned enough, Obi-Wan turned back to Iza and felt that coldness clench harder in his chest.
“My sweet baby,” she was cradling the limp child to her and he could see the place where a blaster bolt—likely from a simple pistol—had struck the poor thing between the shoulders. He never stood a chance. “Mommy’s so sorry. She’s so sorry.”
“Iza,” surprised at the thickness in his voice, the Jedi cleared his throat and approached slowly, kneeling in front of her to offer his hand. “Darling, we must get you off the street.”
“What am I going to do?” Her cheek was pressed to the side of the child’s head and she didn’t seem to be looking at him. “Catcher’s going to…”
“Please,” if she wouldn’t take his hand, he would just have to move her himself. Obi-Wan didn’t like feeling as though he was rushing her and depriving her of her grief, but she couldn’t stay here. Walking around behind her, he gently slid his hands beneath her arms to help her to her feet, not surprised when she clung to the child like she was afraid he’d try and take him. Instead, he carefully steered her away from the scene and to a more secluded place where she could sit and mourn without hundreds of eyes watching.
“I don’t understand,” her fingers were still grasping the back of the child’s tunic, tears dampening his dark hair as she stared blindly at the wall just across the way. “It’s always worked before.”
Shaking his head as he sat down, careful to let her have her space, Obi-Wan chewed his tongue. He didn’t know how to explain without possibly enraging her; as if she wasn’t already upset enough.
“Healing only works if the heart is still alive,” he said softly, already feeling the heat in the small space starting to rise. Damn. He’d wanted to avoid this. “We cannot bring people back from the dead, Iza. Not even your kind.”
“My kind, Obi-Wan?”
“I mean no disrespect.” Both hands went up in defense. The last thing he wanted was to fight. After a moment or two, the heat drained away and he realized that she didn’t want it any more than he did.
“This is going to kill Catcher,” she said, swallowing thickly. “We tried so hard for him. We went through so much.”
“What’s his name?” He hoped that it wouldn’t spark her anger again. Imagine his shock when she let out a breathless laugh and cracked the weakest of smiles.
“Mace,” running fingers through the boy’s delicate looking hair, Iza’s jaw wobbled and more tears crawled down her cheeks. “Macemillian Tacor.”
“You named him after your Master,” it was a statement of surprise more than a question.
“He was the only father I ever knew, Obi-Wan,” rolling a shoulder in a weak shrug, the brunette smoothed a wrinkle in the boy’s tunic and sighed. “Catcher had no qualms. He just calls him his Little Trooper.”
It almost brought a smile to Obi-Wan’s face, but he knew better. Iza was in no state for him to be smiling. She’d likely take it the wrong way and things could go very wrong if that happened.
“What am I going to do?” She asked again, turning green eyes to him. “I came here to get things we need back home. If Catcher finds out I was so careless…”
“Iza,” so, she was still putting blame on herself after all of these years. He’d hoped she’d broken herself of that bad habit. At least she wasn’t pulling her hair anymore. “This was not your fault.”
“You weren’t here,” she argued, voice going a bit rough. “You don’t know.”
“So tell me,” he watched the way she readjusted the boy in her arms; it must’ve been dreadfully hard to hold on so tight to one’s dead child like that. “Tell me what happened, Iza.”
“I cannot,” she shook her head, moving to get to her feet. “You’d only lecture me about my carelessness, too.”
“I am not your Master, Iza. I have no grounds to lecture you about anything.”
The brunette only shook her head more vigorously, taking a step towards the mouth of the alleyway.
“I need to go. Catcher deserves a chance to mourn before we put our son to rest.”
“Iza,” perhaps laying a hand on her was a mistake because the next thing he knew, Obi-Wan was being knocked off his feet by a rush of hot energy and slammed up against the far wall of the alley. Yep—big mistake. Groaning as he rubbed his head, the Jedi huffed and stared at her through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I see you haven’t changed much,”
“Neither have you.” Her voice was almost cold. “You still don’t understand the concept of personal space, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“Iza, please,”
“I must go. I’m sorry I called you here.”
And just like that, she was gone. If he were still the man he’d been three years ago, he might’ve gotten back up and followed her. But Obi-Wan had learned the hard way with Iza that giving chase was a good way to get hurt. It was best if he just let her go—especially right now. She didn’t need him bombarding her with his presence when she had a child to grieve over. Stars, he wished he’d been able to get answers as to what had happened, though. She seemed so ashamed of herself, moreso than she typically did when something went wrong under her watch. He suspected it had to do with the fact that this was her child she’d failed, however. Any parent would blame themselves if harm came to the most precious thing in the galaxy to them.
“Master?”
The sound of Anakin’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and he looked up to find his former apprentice standing at the end of the alley, deep concern set into his features.
“Anakin,” using the wall to get to his feet, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at the other man and tried not to rub at his sore back. “What are you doing here?”
