Chapter Text
Satine Kryze was dead.
She knew she was dead. She had felt the numb pain spread in her stomach as the lightsaber burned through her organs. She had felt the cold start in her hands and feet and flow through her limbs until it reached her heart. She was dead.
They took her body and threw it in a prison cell. They kept the lights off, which was okay, because dead people don’t need lights.
Satine was aware that she should not be aware that she was dead, but everything was too dark and nebulous—she couldn’t think too hard about it.
She could hear his voice—that low, murmuring tone, occasionally punctuated by bursts of wild laughter, sharp like the edge of a knife. She heard him whispering names, over and over again—Talzin, Sidious, Savage, Kenobi, Kenobi, Kenobi—echoing like a memory.
She felt him kneel next to her corpse, stroking a hand almost tenderly down her cheek, whispering to her—“oh, my friend, you won’t be leaving just yet-”
And then she was alive, alone in her cell again, gasping for air, limbs heavy and unresponsive. She didn’t know what he had done, but she felt odd, feverish tingles running like wildfire through her body. Satine had preferred the numbness—this was pain. Every neuron in her mind was firing, awake and alive and aware—she tried to move her limbs, to make her mouth form words, to turn her neck, but nothing responded.
The darkness was consuming—she could not tell if her eyes were open or shut, if she was in a coffin or a cell or the vast void of the sky. It could have been a thousand years, or merely seconds—the difference seemed minimal to her.
Maul’s voice still echoed—was he truly there, or was it her imagination? She thought she heard the hum of the Darksaber, taunting her.
Satine Kryze was alive, but she might as well have been dead. Nobody came to her—wherever she even was, she couldn’t tell—nobody spoke to her, or brought her food. Every time she felt herself weakening again, hunger clawing at her stomach, she heard Maul’s voice again, murmuring incantations, and she felt that odd shiver of the Force scuttle over her skin like hundreds of tiny spiders, and her blood was once again pumping, her lungs heaving, her eyes fluttering. Over and over again he pulled her back, using his sickening dark Force to keep her from peace.
Satine begged for Bo-Katan—she may have shouted for her, or it may have been in her mind. She wanted her sister, wanted her father, wanted Obi-Wan, wanted anyone at all to find her. Surely Obi-Wan would sense her—he was always so aware of her, so knowing—but nothing. Nothing but the silence of the space in between life and death.
In the battlefield of her mind stalked terrifying figures, born from the ancient Mandalorian religion she learned about but never believed. They felt real now, though, angry and incomprehensibly large. Kad Ha’rangir turned his helmet towards her, towering over her like she was an ant, holding his enormous battle hammer in his armored hands.
You are dead, he told her. You fell in battle.
I don’t want that, she tried to tell him. I don’t like battle, I don’t like death, I don’t want that for anyone.
You will never achieve peace without death, he told her, his deep voice shaking the earth. A forest left to grow out of control will kill itself, roots tangling and branches crossing like swords. But burn the forest, and you allow the new life to grow from the ashes.
“I’m not a warrior,” she whispered.
You are a Mandalorian, he said. The fight is in your blood. Do you want to change?
“I do,” she said.
There is no change without battle. You must not fall prey to sloth and stagnation—you must learn to rise from the ashes and start anew.
“I’m not your champion,” she said, angry. This violent, manipulative god cared only about bloodshed.
He laughed like the sounds of distant explosions.
I am not what you think I am, small warrior, he told her. I do not kill for the sake of killing. I have felt every Mandalorian death like they are my own children. But you do not need to fear the battle, little one. You will have victory.
“How?” she begged him. “I don’t even know if I’m alive. I don’t know if you are real or a dream or just a—dying hallucination in my mind.”
Lead your people, Mand’alor.
The word echoed in her mind. Mand’alor. Was that her? Could she be that, for her people?
Gradually, she became more aware, more alive. She worked for what felt like weeks, but managed to shift her arms and push herself up to a seated position. It worked for only a moment before her dizziness overwhelmed her and she slumped back down, head spinning. She wished again for her sister, desperate and grief-stricken, but bit her tongue and kept working.
Before long, she was able to crawl, tracing the borders of the dark, silent room and feeling for a door. She couldn’t find a latch, unsurprisingly, but she didn’t let it bother her. She did discover that there was a small opening in one door when it opened, allowing a beam of light into her cell, and a hand tossed in a stack of ration bars. Satine stared for a long moment before bursting into tears, sobbing and gasping, tears dripping down her face. Finally—something besides darkness and pain, proof that she was still alive and in this world.
Focusing was hard in the darkness of her cell, but she tried anyway. She practiced pushing herself from laying down to standing up hundreds of times in a row, until her legs were jelly and her chest was heaving. She lifted her arms above her head, feeling the stretch and the twinge where the delicate, burnt skin on her stomach pulled tight, and kept her arms up until her muscles burned. She meditated, like Obi-Wan had taught her when they were teenagers, listening to the sound of her own breathing.
Some days, she would lay on the floor and despair—she’d cycle between waking and sleeping, unable to even guess at the time of day, wishing so desperately for someone to come find her and set her free. The hand delivering the ration bars was infrequent and all too brief—she tried to shout to them, to call for help, but the small window just clanged shut again each time. Those times seemed to stretch on for months—but she pushed through, stood up again, stretched her muscles, and continued.
She knew when she woke up that day that something was different—her room was the same as always, just as dark and gloomy, the food hatch firmly shut, but she could feel it in her bones. When she felt rather than heard a distant explosion, she knew she was right.
Satine lowered herself into a sitting position, waiting patiently. When she heard the click of a door sliding open, she closed her eyes, the dazzling light hitting her eyelids.
“Duchess?” said a frightened voice, and she opened her eyes. Before her was a young woman in Death Watch armor, holding her helmet in her hands, looking terrified.
When Satine met her eyes, she gasped and dropped to her knees in supplication.
“Oh, Duchess, I’m so glad you’re alive,” she murmured. “I promise, I promise I’m loyal to you, Saxon said he’d kill my family—I tried to sneak you ration bars, I hoped, but I wasn’t sure if you-”
“Take me to Maul,” said Satine quietly, standing. She had no time to waste. The girl—who couldn’t be more than 20—stood cautiously, looking her over. Satine hadn’t paid attention to her appearance in the dark of her cell, but now realized she must look terrifying in her dirty dress, still ripped where the lightsaber had run her through. She took a few slow steps forward on shaky legs, muscles weakened despite her attempts at exercising them.
