Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Pack your things. We’re going home,” 

The baby Jedi, staring wide-eyed at Stone, took a second to register his words and then cheered loudly. The creche masters, hovering on the peripheries, let out a sigh of relief. 

For nearly two months, the initiates from the Temple on Coruscant had been away from home. At first, they stayed away just in case the peace talks ended in violence. And then, they stayed away to ensure a smooth transition of power over to Fox as well as for the majority of the clean-up efforts to complete. They needed to scrub the feeling of death from Coruscant's surface. Baby Jedi were sensitive to that sort of thing.

Stone and the other adults who had left Coruscant with them did their best to keep the baby Jedi safe and calm during the tumultuous times. 

He thought he did a fairly good job. The kids shed more than a few tears, mostly due to homesickness and a little bit of anxiety once they found out what exactly had happened. 

But they all put on brave faces and helped AgriCorps with their work. They went to lessons. They meditated in large groups. Stone joined them any time they asked. Until one day, Crechemaster Beq pulled him aside and said, “You don’t need to wait for an invitation. You can join us for meditation at any time.” 

Stone wanted to argue and point out this was a Jedi thing. Instead, he went more often. 

When he first left Coruscant, he tried to keep up with his Corrie Duties. However, given the distance, Fox told him to take a break and focus on keeping the kids alive. So, he did as Fox commanded and spent the past two months helping with bath times, remembering which kid could eat which type of food, brushing hair, reading bedtime stories, and everything else. 

The strangest thing happened when he did all this: He slept through the night and didn’t have a single nightmare. 

Sure, for the first few days when he didn’t know the full extent of the damage he had nightmares. But once he knew his brothers were safe and Palpatine died, poof. No more nightmares. A solid six hours of sleep. He didn’t know that was possible. The first morning after it happened, he thought someone had drugged him. 

Nope. 

No drugs. 

Just good old-fashioned sleep. 

He hoped it would continue when they got back to Coruscant.

“Alright, cadets. Let’s move it. Everyone keep with their buddy and make sure they got everything,” Stone said as he balanced Grogu on his hip and directed an army of excited baby Jedi to pack their things in a somewhat orderly manner. 

Easier said than done. Talking about going home interested the kids more than packing. 

Zizi tugged on his hand. “Are you going with us, Master Stone?” 

He long gave up on trying to get them to call him anything other than Master Stone. “Of course I am. I gotta get home too,” he said. 

“But are you coming back to the temple with us?” She pressed. 

“Yeah, I’ll help drop you off at the temple.” 

Zizi’s face screwed up with frustration. “Are you staying with us?” 

“Staying with you? At the temple?” 

She nodded. 

“Nah. I’m going to stay at the barracks. I got a job to do on Coruscant,” he said. 

“But--” 

“Zizi,” Master Ali-Alann said. “Get your things packed. We don’t want to leave anything behind.” 

Zizi grumbled and stepped away from Stone and back towards her bed. 

Stone turned to monitor the rest of the cadets. 

Staying at the temple? 

Ridiculous. 

As a clone commander of the Coruscant Guard, he couldn’t stay at the temple. He had a job to do. 

He let out a tired sigh, feeling exhausted and weary at the prospect. 

No more bath times. No more story times. Just reading report after report about public disturbances and murders and theft and whatever else plagued Coruscant’s streets. 

He could feel the sleep slipping away from him with every second that passed. But what else could he do? 

He wasn’t a Jedi. He didn’t have Force Sensitivity. He was a clone commander. He had a duty to his brothers and to the Republic. 

So, as much as it pained him, he would do his duty. He would return to the Coruscant Guard. 

Besides, the baby Jedi helped out before. Maybe they could do it again. 

*****

Turns out, they didn’t need the baby Jedi or the padawans to help out anymore. Fox passed several bills that increased the budget of the Coruscant Guard and allowed them to hire nat borns to work with them, increasing the number of people on staff so they only had twenty percent vacancies instead of the eighty from before. 

No more Baby Jedi stopping by and helping fill out paperwork. 

That was fine. It made Stone happy. The kids deserved to live a life as kids and not as mini-adults doing work.  

He got back to Coruscant, made sure all the kids were safe, and then slid back into his old position. 

Coruscant still looked like shit. He and the others left before the major droid attack. They couldn’t repair all the damage in two months. They might never repair all the damage. Still, that didn’t mean things hadn’t improved. 

Fox had taken to the role of chancellor with gusto and a glee that worried Stone a bit. Not for himself, mind you. But for any poor unfortunate, corrupt soul unlucky enough to cross Fox’s path. Thorn had taken up Fox’s old position as marshal commander. Thire ran the prison system. Which left Stone to take up Thorn’s old position. 

He excelled at it, of course. He didn’t think a single thing existed that a trooper couldn’t excel at. The sleep he had been getting with the baby Jedi ceased to exist. He spent his nights dreaming of unfinished reports and inaccurate witness statements. 

Slowly but surely, things returned to normal. 

Sometimes, he’d look up, ready to ask a baby Jedi if they finished copying those files. 

Right. 

No more baby Jedi. 

Just a nat-born who somehow had less dexterity than a five-year-old. Maybe being dexterous at five years old was something only cadets and Jedi could be. 

He got up every morning and commuted to the base. He went through the day’s cases, did role call, followed up on documents that hadn’t been completed, assigned tasks, coordinated with Thire prisoner transport, got lunch at a kebab cart that hung out around the base, got dinner at the mess hall, then collapsed in his bunk exhausted but never able to fall asleep. The next day’s tasks demanded his attention. 

He’d pass out. Get maybe four hours of sleep, then wake up the next day and do it all over again. 

Such was the life of Clone Commander Stone. 

Fox summoned him to his office about three months in. 

Stone went without question. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Fox asked as he signed a document and then shoved it at one of his aides. “Go, give this to Free Taa and tell him to quit bothering me.” 

“ Yes sir,” the aide said. They weren’t a brother, so they had perhaps an unnecessary level of fear towards Fox.  

Or a necessary one, depending on who you asked.

“You asked me to be here, sir?” Stone said as the aide scrambled past him. 

“I know I asked you to be here. I mean what are you doing with the Corries?” 

“My job?”

Fox’s words confused Stone. Had he not been doing a good enough job? Had he been slipping? He shouldn’t be. With the extra help, they were more efficient than ever before. He knew Fox had high standards. But Stone met every single marker given to him. 

“You fucking hate being a Corrie,” Fox continued. 

“I don’t--” 

“Oh, don’t give me that shit. You do. I know you do.” His phone rang. “What?” he barked, picking it up and practically slamming it against his head. 

The person on the other line spoke.

“Send it to Amidala. She’s the one running the corruption trial.” 

More speaking.

“Then fucking start cutting off fingers if they don’t give you the information you need. I don’t fucking care.” He slammed down the phone and then massaged his temples with his fingertips. 

“Sir, I can go if you need me to.” 

“I can multitask,” he growled. He pulled a datapad to him and signed it. 

“Shouldn’t you read that before you sign it?” 

“I did.” 

“Okay, then.” 

“Stone, we aren’t slaves anymore. You can leave. I’m not forcing you to stay. Thorn’s not forcing you to stay. No one will blame you if you want to fuck off.” 

“But, my brothers. I have a duty to them and to the Republic.” 

“Fuck the Republic,” Fox growled once more. 

“You’re the Chancellor!” 

“And I hate it now even more than before. Because now, not only do I get to see what a fucking mess this is, I get to be the one to deal with it and fix shit.” 

The phone rang again. 

“What?” He barked. “Then fucking tell them they can leave. I made a fucking form and everything. If they want to go, they can go. I’m not stopping them.” He slammed the phone down. “Stone, do not spend your life doing what you think you should be doing. Or what you think I want you to be doing. I did not spend a year of my life plotting to kill Palpatine for our brothers to continue being miserable slaves. You’ve done your duty. You’ve protected the Republic. Leave. Besides, we’re not a fucking cult. You can still stay at the barracks and visit the Corrie office and whatever else the fuck you want to do. Now get out of here. I have a meeting with… someone. Who the fuck do I have a meeting with?” He dug through his stacks of datapads, now completely ignoring Stone. A sign that he no longer had anything to say. 

Stone could stay. But he’d be standing in silence, completely ignored while Fox’s mind became wrapped up in whatever task he needed to complete next. 

So, he saluted (did you salute your chancellor?) and stepped out of the room. 

He went straight back to the Corrie Base to finish up his shift. He gave more orders and coordinated with Thire and Thorn. He reviewed applications for various positions that needed to be filled. He went to the mess hall for dinner. They had soup on the menu. He hated Soup Day. 

After dinner, he went to the gym and got a solid weight-lifting session in. 

A shower. 

A fresh pair of blacks. 

Then he collapsed onto his bunk, feeling like he would pass out the second his head hit the pillow but knowing that wouldn’t happen. 

And it didn’t. 

He lay there, awake for hours. 

Only this time, instead of to-do lists for tomorrow and trying to solve problems that had popped up during the day, he thought about Fox’s words. 

Leave. 

If he didn’t like it, he could leave. 

And he didn’t like it. 

He never liked it. 

He thought he did. For the longest time, he liked working with his brothers and completing missions. 

That had been before. 

Before the baby Jedi had shown up. Before he started teaching them and watching out for them. Before he spent two months taking care of them. 

Before he learned there were other options available to him. 

It felt strange. The Kaminoans made him for war. Designed him for war. He wasn’t supposed to be soft. To care and nurture. 

He never felt like a soldier with the baby Jedi. He never feared hurting them or making them cry like the trainers he had growing up. 

The crechemasters never seemed worried Stone would be anything other than gentle with the baby Jedi. They never questioned that he could be more. They accepted it. 

He didn’t want to be a Corrie. He wanted to be a crechemaster. 

But how did he go about doing that? 

*****

“How to apply for a job: research the company and job opening thoroughly, update your resume and cover letter to fit the specific role, submit your application through the preferred method (usually online), and follow up with the hiring manager after applying; be sure to tailor your application materials to each job you apply for, highlighting the most relevant skills and experiences. Seems easy enough,” he muttered as he clicked through the article. He had never written a resume or cover letter before. 

“How to write a resume,” he muttered, typing it into the search bar. 

“What are you doing?” Crescent asked as he peaked over Stone’s shoulder. “Applying for a job?” 

“I want to be a crechemaster,” he said. He told Thire and Thorn earlier. Both had been supportive and helped him fill out the form for him to leave the GAR. However, all three agreed he should first get a job before leaving. Just to make the transition smoother. 

Crescent was the first person he had admitted this to outside of Thire and Thorn. 

Waiting for his reaction made him nervous. Sure, Fox said he could leave if he wanted to and that he wasn’t abandoning his brothers. What if they didn’t see it that way? 

“Do you need help?” Crescent asked. 

Stone let out a sigh of relief. Of course, they supported him. Troopers had to support each other, no matter what. Before, and even now, they were the only people they could count on in many cases. 

“Please,” Stone groaned. “I’ve never written a resume or cover letter before.” 

Crescent sat next to him. “I’ve never either. How hard can it be?” 

Very hard, as it turned out. 

“We don’t have a specific role to fit your resume to,” Archer said as he scrolled through yet another site promising help with building a resume. “And why are they all asking me to subscribe? What am I subscribing to? How many jobs do nat borns apply to?” 

“It says you should do reverse chronological order,” Sidewinder added. “But you’ve only ever had the one job.” 

“But he’s been promoted a bunch,” Hound said. “That can be his reverse chronological order.” 

“Will it look weird, though? Just seeing a bunch of one-month jobs? And he was command class so it’s not like he started all the way down at the bottom,” Thire said. 

“Are we even allowed to be doing this?” Sol asked. He had been put in charge of the cover letter. “Is it illegal to have other people fill out your resume and cover letter for you ?” 

“No. Doesn’t say so on any of the sites,” Archer pointed out. “Some of them even offer to do it for you.” 

“And he has to approve of everything before we send it in,” Crescent added. 

“This site says you should have references,” Robin added. 

“References!” Stone groaned. He hadn’t expected applying for a job to be so difficult. Maybe he should just stay a Corrie.  

“I’ll be your reference,” Archer stuck his hand up. 

“No, it should be past bosses and stuff like that. That’s what the site says.” 

“Is it cheating to have the Chancellor of the Republic be your reference?” Hound asked. 

“Palpatine can’t give a reference. He’s dead!” Sidewinder pointed out. 

“I’m talking about Fox, dipshit.” 

“Yes?” 

“For the millionth time, change your fucking name, Dipshit!” 

Thorn stepped out of his office. “What is with all the commotion? Don’t you lot have work to do?” 

“We’re trying to help Stone apply for a job as Crechemaster,” Archer chirped. 

“I still say you need to be a Jedi to be a crechemaster,” Sol grumbled. 

“No, you don’t. It doesn’t say anywhere on the Jedi holosite that you need to be a Jedi to be a crechemaster.” 

“It’s implied!” 

“Soldiers!” Thorn barked. 

They fell silent. 

“This is a mess.” 

“Sorry, sir. I’ll have them get back to work,” Stone said. He should have worked on this off-duty anyway. 

“No. We need to get this done.” Thorn stepped out of his office and to their planning board. 

“What?” 

He wiped the board. 

“Uh, that was for a murder investigation, sir,” Cage said. 

Thorn didn’t seem to mind. “What do you need to apply for a job as a Crechemaster?” 

“You need to be a Jedi,” Sol said. 

“For the last time, if you needed to be a Jedi, they would have said so,” Archer hissed. 

“Cover letter, resume, and references, sir,” Robin said, saluting and standing with his back stick straight. 

“I thought you said he was less wound up,” Hound hissed to Crescent. 

“He is.” 

Thorn turned back to the board and wrote down the three items Stone needed. 

“Right, we’ll split into teams. Archer, Sol, you’re in charge of getting the references.” 

“Yes, sir!” Archer leapt up. “Don’t worry, sir, we know just who to ask.” He gave Stone two thumbs up and then dragged Sol out the door. 

“Crescent, Sidewinder, Robin, you three are in charge of the cover letter.” 

“Yes, sir.” Crescent pulled Sidewinder and Robin to a small desk. 

“Hound, Cage, Thire, you’re in charge of the resume.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And Stone, I need you writing down everything you’ve ever done. Every medal you’ve ever received. Every class you’ve ever passed. Give the lists to Thire and Crescent so they can put it in the cover letter and resume.” 