“I sensed you were in distress,” the taller Jedi looked his Master over as if checking for visible injuries. “And Master Windu said you’d run out of the Temple like someone lit your robes on fire. He said I should go after you.”
“I’m fine, Anakin. Thank you.”
“What happened here?” Anakin was looking around now, blue eyes surveying the area slowly. “It looks like there was some sort of blaster-pistol fight.”
Realization struck Obi-Wan like a solid punch to the face. Iza’s child had gotten caught in the crossfire of some sort of crime that had happened here. Where were the police droids? It dawned on him that they’d likely chased after whoever had shot her child and left her screaming for him in the streets. Force, these droids needed their programming upgraded like nobody’s business.
“Master?”
“She was here,” he found himself saying, wondering if he should even be speaking of Iza at all. Obi-Wan hadn’t mentioned her in over three years outside of Anakin’s teasing. She needed to be brought up by someone else before he would talk about her, and it always caused a hollow sort of sensation in his chest to think about her for too long. “She was here, Anakin.”
“Iza, you mean?”
He nodded, running long fingers through his hair to try and push it back into place.
“Well, where did she go?” Ever the curious one after all this time, Anakin never knew when to stop asking questions.
Taking a deep breath to try and steel himself against the feelings building in his gut, Obi-Wan pushed them out on the exhale and didn’t meet Anakin’s gaze as he turned to walk out of the alley.
“I suppose she’s going home.” He hesitated, shutting his eyes against the memory of the brunette cradling her child in her arms. “She has a son to bury.”
~*~*~*~
“What do you want, Kenobi?” Mace Windu sounded bored as he stared out at Coruscant from his place in the garden, seemingly uninterested in conversation.
“Sir,” Obi-Wan didn’t know how to approach the subject of Iza with this man in the slightest. If anyone else had been more closed off about the girl than he was, it was Mace. “Surely you already know why I’m here.”
A sound like a scoff escaped the older man before he tipped his head towards a set of cushioned chairs nearby. Obi-Wan moved towards them first, seating himself and waiting patiently for the elder Master to join him. Neither man spoke for a few moments until Mace cleared his throat.
“Her pain woke me, too.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t know how many times I need to remind you that you are not the only one who shares a Bond with her, Kenobi.” Even as calm as he was, Windu’s tone was impatient. He hated having to repeat himself. “What happened?”
Pressing his lips together tightly, Obi-Wan rubbed at his beard and looked out over the city. “Her child.”
Mace’s brows went up high on his forehead, but he said nothing.
“I can’t get the image out of my head, Master Windu. The boy was so small, and she begged for my help. There was nothing I could do.”
Bringing a hand up to rub his chin, Windu seemed to be thinking hard about something. His dark eyes had a faraway sort of look to them and Obi-Wan wished he could peer in and see just what was on the other man’s mind.
“I didn’t sense a dark disturbance tonight,” the elder Jedi said finally.
“Sir, I told you—”
“My memory is not as bad as yours, Master Kenobi.” Shooting the younger man a look, Mace snorted and appeared to roll his eyes a little. “I remember very well what it was you said to me that day. But still—I wonder…”
“Wonder what, Master Windu?”
“If perhaps your assumption about her doing what was necessary to escape was inaccurate.” Squinting in thought, Mace worked his jaw and grunted. “Make no mistake—my former apprentice has turned away from the Order and the things I have taught her. But I have a strange feeling about this. If she had truly gone to the Dark Side, we would have felt her presence the moment she entered the atmosphere.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide in realization. So he’d been correct in thinking that Iza wasn’t Lost at all. That she still held a great deal of Light within her and that she still had a chance to be saved.
“You’re holding out hope for the wrong things, Obi-Wan,” Mace’s voice disturbed the overwhelming sense of elation that had started to fill him. “Iza Tacor is no longer a true Jedi. She wields Dark Force powers and does not stand for the same moral code you and I do.”
“She’s a mother, Windu—”
“Which is precisely why she cannot return.”
“She named him after you.” Oh boy, this was a tin of apple slugs he shouldn’t be opening. “Her son. His name was Mace.”
This seemed to silence the Master for quite some time and Obi-Wan sensed a lot of different things radiating off of him. He knew better than to ask or to continue prodding at the man; he’d already done enough if it was taking this long for Mace Windu to balance himself out.
“I told you last time,” there was gruffness to the other man’s voice when he spoke again that Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he’d ever heard before. Getting up from his seat, Master Windu began to head towards the Temple. “Iza Tacor is your responsibility, Obi-Wan. Proceed however you wish, just do not neglect your other duties.”
“Sir—”
Mace waved a hand.
“I will not give my blessing again, Kenobi.” He sounded like he was far away even though he was mere meters from where Obi-Wan sat. “Good night.”
As he watched the taller man leave, Obi-Wan wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t his place to tell Master Windu anything about Iza’s life—or her child—but he’d wanted the man to listen. He’d wanted him to understand that there was more of a chance there to help her than he was willing to see. Maybe Mace Windu had given up on her, but Obi-Wan Kenobi could not.