“He’s in the throne room,” she whispered. “He just—he took a clone trooper hostage, he’s trying to tempt the Jedi and Lady Kryze—the other Lady Kryze—in there, he’s killing people, but I think I can get you there-”
“No, ad'ika,” said Satine, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder. “Give me your blaster, and then leave Sundari. Get to safety, alright?”
“Thank you, Duchess,” the girl gasped, handing Satine her blaster. Satine stood for a long moment, fighting back tears of relief at finally being out of that cell, and started towards the throne room. That evil bastard had done enough damage to her people.
As she passed through the armory, she froze in place, suddenly realizing what she had seen. With trembling hands, hardly daring to believe it, she reached out and took the Darksaber from where it rested on a display stand, discarded idly by Maul in favor of his personal red blades. She took it in her hand, frightened and excited, and felt the hilt humming, warm under her fingers.
I won’t waste this chance, she thought.
For all his mysterious Sith powers, he did not hear her coming. She approached from behind, peeking around a back entrance into the throne room. He sat on her throne, not caring that the spot did not belong to him, and she could see a blue and white-armored soldier kneeling on the ground near his feet.
Satine watched as the doors slammed open and saw a trio enter the throne room—she felt a shock to realize she recognized the Togruta as Ahsoka Tano, the young Jedi, standing alongside another helmeted soldier. And beside her—Bo-Katan. Satine took a deep, steadying breath. That horrible man would not hurt her sister. She watched Bo-Katan charge forward, Maul deflecting her blaster bolts like it was nothing. He thrust his hand out and lifted her into the air, leaving her gasping for air.
Absolutely not, she thought. Before she could think twice about it, Satine had raised her blaster and fired off a single bolt, hitting Maul’s outstretched hand. He cried out in pain and Bo-Katan crumpled to the floor. The room fell into silence as Maul turned to face her, yellow eyes glinting. He didn’t seem surprised—Satine guessed he probably knew she was alive, that the young Mandalorian had been sneaking her food rations. Her fury surged—she was tired of being treated like a pawn in his incomprehensible little games.
“Ah, Duchess,” he cooed, giving her a smile. “Welcome, welcome.”
Satine could hear Bo-Katan gasp from the ground behind her, but didn’t turn, positioning herself between Maul and her sister.
Maul laughed, advancing towards them. Satine held the Darksaber in her right hand and activated the blade, feeling the heat emanating off of it. Her muscles shook and her head spun—there was no way she could truly stand against him—but she would not go down without a fight, not this time.
“My lady, there’s no need for all of that,” he said calmly and politely. Satine glared at him and held her ground. “I merely want the chance to talk to your friend. As a show of good faith, I return your comrade in arms to you.”
He gestured with his fingers and the cuffs dropped off of the trooper, who stumbled over to the other armored man. He stammered out apologies, and the other soldier comforted him. Outside the throne room, the sounds of battle approached.
“Uh, one of you might want to deal with that,” said Maul, looking amused.
“You should go,” said Ahsoka, approaching Satine and Bo-Katan. “Your people need you.”
Bo-Katan hesitated, unwilling to leave Ahsoka alone with Maul. He sighed heavily.
“Don’t stay on my account. We’ll be fine,” he said, gesturing them out the doors. With a nod to Ahsoka, Satine followed her sister out of the throne room.
As the throne room doors swung shut behind them, Satine looked at her sister, suddenly at a loss for words.
“Are you really here?” asked Bo-Katan in a narrow, bitten-off voice, staring straight ahead as if she was scared to turn her head and look at Satine.
“I’m here now, Bo, ” said Satine, laying a hand on Bo-Katan’s arm. “I’m never leaving you again, not once.”
With a choked sob, Bo-Katan threw herself at Satine, pulling her into a tight hug, nestling her head in Satine’s shoulder. Satine stroked a hand over her red hair, like she always did when Bo-Katan was a child, climbing into her bed after a nightmare.
After a moment, Bo-Katan pulled back, wiping tears from her eyes. Satine held out the Darksaber and offered it to Bo-Katan.
“Take this,” she said. “I haven’t trained the way you have, not in years, and I’ve been locked away for—I don’t even know how long.”
“Almost a year,” said Bo-Katan, looking at her with wonder in her eyes.
“I want you to take it,” she said. “Lead our people into battle.”
Bo-Katan looked at it for a long moment, considering. Satine remembered when she ran away at age 15, after their massive argument, where Bo-Katan had shouted that Satine was a disappointment, an embarrassment to their family, an embarrassment to Mandalore. She had joined Death Watch a week later, lying about her age and family name. This was what she had wanted back then—the chance to rule Mandalore the way she thought it should be ruled. But the sister standing in front of her was not the same as the one who ran away five years ago—and Bo-Katan shook her head.
“That’s not mine to wield,” she said. “It’s yours. You need to lead us now, Satine.”
“I won’t let you down,” said Satine, fingers tightening around the hilt of the Darksaber. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against Bo-Katan’s, trying to convey every ounce of love and pride and affection she had for her sister.
She pulled away as she heard footsteps around the corner, and saw a group of soldiers round the corner wearing blue armor to match Bo-Katan’s.
“My lady, we need reinforcements at the-”
The Mandalorian cut off mid-sentence as her helmet turned towards Satine in disbelief. She took in the sight of Satine standing tall, holding the Darksaber, and immediately dropped to her knees in respect.
“Mand’alor the Undying,” the soldier gasped out. “We are at your service.”
Satine blinked, realizing the name referred to her. The Darksaber in her hand gave her the title—now, she had to use it.
“Well then,” said Satine. “I suppose we have a war to win, don’t we?”
Two months later
The Jedi Temple was abuzz with energy in a way Obi-Wan had never seen before. Jedi and clones alike weaved through the halls, speaking about the end of the war, about the Chancellor’s plots, hope weaving through their words about what came next.
Obi-Wan knew rumors were probably flying about the Council meeting from last week—where Anakin stood humbly before the Jedi masters and rejected their offer of the title of master, proclaiming that he was leaving the Jedi Order permanently, to raise his children and be with his wife. Obi-Wan had felt such a surge of pride listening to his friend—his brother—speak so confidently.
Obi-Wan smiled as two padawans—Dume and Kestis, if he remembered correctly—sprinted past him, offering him a quick bow of respect before dashing off to the Archives, chattering about lightsaber designs as they went.