“Yes, sir.” He turned to his desk. “Do you think I need to put my flight-sim training on it?” 

“Someone’s got to teach the baby Jedi to fly,” Sidewinder pointed out. 

Very true. 

“I’ll pull your training and service records so you can attach it as proof,” Thorn said. “Let’s get this done, people.” 

“One page! How are we going to get everything Commander Stone’s ever done in one page?” Cage asked. 

“We’ll make the font very small,” Hound suggested. 

“It says ‘Times New Roman 12 point font’ is the norm.” 

“Damn. We’ll cut out adjectives.” 

“Good idea.” 

*****

“Commander Stone, good to see you again,” Master Beq said. He and a few other crechemasters had come to greet Stone.

Stone had shown up at the steps of the Temple, unsure if he was allowed to go in. The guards took pity on him and asked what he wanted. He told them. They sent for some creche masters. And now they were here.  

He clutched the documents in his hand. The holonet said to send them through the job portal, but he didn’t know if the Jedi had one. Besides, he didn’t trust the holonet not to lose his work. Handing the documents to them personally would look better anyway, he and his brothers decided.

“Sirs, I have come to apply for a job as a crechemaster.” Why was his heart beating so wildly in his chest? He had talked to these people before. He knew they were nice . 

“Um… that’s not really--” Master Maibock began to state.

“I have several references. Including a few from Jedi,” he continued. 

Archer and Sol had managed to get Master Kenobi, Master Koon, Master Secura, Ahsoka, and Barriss as references, along with a few others. They had also secured references from Cody, Fox, Thorn, Wolffe, Gree (they removed that one on account of all the violence), and Bly. Amidala, Organa, Mothma had also given their references. And a few others that surprised him.

“Is one of those Jedi Quinlan Vos?” Master Ali-Alann asked. 

Stone shuffled through his paperwork and pulled out Vos’s reference. He knew he wouldn’t be a good one to have. 

“I still have several Jedi as references. And my former commander. And my current commander. And Gungi.” 

Archer had insisted that having a baby Jedi as a reference would only serve to further prove he could do this job. Grogu submitted a reference. However, given that he couldn't read or write, it was less words and more colorful handprints slapped on the page.

“Gungi? When did he have time to write a reference?” 

Master Beq took the documents from Stone’s hands and flipped through them. 

“Master?” Maibock asked. 

He hummed. “These do look official. And the children do miss you. When can you start?” 

Stone breathed a sigh of relief. It worked! He had applied for (and gotten) his first job!

“As soon as you need me to, sir.” 

“He’s not a Jedi.” Maibock hissed. 

“ There’s nothing in the rules that says he needs to be.” Master Beq shrugged. 

“Isn’t it implied?” 

“I don’t do well with implications.” He turned back to Stone. “Tomorrow, be here bright and early. We'll get you set up. You’ll need to stay at the temple. A crechemaster’s duty is day and night. Will that be a problem?” 

“No, sir. I look forward to it.” 

He would miss the barracks and staying with his brothers, but they were still here on Coruscant. He could see them whenever he wanted. Besides, even now, just talking about the future, filled him with hope. And not the anxiety it had before. 

He belonged here.

Chapter Text

Laziness settled over Obi-Wan’s temple apartments that evening. Cody never thought of himself as lazy. And truthfully, one could argue that he was the furthest thing from lazy. After all, he had just worked a ten-hour day and regularly worked seventy hours a week. 

And yet, here he was. Sitting on the couch. His eyes slipped closed as whatever holoprogram he flicked on came to an end. Feeling lazy. The light of Coruscant disappeared only to reappear seconds later. Except this time, instead of a sun, lights from speeders, billboards, and other homes flooded the atmosphere. 

Darkness never truly came to Coruscant. 

And Cody had no problem with that. 

After almost two years at war, he could fall asleep any time, any place, with any amount of light burning his retinas. Perhaps one day he’d lose that ability. Dulled, then lost through patient time and constant peace. But for now, he didn’t worry. 

Instead, he relished this evening. Luxuriated in it. He had eaten dinner. A full meal from the Temple mess hall. All real food and piled as high on his plate as he liked. No chalky rations. No cooks doing painstaking math to ensure they had enough to make it to the end of the campaign. Just food. True, it didn’t have the most flavor Cody had ever experienced. But he didn’t care. Something about its simplicity delighted him all the more. And made when he did splurge on more flavorful food all the better of an experience. He, Ahsoka, Rex, and Obi-Wan would go out tomorrow to a restaurant Archer had found somewhere near Little Keldabe .  

The kid had grown quite a following as a food blogger since the war ended. Though, he often spilled the beans on new restaurants to his brothers first to get their approval before posting it to the masses. 

That made Cody laugh. 

Did the Kaminoans know that one day, one of their skilled troopers would become a food blogger? Did Prime know? 

Probably not, and Cody didn’t care. 

All he cared about was the fact that he had a full belly, was sitting on a worn but comfortable couch, and was warm and safe. His brothers were slowly but surely finding their footing in this new world. Slowly but surely exploring freedoms they never even dared dreamed about. Slowly but surely building lives. Thriving instead of surviving. He even had true pajamas now. No more spare pairs of blacks to sleep in for him. 

Padme had taken him shopping one day while Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were away on a diplomatic mission. Cody didn’t know so many options existed! Different lengths of pants. Different materials. Different patterns. Different styles. 

He spent nearly three hours looking at all the options, overwhelmed by the choices. And that was just one store! In the end , he chose a pair of soft, grey cotton pants. He had a brother more skilled at embroidery put a sun on the thigh with the symbol for the Jedi Order inside. For the shirt, a simple white T-shirt did just fine. Padme did try to convince him to get something more extravagant, silk maybe ? 

Cody didn’t need extravagance. He needed comfort. And that came in a pair of soft cotton pants and a soft cotton shirt. Even now he could feel them settling on his skin; heated by his body. They didn’t itch like the Bridge Greys or feel constantly cold like the blacks. They were just… there. Settling on his skin. Soft. Warm. 

The couch under his body also felt nice. They had a couch on the Negotiator . Something the boys pulled out of a garbage pile. The cushions all had holes and the stuffing had shifted so that the entire thing felt lumpy. If you sat in the wrong spot, you could feel springs digging into your thighs. It smelled faintly of garbage no matter how many times they cleaned it. Eventually, they cleaned it so much that it smelled like garbage and bleach. 

This couch that he sat on now had none of that. It was still worn from use, with very clear divots in the cushions. But those divots made him more comfortable, not less. The back supported him so he could lean all the way back and feel his muscles relax as they were finally, fully supported. The couch itself smelled like plant fibers and tea. Though, he could also sniff out machine oil and nail polish if he closed his eyes. Sure enough, the leftmost cushion had a large black-brown stain that stood stark against the soft green. Anakin used to rest his tools there whenever he worked on droids, no matter how many times Obi-Wan told him to use the table or at least lay down a towel. Purple dots also stained the couch, dotted around as Ahsoka had tried to paint her toenails only to sneeze and knock the bottle over. 

Obi-Wan didn’t tell her to use a towel or the table; he had long given up on keeping the couch stain-free and merely made a quip that he wanted to see what his next Padawan would use to stain it. 

The program ended. Cody let his eyes slip fully closed. He absolutely was not going to sleep on the couch. After never having a soft bed for most of his life, he’d be damned if he ever missed the chance to sleep on Obi-Wan’s bed. The blankets were heavy and pressed him gently into the bed where the soft mattress stayed true beneath his back. It supported every aspect of his spine; allowing him to sink and relax fully into the bed as the white noise from Coruscant filled his mind until he slipped off to sleep. The blankets were heavy and worn quilts, handmade by the baby Jedi at the temple. Obi-Wan and his crechemates, as a matter of fact. Apparently, when Jedi weren’t forced to be commanders and generals, they did things like quilt giant blankets. Each baby Jedi , along with their crechemates , made a quilt to take with them when they became padawans. A reminder of their clans in the creche and a bit of comfort to ease the transition. He had gotten a glimpse at Ahsoka’s when she moved rooms. Apparently, she never brought it to the Resolute. Afraid of it burning up in a fiery explosion during the war. She had it with her now. Obi-Wan also didn’t bring his quilt to the Negotiator. Cody suspected for similar reasons. 

The stitches of Obi-Wan’s were uneven and the design didn’t totally mesh. Clearly, each square had been completed by a different baby Jedi with different opinions on what would look best in the quilt. He thought he knew which square Vos completed . On account of it being so obnoxious. Cody loved it, in all its clashing glory. The concept of owning something for so long it became worn delighted him. The quilts weren’t worn because they were dug out of a trash heap. They were worn because Obi-Wan had had them for years. 

Ah, yes. The bed. How he longed to go to bed.

However, it wasn’t quite time for bed yet. He still had one thing to do. 

Or, rather , Obi-Wan still had one thing to do. 

Several things. 

Too many for Cody to count or care. He’d wait patiently, though, until he finished. 

He heard Obi-Wan pad from the kitchen to the bathroom; the light clicked on and a hum filled the apartment. Ahsoka was out of the apartment for the night; having gone with other padawans to see a midnight movie marathon held at the botanical gardens. 

The sounds of bottles clinked against the countertop and each other. Obi-Wan hummed a nonsense tune under his breath. Outside, speeders rushed by. Occasionally, the drivers would honk their horns or shout at each other. If he focused just right, the noise would go fuzzy and all blend together. 

Cody kept his head tilted back against the couch, dozing as his fingers ran over the fibers, grounding him to the here and now. The smell of tonight’s tea of choice filled the air. Something earthy and floral for the night. The morning tea would be different. Force, there were so many teas. A whole cupboard’s worth. All arranged by type, flavor, growing location, and whether it helped put you to sleep or kept you awake. 

While Cody never managed to enjoy the taste of tea without heaps of honey or sugar, he did like the smells that floated around the apartment. It made him feel like nothing bad could happen. Not here. Not while the tea brewed at least. 

One last round of clinking bottles and the bathroom light flicked off. 

Cody pulled himself from his dosing to complete the final activities for the night. 

He opened his eyes and saw Obi-Wan at the bathroom door, already dressed for bed. His own pajamas were a much more worn and weathered pair of pants. A tartan pattern. Apparently, the Kenobi Clan tartan. He too had on a soft white shirt. Cody hoped one day, his own pajamas would be as soft and worn as Obi-Wan’s. 

He had a small tray in his hands filled with bottles of various shapes and sizes.  

“Cody love,” he said, “are you awake, my darling?” 

“‘Course I am,” Cody grumbled, making sure to push feelings of playfulness towards Obi-Wan through the bond. He knew that Obi-Wan knew his grumpiness was in jest , but he wanted to practice pushing emotions through the bond with the hopes that one day he’d be able to express more complex feelings. 

Obi-Wan smiled and came to a stop in front of him. He put the tray on the table and knelt in front of him. His knees popped and he made a face. 

“You don’t have to kneel down,” Cody said. “Could do it from the couch.” 

“I’m not that old yet.” He struggled a bit to get the prosthetic tucked under him. 

Cody reached out his arm, which Obi-Wan gladly accepted to help him balance until he settled. 

“Thank you, dear. One day I will be as graceful as I was before I lost this blasted leg.” 

“You’re still graceful,” Cody said. And beautiful . He thought. 

Then he remembered he didn’t have to keep those thoughts to himself anymore. He could voice them. 

“And beautiful.” 

Even in the dark, he could see the blush that dusted Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “You’re beautiful as well.” 

Now it was Cody’s turn to blush. His face heated up and he had a strong urge to look away. He forced himself not to. That was something else he worked on: accepting praise and appreciation. 

“Now then, shall we get started?” Obi-Wan smiled up at him. 

“Do I have a choice?” 

He laughed and pulled out the first bottle. “Of course, my darling. You always have a choice.” 

“I know. Though, I think this is more for you than it is for me.” 

“Nothing wrong with that.” Obi-Wan tilted the bottle and poured some of the solution onto a cotton pad before swiping it over Cody’s face. 

“This seems excessive,” he said. He always said.

“You deserve more than this,” Obi-Wan replied. He always replied.

The solution cooled his skin. Even though he had already washed his face not even thirty minutes ago, something about the cleanser Obi-Wan used now made him feel even cleaner. As if there were still some dirt, sweat, and oil clinging to his face. 

Obi-Wan stayed gentle as he swiped the pad over his cheekbones and forehead before going to his neck. 

For some reason, Obi-Wan had gotten it into his head that Cody needed an extensive hair care and skincare routine. 

Cody didn’t think that was necessary. After all, the 16-in-1 cleaner he used during the war worked just fine. Its uses included (but were not limited to ): shampoo, conditioner, body soap, hand soap, deodorant, toothpaste, shaving cream, laundry soap, armor cleaner, window cleaner, and antiseptic. Among other things. An unofficial seventeenth use: alcohol. It tasted like shit but got the job done. 

Padme damn near had a heart attack when she saw what the GAR-issued soap was used for. 

And while Obi-Wan didn’t make a fuss during the war, after the war he insisted on having a whole evening routine for Cody. 

He tried to convince the man that he didn’t need eighty different lotions and potions to dump on his skin and hair (Yes, he was aware Obi-Wan didn’t use eighty.).

Obi-Wan had such a soft, fond look in his eyes when he replied to Cody’s grumbling and attempts to dissuade him from buying him so many things, “You deserve this, Cody. This and so much more. Please, my dear? Please let me take care of you?” 

And who was he to deny such a request? 

Which was how they got here. With Obi-Wan dabbing different creams on different parts of his body. They did this every night the two of them were together. One final activity before wrapping it up for the evening. 

Whenever Obi-Wan was away, Cody did not keep up with the routine. It felt wrong. Like he was missing a key part of this whole thing. Even after sex, Obi-Wan would drag himself out of bed to gently and lovingly complete Cody’s nighttime routine. And if he couldn’t walk, Cody went and gathered up the things for him. Though, on those nights he tended to skip several steps. Not that Cody complained. This was yet another luxury he didn’t know was possible to have. 

And what a luxury it was. 

While he knew people tended to use a few different products on their bodies, he had no idea so many existed. And he questioned the utility of some of these products.

Was the skin on his hands really so different from the skin on his feet that he needed two different lotions for them? And were either of those parts so fundamentally different that he couldn’t use the lotion he used for his body? 