Getting up from his spot on the cushion he headed into the Temple, but not to pursue the other Jedi. No, he’d taken a right turn after slipping inside of the doors and headed down into the communications chamber. There was a moment of slight hesitation before he tapped in a familiar set of contact numbers and an equally familiar face popped up on the holo-projector.
“General Kenobi?” Rex looked absolutely stunned to be receiving a transmission from his old friend. “How may I help you, sir?”
“I need a favor, Rex.” He wouldn’t get into titles right now. He had more pressing matters to tend to.
“Anything, sir,”
“I’d like for you to track someone down for me.”
~*~*~*~
Iza was a mess.
She and Catcher had both mourned hard over the loss of their son, but she couldn’t seem to drag herself away from the spot in their garden where they’d laid him to rest. For three days now, she’d slept in the freshly dug up dirt and refused to eat or drink anything. Even when it’d rained and soaked her clear through to the bone, she hadn’t left her spot. She just kept hoping that she would wake up and see that little Mace was lying beside her with his sweet hazel eyes and that bright smile that reminded her so much of Catcher’s.
He’d never had a chance, and now she wasn’t sure they would get another.
“Little Bit,” Catcher’s voice was a quiet rumble in her ear as he nudged her shoulder to stir her awake. “My love, you need to eat something.”
“I can’t.” Turning over on the mud, she looked up at him with bloodshot eyes that hadn’t stopped crying since she’d brought her son back home.
The Clone tried not to sigh. He was hurting, too. He knew she knew that, knew she could feel it in his life-force whenever she reached across that strange link she’d asked to forge when they were married. It was such a weird thing to feel someone inside of his head at times, but Catcher was never one to deny Iza of what she wanted. Besides—he suspected they likely would’ve formed their own special link all on their own without help regardless of whether he was Force Sensitive or not.
Palming her dirty cheek, he rubbed his thumb over the scar beneath her eye, noting how much it had faded these last few years.
“Please. For me?”
She looked like she wanted to continue protesting, her eyes closing as though to shut him out. After a few long moments, Iza drew in a shuddery breath and let it out in a sob, pulling herself up from the mud to wrap her arms around his shoulders and press her face against his neck. She knew that their son would not want her to continue to punish herself this way, but stars—what else was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to atone for this sin? She had gotten her only child killed with her carelessness and she should suffer for it. It should be her inside of that grave, not her son.
If only she hadn’t given up her lightsaber when she left, maybe little Mace would still be running and playing and filling his parents’ hearts with his beautiful laughter.
She hadn’t been fast enough when he ran off in the market. She thought he’d been right beside her, helping her pick the produce that they could not grow here. She’d heard the blaster shots and seen the familiar flashes of light as they got closer to where they’d been shopping. She’d dropped everything in her hands when she saw Mace standing in the middle of the walkpath, staring on curiously while people rushed past him in their panic. Time seemed to slow when she rushed to him, stopping entirely when he was knocked forward onto his belly. Had she not seen the bright red glow of the bolt that had hit him, she might’ve thought someone had simply tripped him. Violent flashbacks to seeing his father being struck the same way years prior had nearly put her into a state of shock.
But she couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t just leave him there to be trampled by these animals rushing to save themselves. It had taken so much of her control to keep from letting all of the boiling anger and disbelief to come to the surface. So many people would’ve died if she’d let go of that control. She’d tried waking him, tried calling his name and putting all of that painful energy into her hands to heal him the way she’d done with Catcher, and when that hadn’t worked, she’d called out to Obi-Wan.
It had been almost instinctual to reach out along their lifeline to each other and beg him for help. She was still ashamed of herself for doing it; she had no right to ask him for anything after all of this time. But she’d been so sick and so shaken and desperate that she didn’t know what else to do.
Truthfully, she still didn’t know what to do.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Catcher slipped his arms beneath her to carefully lift her from her place beside their son’s grave and carry her back into the house. “I’ve got you.”
Poor Catcher. She’d never seen him so broken before. He’d wept over Mace’s little body just as hard as she’d done, but never once had he pointed any fingers or asked why she hadn’t been watching him. He never questioned her capabilities as a mother or as a healer. Even he knew her Force powers had their limits. And he knew that if there’d been anything more that she could’ve done for their most precious miracle, she would have already tried it.
“Would you like a bath, my love?” he asked once he’d brought her inside, unwilling to set her on her feet. “You’re like ice.”
“I thought you wanted me to eat?” Iza murmured against his neck, too tired to protest against anything he planned to do with her.
“I would like very much for you to eat, yes.” Smiling a little, the Clone kissed the top of her head. “But I would also not like for my wife to freeze half to death.” Again.
“Will you join me?” She didn’t feel like being alone anymore.
Pausing on his way to their washroom, Catcher nuzzled his nose into her hair and nodded.
“Of course, my love. Anything you want.”