“Good morning, Master Kenobi,” said Master Billaba, trailing behind her errant padawan and his friend with a pleased smile on her face.
“Master Billaba,” he said, inclining his head to her.
“What brings you to the medical wing?” she asked, though there was an undertone in her voice that made Obi-Wan think she already had a clue.
“Oh, the last of the command officers from the 212th are having their control chip removal procedures done today,” he said, unable to keep the relief and gratitude out of his tone. “The ground troopers have all had theirs done these last few weeks, but the command team wanted to wait until all their men had theirs removed first.”
Cody had insisted, of course. Obi-Wan had fought him on it, arguing that Cody should get his chip removed as soon as possible, but Cody had fixed him with that stubborn glare of his and wouldn’t budge. Obi-Wan had briefly considered ordering him otherwise, but couldn’t find the heart to do it.
Obi-Wan recalled that day, almost two months ago now, that swoop in his stomach when he suddenly realized everything was changing. He had been on Utapau, Cody handing his lightsaber back as he did so often, when he felt such a world-shattering lurch in the Force that he thought he would be sick. He had stumbled to the ground, Cody’s hands flying out to catch him. It was—he almost couldn’t explain it—it was like the Force had become more powerful. It was as if he had been looking through a pair of blurry goggles for years, not realizing how faded and vague his vision was until someone suddenly turned the dial, sending the world into sharp focus.
Anakin, he had thought desperately. Even star systems away from his padawan, he could feel an enormous rush of shame, grief, fear, betrayal, relief—it was so potent that it sent tears streaming down his face. Cody had to help him back to their shuttle, standing patiently with him as Obi-Wan frantically tried to hail Anakin’s communicator over and over again. Eventually, it was Mace Windu who had called him. He’d never heard the normally stoic master so shaken as he explained that Chancellor Palpatine was actually Darth Sidious, the Sith Lord behind everything. Obi-Wan had listened in shock as Mace explained how Sidious had been manipulating the Senate and the Jedi, manufacturing an entire war for his own uses. Worse, he explained, Palpatine had been using the Dark Side on Anakin, grooming him to become his new pet Sith Lord. Anakin went to Mace for help, and together they had managed to take down Palpatine, Mace’s trademark Vaapad fighting form and Anakin’s usual chaotic mix of styles coming together to result in Mace’s purple saber efficiently taking Sidious’ head off.
“Kenobi,” Mace had said in a low undertone. “I thought for a moment that Skywalker would turn. I saw the yellow flash in his eyes, and he turned his saber on me.”
Obi-Wan fought a losing battle to keep his face neutral at this news. Anakin… what kind of master was he, if he let his padawan go through this alone? How could he not have noticed?
“I don’t know what changed his mind, but his eyes cleared and he turned on Palpatine. A vision, or an instinct, or just sheer willpower… I don’t know.”
“Thank you for telling me, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan had said. Then he turned off the holoprojector and vomited all over his shoes.
He barely had time to recover, rinsing his mouth in the ‘fresher and wiping his face with shaking hands, before Cody knocked respectfully and informed him that he had another communication on the line.
“Master,” said Ahsoka worriedly, her young face frightened and blue eyes wide through the holoprojector. “Did you feel what I felt? In the Force?”
“I did,” he said. “Ahsoka, Chancellor Palpatine was the Sith Lord. He tried…”
“He tried to make Anakin his new apprentice. I know.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes widened with shock. “How did you know?”
“Maul said it,” she said. “He was convinced Anakin was evil, that Sidious always planned to recruit him. But I know him better than that, Master, I know… it can be hard for him, but he’s good, he wouldn’t do that.”
“And he didn’t,” Obi-Wan said. “He and Master Windu defeated and killed Darth Sidious.” Ahsoka breathed out a sigh of relief, and Obi-Wan felt a surge of guilt. He couldn’t bear to tell her how close Anakin had come to falling to the Dark Side… it would break her heart.
“I knew he wouldn’t,” she said, and Obi-Wan felt his heart clench.
“I take it to mean that Darth Maul is defeated?” he asked. Ahsoka nodded.
“He’s in custody aboard our star destroyer,” she said. “The 332nd is standing guard.”
“Please be careful, dear,” he said, feeling a simmering rage low in his stomach at the thought of Maul hurting Ahsoka like he had done to… he couldn’t bear to think her name right now, or he’d break down.
“Oh, Master,” said Ahsoka, like she had read his mind. “There’s more news from Mandalore I need to share.”
“What is it?” he asked, apprehensive.
“The Duchess, Satine Kryze, she’s alive,” Ahsoka stated simply, and Obi-Wan’s mind whited out in disbelief.
“No, she’s-” he started hesitantly. He had felt it, had felt her life leave her body as he held her in his arms. There was no way.
“I don’t know all the details,” said Ahsoka. “But she had been kept in a prison cell in the palace. She was weakened, but alive. I think it was some sort of Nightsister or Dark Side magic that kept her from dying.”
“You spoke to her?” whispered Obi-Wan, the last of his composure gone. He clutched the table in front of him as tears started welling in his eyes. He had only just managed to convince himself that she was gone for good, really gone, but now…
“More than that,” said Ahsoka. “She fought alongside us. She claimed the Darksaber from Maul and commanded the Mandalorian armies to drive out Death Watch once and for all. I was busy with Maul, and by the time I finished with him, she and Bo-Katan had the whole army subdued. It was amazing.”
The rest of the trip to Coruscant had passed in a blur—Obi-Wan had been vaguely aware of Cody hovering, offering him water and murmuring comforting words, but he had spent the whole trip just trying to process everything he had learned. It was not how he had been expecting his day to go—and it only got crazier when he walked off the shuttle in Coruscant only to have Anakin sprint up to him, panic in his eyes, frantically begging for help to save Padmé, who was pregnant with his unborn child. By that point, Obi-Wan’s day was already so unexpected that he had merely nodded and thought well, this may as well happen. The babies, not one child but twins, both strong and beautiful, were born two days later, their mother exhausted but healthy and proud.
“Master Kenobi?” said Depa, looking curiously at him. Obi-Wan snapped back into the present.
“My apologies, Master Billaba,” he said politely. “I was merely lost in thought.”
“It has been a trying few weeks,” said Depa, and Obi-Wan couldn’t agree more. “Have you heard any news on Maul?”