What even was eye cream and why did Obi-Wan tap it into his skin as opposed to rubbing it in like everything else? 

Cody didn’t complain, though. And accepted that his cyare would do what he wanted to do. 

Besides, upon trying to do some research, Cody realized that Obi-Wan’s skincare routine was nothing compared to other influencers. How many skin care products were too many? Some of them had whole rooms dedicated solely to products. 

And another thing, his skin did feel better when he did this routine regularly. It felt less tight. Less itchy. The skin around his fingernails didn’t peel and bleed. His calluses on his hands and feet didn’t rip. It felt nice. 

Obi-Wan finished up his face skin with a swipe of lip balm on his lips before shifting forward to press a chaste kiss to Cody’s lips. 

Cody smiled into the kiss and grabbed Obi-Wan’s elbows to help steady him as he sat back on his heels. The smell of mint drifted up to Cody’s nose. 

Obi-Wan pulled out the next item. That Force-forsaken hand cream. Again, why did it exist? Why not just use the lotion he used on the rest of his body? 

He supposed it was thicker than that lotion. Less viscous. And it smelled slightly nutty and warm. Cody didn’t know things could smell warm but this thing did. The scent was light enough that it didn’t clash with the minty chapstick. 

Obi-Wan squirted a good amount onto his hands. He rubbed them together before taking Cody’s right hand and rubbing it into the skin. 

He pressed his thumbs into his palm and rubbed circular motions into the muscles. 

Cody let out a groan and tilted his head back as Obi-Wan meticulously rubbed the lotion between his fingers, around the cuticles of his nails, and his knuckles before slipping his hands down to massage his forearms. The lotion felt initially cool on Cody’s skin. But, as Obi-Wan continued to work at it, it warmed up and left him feeling like putty on the couch. 

“Keep doing that and I’m not going to be able to move,” Cody mumbled as he forced himself to stay awake. 

Obi-Wan chuckled and picked up his left hand; repeating the process. “I’ll carry you to bed if that happens.” 

“How’re you gonna do that? You can’t even stand without my help.” Cody’s eyes slipped closed. His heart beat slower. All he could sense was Obi-Wan. His hands against Cody’s. Massaging away the knots and tension of his muscles. 

“I’ll find a way,” he assured him. 

“I know you will. You always do.” 

He finished up with the skincare. Cody rallied himself enough to open his eyes and help pull Obi-Wan to his feet. 

“It’s getting smoother,” Obi-Wan said as he went to sit on the couch. “I think a few more weeks of physical therapy and you won’t be able to tell at all that I have a prosthetic.”

Cody bent over to kiss his forehead before settling down in between his legs for the final act of care. 

“It’s not the end of the world if you never fully regain your mobility.” 

Obi-Wan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know. It feels like it is. But I also know that there is nothing I can do about it. I can only accept and adapt.” 

Cody reached back to squeeze his hand. Not exactly the rousing bout of optimism he had hoped to inspire, but it was something. 

“One of these days, I’ll convince you not to put the galaxy on your shoulders.” 

Obi-Wan squeezed back. “I don’t think that’s possible. Especially when you make me feel like I can do anything. More so with you by my side.” 

Cody shook his head, smiling and leaning back against the couch so Obi-Wan could finish up . 

Obi-Wan began to run his fingers through his hair. He had grown it longer than standard regulation. Seventeen called him sloppy and homeless every time he saw him. Cody didn’t care. It gave Obi-Wan more to work with. And, he had to admit, he did look better with the hair slightly longer. Even if one curl never wanted to stay in place and regularly fell in the middle of his forehead. 

They sat there for a few minutes just like that. Obi-Wan petted him, scratching at his scalp with his fingertips, twisting his curls around his fingers and detangling them. Occasionally, he rubbed his fingers into his scalp, pressing the tips of his fingers in circular motions. Once he was satisfied and Cody was once more putty on the floor, out came the first item. 

He misted Cody’s hair with some water.

Water! 

Just for hair.  

On the Negotiator , water had been rationed so heavily. Sometimes, he’d go months without taking a real water shower. So to do something like this felt wasteful. But, he had to remind himself that he wasn’t stuck on a ship or on a battlefield for weeks or months at a time . Here, the water came out of the tap hot and on demand. No need for rations. No need to request it twenty-four hours in advance. It was just there. Purely to spray on his hair for styling purposes. 

His hair now thoroughly misted, Obi-Wan detangled his curls before grabbing some sort of leave-in conditioner or something. Cody never did learn the names of anything getting slathered onto his skin and hair. He thought as much through the bond. 

“You should. What happens when I die? However will you keep up your routine?” Obi-Wan asked as he raked the product through his hair. 

Cody’s eyes stayed firmly shut and he leaned into his hands. “Then I shall shave my head.” 

“You wouldn’t do something romantic like die with me?” 

“Never.” 

He laughed. “Fair enough. I’d never ask you to do something like that.” 

“I know.” Cody pushed thoughts of Obi-Wan’s death far from his mind. 

During the war, he had no choice but to think about what he would do if the man he loved died. Because that was not only a very real possibility, but would also impact the troops immediately. He had a plan for what to do if Obi-Wan died in the middle of a battle. After the battle was won, but before he could get help. While out on a mission. And so on and so on. 

Cody knew he’d die eventually , they all would. 

But this was another little luxury he could indulge: not having to worry about the death of a loved one every waking moment. And he would indulge that. For now, at least. While the scent of tea hung in the air, mint chapstick tingled his lips, and the sweet scent of floral oil saturated his hair. 

“I love you, Cody,” Obi-Wan said softly into the night. As if it were a secret kept only between them. 

“Love you too,” Cody replied. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. 

“Alright, alright. I’m almost done and then we can go to bed.” Obi-Wan said. 

He twisted Cody’s curls in his fingers, making sure to coat each of them with the conditioner to keep them nice and moisturized as well as to give them some sort of shape. He was meticulous about it. No section of hair went undone. After everything was to his liking, he sprayed one last bit of oil on him. 

“There, that should keep the frizz down,” Obi-Wan said as he smoothed his fingers through Cody’s scalp. 

He slicked the hair back from Cody’s forehead, his hands more insistently pulling his head back. His fingers traced the scar curling around his eye. Following its shape. Touching so reverently, Cody could feel the love pouring from every fingertip. 

Cody knew what he wanted and obliged; tilting his head back so Obi-Wan could lean over him and kiss his forehead. 

He smoothed his fingers through Cody’s hair one last time before pulling out a silk cap and slipping it over his head.

“Blue suits you,” he said.

“Padmé says it’s too light,” Cody mumbled , his eyes still didn’t want to open and he felt like he could fall asleep here in between Obi-Wan’s legs. 

“Too light?” 

“For my skin tone. She says I’m a hot autumn? Or something like that. I look better in jewel tones.” 

“I could get you a darker blue one if you’d like. I think you’d look ravishing in sapphire.”

Cody suppressed the shiver going up his spine upon hearing the word ‘ravishing.” He was too tired to do anything tonight. Though he certainly wouldn’t have minded.

He had more pressing matters to attend to. “Don’t you dare. I don’t care if it doesn’t match me or whatever.”

“Awfully protective over this particular shade of blue,” Obi-Wan said. He pulled Cody up onto the couch for a cuddle before they went to bed. 

He tugged Cody to his chest and leaned back against the couch. He ran his hands up and down Cody’s torso; fingers leaving feather-light touches that barely rucked the shirt he wore. 

“It’s the color of your eyes,” he admitted.

Obi-Wan’s hands froze.

Even though they had been romantically involved for a while now, there was still some small part of Cody that feared he would push too far. That he would say something that would mess everything up.

He opened his eyes and looked at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who looked like he was about to cry.

“My eyes?” he asked, in a small voice. Cody could feel through the bond there wasn’t disgust, but awe. Love. Cherishing feelings of adoration all towards him and about him.

With his lotioned-up hand, he reached out and rubbed his thumb just under Obi-Wan’s eye. He felt the soft, thin skin there. The ridge of the cheekbone.

“It’s one of my favorite colors, didn’t you know?”

Obi-Wan blushed. He ducked his head and returned to his work. He switched over to the other hand, being just as diligent on rubbing in the oil. “I knew it was one of your favorite colors. I didn’t know why, though. Really. My eyes?”

Cody hummed in agreement.

“I happen to love the color of your eyes as well, my dear. They’re very warm .”

He wanted to say that there were millions more just like it out there. He was a standard clone in a sea of others. He didn’t distinguish himself with tattoos or facial hair. Hell, he barely distinguished himself with his slightly longer than GAR regulation hair that he had now.

He didn’t say any of this.

Because he knew what Obi-Wan meant.

The color of the eyes didn’t matter. It was the person they were connected to.

“Let’s get to bed,” Obi-Wan said after another minute. 

Cody nodded and slipped off of his chest. He turned and held out his hand to Obi-Wan. He smiled and took his hand. 

“Up you get,” he pulled him from the couch and into his chest. 

Obi-Wan smiled up at him, a soppy, loving smile. “Still think you don’t deserve all this?” 

Cody gave him one last lingering kiss. “I have you, my sunflower. I think that’s more than enough.” And he meant it. Every word.

Chapter Text

Grey sat in the mess hall of the barracks on Coruscant. He had never seen the place so packed. Before, during the war, only a few troopers were on Coruscant at any one time. The Corries, of course, and whoever had shore leave. The war had been too fast-paced for more than a few battalions to be here at any one point in time.

But, now that the war had ended, most of the troops had been recalled to Coruscant. This was, in part, so that Commanders Fox, Cody, and Wolffe could review what they wanted the next steps to be, show the Seppies they were sticking to their word, and (in Grey’s opinion, though no one had ever outright said it) give the troopers a chance to find their own path. To leave. To start exploring what they wanted to do. You couldn’t do that if you were in the middle of a battle on the outer rim.

And, while he did appreciate what Fox and the others were trying to do, the boredom would kill him before any Sith ever would.

Seriously, after nearly a month of sitting on Coruscant doing nothing, he wanted to get back out there. And he had been on Ryloth for several weeks after the war! He couldn’t imagine how Ironside or Rex were faring. The boredom had to be killing them as well.

No, no. He shouldn’t complain. After all, during the war he would have killed for a month of downtime.

Be careful what you wish for.

The doors to the mess hall slid open.

“Grey! Hide me!” Caleb shouted. The sounds of his feet pounding on the metal floor caught Grey's attention.

Grey’s head shot up and he turned to see Caleb sprinting towards him.

His first thought was that he had been injured. But, he didn’t look injured.

His second thought was that someone was trying to injure him. And, well, Grey wasn’t about to let that happen. Show him the person trying to hurt Caleb and he’d show them how easy it was to break every bone in their body.

Except, Caleb didn’t seem to be chased by anyone as well. In fact, as he skidded to a stop in front of Grey, he noticed he was not alone. Clutched in Caleb’s hands was a tiny little creature that looked very much like the baby version of General Yoda.

“Caleb, what—”

Caleb didn’t answer and dove beneath the table, the baby General Yoda clutched tightly in his hands. “Don’t tell her I’m here! Please, Grey.” He cried.

“I… what?” He looked to his troopers, who seemed just as confused as he did. “Caleb—”

“Shh, she’s coming!” he hissed.

“Who—”

It did not take long for Grey to find out who as the doors slid open once more and revealed Barriss Offee, of all people.

This made Grey even more confused. Why would Caleb be running from Offee with a baby General Yoda?

Everyone in the mess hall watched as she stepped into the room. Her eyes were narrow and sharp; they scanned the crowd until they landed on Grey. A small smile, no a small smirk, tugged at the corners of her lips and she started making her way to Grey. Slowly. Carefully. Like a predator stalking its prey.

Unlike Caleb, who had sprinted through the men, Barriss took one careful, meticulous, purposeful step at a time. Her footsteps echoed through the room.

A deafening click, click, click as she got closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Until she came to a stop right in front of him.

“Commander, how are you?” Grey asked, still very confused as to what was happening.

“I’m wonderful, Commander,” she responded.

Then, she held out her hand. Grey had about two seconds to brace himself for what was about to happen before the entire table lifted in the air .

“Woah! What?” he cried.

“Hey, no fair!” Caleb scrambled out from under the table. “We said using the Force was cheating.”

Barriss dropped the table back down and sprinted after him. “We also said we were to stay in the Temple. Is this the Temple, Caleb?”

“Legally or technically?”

She caught up to him without much effort, given her much longer legs, and tackled him to the ground.

Caleb let out a gasp as she ripped the baby General Yoda from his hands and held it (him? Her? Them?) above her head in triumph.

“Ha! I have Gorgu now.”

It was at that moment that the cover of the vent crashed to the ground and out came—

“Why the fuck is Commander Tano here?” Grey groaned into his hands.

Ahsoka executed a front flip that would make Seventeen proud and snatched Grogu from Barriss’ hands before flipping back up into the vents.

“Gotta be better than that, suckers!” she cackled.

“Are those vents strong enough to hold her?” one of Grey’s men asked.

Grey just groaned.

“Ugh! Ahsoka!” Barriss shouted before taking off after her.

The door slid open once more to reveal Ironside’s baby commander panting and looking around the room.

Barriss shoved past him. “Ahsoka’s got him,” she called.

“Ah, man. I’m always the last to know about these things.” He then turned and followed Barriss out of the mess hall.

“I am not losing this time!” Caleb sprinted past Grey.

But Grey, still confused and wanting to know what the fuck was happening, snagged his collar.

“Grey, let me go! I can’t lose. I’ve never won once!”

He set him down on the bench. “Explain, now.”

“Grey!”

“Explain or I’m calling Billaba.”

“No, don’t call my master!”

“Then explain.”

Caleb sighed. “It’s a game we play. Keep Away. Basically, we have a set amount of time to keep Grogu with us. Whoever has him at the end of the round wins. I thought I could win this time if I went to the barracks because we usually only stay in the Temple. I guess everyone else thought of that too. But it’s no use now. Ahsoka’s got him.” He slumped down in his seat. “I’ll never win.”

Grey looked at him for a second, wondered if he was about to do something stupid, and then decided he didn’t care.

“Men, with me. We are going to get the baby General Yoda back.”

Caleb looked up at him. “ But, that’s against the rules.”

Grey put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “In war, there are no rules. Let’s figure out what’s going on. Who are our enemies? What are their strengths and weaknesses, and how we can get that baby back. Got it?”

“Yeah! Thank you, Grey.”

He patted Caleb’s head. “No problem, kid.”

*****

Of course, Caleb wasn’t the only one to recruit his troopers. Once Ahsoka saw that he had help, she went to Fives and Echo. Who recruited the rest of Torrent. And eventually Rex. At first, Ahsoka did think that perhaps she should try and evade Caleb and Grey on her own. Make it more of a challenge.

But then she thought, “Screw that. I want to win .” And worked with Rex to come up with a battle strategy.

It felt nice to be doing this again. She didn’t even realize how much she missed planning and strategizing with a large group. She and Master Obi-Wan had yet to go on a mission, with him still having such a new and unheard-of connection to the Force, and of course, getting used to his prosthetic leg. As for Ahsoka, she had been attending mind healer sessions every day practically since she woke up from Palpatine’s attack. All in an effort to keep the Dark Side from attacking her once more. And to deal with the PTSD.

She missed this. She missed the action. She missed the camaraderie. She wondered if she’d ever be able to be a Jedi. A proper one. One able to exist without a hundred people around her, giving her advice.

Maybe one day. But today was not that day.

“Alright, what do we got?” Rex asked as Echo and Fives returned from their scouting mission.

Sadly, Ahsoka had lost Grogu to Cal and Ironside pretty quickly. And they needed to get him back.

Nari was the one responsible for telling them when the game ended. They never had a set time. It was more fun that way. Just wait until the timekeeper let them know. It could be two minutes or it could be two hours. It was looking to be closer to two hours for this one. That was fine. Ahsoka could handle a long battle.

“Ironside’s still got Grogu,” Echo said. He pulled up a data puck and turned it on. “He and Commander Cal have managed to take the Mess Hall. They’ve reprogrammed the droids to fire food at whoever gets close and isn’t a member of Iron Battalion.”

“Gree and Barriss are laying siege to the Mess Hall,” Fives added. “They got them surrounded but there is enough of Green still scattered around the barracks that they could stop us from getting close.”

“What if we team up with them? Two companies are better than one,” Jesse said.

“No, because then Barriss will turn around and stab us in the back. She won’t even wait for us to get Grogu. She’ll probably have us go first, cut down Cal’s men but lose several of our own, and then in the chaos grab Grogu and run,” Ahsoka said.

“Ruthless. I like it,” Hardcase added.

“What about Commander Grey and Cal?” Tup asked.

“We didn’t see them,” Fives said. “We did see Grey’s men, but they don’t appear to have a cohesive strategy.”

“That doesn’t seem like Grey,” Rex said. “He’s up to something. We just have to figure out what it is.”

“Well, out of everyone, the two groups that are going to be the toughest to beat are us and Gree’s group,” Jesse said. “If I were him, I’d focus on cutting down as much of us as possible, let Cal keep Grogu for a bit, and then when everyone’s suffered high casualties, swoop in and take that kid.”

Rex hummed in agreement. “True, but that doesn’t tell us where the kid is at .”

Hardcase grinned. “So, lets smoke him out.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Rex said. “Alright men , here’s the plan. We scatter to the perimeter, then we work our way in. We can use gas to flush people out of the vents and force everyone into the center, where the mess hall is. Once we have everyone in a tight ring, we fire. We grab Grogu. We win.”

“Won’t their buckets filter out the stench?” Tup asked.

Rex grinned and handed Ahsoka a special gas mask. “That’s the thing, Tup, most of them aren’t wearing their helmets because they aren’t treating it like a battle. We’re on leave, remember. We’re lucky most of them are wearing armor.”

Tup grinned and put on his bucket. “Lead the way, captain.”

Ahsoka grinned and bounced on her heels. There was no way Barriss was winning this round.

*****

“Commander, Commander Gree’s been taken by the enemy!” Stix shouted over the sound of blaster fire and squelching, squishy, slimy food Cal had taken to shooting at them.

“What?” Barriss shouted.

There, through the chaos, she could see Gree kneeling between Cal and Ironside.

“Surrender, Barriss! We have your commander!” Cal shouted.

“Hold your fire!” Barriss called. The noise died down. No one lowered their weapons, but they stopped shooting.

On Cal’s shoulder was BD-1, observing all of them.

“Surrender,” Cal demanded once more.

Barriss crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him. “Or what? What will you do to Commander Gree.”

Cal blanched. “Uh… I’ll…”

“Hmm. As I thought. All threats, no follow-through.”

“That’s my girl! Wreck him,” Gree shouted.

“We’ll shave his hair,” Ironside said.

Barriss tipped her head to the side. “If you shave his hair off, then you’ll have nothing else to bargain with. Besides, hair grows back.”

Ironside cursed.

“Furthermore, I think you’ll find that Green is very attached to their commander. If you shave his head, we’ll have no choice but to escalate. And can you really take any more losses, Cal? Do you want to take more losses?”

Cal glanced at the men on either side who had been stunned in the battle. Trepidation passed over his features.

Barriss didn’t really care if he started back up the battle or not . She just needed to wait for Gree. Good thing Cal didn’t see her stalling for what it was.

BD-1 looked as though he might know what Barriss and Gree were up to. But any attempts to get Cal's attention went unnoticed.

“If it wins us the battle, then it will be worth it,” Ironside said.

“The battle?” she asked sweetly. Gree gave the signal. Her eyes narrowed. “Or the war?”

Gree swept Ironside’s legs out from underneath him, causing the man to crash into the ground.

“Hey! No fair.” Cal shouted as Gree snatched Grogu from his arms.

Barriss used the Force to lift him and pull him back over to her.

“Brilliant, Gree! I didn’t expect you to grab Grogu as well.”

Grogu made very happy baby sounds and laughed.

“Yeah, well, I figured while I was over there, I might as well finish the mission. Let’s get out of here. Torrent will be our biggest challenge.”

They opened the door, and a cloud of noxious fumes filled the air.

“Oh, Torrent will be your biggest problem,” Ahsoka said as she ignited her lightsaber. “You shouldn’t have spread your men out so much, Barriss. It was too easy to pick them all off.”

Barriss ignited her saber and deposited Grogu into Spine’s arms. “We’ll see how easy you fall when you’re not playing dirty.

“All’s fair in love and war.” Ahsoka leaped at her. Their blades locked, and they began swinging them wildly.

“Here, give him to me. We don’t want the baby near those blades,” a member of Green said.

Spine gave Grogu over to him, and the battle commenced once more.

Food went flying through the air. Lightsabers spun and locked with one another. Stun blasts light up the room brilliant blue.

No one noticed the member of Green slip next to the wall and pass Grogu through the vent into Caleb’s waiting arms.

“See, I told you stealing their armor would be a good idea,” Caleb said as Grey did his best to avoid the fire.

“I know. Nice of Torrent to stun everyone so we had our pick of the litter,” Grey replied. He winced at the state the mess hall was in. “How long does this go on again?”

“Until Nari says it’s over.” Caleb looked at his chrono. “Though, it’s going longer than normal. I hope everything is okay with him."

*****

Everything was not okay with Nari. He had meant to put a stop to their game as soon as Caleb messaged him to let him know he was heading to the Barracks with Grogu. But then he and his master got pulled into a meeting with the Jedi Council and now he was stuck here! Normally , he’d be thrilled to sit in on such an important meeting and listen to the masters' debate. It’d fascinate him to hear how they each perceived the Force and its will, especially now that Master Obi-Wan was more or less a physical manifestation of the Cosmic Force , he wanted to see how that might change things.

But one hour turned to two and now they were going on three. He’d like to think his friends would get bored after a while and stop of their own accord, but he knew them too well. They were all super competitive and no one would admit defeat until Nari forced them to.

Also, he hadn’t heard from anyone in a while. Did Caleb make it to the barracks? Who had Grogu now?

How much trouble were they going to be in when the Crechemasters realized they had taken the baby out of the Temple without permission. They were allowed to play with him in the temple, but this had to be breaking so many rules.

He tried to not so subtly look at his chrono.

“Are we boring you, my padawan?” his master asked.

He cursed himself. “Oh, no master . Sorry, master,” he said, begging her to not realize that he was feeling anxious.

“Padawan Nari, are you feeling alright?” Master Obi-Wan said. “I sense you’re very anxious. Is everything okay?”

Oh, drat! Master Obi-Wan had asked him if he was alright. He couldn’t lie to Master Obi-Wan of all people.

“Nari, what is it? What’s the matter?” his master asked, her face creased with worry.

“Nothing. It’s no big deal.”

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! If they found out about their game, they’d be furious! Nari’d be grounded until he turned as old as Master Yoda! And his master would be so disappointed in him.

“Padawan,” Master Plo said. Oh no! He was even worse than Master Obi-Wan. He had this way of speaking to you that made you want to tell him everything. “I sense you are very distressed over something. Please, talk to us. Let us help.”

His master put her hand on his shoulder. “Nari, I know you fear getting in trouble, but please know that I want you safe first and foremost. Alright? Whatever it is, I promise we can work through it.”

With everyone’s eyes on him, and their worry for his well-being palpable in the Force, he broke. “Please don’t be mad!”

*****

When Obi-Wan finally got out of Nari what was going on, he almost wanted to laugh. A game of keep-away with Grogu being the thing that needed to be ‘kept away’. And, as padawans were wont to do, the game escalated with Caleb taking the baby out of the Temple and to the barracks.

Not something they wanted to encourage. The crechemasters needed to know where their charges were, after all. But certainly, not anything that would cause Nari to truly believe he’d be grounded until he reached Master Yoda’s age.

Obi-Wan remembered similar games with his friends and was more glad than anything that the padawans were acting like , well, children. Besides, it had been a source of worry for the masters that the wartime padawans, who had grown used to being surrounded by so many people constantly, would grow lonely now that the war had ended and most of them were spending time only with their masters.

To know that Ahsoka and the others were still connecting with their troopers made him happy. Perhaps one day the two groups would separate completely. But for now, it was nice for everyone to have a bit of something they recognized. A routine that remained the same .

Of course, this was all before Obi-Wan had stepped into the mess hall and laid eyes on the sheer amount of destruction that had occurred .

“Is that… soup?” Master Luminara said as a bowl of soup went flying through the air and splattered a member of the 501st.

At their feet lay dozens of men, stunned. There was a noxious smell lingering in the air. And Obi-Wan had to assume it was a stink bomb of some kind because a faint green cloud still lingered and Ahsoka had on a gas mask.

He couldn’t even tell if there was a strategy going on at this point. Everyone seemed to be firing at each other. Ahsoka, Cal, and Barriss were locked in a three-way battle. Caleb and Grey were running around, trying desperately to keep people from grabbing Grogu.

“I hope they turned down the settings to a training one,” Master Windu winced as Cal caught Ahsoka’s stomach while she blocked a swipe from Barriss.

Something told him his dearest padawan did not think to do that. And he could only hope that no one lost any limbs.

“Well, let’s get them calmed down,” Master Plo said. “Excuse me.” He clapped his hands together.

No one paid him any attention.

“No, you gotta be more forceful than that,” Master Windu said. He cleared his throat and stood tall. “All of you, if you don’t drop your weapons on the count of three, I’m gonna make you run Shii-cho drills until your feet fall off. One! Two! Three!”

No one dropped anything.

“Hey! No fair!” Cal shouted.

“You were going to shave Gree’s head,” Barriss shouted back .

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Were too !”

“Was not!”

“Were too !”

The children sprinted past them.

“Ahsoka!” Rex shouted. “Caleb and Grey have Grogu.”

“Got it, Rex. Fives, Jesse, with me! We’re getting that baby.”

“ Yes sir!”

“This is getting out of hand,” Obi-Wan groaned.

“I think it has been out of hand for a while now,” Master Mundi said.

Nari groaned behind them and buried his head in his hands. “We’re in so much trouble.”

“Could we maybe have Seventeen deal with them?” Master Luminara said.

“Hmm. He’s on Kamino,” Obi-Wan mused. “I don’t know if he’d command the same presence over comms.”

An idea came to him. “But, we might just have the next best thing. Let me give him a call.”

*****

Cody turned the page of his book and clicked his tongue. “Darcy, you can’t expect Elizabeth to accept that piss-poor proposal when you’ve been nothing but grumpy to her this whole time. Get her some flowers, man. It’s not that hard.”

It was a rare day off for him. Fox had slept a solid five hours last night. Wolffe had taken to organizing some intel he had gotten. And the galaxy was sitting in relative peace. So, Cody decided to take this rare opportunity to kick his feet up, make himself some fancy caf, and read a book.

No annoying brothers to deal with. No war to prepare for. Even Thrawn hadn’t been kicking up a fuss lately. He was likely planning something, but Cody would let him plan.

Working constantly dulled his senses. A short break to relax and read would make him more formidable when Thrawn eventually did strike. Besides, maybe by letting his mind wander to other topics, he could see the issue in a different light .

His comm beeped. He looked at it and saw that it was Obi-Wan.

His brow furrowed. He was literally in Obi-Wan’s apartments. So if Obi-Wan wanted to talk to him, he could have just stopped by. Unless the council meetings were going on for longer than he anticipated and wanted to do a quick check-in before diving back in.

Either way, Cody would take this opportunity to talk to him. He answered. “Obi-Wan, how are you?”

“Cody love,” Obi-Wan said, sounding a tad desperate.

This caused Cody to put his book down and sit up very straight. He reached out through the bond. It didn’t feel like anything was wrong, but he could feel that desperation . Like a situation had gotten out of hand and Obi-Wan didn’t know how to deal with it. He began to snap on his armor.

“I know you’re trying to relax. But, you see, the padawans roped the troopers into a game and it’s, well…” There was a crash behind him and he winced. “It’s gotten a little out of hand. We’ve tried to reign everyone back in but … well…” More crashing.

“Who and where?” Cody asked, his voice sharp as his mind ran through a list of possible punishments.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief. He pushed a feeling of gratitude through the bond.

“ It appears Gree, Rex, Ironside, and Grey’s battalions have all been roped into this mess. Not all the men , mind you , but about four dozen or so from each. Along with their respective padawans. And we’re, well, we’re in the mess hall in the trooper barracks.”

Cody nodded. “I’ll be there in five.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, breathing yet another sigh of relief.

Cody hung up and then dialed Waxer and Boil. “Bring seventy-five units of Punishment Kit 91 to the mess hall. Be there in five.”

“Shit, who did what?” Waxer asked.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“ Yes sir.”