“None yet,” he said regretfully. Maul had—of course—managed to escape from his holding cell in Coruscant and disappeared somewhere off in the galaxy. “I intend to ask the Council’s permission to mount a search for him, once we finish with the chip removal for all the clone troopers. I have a few ideas on where he might head to recuperate.”
“If anyone can find him, it’s you, Master Kenobi,” said Depa kindly. Obi-Wan secretly doubted that, but inclined his head in thanks.
After a moment’s pause, Depa spoke hesitantly. “I have to ask—how are you feeling about the state of the Council?”
They had both attended the council meeting following Anakin’s departure from the Jedi Order, where Grandmaster Yoda had bowed his head with contrition and said, “Mistakes, we all have made. A dangerous path, the Dark Side has led the Jedi Order down. Change, we must, or die, we will.”
The council had gone into an uproar—Master Mundi had shot to his feet, demanding Yoda to explain, because surely he was not suggesting changing the Jedi Code?
Yoda had merely chuckled in that odd way of his, unbothered by the state of his Jedi Masters. “Indeed I am, Master Mundi. Does the river hold its course for thousands of years? No, changes its path around obstacles, it does. We, too, will be like the water, carving a new path forward to new harbors.”
Obi-Wan thought for a long moment before answering Depa. “I think… it’s not going to be easy to change, but it’s what we need—what the galaxy needs. We can be better.”
Depa’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I agree, Master,” she said. “And, if the rumors are true, they may relax the Order’s stance on attachments—both familial and romantic.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that ,” said Obi-Wan, cursing how his pale skin flushed so easily. Depa just chuckled.
“There’s much to consider for the future,” she said knowingly, and Obi-Wan was too embarrassed to meet her eyes. Was he so obvious with his affections?
“Well, please don’t hesitate to reach out if you or Padawan Dume need any help with anything in the coming weeks,” said Obi-Wan. Depa thanked him, walking off in pursuit of her padawan.
“Obi-Wan,” came a familiar voice from behind him. He turned to see his old friend Bant Eerin, smiling at him. “We’re about to start the surgery on your Commander.”
The whole procedure ended up taking less than fifteen minutes—only five minutes to remove the chip, and a few more to receive the hypo-injector that would remove the gene that caused his double-speed aging. Cody shouldn’t have been so surprised at how quick the procedure was, given how he had spent the better part of a month watching over his men’s operations, stubbornly refusing to get his until every clone in his battalion had the surgery. He didn’t feel any different, so he tentatively asked the Jedi healer—Bant, a kind Mon Cala woman, to see the chip before she incinerated it. She obliged, a knowing twinkle in her eyes that told Cody he was probably not the first clone to ask.
It was such a small thing, barely the length of the palm of his hand. Cody held back an involuntary shudder at the look of it, so natural—it could have gone undetected so easily.
Feeling slightly floaty, Cody thanked Healer Bant and exited the room, helmet tucked under his arm. He supposed he didn’t need to wear the armor anymore, now that the droid armies had all been deprogrammed, but he didn’t know what else he could wear. It wasn’t like he stocked up on civvies during the war.
His general—his Jedi—was waiting for him in the hallway. Cody stopped in his tracks, feeling like he’d been hit by a punch to the heart from a commando droid. Obi-Wan had waited for him, even after all his brothers finished and headed out. Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and one hand idly stroking his beard as he looked into the distance, deep in thought.
Beautiful, Cody thought.
Obi-Wan looked up and caught sight of Cody. A smile split his General’s face, genuine and unguarded, and Cody’s heart leapt out of his body.
“Cody,” said Obi-Wan, quietly, almost reverently. “I’m so glad you’re—it’s lovely that the procedure went well. Are you in any pain?”
“None at all, General,” Cody said, warmed to his very core by his Jedi’s concern—entirely unnecessary, as almost a million clones around the galaxy had already undergone the successful procedure with no pain and nothing more than a tiny scar on the side of their skull.
“Good, good,” said Obi-Wan. His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them, so he tucked them into his beige sleeves neatly.
Cody glanced around and realized they were alone in the hallway. Well, Kote, it’s now or never, he thought, heart now hammering double time in his chest. He had always swore that he would tell him, he really would, once the war ended. And now, Obi-Wan was in front of him, his smile was soft, framed by the lovely copper of his beard, and Cody was free—not a soldier, not a slave, but a man.
“General,” he started, and felt the words stick in his throat. Cody swallowed. Obi-Wan looked at him expectantly.
Cody continued. “I… I need to tell you something, sir. After what we learned these chips could do, I couldn’t bear to wait another moment. If things had gone differently, and I had hurt you-”
“You could never hurt me, Cody,” Obi-Wan murmured at this, tilting his head and holding Cody’s gaze.
“But I could have,” said Cody firmly. “I would have. It wouldn’t have been me, but they would use my body to hurt you, and—if I had hurt you, intentionally or not, I would have stopped being me. That would have been it.”
“Don’t say that,” said Obi-Wan quietly, but Cody continued, voice strong.
“I can’t bear the idea that you could have died without knowing. I love you, General. Obi-Wan. I know you don’t—you don’t need to feel the same way. I just needed you to know.”
Cody held Obi-Wan’s gaze for a moment longer, waiting for his Jedi to reply. Obi-Wan looked poleaxed by Cody’s words, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. The moment stretched on, silent but so heavy between them, and Cody couldn’t bear it any more. He dropped his gaze.
Say something, he wanted to beg. Say anything. But his General stayed silent.
Seconds passed. Cody hazarded a glance back up and his stomach swooped to rest somewhere around his knees. Obi-Wan was gazing at him with sadness in his eyes—no, worse. It was pity. Cody’s heart felt like it had been turned to ice, so far from the warmth he felt just moments ago.
What a fucking idiot you are to fall in love with the untouchable Jedi, he thought. As if it could end any other way. As if Obi-Wan, beautiful and golden and strong, could ever fall in love with a mindless war machine without even a unique face to claim as his own.
“Alright,” he muttered. He didn’t want to be in this conversation, with those eyes on him, a moment longer than he absolutely had to. He nodded curtly at Obi-Wan. “See you around,” he managed, before turning crisply on his heel and striding out, the image of the well-trained military commander.
“Cody,” he heard his General call helplessly from behind him. Cody squeezed his eyes closed and willed himself to keep walking forward until he turned the corner and disappeared from Obi-Wan’s sight. Obi-Wan did not follow him.