“I do not pity the poor buggers who’ll have to deal with Commander Cody’s wrath,” Boil muttered as he hung up the comms.

Cody snapped on the last piece of armor and strutted out the door with the book in his hand.

So much for not dealing with any annoying brothers.

*****

Five minutes couldn’t come nearly fast enough as the padawans and troopers continued to fight each other. Of course, those who had been stunned had started to wake up and rejoin the fight. Obi-Wan wondered when Cal would run out of food to throw. Everyone was dirty, smelly, and tired. And yet, no one seemed to be willing to stop.

Ahsoka managed to grab Grogu from Caleb only to lose him to Cal. Cal kept him for several minutes but then Barriss grabbed the baby once more . Only for her to slip on a pile of what looked like peas, giving Caleb the perfect opportunity to grab the baby once more .

All in all, it was, to put it bluntly, a mess.

“Who do you think is going to win?” Master Kolar said.

“Should we be encouraging this sort of behavior?” Master Mundi wrinkled his nose, displeased.

“It is encouraging teamwork,” Master Windu said.

“And creative thinking,” Master Luminara said.

“So, we’re not going to get in trouble?” Nari asked, his voice filled with hope.

Obi-Wan patted him on the shoulder. “Oh no, my dear padawan. As soon as Commander Cody gets here, you will be partaking in the punishment.”

“Oh,” Nari’s head drooped.

And right on cue, exactly five minutes after he had called, strolled in Cody, followed by Waver and Boil wheeling several large crates on some hovercarts.

“Cody!” Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief and rushed up to him. “Well, as you can see, things are a little out of hand.”

Cody nodded and scanned the room with his eyes. “Hold this.” He handed a book to Obi-Wan.

“How are you going to get them under control?” Master Plo asked.

Cody looked at him, his face completely blank. “By giving them no other option.”

Before Obi-Wan could ask what that meant, Cody brought his fingers to his lips and let out a loud, long whistle.

The high-pitched shriek echoed through the room and may have ruptured an eardrum or two.

Just like that, everyone dropped their weapons to cover their ears with their hands.

They looked towards where the sound had come from and spotted Cody.

Rex went pale. “Oh shit. We’re in so much trouble.”

But Cody didn’t shout. He didn’t rage. He didn't storm about. He merely walked up to Caleb and plucked Grogu out of his hands before depositing him in Master Plo’s arms.

He then clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing in front of the dirty, sweaty, food-stained troops.

“Waxer, Boil,” he said.

Waxer and Boil opened up the crates and deposited what was in them to everyone.

“Toothbrushes?” Cal said as one was given to him.

Cody’s footsteps echoed through the room. A steady beat that never stuttered or waivered until he came to a chair and pulled it so it was facing the room. He then sat on it. One foot crossed over his knee.

He held out his arm. The book he had given Obi-Wan tugged free and flew smoothly to Cody’s outstretched hand.

“You all have until I finish reading to get this place so clean, you’d feel comfortable licking the floors.” He opened the book. “I’d get started. I’m already halfway through and I’m a fast reader.”

And that was all he had to say as the troopers and padawans scrambled to begin scrubbing the floors.

Obi-Wan, however, was more focused on Cody. The way he commanded the room. He didn’t even raise his voice. Just spoke in a calm, authoritative manner.

Oh, that had to be one of the hottest things he had ever seen. The only thing that would have made the scene perfect was if he had his lightsaber ignited. And maybe if he was a little sweaty and dirty.

He couldn’t help but think how such an authoritative tone might be well utilized in other aspects of his life.

Master Plo chuckled. “I shall meditate with Ahsoka when she’s finished here.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t even bring himself to feel ashamed that the other master had read him so easily. “Please and thank you.”

He stepped up to Cody to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Cody smiled. “No problem. And don’t think I didn’t hear about Ahsoka’s meditation later.”

Obi-Wan felt his cheeks darken. “Later, my darling.”

“Of course. Now get out of here. I’ll make sure everything’s cleaned up.”

He gave him one last kiss on the cheek and then filed out of the door with the other masters.

As he left, he heard Caleb say, “Hang on, I had Grogu last. That means I win!”

“Good job, Caleb,” Ahsoka said.

“Really brilliant. Switching armor like that,” Barriss agreed.

“Yeah! That was so much fun,” Cal said.

Obi-Wan chuckled and let the doors close behind them. “And did you have fun, little one?” he asked Grogu.

Grogu let out a trill of happiness and pushed into the Force that he did have fun.

“Good to know. Though next time, stay at the Temple.”

Grogu pretended like he didn’t understand Obi-Wan and instead began chewing on a metal ball he had found somewhere.

Yes, while they had made a mess, Obi-Wan was glad that the kids could still be kids . That the war hadn’t damaged them too much . And that there could be life and joy and laughter even after all of the darkness they had been through.

Chapter Text

“Absolutely not,” Fox growled as he surveyed the apartment. 

Though, it wasn’t as much of an apartment as it was a palace. Floor to ceiling windows showcased Coruscant in all its busy glory. With speeders whizzing past and giant, neon lit billboards filling the sky with so much light, he couldn’t see the stars. Blood red velvet curtains hung on each of the windows. Parted to show the outside and ending in an elegant puddle on the floor. A floor so shiny, he could see his reflection in it when he looked down. What was it? Marble? Or some other sort of precious stone that probably cost more money to put in than some people made in their entire lifetimes. The furniture also spoke to a sleek, dark, sophisticated elegance that made his skin crawl. Everything looked too expensive to touch. He shuddered to think what his greasy, dirt-stained armor would do to the silks and velvets and leathers that probably came from some baby endangered species. All in black, dark purples, and deep reds, of course. 

“You can redecorate,” Riyo said. “If blood red velvet curtains and black cashmere throw pillows aren’t your thing.” She eyed the offending throw pillows and winced. 

No, blood red curtains and black cashmere throw pillows weren’t his thing. What was even the point of a throw pillow? No one managed to give him an answer beyond ‘Well, they can look nice’. He didn’t buy it. 

A part of him did want to sit on the expensive furniture. To ruin it. To stain it. To give one last middle finger to Palpatine. But that wasn’t a solution to his problem. At least, not the solution that could solve all of his problems. 

The noise, that was the problem. Despite the fact that they were on Coruscant with speeders and ads blaring right outside his window, he couldn’t hear any of it. All he could hear were the chirping of birds. Fake birds, of course. The sound pumped in through the speakers to make it seem like he wasn’t on some hell-hole of a city-planet. They sounded real enough. At least, he thought they did. He wasn’t sure if he had ever actually heard a bird before. 

Despite the bird-song playing softly in the background, his ears still rang. Desperately searching for a sound to fill the void. The sounds of speeders. The sounds of people shouting. The sounds of Coruscant humming. 

Something. Anything. But there was nothing. Because the glass was so thick he couldn’t hear anything but those Force-damned birds and the squeaking of Gree’s shoes as he wandered the apartment to check out the priceless collection of stuff here. 

“I don’t want to redecorate. I don’t want to be here,” he growled. 

“Fox,” Cody groaned and pinched his brow. 

“Fuck you, this isn’t happening.” 

“Is there something wrong with the room, sir?” the damn butler droid asked, clanking through the room. 

“No. Now fuck off, you bucket of bolts!” 

“Fox!” Cody scolded. 

The smell. That was also wrong. There wasn’t any smell. Nothing. Empty. How could something not have a smell? Even Kamino, in all its sanitized glory, smelled like something. Harsh chemical cleaners and bleach. Coruscant had its own smell as well. Engine fuel and motor oil. The ripe smell of sweaty brothers who hadn’t taken a shower in a few weeks. GAR issued soap. Hot steam rising from the vents. Metal and rust. None of that was here. Nothing was here. Just fake birdsong, an annoying droid butler, and a shit-ton of dark colored furniture. 

Gree let out a whistle as he walked out of one of the rooms. “He really did like his dark colors. How long did it take you people to realize he was an evil idiot again?” 

“Well, to be fair, some people do like the darker aesthetic.” Organa winced. 

“Those people are called Goths,” Archer chirped happily. 

“Shut up.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He looked around and shook his head. “This is a waste of money. I don’t need to live in a place this big.” 

Seriously, how was this place so big? Was there some sort of spatial manipulation to make it all fit? Another Sith trick? Madame Nu had, apparently, been by earlier to clear out any remaining Sith artifacts. So, he was pretty sure the size wasn’t done through any Force osik . But still, it was too big. 

“You need your own place,” Organa argued. “A place to rest and relax. These weren’t just Palpatine’s apartments. Every chancellor has used them since they’ve been built.” 

“Then they were all wasting tax-payer dollars.” He crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose. He knew he was being difficult, and he didn’t care. He was the chancellor. Why didn’t he get to choose where to live? Wasn't he supposed to be in charge? No on telling him what to do? Shit like that? 

“And can someone shut off those fucking birds? There are no birds anywhere on this Force-forsaken planet!” 

“Except for the ones people use for fighting. And the ones at the zoo,” Archer added unhelpfully as Sol finished his sweep of the rooms to ensure no assassins were hiding in the shadows. 

Fox had only been chancellor for a few weeks and already twenty people had tried to kill him. 

He hated his life. 

“We don’t talk about those,” he snapped. “And didn’t I tell you to shut up?” 

“You did indeed, sir.” Archer said, still sounding too happy for his own damn good. 

Cody groaned again. “Fox, quit arguing and just sleep here. You don’t even have to use the bed. You can sleep on the floor for all I care.” 

“You could fit a whole platoon in here!” 

“Fox.” 

“No.” 

“This isn’t up for debate. If Organa says you need to live here, then you need to live here.” Of course, Cody would only get more argumentative after spending time with Kenobi. 

The little shit had pulled out his negotiation tactics. Or, as Fox liked to call them, manipulation tactics. Well, he wasn’t falling for them! He wasn’t going to stay in this place for another second. 

“I’m the chancellor. I can do what I want.” 

“That’s not how that works.” 

Luckily for Fox, and unluckily for Cody, they had grown up together. He knew how to manipulate him right back. How to push his buttons and argue until they got into a fist fight. He was hoping for a fist fight. It had been a while since he bit something and Cody’s arm was the perfect thing to take his frustrations out on. 

“That is how it works.” He pulled out a datapad. “I’m drafting up a proposal right now to sell this piece of shit place and turn it into a homeless shelter of some shit. I don’t know.” 

“Fox please,” Riyo begged. “It’s good for you to have a place of your own.” 

Shit, Riyo was upset. He didn’t like it when she was upset. 

“I have a place of my own." His bunk. In his barracks. Surrounded by his brothers and noise and smell and stiff cotton. 

“Your bunk at the barracks doesn’t count,” Wolffe argued, reading his mind. “I already asked. They said no.” 

As much as Fox would like to continue to be stubborn and ignore his brothers, he knew they would keep pushing him until he gave in. So, under duress, he decided to give in. 

Not to move into the apartments. Fuck no. He’d die before he lived here. But he did at least put the datapad away so he could argue properly. 

“Why do I need to live here? What’s wrong with where I currently live? It’ll save money. And I wouldn’t even know what to do with all this space.” 

“You might need to entertain some foreign dignitaries,” Organa supplied. “Having them over to your apartments for dinner will be much nicer than the barracks.” 

The blood drained from Cody’s face. “He’s got to entertain people?” 

“Well, yeah?” 

“That’s not like a dignitary only sort of thing?” 

Organa shook his head. 

Cody, Gree, and Wolffe exchanged glances. 

“Thank fuck we’re clones,” Gree muttered. 

Wolffe pulled his datapad out. “I’ll make Bly do the dignitary dinners. Do you think they’ll notice his dumb tattoos?” 

“Ponds doesn’t have any dumb tattoos,” Cody offered. “We could make him do it.” 

“No.” Riyo snatched the datapad from Wolffe’s hands. “No switching out whenever Fox doesn’t want to do something. He’s the chancellor. Which means he has to do things he doesn’t want to do.” She turned to him. “You are going to entertain foreign dignitaries and you are not going to cause any diplomatic incidents. Understood?” 

“I know that,” Fox grumbled. “Trust me, I am well aware I have to do things I don’t want to do. That’s why I’m doing this job in the first place. I don’t want to be here. I’m just the best you got.” 

“And one of the coup leaders,” Archer supplied helpfully. 

Fox should have brought Thorn to do a sweep of this place instead. 

“But not the leader. Make Cody be the chancellor.” 

“So you want to deal with Thrawn and Palpatine’s remaining cowards who are still causing trouble?” Cody asked, quirking a brow in a way that made Fox want to punch him. 

He hesitated. He wanted to say yes. He did want to deal with Thrawn and Palpatine’s leftovers. But he knew that would be a lie. He did not have the patience or the drive to deal with idiots with guns. Besides, now that he had settled into his position and was starting to make progress cleaning up Palpatine’s messes, he started to feel a sense of pride he hadn’t before. He was making changes, hopefully for the better. He was helping build schools and hospitals and creating a galaxy of peace. Each time he made progress, every little step he made towards bettering the lives of everyone, he felt happy. He felt proud. He wanted to do more. He wanted to see how far he could go and how much he could accomplish. He couldn’t do that if he was chasing Thrawn all over the Galaxy. 

“Exactly,” Cody said when Fox didn’t answer. “So, you’re going to sleep here.” 

Riyo took his hand. “Please, Fox. I know it’s a change, but it is important that you look like the Chancellor.” 

“She’s right.” Organa added. “It’s not just about your policies. There’s an expectation of appearance. As much as it’s terrible to say that, people will respect you more if you look like and act like a chancellor. Things like this are important, even if they don’t seem like it.” 

Fox let out a loud groan. “Fine, but I’m finding where those damn bird noises are coming from and ripping the speakers from the wall.” 

“I’ll go find the off button,” Sol said, dragging Archer away before Fox could begin destroying the apartment. 

They had managed to find the off button and turn off the bird noises. But, as soon as Fox went to try and fall asleep, that damn droid shuffled around and turned them back on. Though, he had the sense to change the ambient sound to waves or some shit like that. 

Fox groaned and decided to just deal with it. He had gotten used to the noise of Coruscant. He could get used to the noise of birds and waves. 

He turned to his side. The bed was plusher than anything he had ever felt in his life. It was like a fucking cloud. Every part of his body was sinking into the mattress; contorting as his weight met little resistance. His hips seemed to be dipping too low and his knees were too high. He tried sleeping with just one pillow, but even that was so fluffy he felt his head and neck craned upwards until he finally tossed the pillow on the floor with the other fifteen. Seriously, who needed fifteen pillows? He was pretty sure most of them were for decoration which didn’t make any sense because why would you need to decorate your bed of all things? You just slept in it! 

Even with just the one pillow, it was still uncomfortable. Better, but not by much. 

And the silk black sheets were slippery. And so cold, they almost felt wet. The bed was too large. He could starfish out and still not reach the ends. It made him nervous. If someone attacked him here, how the fuck was he supposed to get up and fight them off? He’d have to roll over to his side and shuffle to the edge. He didn’t like it. 

He groaned and turned to his back. His eyes opened and stared up at the ceiling. The sounds of ocean waves seemed to get louder. 

He pulled the pillow off the floor and folded it around his head to block out his ears. Where was the shouting? The sounds of his brothers playing games late into the night and laughing and enjoying themselves? Where was the humming from the machines? Why could he only hear waves when there wasn’t an ocean anywhere near him? Why was the bed so big? 

And the lack of smell. Why was there no smell? He never thought he’d miss the sour smell of sweat from hundreds of brothers all shoved into a small, poorly ventilated building but here he was. 

The temperature was all wrong. It wasn’t cold, like Kamino. Or hot, like the barracks. It was just right. Such a perfect temperature that he almost couldn’t tell where his body ended and the air began. Everything in this place was designed to be as comfortable as possible for an adult, human male. The perfect temperature. The perfect bed. The perfect smell. The perfect fucking ambient noise to help him drift off to sleep dreaming of taxes of taking over the galaxy or whatever Palpatine wanted. 

He should feel like a king. Here he was, in the lap of luxury. On silk sheets with a cashmere quilt in a perfectly temperature-controlled room with a droid at his beck and call. 

“Fuck this shit.” He threw off his blankets, snapped on his armor, and went back to the barracks where he crashed face down in his bunk with a thin mattress and an even thinner pillow. 

He promptly passed out. 

****

“Fox.” 

Fox grunted and ignored him. He kept his eyes on his desk and pulled another datapad to read. 

“Fox.” 

He knew he was being childish. Not to mention Cody wasn’t going to give up until they had this talk. So, he decided to give Cody what he wanted so he could leave him alone. 

“I don’t want to hear it, Cody,” he said, still not looking at him. “I know you have your room at the temple, but I don’t want that shit. I like where I’m at. Leave it alone.” 

“You promised you’d stay there.” Dammit! He wasn’t going to let this go. Not that Fox thought he would. That man was like a dog with a bone when he had a problem to solve. Made him a fantastic commander, but an annoying brother. Fox was lucky enough to not usually be on the receiving end of Cody’s single-minded determination to win. But when he was, it was a pain in his ass. 

“Fox, you didn’t tell anyone where you were,” Vos added. That little shit had managed to recover from getting buried under a building, impaled by rebar, and nearly dying. And now he was back to annoying the shit out of Fox. 

“I was fine.” 

“You could have died. Someone could have killed you. What if you had been kidnapped?” Cody asked. 

Fox snarled and picked up another datapad. The economy was still a mess from Palpatine and he didn’t know how he was even going to begin to fix it. “How dare you! Like hell I would ever get kidnapped. You’d know if someone tried to kidnap me. Because you’d be finding their bodies. I’m fine. I was fine. Everyone is blowing this out of proportion. I slept at the barracks. I didn’t run away to Naboo for the weekend or anything.” 

“We’re not invincible,” Cody continued. “And we have a lot of enemies. Enemies that want to hurt you.” 

“They want to hurt you too. I don’t see you running around with eighteen guards and sleeping in some penthouse suite. Or does your little Force tingle tell you when danger’s about to strike?” 

He knew that was a low blow. Cody’s new interaction with the Force had been a shock to all of them and he was still trying to figure out the limits. Not to mention dealing with Kenobi’s new Force issues that were never going away. He also knew Cody felt guilty for hiding this from them. But Fox didn’t care. He wanted him to drop it. He wanted them to leave him alone and let him continue sleeping in the barracks with his brothers. ANd he was willing to hit Cody where it hurt to make that happen. 

“Fox,” Vos said, stepping in when Cody recoiled. “It’s not just about you. It’s also about your brothers and their safety.” 

This got him to pause. 

“Do you think that building was chosen for fun? For the view?” 

Yeah. Kind of. 

Vos continued. “No, it was chosen because it’s got so much security, a mouse droid couldn’t get through the vents. People want to hurt you. Not just you, they want to hurt all the chancellors. Your barracks don’t have that sort of security. What if someone managed to sneak in a bomb?” 

He swallowed, imagining what would happen if the bomb that had gone off in the Senate building had been at the barracks instead. Stuffed to the brim with brothers. Cheaply constructed. It’d be a blood bath. Limbs and bodies all over the place. The scent of burning flesh and the sounds of his brothers screaming as they died filling his ears. 

“There are a lot of people coming and going from the barracks,” Cody added. “It’s hard to keep track of everything. Not to mention all the places you could hide something. THe tunnels underneath that people have access too. It’s dangerous for you to be there. Not only because it’s harder to guard you, but also because it’s easier to hurt you. To hurt all of us.” 

Damn, they had a point. And, if Fox were any less selfish, he’d agree to go back to Palpa-dick’s old apartments and lay on the soft bed and listen to fucking bird song and smell nothing. 

Screw it. He wanted to be selfish. Just this once. He had spent his entire life not being selfish. Being trained and groomed to give up everything for the Republic. He won the war. He defeated Palpatine. They were ushering in a new era of peace. Why couldn’t he be selfish? Just this once? Why did he have to keep giving things up? When was it ever going to end? When could he be allowed to be happy?

“We don’t have to tell anyone I’m sleeping in the barracks,” he said. 

“Fox,” Cody groaned. 

“We all look the same.” 

“We don’t.” 

“I go with my guards to the stupid apartments, change into Corrie gear, walk out. No one has to know.” 

“Fox,” Vos tried. 

Cody grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door. “No, it’s no use. If Chuchi couldn’t get him to agree, we won’t be able to change his mind.” 

Fox ducked his head as he continued to work on reports, not acknowledging their departure. He didn’t know why he felt so disappointed in himself. This was the best solution. 

That night, he walked to the apartments with his guards, changed into some shiny armor, then walked back to the barracks. He couldn’t fall asleep that night. Every noise was a potential intruder. Every time the barracks shuddered and rumbled, he thought it was a bomb. Every time he heard his brothers shout, he thought they were dying. 

He gave up and went to his office to sleep there.

*****

He should have known Cody wouldn’t give up. He knew when to retreat for tactical advantages, after all. Fox had spent too long as his ally that he forgot what it was like when he was his enemy. 

And, to be honest, he was glad Cody hadn’t given up. Sleeping in his office wasn’t going to work out in the long run. But every time he tried to sleep in the apartments, he couldn’t. It was too quiet (even with the waves and the birds). And it didn’t smell like anything. But, every time he tried to sleep in the barracks, he couldn’t help but feel like he was putting his brothers in danger. 

He was desperate for a solution but didn’t know what it was. But, he knew Cody was working on it. He wouldn’t leave well enough alone. What would be his next trick? Maybe a Jedi? He could send Kenobi to try and convince him. He was called the Negotiator for a reason. Or maybe one of Stone’s baby Jedi with their big eyes and wobbly lower lips. Hell, he might just get even crueler and pull Bly and Rex from their posts to use their vod’ika privileges to try and trick Fox into going to the apartments. 

Or…

Force, he better not call on Jar Jar Fucking Binks and Orn Free Taa to get him to go. Rex pulled that trick once before. He refused to fall for it again. 

But, of course, Cody didn’t do any of that. He was too smart for that. Too good at what he did. 

So, instead, he skipped Kenobi and the baby Jedi and Bly and Jar Jar Binks and went straight for the jugular. 

Seventeen slammed a hand down on Fox’s desk and knocked the datapad out of his hands. 

“I’m working,” he snarled. Dammit. He did not think Cody would be so cruel to get Seventeen involved. And he had to snarl so that he didn’t reveal just how terrified he was. 

You see, some people thought Fives was the last resort punishment that Seventeen used. 

It was not. 

It was a warning. 

Fives wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. And he had a feeling that Seventeen wouldn’t demand he do fifty rounds of Fives this time. Oh no. He had something else in mind. 

“I hear you’re trying to get your brothers killed,” Seventeen said instead of acknowledging Fox’s words. Looking over him, his face twisted into a scowl. “Either that or you’re trying to get yourself killed. So, which is it? I need to know why I’m kicking your ass. Also, there are easier ways to kill yourself than waiting for some piss-poor assassin to do the job for you.” 

He rolled his eyes and refused to give in. “Cody’s being dramatic.” 

“I’d watch your mouth before I decide to smack some sense into you,” he snapped. 

“Please, you can barely sit down without groaning and complaining about your knees.” 

Seventeen glowered and smacked him upside the head. “Ventress may have caused some damage, but I can still take your scrawny little ass out. Don’t test me, boy.” 

Oh, but Fox was going to test him. “I am not living in that piece of shit apartment. My office is fine. I slept in one just like it for most of the war.” 

He knew why Seventeen was here, but he did not want to go back to the apartments. He couldn’t. And no amount of threats or bullying was going to get him to break on this. He had hoped Cody would come up with a better solution than just sending Seventeen out here to yell at him. But, apparently, even Cody had his limits. 

“Funny. But it ain’t about you. Now is it?” 

He glared at Seventeen with all the strength he could muster so that Seventeen knew how pissed he felt. “What do you want me to say? I don’t want to be there. I refuse to be there. I refuse to be anything like Palpatine.” 

Seventeen scoffed and sat down in the chair and propped his feet up on Fox’s desk. 

“Do you mind?” 

Seventeen did not respond to that request. “Bullshit. You aren’t afraid of being like Palpatine. If you were afraid of that, you wouldn’t be here. What is it? What’s the fucking issue? Why are you being a spoiled little shit? I thought I trained you better than that.” 

“Can’t I just say that I don’t want to be in the apartment and that be the end of it?” 

“Fuck no. You’re not budging on this. And the fact that you’re not budging on this means something else is going on. Now come on before I knock your ass out, drag you to the Jedi, and have them poke around in your dumb little brain for the answer.” 

Fox blinked and leaned back, his mouth going slack. 

Come to think of it, no one had ever asked him why he hadn’t wanted to move into the apartments. He hadn’t even asked himself that, to be honest. On the surface, it was all about the expense, the extravagance of it all. The sheer wastefulness of having an apartment with eighteen rooms, each with their own hype-specific use. What even was a “theater room” and why did he have two? Sure, there was a piece of him that was pissed about the waste of taxpayer dollars. Of being wrapped in fabric so luxurious, most people would never get to touch them. But it was more than that. 

“Yeah, think it through. I got all day,” Seventeen said. 

And that was true. Cody needed to hunt down Thrawn. Wolffe needed to manage his spies. But Seventeen currently didn’t have any job other than helping General Tii settle the cadets into their new homes. He didn’t have anyone to train. He could stay here and let Fox figure out what the problem was. 

And, once he figured out the problem, he could figure out the solution. 

Dammit. Seventeen pulled shit like this all the time when they were cadets. He’d never give you the solution. Instead, he made you sit there and think through the problems until you identified them. Once you did, the solution was often clear. Fox would have liked to think that his days of Seventeen’s training were over. They were not. 

“Is it so bad that I want just one thing to stay the same?” he asked. He wasn't even sure if that was the main problem, but it had been something looming in the back of his mind for a while now. A jumping point, regardless. 

“Yes, now move in.” 

Fox glared at him. 

Seventeen sighed dramatically. “Fucking fine. Keep airing your feelings.” 

“Everything changed so fast. One minute, we were commanders. Clones. Not even considered sentient. And the next, Palaptine’s dead, I’m the chancellor, Cody’s got fucking force powers and is a general. Wolffe and Dormé are a thing. I’m being told I have to move out of the only place I’ve ever lived here on Coruscant and act like a chancellor. I was never trained to be a chancellor. I was trained to be a soldier. But this thing, this one thing, is the last thing I have from before. My brothers, around me and safe. The smell of the barracks--” 

“A shitty smell but whatever floats your boat.” 

“I can hear them. I can feel them. I know they’re there. I’m still a soldier in there. I’m still the same as I was from before. In those damn apartments, I’m someone completely new. Something completely new. I don’t want that. I don’t want to give up everything just yet.” 

“Haven’t I taught you that life is change and you shouldn’t hold onto anything because it’ll probably get ripped away from you because existence is nothing but pain and the universe is a cold, unfeeling bitch?” Seventeen growled. 

“Well, aren’t you great at pep talks.” Fox rolled his eyes.

“I’m right, though. Aren’t I?” The universe doesn’t care about your fucking feelings. You made your choices. Accept the change that comes with them. Your whole life’s been change.” 

“Yes, but even before, I knew what changes to expect,” he explained. With each word, he felt a weight getting lifted off his chest. He didn’t even realize he had felt these things until now. And now that he had opened up a little, it was all tumbling out. Spilling to the surface. So much had changed in such a short amount of time, he hadn’t had the chance to even comprehend what had happened. 

“I knew to expect the command class getting split up and shipped off to different companies. I knew to expect my brothers dying without reason. I knew that at any point in time, I could get assigned to a different battalion, to a different general. I knew what changes to expect. I never expected this! I never wanted this!” He cried, gesturing to the stack of datapads that never seemed to go away no matter how much he worked. 

At fist, he wondered how in the hell Palpatine had managed to run two governments at once and build the foundations for an empire. Until he realized that Palpatine hadn’t been running two governments at once. He had only done the bare minimum to keep up appearances while he worked on his actual goals. And the result? He had wrecked the Republic so much, Fox didn’t know if it could ever be repaired. He certainly didn’t know if he could repair it by the time he left office. Maybe a hundred years from now they’d be back to some semblance of normalcy. 

“One minute, I’m the Marshall Commander of the Corries. Then I became a representative. And then I’m helping Cody kill Palpatine. And now I’m in charge. It wasn’t supposed to be me. It was supposed to be some other politician that we put up there after we finished poisoning the bastard. But, with the snap of my fingers, everything I know and trained for and prepared for is gone. I have to leave my brothers and go live in a shitty apartment. All alone. Just once, I would like to do something that is for me. Something that doesn’t require me to sacrifice. I’m tired of sacrificing. I’m tired of always putting the greater good first.” 