He kept his burning eyes straight ahead as he made his way out of the Jedi temple. At one point, a Jedi attempted to greet him—General Mundi, he recognized distantly—but Cody kept walking until he was out on the rainy Coruscant street. He hailed a speeder mindlessly and hopped in. When the droid asked him where to go, though, he realized he had no answer. He didn’t particularly want to return to the barracks with his men. They were still allowed there, of course, as they had no alternative housing arrangements, but he couldn’t bear to see his men just yet.
“Take me to 79’s,” he instructed the speeder droid. The speeder pulled off and Cody sighed deeply, resting his head on the back of the seat. There was only one person he could think to talk to right now. He pulled out his comm and dialed, the number familiar as his own.
“Hey, vod, ” came his brother’s voice, crackly through the speaker. “What’s up?”
“Rex,” said Cody, grateful at his brother’s familiar voice. “Are you free? Could you meet me at 79’s?”
“Sure, I could swing that,” said Rex doubtfully. “You can’t stand 79’s, Codes, what’s going on?”
Cody bit his lip and tried to swallow down a very un-commander-like sob from deep in his throat. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so strung out and shaky, not even after the most violent of battles. He tried to steady his breathing but couldn’t quite trust himself to get a word out without breaking down like a tubie. His brother knew him too well, though, and heard everything he didn’t say loud and clear.
“I can be there in 5 minutes,” said Rex firmly. “Just—I’ll be there soon, vod.” The communicator clicked off.
Cody stumbled out of the speeder and into the bar unseeingly. The place was raucous and joyful, celebrating the end of the war still, almost two months after Grievous and Dooku had been killed. More clone battalions returned home each day, transports finally arriving from posts in the Outer Rim and beyond, and Coruscant was now home to more clones than ever before. It was getting hard to walk, truthfully, and Cody had to elbow past a large group of drunken brothers singing a loud and bawdy song about Nautolan women. Cody was extremely uninterested in their antics, and managed to signal the barkeep droid for two Corellian whiskeys. He slid into a miraculously empty booth—sticky from something Cody was loath to think about—and tipped his glass back, swallowing the contents and grimacing at the taste on his tongue.
As he stared into his empty glass, he thought about the look on Obi-Wan’s face, and impulsively grabbed the second glass of whiskey and swallowed that down as well. He glanced up as he felt someone sitting next to him—small mercies, it was Rex, dressed casually in a black jacket and trousers. At least one of them was able to adjust to civilian life.
“Sorry I didn’t save you a drink,” Cody mumbled, keeping his eyes down on the table, not wanting to see his brother’s expression.
“I don’t care about that, Cody, just tell me what happened,” said Rex, patient eyes boring into him. Cody’s throat felt thick with tears, but he blinked back his emotions and kept the tears from falling.
“I told him how I felt,” said Cody hoarsely. Rex should be pleased at that—he had always tried to convince Cody to just tell General Kenobi the truth, but Cody had always refused. But Rex didn’t look pleased. His dark brows drew together over his eyes and his nose wrinkled at Cody’s expression.
“What did he say?” asked Rex.
“Nothing,” said Cody, and closed his eyes. He let the laughter and the music and the noise of the bar rush over him. “He stared at me and he said nothing. And then I left.”
“Shit,” muttered Rex, mostly to himself.
“Yeah,” said Cody with a small laugh. “Shit.”
Rex shook his head at that. He looked angry—Cody wondered if he was angry at Obi-Wan. Maybe he was angry at the whole damn galaxy.
“He’s an idiot, vod,” said Rex. “He’s—he’s a damn fool, he shouldn’t have done that to you, he-!”
“Nah, Rex,” said Cody tiredly “He’s right. He’s so… everything. Why would he care for the love of one damn clone? Not even a handsome one at that.”
Rex snorted at that. “We’ll have to disagree on that one, brother,” he said. “He’s a dumbass, you won’t change my mind on that.”
“But you like General Kenobi,” Cody protested weakly. “He’s a good man and a great leader, and-”
“I can like him as a General, sure,” Rex interrupted. “But right now he’s just a man who’s making my brother sad, and that’s all that’s needed to get him on my shit list.”
Cody managed a laugh at that.
“I just don’t know what comes next,” said Cody, his voice thin as he tried to shove down his hurt. “Who am I without the war? Who am I without him ?”
Rex sighed, rubbing a hand on Cody’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry I don’t have the answer to that, Codes,” he said. “I’m not particularly sure for myself, either, or any of us. I figure I’ll stick with Anakin and Ahsoka, if they’ll have me—there’s two more little Skywalkers who need me looking out for them, after all.”
“Ba'vodu Rex,” said Cody fondly, a small smile on his face. Staying with his commanders was a perfectly fine solution for Rex, but Cody had just been rejected by his—he’d have to find something else.
“Come to dinner tomorrow,” said Rex. “Anakin and the Senator are having me over, you should come. You can meet the babies, and we can discuss what comes next. I know Senator Amidala wanted to share what the Senate has been up to.”
Cody hummed doubtfully. “He’ll be there, though.” It wasn’t a question—there was no doubt that if the Skywalker family were there, Obi-Wan would be too.
“Probably,” admitted Rex, tilting his head.
Cody bit back a sigh. He knew Rex was probably trying to be optimistic that some positive outcome would come out of this, but Cody honestly didn’t see how things could be mended between them. He’d opened the cage and let out the rancor of his feelings, and he’d never get it back in again.
“C’mon, Cody, please?” said Rex, turning his tooka-cat eyes on Cody. He had always been helpless to resist his little brother when he really wanted something.
“Fine,” said Cody. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for his family, after all.
Family… An idea started to form in Cody’s mind. Maybe, if Coruscant wasn’t the place for clones, they could go back to distant roots, coded deep in their DNA.
“What’s got you smiling, Codes?” said Rex suspiciously.
“Yaim’ol,” said Cody, looking at his befuddled brother.
“Is that Mando’a?” he asked. “You know I never paid attention to those lessons.”
“Means homecoming,” said Cody with a grin, as his idea started to form. Maybe there was a place for them after all.
The sound of wailing met Obi-Wan’s ears before he even opened the door.
“Oh, dear,” he muttered as he punched in his door code and entered Padmé’s apartment to the chaotic scene in front of him. Anakin was laid out on the ground, hair wild, wearing what looked like one of Padmé’s nightgowns, with one of the twins cradled to his chest as they beat their tiny fists and screamed.