“Then give it up,” Seventeen said. “No one is forcing you to be here. You won the war. You ousted the majority of the corrupt politicians. Leave and go back to being Marshall Commander of the Corries where you’ll live in the barracks with the rest of your brothers.” 

Fox frowned. “I can’t.” 

“Oh, and why’s that?” Seventeen asked in a way that suggested he already knew why Fox couldn’t leave. 

Fox glared at him. 

“Answer me, kid. I’m not a fucking mind-reader. Though, Cody is, apparently. And the next time I see him, I’m going to beat his ass for hiding it from me. That little coward called me to come smack some sense into you and then scurried away to the outer rim saying he had a lead on Thrawn. I think he’s running away. Delaying the inevitable. Now talk.” 

“I still can’t believe Cody is your favorite.” 

“I don’t have favorites.” 

Fox rolled his eyes, but decided not to debate. “I’m the only one who can do it. Organa has already said no, as has Mothma and Riyo. And, while Amidala might make a good chancellor, she’s dealing with the fallout from Skywalker. I don’t trust anyone else to take the position. Not when the wounds from Palpatine are still so fresh.” 

He looked down at his hands. “Besides, I’m good at it. And I like doing it. I like helping people. I like making the galaxy a better place. Our brothers got the shitty end of the stick. An end they never should have had to deal with. If I have the chance to stop that from happening again, I’ll take it.” 

“Well, there you go. You made your choice. Now you have to deal with the consequences.” 

He sighed. Yes, he had made his choice. And he knew how this was going to end. All this fighting and arguing for nothing. He’d end up back at that terrible apartment. With no smell and annoying birdsong and beds that didn’t support his back.
Was this it? Was this his life? One sacrifice after another all for the greater good? 

“It’s so quiet,” he admitted. “I’ll get used to it. I guess.” 

Seventeen thought for a second. “Are there any rules that say only you can sleep there?” 

Fox looked up at him. “What do you mean?” 

“The barracks here were never designed to house the entire clone population at once. But, with the end of the war, we don’t really have anywhere to put them. Most of the boys have been staying on their ships until we can figure out more permanent placement. I’m sure eventually they’ll all scatter to the wind and find their own homes. But, for now, we’ve been stuffing them in the barracks like sardines.” 

That was true. Most brothers had taken to sharing rooms and sleeping in piles as more and more men were called back from the front lines. Some had started to scatter and find their own places, like Cody. But just as many were lost. Staying in the barracks and unsure of what they would do now that the universe was theirs. They could go anywhere and do anything and live anywhere. 

And so much choice, for a group not used to being able to choose anything other than their names and haircuts, led to a lot of men staying right where they were at. Just like Fox. 

“”You get what I’m saying?” Seventeen said. “Or did Tarkin give you brain damage so now I need to spell it out? How big did you say your apartments were again?” 

Fox perked up. “Big enough to fit a platoon. Can I pick the people?” 

“You’re the fucking chancellor. Pick whoever the fuck you want.” 

He nodded. 

Seventeen stood, his knees and back popping. “Now quit being a little bitch. I got shit to do and can’t run over here to set you straight every time Cody and Wolffe fail. This might not be war, but my training will work just as well. Don’t forget it.” 

He laughed. “Yes, sir.” 

He should have taken a moment to think through the problem earlier. And he was embarrassed that Seventeen needed to come back and remind him of his training. Still, he couldn’t argue with the results. Though, he refused to live in Palpatine’s gaudy apartment. Those dumb decorations needed to go. But how to do it in a way that would make the man turn over in his grave?

“Want to help me destroy Palpatine’s priceless artifacts?” 

Seventeen paused by the door. “I thought Nu got rid of them all?’ 

“All the Sith ones.” Fox grinned. “But there’s still a lot of shit in that place. And it’s not my taste.” 

“Like you have taste,” Seventeen smirked. “I got some cadets that could use the target practice.” 

“I’ll bring them to the barracks tonight.” 

“And we could always give the fabric shit to the Jedi to hand out to the homeless.” 

“Palpatine would explode if he knew his cashmere sweaters were handed off to the poor. I like that plan.” 

“You got yourself a deal, kid.” Seventeen reached over and smacked Fox upside the head. This time, it was much gentler. Playful. “Quit giving me trouble. I don’t need any more grey hairs, you little shit.” He shouted as he left the room. 

“Cody’s the trouble maker, not me!” Fox shouted back. 

“In your dreams, kid.” 

He shook his head and pulled up his chatlogs. He messaged everyone he could think of. He had an apartment to fill, after all. 

****

Fox lay on the bed smiling. He had gotten a new mattress. Not as soft as the one Palpatine had before. That had been given to a women’s shelter. And not as hard as his one from the barracks. A little bit of luxury to help him sleep. 

The fifteen decorative bed pillows and various other useless pillows scattered around the apartment had been given to a charity to auction off. The funds would go directly to people trying to rebuild their homes after the Battle for Coruscant. 

The various annoying vases had been set up for target practice and the cadets made quick work of smashing them to smithereens. Apparently, Omega had come out on top, smashing the most with the greatest accuracy. 

Fox only knew that because Hunter wouldn’t stop talking about it. 

The ugly couches had been handed off to a homeless shelter. The dumb curtains had been donated to the Jedi Temple to be turned into baby blankets for the poor. And the damn butler droid had been reprogrammed (Thanks Cal) and given to a school. All in all, things that would make Palpatine’s blood boil. 

Once all the shitty furniture had been shoveled out the front door, Fox needed to fill it. And he did with what he cared about more: his brothers. 

Mostly Corries who were more than willing to get out of the barracks to help make room for their brothers returning from the front lines. And the eighteen random and hyperspecific rooms had been transformed into bunks. 

A pile of young cadets waiting to be adopted had been placed in the two theater rooms. Archer, Sol, Grav, Drillbit, Crescent, Robin, and Sidewinder had commandeered what Fox had called Palpatine’s “Evil Room”. Named as it didn’t seem to serve any purpose other than to sit in the dark and think evil thoughts. 

Cody, Wolffe, Bly, Gree, Ponds, Monnk (and his damn fish-smelling armor), along with several other commanders had taken to sleeping in the sitting room. 

And in his bedroom, because Fox wasn’t alone, was Thorn, Stone, and Thire. Each with their own mattresses so they could come and go as needed. The rest of the rooms had been stocked full of Corries, no doubt mostly here so they could eat his food and leave their dirty clothes all over the place. 

He didn’t care for a second. The apartment smelled. Probably disgusting to any nat-born. But it smelled like home to Fox. And he could hear Sidewinder and Archer arguing about music. He could hear the click, click, click of Gree’s needles as he knitted a scarf and knew he’d trip over the ball of yarn in the  morning. He knew he’d wake up and walk out to the kitchen and see Cody trying to meditate. He come home after work and smell whatever disgusting concoction Sidewinder had tried to cook up in the kitchen. 

The apartment was a mess. No more luxury goods strewn on every surface. Just simple, practical things that Fox didn’t have to worry about getting dirty. Filled with brothers who were safe. 

He knew, eventually, his brothers would drift away. They’d find their own place in the galaxy. Their own homes. Their own lives. Things would change, but now he could get used to the change. Just like he had gotten used to every other change in his life. He could ease in slowly. He could relax. He could watch them grow and leave. And this time, he’d know it was for the better. 

Chapter Text

Anakin Skywalker’s days go like this: 

At five in the morning, just as the artificial Coruscant sun begins to crest over the horizon, he gets up. Padme’s still in bed at this time. He doesn’t wake her up but gives her a kiss on the cheek before going downstairs to start his day. Even after the end of the war and the death of… well, after the end of the war, there are still so many threats to democracy. And… and the old government had done so much damage to the system that peace did not mean Padme’s workload had decreased. If anything, it had increased. She took to it with the same amount of zeal that made Anakin fall in love with her in the first place. But he does worry about her sleep schedule. Most days, she works long hours. Crashing into bed in the early hours of the morning, while the sky is still dark and Coruscant had (mostly) powered down for the night. She catches a few hours of sleep and then rises once more to continue her work as a champion of the people. 

Anakin wants her to sleep for as long as possible. So, he wakes up early to prepare breakfast. The less Padme has to do, the more Padme can sleep. 

He uses this time to meditate. Not the sit-still sort of meditation most people associate with Jedi. A moving meditation. Obi-Wan never cared much for moving meditation, only ever doing it when he practiced his lightsaber forms. He had tried to train Anakin in the art of sitting still. Force how he tried. In the end, he gave up entirely, fought through his comfort zone, and taught Anakin how to conduct moving meditations. How to let yourself focus only on what you were doing. 

The feeling of the knife in his hands. The coolness of the fruit he pulled from the refrigerator. The sounds of eggs sizzling in the pan. The smell of spices mixing and floating in the air. Don’t focus on anything else. Don’t let your mind wander. Be totally present in the moment. 

Anakin realizes now just how good of a master Obi-Wan was. He hated moving meditation. He never felt comfortable doing it and could never manage to connect with the Force unless he was using his lightsaber. But he still learned for Anakin. He still tried and practiced and meditated with Anakin in a way he was most comfortable with. Anakin hates that… that people tried to make Obi-Wan seem like a bad master. Like he didn’t care about Anakin and only cared about him being perfect. Now that… now that things had changed, Anakin sees through the lies. Obi-Wan wasn’t the perfect master. And maybe Anakin would have done better under another master. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care, he didn’t try, and he didn’t do his best. 

He lets himself chop, saute, wash, and plate. He cleans as he goes. He lets himself be fully present in the moment. He lets his connection to the Force infiltrate every pore and tether him to the here and now. He realizes just how little he meditated during the war. It felt pointless to do so. And… some people told him it’d probably be a waste of time. He wonders if he had meditated more, maybe he would have seen through… he would have seen through the lies. 
He doesn't let this thought settle in his head. This is a meditation meant to achor him in the here and now. Not in the past. 

Padme wakes up about thirty minutes later. She comes downstairs and gives him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Smells delicious,” she says as she yawns and sits down at the breakfast table. She takes his breath away like this. Her hair is loose, and just a little tangled. With no makeup on her face, he feels like he can see her for who she really is. 

Then again, she takes his breath away every day in every look she’s ever worn. He recognizes that her makeup is like her armor. A way to shield herself from the outside world. And he loves to see her done up. The perfect picture of a devoted politician ready to fight for the rights of her people. And he likes her like this. Human. Relaxed. Comfortable. 

“It’s just eggs and fruit,” he says, setting the plate out in front of her. He kisses the top of her head and dishes up his own plate. 

“Still smells wonderful.” She pops a berry in her mouth and smiles at him. 

They discuss their plans for the day. Well, more like Padme’s plans for the day. Anakin’s plans are always the same. They have to be if he ever wants to get off of house arrest.

“I probably won’t be able to come by for lunch,” she says, running through her calendar. “Fox wants me to head a meeting with the Separatists and Neutral Systems to discuss how to curtail the power of the trade federation. Because of what they’ve done to Naboo, he thinks I would be the best person to speak on it.” 

Anakin nods. It feels so odd to hear Padme talk about the Separatists like this. They’re allies now, not enemies. Which was not…. Which was not the plan. Anakin doesn’t trust them. But Padme and Fox do. And he’s met Fox. That man doesn’t trust anyone. So, for him to feel comfortable hosting talks like this, things must be going smoothly. Besides, Anakin would rather there be peace talks than more war. 

It’s hard to say who won and who lost the war. In many ways, Anakin thinks they all won and they all lost. But compared to what… but compared to what could have happened, this is better. 

She finishes up her breakfast and puts the dishes in the dishwasher. She kisses Anakin’s cheek and then goes to get ready for the day. Putting on her armor piece by piece. 

Anakin cleans up; returning to his moving meditation. Feeling the hot water against his skin. Smelling the subtle fruity aroma of the soap. He takes the sponge and uses it to scrub the pan. 

Yes, they have a dishwasher, but he doesn’t like to use it. He likes this. He likes washing dishes. Closing his eyes. Feeling as the water’s temperature slowly cools. As the bubbles pop and the suds decrease in size. Swirling his hand in circles to clean each dish. One at a time. He feels so grounded. So present. So calm. 

He wonders if he had washed a few more dishes during the war he never would have fallen for… he never would have gotten so far from the light. 

Dwelling on the past is useless, but you can also learn from the past. Obi-Wan kept trying to explain that to him. Jedi aren’t unfeeling monsters who never have a sad thought or think about the past. Well, not all of them anyway. They are people, who use the past to learn from and guide them, but they don’t sit there and ruminate like Anakin used to do. Going over every minute detail of his failures, thinking if he could just think about them long enough, he could figure out where he went wrong. 

Now he knows the past is more complicated than that. Sometimes, he failed because it was his fault. Sometimes, he failed due to rotten luck. And sometimes, he failed because… because other people wanted him to fail and he had no way of knowing that at the time. He strayed from the light for many reasons. But he can move forward. He can make breakfast, wash dishes, and keep himself from ruminating too much on his past mistakes. What’s done is done. There is no past. No future. Only the present. 

He understands that now. And he doesn’t feel guilty when he wishes he could have understood that sooner. 

Padme comes down about thirty minutes later. Hair done. Makeup done. Ready to face down the galaxy. 

She kisses him once more. 

“You’re going to smudge your lipstick,” he says. 

“That’s what primer and setting spray are for,” she replies. And when she pulls back, her lipstick is indeed not smudged. 

Anakin makes a mental note to ask Yane what primer and setting spray are and what type Padme uses so he can add that to the list of things he’ll need to purchase regularly. Like laundry soap and floor cleaner.

He never gave much thought to all the little consumables most people needed to remember to purchase regularly. At the temple, they were always just there for him to take. And as a slave, well, you got what your master gave you and you didn’t complain. 

Anakin looks up at the clock and sees that he still has about thirty minutes until his probation officer and guard for the day show up. 

Perfect timing. 

He finishes up the dishes and then does a quick workout. He uses a staff to practice his lightsaber forms. He’ll never get his lightsaber back. He doesn’t even know if he wants to get it back, but the forms are comfortable and familiar. He remembers the way Obi-Wan would stand to the side and offer up instructions. How he’d come up to Anakin and put his hands on his arms and legs to fix his stance. Never once showing outward frustration when Anakin failed again and again and again. 