“Shh, shh, princess,” he whispered, not noticing Obi-Wan’s presence. “Mama will be back soon, I promise.”
“Anything I can help with?” asked Obi-Wan, settling cross-legged next to Anakin and baby Leia.
“Oh, hi, Obi-Wan,” said Anakin, not opening his eyes. “Dangerous to be here. Luke had a poop explosion and Leia is mad that Mommy’s gone away to clean him.”
“Oh, little one,” chuckled Obi-Wan, resting a hand on Leia’s small back and sending a wave of calm to both father and daughter through the Force. Leia’s wails quieted slightly, and Anakin’s head snapped to Obi-Wan.
“How did you do that?” he demanded. “Teach me?”
Obi-Wan laughed. “It seems a teacher’s job is never done,” he said.
Padmé entered the living room, more disheveled than Obi-Wan had ever seen her. She wore a baggy buttoned shirt over cotton pajama pants—probably Anakin’s, had they accidentally traded wardrobes?—and threw a spit-up stained cloth towards the couch as she went.
“Hello, Obi-Wan,” she said, settling herself on the ground and stretching out to lay beside her husband, running her hand across Leia’s back. “Luke’s asleep. His poop adventure wore him right out.”
Obi-Wan’s heart filled to see the two of them so affectionate and unguarded. They had instituted a “full honesty” policy after Palpatine’s defeat, when Anakin came to him with tears in his eyes, grasping Padmé’s hand and telling Obi-Wan and Ahsoka the story of how he nearly lost control following the untimely death of his mother.
“If Padmé hadn’t been there to talk me down, I don’t know what I would have done to those people,” he had choked out. “I just feel like everything would have been different if I had made the wrong choice then.”
Since that conversation, things had been different, more comfortable and honest between them—like they were family. Anakin had proudly proclaimed Obi-Wan and Ahsoka as his brother and sister, naming them as Luke and Leia’s aunt and uncle. A year ago, Padmé with all her dignified sensibilities never would have dreamed of allowing herself to be seen dirty and exhausted, hair a rat’s nest, but they were a proper family now.
“Do you need any help preparing dinner?” asked Obi-Wan. Neither of them seemed to be very mentally prepared to get up from the comfortable carpet, with Leia snuffling quietly in Anakin’s arms, her cries reduced to small whimpers.
“I sent Threepio to get takeout,” said Padmé unconcernedly.
“Wait, but I sent Ahsoka to get takeout,” said Anakin sleepily. Padmé laughed, turning her face into his shoulder and squeezing his arm.
“We’ll just have leftovers for the next week,” she said.
“Got a full house, anyway,” said Anakin, who seemed to be moments from dozing off. “Rex said Cody’s coming too.”
Obi-Wan felt his stomach drop. “Cody’s coming?” he asked. Padmé glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing at his tone, but mercifully Anakin didn’t seem to notice.
I can’t see him, said the panicking part of Obi-Wan’s mind. I need to see him, said the rest.
He still didn’t know how to feel—he couldn’t put words to the way that his heart had simultaneously dropped to his feet and soared to the sky when he heard Cody say those words. He wanted to say thank you, or me too, or I’m scared, or you shouldn’t—but the words wouldn’t come. The horrible cocktail of fear and joy had rendered him absolutely speechless, and Cody had… he had just walked away from him.
It’s better that way, he reminded himself. He is better without me. He didn’t mean what he said.
“You okay, Obi-Wan?” asked Padmé, looking at him. For someone with very little Force sensitivity, she did have a way of making Obi-Wan feel like she was reading his mind.
“Of course, dear,” he said, shaking the thoughts away. “How are you?”
Padmé didn’t look very impressed by his attempts at deflection, but didn’t push the matter.
“Alright,” she said. “I met with Bail and Mon earlier, we’re just about ready to put the new Articles to a vote. I’ll share more at dinner.”
“I already know they’ll be a resounding success,” Obi-Wan reassured her. She smiled at him, exhaustion and pride clear on her face.
Obi-Wan pushed himself up from the floor. “Ahsoka is approaching the apartment,” he said. “I’ll make sure she enters quietly and doesn’t wake your babies—all three of them.”
Padmé laughed affectionately as she looked and realized that Anakin was, in fact, fast asleep on the ground with Leia snuggled on his chest, both of them snoring lightly.
Obi-Wan slid the door open quietly, meeting Ahsoka in the hallway where she stood with two enormous bags of food in foldable flimsi containers.
“The twins are sleeping,” he explained as he took one of the bags from her, leading her to the kitchen. “And Anakin is as well.”
Ahsoka laughed. “He was already dead on his feet when I left an hour ago, so that doesn’t surprise me.”
The two of them set up the kitchen, adding the second batch of takeout food when C-3PO brought it inside. As they worked, Ahsoka eyed Obi-Wan with curiosity.
“You’re going to ask the Council permission to go after Maul now that the clones have all had their chips removed, right?” she asked. Obi-Wan felt a brief surge of surprise, but it quickly faded. In some ways, he still saw her as the naive child she was when the war started, but she was different now—more mature, more serious, and more perceptive. In Obi-Wan’s estimation, she had become a true Jedi to the core—he would never tell her that, not after what the Council had put her through.
“Actually, I already did,” he admitted. “The Council approved my request for a solo mission this morning. I believe I have some leads in Hutt-controlled space who will be able to provide me with information to start the search.”
“It won’t be easy,” said Ahsoka. “I want to come with you and help.”
“Oh, no,” he said, startled. “I couldn’t ask you to do that-”
“You’re not asking,” she said, blue eyes serious. “I’m telling. I am coming with you, I need to help. Maul was my responsibility.”
“Not the case at all, my dear,” he said, pausing in his distribution of the food to sit across from her. “Of anyone, the Coruscant prison guards are to blame—they were distracted by the end of the war, and they should have been more careful, to be sure—but if Maul truly wanted to escape, there’s very little that would stop him. I worry that this can only end in his death.”
Obi-Wan felt the knot of old pain and fear in his chest, remembering how frightened he had been when Qui-Gon had fallen to Maul’s red blade, and how that fear had come surging back over ten years later when Maul resurfaced. It was time to put an end to it once and for all.
“I can help,” she said. “I’m an independent citizen now, I don’t need approval from the Council or anyone. I’ll be able to help you, Master.”
“You’d probably stow away with me even if I banned you from coming,” said Obi-Wan fondly. Ahsoka’s face split into a wide smile, allowing her youth to shine through.
“Are we yelling at Snips for ignoring direct orders? Because if so, I have lots to add,” said Anakin, shuffling into the room, still looking mostly asleep.
“Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, my padawan,” said Obi-Wan, amused. Anakin had changed into more company-appropriate clothes than his nightgown from earlier, but still looked tired and wan. Despite his clear exhaustion, his presence in the Force felt lighter and more joyful than it had since the start of the war.
“The twins are down,” he said, settling in across from them and scrubbing his face with his hands. “I swear they always fall asleep holding hands. I honestly cried when I first saw it.”
“They’re going to be best friends their whole lives,” said Ahsoka fondly. “Inseparable.”
“That’s the plan,” said Anakin, yawning widely. “Anyway, Rex should be walking up now. He called a few minutes ago to say he was on his way with Cody.”
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, trying to release his emotions into the Force. He had just managed to get his pounding heart under control when he heard the two clones entering, talking with Padmé as they approached the kitchen, and his traitorous heart sped right back up again.
He fidgeted uncomfortably as Anakin and Ahsoka leapt up to hug Rex, the three of them laughing and smiling. Obi-Wan tucked his fingers into his sleeves, tugging at the fabric to try and find an outlet for his frayed nerves, unable to keep his eyes from darting to Cody. He looked unfairly handsome, golden in the evening sunlight. Obi-Wan’s mouth went dry at the sight of him—he was dressed casually in a leather jacket and dark trousers, his curly hair grown out slightly from its usual tight crew cut, shaggy in a way that Obi-Wan had never seen before. He wanted to drag his fingers through it.
Obi-Wan didn’t realize he was staring until Cody looked directly at him. The eye contact startled both of them, Obi-Wan blinking but not wanting to draw his eyes away. Cody, however, sighed noticeably and turned his eyes back towards Rex. Feeling like he’d been punched in the chest, Obi-Wan turned back towards the table, biting his tongue to keep back his disappointment. Of course—Cody didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, Obi-Wan was so foolish for wanting what he couldn’t have-
Obi-Wan was pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his elbow—he looked to see Ahsoka looking at him with concern. He cursed silently—he should be better at hiding his feelings, he should release them into the Force and move on like a proper Jedi.
“Now, please, can we eat?” demanded Anakin, drawing everyone’s attention towards the dinner table. “I’m starving, wrangling two babies uses up a lot of energy.”
As they ate, Padmé dove into the explanation of the new Democratic Articles set to be proposed by Bail Organa, the new Chancellor. Obi-Wan followed as much as he could, losing the track slightly when Padmé devolved into explaining detailed legalia and complex political machinations—but he followed enough to understand that they would be an excellent new framework for the Republic to grow stronger and support all the people of the galaxy. Padmé’s face shone with pride as she talked about the clause outlawing slavery on all Republic planets, squeezing Anakin’s hand as he smiled at her.
Conversation shifted to lighter topics after dinner ended—Anakin regaled everyone with stories of the twins, Padmé described her awkward run-in with Orn Free Taa in the Senate commissary, and Rex talked about taking some of his younger 501st troopers to the store to buy their first ever civilian outfits.
Everyone was happy and laughing, but Obi-Wan still felt a tight clench in his heart every time he glanced in Cody’s direction. He managed to distract himself somewhat after dinner, when the twins woke up and began to fidget in their crib. Anakin and Padmé fetched them and everyone settled in on the living room couches.
Ahsoka immediately flopped belly-down on the living room floor, next to Leia, who was waving her chubby hands and feet into the air, blinking up from where she was stretched out happily on her play mat. Ahsoka cooed and ran her fingers over Leia’s stomach, the girl squeezing Ahsoka’s thumb in her strong baby fingers.
“Here’s our sunshine boy,” said Anakin, bouncing Luke in his arms and holding him out to Obi-Wan, who gratefully accepted, settling in on the couch and nestling Luke in his arms. Sunshine was an apt descriptor—the baby boy was strong and bright in the Force, innocent power burning clearly in Obi-Wan’s senses. He blinked his bright blue eyes up at Obi-Wan and settled in, little mouth moving sleepily. Obi-Wan squeezed Luke tighter.
I’ll do anything to keep you two safe, he thought. I’d kill for you, and die for you if I had to.
Luke didn’t seem to care—he just snuggled deeper into Obi-Wan’s arms. Making a decision, Obi-Wan looked up at the group, making eye contact with Ahsoka and nodding.
“I have news,” he said. “I will be leaving Coruscant shortly to pursue Maul. The Council has already approved my mission. I have no way of knowing where he is exactly—knowing him, he’s probably moved planets several times already—but I do have a starting point, and I should be able to pursue him from there.”
“And I’m going too,” said Ahsoka, sitting upright and crossing her legs. “I’ll operate as an independent citizen, and I’ll help Obi-Wan find Maul and bring him back once and for all.”
“Absolutely not,” said Anakin promptly. Obi-Wan was not particularly surprised, and sighed deeply. Ahsoka rolled her eyes.
“Ani,” scolded Padmé.
“What?” snapped Anakin. “I won’t have them going after that bastard by themselves, it’s too dangerous. They need help, they need more backup—I’ll tell the Council what I think about their stupid plan-”
“Anakin, please,” said Obi-Wan. A slight headache was starting to throb in his forehead. “Ahsoka and I will be fine , we are well-trained and well-prepared. We’ve both beat him independently in direct combat, no small feat—together will be no issue.”
“But I don’t want you-” started Anakin.
“Ani, remember what we practiced?” said Padmé sternly. Anakin sighed heavily.
“I do not control my loved ones, they make their own decisions,” he recited like a mantra.
“Exactly,” said Ahsoka. “Trust me, Skyguy, we’ll be smart, we’ll send you comms every single day, we’ll be okay.”
“What if I came with?” asked Rex. “I’d like to play a part in getting him behind bars. I’m also an independent citizen now, officially, so I could come along.”
Ahsoka grinned up at Rex, excited. Obi-Wan considered it—it was a good idea, Rex’s strategic know-how and unflappable demeanor would serve them well.
“We’d be glad to have you along, Commander,” said Obi-Wan, smiling at him.
“Okay, I can get behind that,” said Anakin, warming to the idea. “Rex, I can trust you to keep them in line, right?”
“C’mon, Skyguy, you have so little faith in us?” said Ahsoka, smiling indulgently.
“I have faith in Rex, that’s for damn sure,” said Anakin, leaning over to shove Ahsoka lightly on the forehead. She wrinkled her nose at him in distaste.
“So it’s settled,” said Obi-Wan. “Rex, Ahsoka and I will start the search for Maul.”
“You’ll get him, Obi-Wan,” said Anakin confidently. “And if he hurts any of you, I’ll kill him.”
Cody, who had until this point been listening quietly, sat forward.
“I’ve made a decision, as well,” he said. Obi-Wan’s hands tightened involuntarily where he held Luke as he looked at Cody’s serious, open face.
“I’ve been thinking hard about where the clones go from here,” he continued. “Senator, you’ve been doing amazing work to line up jobs and housing, not to mention your hard work to reverse the double-speed aging—but there’s a lot of us, and not so many jobs.”
Padmé frowned. “I wish I could do more,” she said. “It’s like fighting an uphill battle to convince the others to approve relief bills and job creation—some senators refuse point-blank to consider it at all.”
“And I’ve been talking to the men, from the 212th and other divisions, and honestly, a lot of them don’t want to reside permanently in Coruscant. Boil left for Ryloth last week, and he’s not the only one. There’s not too many clones who want to stay here, but we don’t really have anywhere else to go. I know the Senate suggested Kamino as an option, now that the longnecks are all in prison, but that’s never been a home for most of us.”
Cody paused, collecting his thoughts. Rex nudged his brother with his elbow, encouraging him. Cody looked up confidently, speaking with conviction.
“I want to move to Mandalore,” he said, and Obi-Wan felt the floor drop out from under him. Clearly, the others were surprised as well—Anakin looked confused, and Ahsoka turned towards Obi-Wan for clarification.
“Jango Fett was a Mandalorian,” said Obi-Wan, remembering meeting the man back before the war started. His face was so cruel and cold—identical yet so different from the lovely brown eyes and kind smile Cody bore.
“In some ways,” said Cody, still not looking at Obi-Wan. “He was an exile from Mandalorian society—I guess his work as a bounty hunter meant he wasn’t considered Mandalorian anymore by the pacifists in the capitol. That’s how he told it, at least. But he still raised us, at least us in the first generation, like Mandalorian soldiers. We learned Mando’a and Mandalorian fighting tactics, as well as the history and culture. A few of us in the command class were pretty heavily involved in those courses—Wolffe, Fox, Bly, myself—while others cared more about slacking off and learning Mando’a swear words.” He offered his brother a wry smirk.
Rex chuckled, unapologetic. “Yeah, I’ll own up to that,” he said. “After Cody’s batch, they started ramping up production and there were suddenly too many tubies and not enough resources to keep the lessons up. Plus, by that point, Fett was more concerned with raising his ‘real’ kid. The Kaminoans certainly didn’t care about teaching the new clones. A lot of the younger cadets don’t even know they are Mandalorian.”
“You can choose to be Mandalorian, right?” asked Anakin. “Like there’s a creed?”
“Yes,” said Cody. “Being Mandalorian isn’t about genetics or race, it’s about upholding the Resol’nare—the Creed—and swearing your life to your people. I have a few men from the 212th who are willing to come with me. If I can get an audience with the new Mand’alor, I can propose my idea to her. I think I could help get housing structured and organized, teach Mando’a lessons, and get a citizenship program going for any clones who want to return to their Mandalorian roots.”
Obi-Wan felt like he might burst from the pride he felt, mingling with longing so severe he felt it like a knife in his chest. Cody, so wise and determined, a champion for his brothers—of course he would find this solution. But if it took Cody away from Coruscant, away from Obi-Wan, he didn’t know if he could bear it.
“I think that sounds wonderful, Commander,” said Padmé, beaming. “If I may, I’d love to visit Mandalore with you to help you get started. I want to visit the new Mand’alor, anyway—and tell her off for going and dying on me!”
Obi-Wan kept his face neutral—he had managed to keep his final visit to Mandalore secret from the others, the pain burning too bright for him to put into words. None of them knew he had been there, had held Satine in his arms as she died—but he supposed it didn’t matter now, because she had survived against all odds.
“Do you think she’ll be open to my proposition?” Cody asked. His tone was casual, but Obi-Wan could read between the lines, could see the tight nervousness clear on his face. “I’ve never properly met her, only briefly during the war.”
“Satine is a wonderful woman,” explained Padmé. “She’s passionate about helping all Mandalorians and bringing her planet to a brighter future. I know she’ll work with you on this. And I’ll be there too, so it can be a proper diplomatic mission from the Republic—now that the war is over, we can foster peace between the Republic and Mandalore, maybe open up trade with them some day.”
“I’d be honored if you wanted to accompany me,” said Cody, nodding to the Senator. “I don’t exactly have much diplomatic experience on my own.”
“Oh! Anakin,” said Padmé, so wrapped up in her love for diplomacy that she momentarily forgot her husband. “Would you be okay by yourself with the babies? I’d just go for a few days, then I’d be back.”
Anakin laid a hand on his wife’s knee. “Padmé, I want nothing more than to spend every day with these kids for the rest of my life. I’ve got this, you can go with Cody.”
“And you can have Dormé and Saché here to help out, I’ll bring Moteé with me,” mused Padmé. “Yes, I think this should work!”
Obi-Wan kept silent—he couldn’t hold back the twinge of hurt that Cody was going so far away, uprooting his whole life, without breathing a word of it to Obi-Wan.
I suppose that’s just it, he thought. I’m not his General anymore, he’s not my Commander, he’s not mine at all. The thought hurt like a physical brand, but he would have to bite down the pain—he couldn’t keep Cody, couldn’t possess him, couldn’t confess his feelings—it couldn’t be done.
Obi-Wan kept his mouth shut for the rest of the evening, even as Rex and Cody excused themselves after dessert, Padmé promising to message Cody for details of their upcoming trip. As the evening shadows grew longer, Obi-Wan let himself relax into the back of the couch. Ahsoka curled herself up on the couch next to him like a cat, dozing comfortably. Padmé and Anakin sat together on the armchair, Padmé feeding the twins comfortably, the two of them talking quietly and giggling like schoolchildren.
He knew he’d have to start his work tomorrow, gathering supplies, organizing transportation, meeting with informants—but for the time being, Obi-Wan sunk into contentment, enjoying the quiet with his family, and felt at ease.