And he remembers how happy he felt when he did something right for the first time. Obi-Wan’s face would split into a wide smile. He’d clap his hands together and tell Anakin how good he was doing and how proud he was. 

How… how Anakin ever thought that Obi-Wan didn’t feel anything makes him sick to his stomach. Obi-Wan has always been there for him and supported him. And, yeah, he got mad at Anakin on occasion and scolded him. But, just like when he would put his hands on Anakin’s arms to adjust his stance, he wasn’t scolding out of hate. He scolded because he wanted Anakin to be the very best he could be. 

A knock at the door alerts Anakin that his thirty minutes are up. 

He puts away the staff, wipes the sweat off his face, and goes to greet the people at the door. 

Three Corries are there: two guards and his probation officer. 

“Hey guys, come on in,” he says, gesturing for them to step through the door. The probation officer, a trooper named Crowley, is always the same. 

The two guards, on the other hand, switch regularly. Anakin doesn’t feel annoyed by their presence or offended that Fox thinks he’s going to try and kill his PO. Because he knows Fox doesn’t see him as a danger. The guards are almost always shinies, with little to no experience. Fox sends them to Anakin precisely because he knows Anakin won’t hurt them. It’s a training exercise. Something to give them some experience before sending them to deal with the really dangerous criminals. If anything, their presence makes Anakin happy. 

He hasn’t fallen so far from the light that people see him as nothing more than a monster. They don’t view him as a danger and are doing this to keep up appearances more than anything. 

The next hour is spent discussing with Crowley everything Anakin’s been up to these past few days. They discuss his work at the prosthetics clinic and his upcoming trip to Tatooine. Anakin tries to be a model prisoner, to show how much he wants to atone for his sins and help move the Galaxy in a better direction. Crowley seems pleased with his answers and leaves the two shinies, Duke and Hazzard to stay with him for the rest of the day. 

“Keep this up, Skywalker, and you might not need a guard here in the next few months,” Crowley says as Anakin walks him to the door. 

He beams. The Corries never get in his way and can sometimes be pleasant to be around. Duke and Hazzard in particular seem interested in racing speeders, much to Crowley’s chagrin. Anakin pretends he knows nothing about the illegal races that take place in Coruscant’s lower levels. Even though Archer and Sol have sent him plenty of videos of their races. They’re actually pretty good. And Anakin wants to get ahold of their speeder to give it even better improvements. 

“Thanks, Crowley. See you next tomorrow?” 

Crowley nods and leaves the building. 

His morning done, it’s time to move on to what he does for most of the day. He, Duke, and Hazzard go down to his clinic. The two corries station themselves at the front entrance to give Anakin’s patients their privacy. And then, Anakin’s day really gets going. 

He has patients coming in from all over the galaxy. Children and adults alike. The children always make his stomach turn. No one under the age of eighteen should ever have to deal with a missing leg or hand. That’s not to say that the adults are much better. But it doesn’t feel as terrible when a middle-aged man comes in missing an arm as opposed to a five-year-old. At first, it had just been him and him alone doing the work. And he could barely keep up. There was only one of him and so many people in need of prosthetics. He had to start turning people away. And it turned his stomach every time he had to do it. But, several members of the 501st found their way to his clinic and asked to help. The boys learned fast, even if they weren’t trained as medics, and they were very efficient. This meant he could take on more and more clients. All free of charge, of course. 

Obi-Wan helped as much as he could. Even at the very beginning, he worked with Bail and some of his other contacts to help source the materials for the prosthetics, help get families to Coruscant so they could visit the clinic, and find them a place to stay while they went through the physical therapy process. He nearly cried when he found out just how much Obi-Wan was helping him, even after breaking his trust. 

“Of course, I’ll help you,” Obi-Wan says after their session. He still has trouble getting up off the floor. Anakin changes the tension to see if that makes a difference. “I’ll always help you.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to. Especially after everything,” Anakin trails off. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan puts his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I will always help you in any way that I can. You did some awful things, but you are not lost. And this is proof.” He gestures around the room. “You’re still working to help people. I wish the circumstances had been different, but you are not lost. And you have never been so far gone that you can not find your way back.” 

Anakin hugs him. Just like when he was a little kid and scared that Obi-Wan was going to disappear. He hugs him tight and burrows his face into his shoulder. He almost lost this support. And for what? For who? 

Obi-Wan hugs him back, reaching out through the force and giving Anakin soft feelings of love and caring. 

Anakin doesn’t want to pull back, but he does. He knows his relationship with Obi-Wan will never be the same. And a part of him wishes that he realized it sooner. If he had, the last time he saw Obi-Wan before… before everything went down, maybe he would have told him how much he appreciated him. Maybe he would have let himself bask in the Force bond for just a little while. His relationship with Obi-Wan had changed. And it was inevitable that it would change, regardless of… regardless of what happened during the war. He just wishes the change had been for the better. And he wonders if Obi-Wan is only this nice to him because he saw how much worse it could have been. He doesn’t dwell on it, though. He had no way of knowing that things would go down the way they did. Besides, this isn’t bad. He feels closer to Obi-Wan than he has in a long time. And he feels more at peace with himself. 

He walks Obi-Wan to the door. He’s the last client for the day and most of the troopers have already left. 

“Ahsoka’s doing brilliantly with her dual-wielding,” Obi-Wan says. 

Ahsoka and Rex have yet to visit him. Rex still occasionally messages him, but Ahsoka hasn't reached out. 

Anakin understands and doesn’t press. Maybe one day they’ll reconnect. For now, he understands why she stays away. In many ways, he’s the only person left who fully represents… represents the evil brewing in Coruscant. Hidden in plain sight. A reminder of how she almost died. 

“I was worried Dooku’s lightsaber would be too long for her, but she seems to be handling it swimmingly.” Obi-Wan continues. 

“And the purified kyber isn’t causing any issues?” 

He shakes his head. “As far as we can tell, all traces of the dark side have been removed. Madam Nu thinks she’s found other references to such a technique, but it is very difficult to do. And there’s always a chance the person attempting to purify the kybers might be corrupted instead. Probably why it’s largely fallen out of practice.” 

Anakin nods. “Good. I’m glad she’s doing well.” And he really means it. That is one thing he never had to come to terms with after the war. He was not ready to be a master. And certainly not a master during a war. Ahsoka should have been Obi-Wan’s padawan from the start. He loves her dearly and is glad to have given her some of the tools that helped her survive. But Obi-Wan probably could have done just as well, if not better. And now he doesn’t have to worry about fucking her up. 

He hugs Obi-Wan one more time. “Come back if you’re still having trouble.” 

“Of course, my padawan,” Obi-Wan says. 

During the war, that always felt like an insult. A jab. A reminder that Obi-Wan was the master and that he only ever saw Anakin as a useless, weak padawan. 

He realized now that wasn’t the case. Anakin would always be Obi-Wan’s padawan, no matter how old he got or how good he got. It wasn’t a sign of contempt or disrespect. It was a sign of love. He wonders how many more of these signs of love he missed because he was too stuck in his beliefs that Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi were nothing more than emotionless robots who didn’t care about people. 

The shop now locked up, he and his guards head back to the apartment. His mind healer is waiting at the door for them. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Anakin says. “Obi-Wan needed some help with his leg and we were talking about Ahsoka’s progress.” 

“Of course. It’s no issue,” his mind healer, a rodian Jedi named Kimi Olean says. 

She turns to the guards and bows to them. “Thank you, troopers. I can take him from here.” 

“Yes, sir.” Still shiny, they salute her before heading back to base to submit their reports. 

Anakin and Kimi head inside and begin their session. 

At first, Anakin did his sessions in the morning, after he met with Crowley. However, they often left him feeling angry, sad, scared, annoyed, depressed, or all manner of negative emotions. He felt it was taking a toll on his clients so he requested they move the session to be after work. He feared that Fox and Windu would take this as a sign that Anakin wasn’t adhering to his punishments. That he was trying to find loopholes and be difficult. 

But, they didn’t think that. They agreed to move the session to later in the day. And Anakin then had the rest of the night to breathe and digest what had happened during the sessions. 

Sometimes they talked about mom. Sometimes they talked about Watto. Sometimes they talked about Obi-Wan. The war. Sometimes, they didn’t talk about his past at all, instead focusing on his present and trying to find better ways for him to cope with his emotions. And that wasn’t even touching on the second healing session they had in the week just to deal with the after-effects of having the dark side manipulate his mind. These were added on after Kimi realized just how deep the manipulations went. Now, Anakin was forced to sit in a room with a mind healer AND another Jedi while they meditated the dark side out of his mind. Or something like that. Those sessions were brutal and often left him sweaty, breathless, and sore. He hopes though, that with time, they would no longer be necessary. Though, it’s impossible to say just how much damage… how much damage was done to his mind. And if it's even fixable. 

But there was one thing they haven’t broached yet. 

“How are we today?” Kimi asks as she sits down on Padme’s lush purple sofa. 

Anakin sits across from her, wringing his hands. His knees bouncing up and down. “Fine. Ahsoka’s doing well. The clinic’s going well. I have a few more troopers I’m training now. This will be nice because then we’ll be able to increase the amount of people we can help. Padme liked my breakfast this morning. And the daily meditations really have helped. I feel calmer. It sounds so stupid to say washing dishes is a meditation--” 

“It’s not stupid. It is merely one way of existing,” Kimi says. She takes in his posture. His clear nerves. “Is there something bothering you?” 

“I… uh… I think I’m ready to talk about… Force.” He stands up to pace, running his hand through his hair. “I can’t even say his name! I can’t even think of it. Every time I do, I stop and reword it so that I don’t have to mention him. Even in my thoughts! I’m editing them as I go.” 

“And yet, you wish to speak about him.” 

He nods. “Yeah. I feel like he’s still blocking me. Stopping me from making progress. And if I could just say his name, I could begin to move past him. But… I don’t know. Saying his name, admitting what he did, it’s like there’s no going back from that. And I know he did those bad things. I trust Ahsoka and Rex’s account of what happened. But, if I admit he was the reason most of these bad things happen…” He lets out a frustrated growl. Bouncing on his toes he turns to face Kimi. “I don’t know. That’s what frustrates me about this. Do I think that if I don’t admit it to myself then it didn’t happen?” 

Kimi nods. “Possibly. The mind is very complex. You’re protecting yourself, by rewording your sentences so as not to place the blame on him. Because you know that if you place the blame on him, that also means you’re placing the blame on yourself for trusting him. For not seeing him for who he truly was. We don’t have to talk about this now. Trauma is a journey. And you’ve made such good progress.” 

He sits down again, staring at his hands. “I know. But I need to do this. This is stopping me. I am making good progress. But until I admit to what he did, it’s like he’s still here. Still controlling me. And I can still relapse if that happens. I can still hurt the people I care about, physically or emotionally, so long as I refuse to admit what he did.” 

Kimi nods. “These are your sessions, Anakin. We can work through this today if you feel you’re ready.” 

“I’m not ready,” Anakin says. “But I’ll never be ready. What I am ready for is to move on. To finally put this behind me. I don’t want him in my mind anymore.” 

Kimi nods. “Right. Then we will work on that today. What would you like to admit he did first.” 

Anakin swallows, his hands clenching so tight together he thinks he might crack a bone. 

“He-- Ahsoka--” It’s like the words stuck to the back of his throat. Like they refused to escape. 

“Deep breaths,” Kimi says. “You’re doing great. And remember, I am here. You are here. But he is not here.” 

He swallows again and tries a second time. “Ahsoka was almost killed by…” If he admits this, there is no going back. He could do this. 

His heart pounds against his ribs. His lungs refuse to fill completely with air. His knee is bouncing again. 

“Sheev Palpatine tried to kill my padawan.” 

The words come out of his mouth. First a struggle, then flowing freely. And once the sentence is done, a weight lifts from his shoulders. 

He slumps back against his chair and sucks in a breath. The air is pure and cold in his lungs. Tension bleeds from his shoulders.

Sheev Palpatine does not appear in his living room to smite him. And Anakin’s mind does not break from the admission. 

Kimi smiles at him. “Good. How do you feel?” 

“I don’t know,” Anakin admits. Because he feels all the emotions. Relief. Anger. Sadness. Fear. Joy. Guilt. Emotions, both good and bad, well up to the surface and crash around him in a cacophony of noise, blending together until he feels nothing. 

He didn’t think this would be how he reacted. 

“The first step is often confusing,” Kimi says. “Would you like to continue on with this line? Or discuss something else?” 

Through all the noise, Anakin manages to pull himself out for a brief moment to know where he’d like to go. “Continue, please.” 

Has his voice always been this hoarse? Has his tongue always felt this heavy? 

They begin talking about… about Palpatine and every way he’s manipulated Anakin over the years. How he made him think that Obi-Wan didn’t care about him. How he made him think the Jedi were unfeeling monsters. How he played on his desires to save people and twist them to meet his own needs. Once the words start, they don’t stop. 

This is probably the first session he has ever had where Kimi barely gets a word in. Anakin spends most of the session listing every single thing Palpatine has ever done to him. He doesn’t even know if these are complaints or pleasant memories he wants to keep. All he knows is he wants them out. 

Nearly two hours later, he collapses back in the chair, finally running out of things to say. Exhausted and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. 

“I’m glad you got that off your chest,” Kimi says. “You know this isn’t the end, though?” 

He nods. “It’s the beginning. But we’ve started it.” 

“Exactly.” 

He walks her to the door and thanks her for staying longer than she needed to. 

“Of course. Helping you is my priority. Besides, I think we both know this needed to happen.” 

“Yeah. Thank you.” He gives her a tired smile and then closes the door. 

Padme said she wasn’t planning on working late. So, Anakin better start with dinner if he hopes to have it done in time. 

He heads to the kitchen, ties an apron around his waist, and begins to meditate. After his mind-healing session, he needs to focus on the present and let go of the past. 

It’ll rear its ugly head again. He may have gotten over his inability to say Palpatine’s name, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more healing to do. As he chops, washes, steams, and preps, he lets go of the day. He lets go of Palpatine. And he focuses on the here and now. 

Anakin’s days end like this: 

The artificial Coruscant sun dips below the horizon. The neon lights come on, somehow leaving the city brighter than it was during the day.

Padme does make it home for dinner. She loves the spicy noodles he made and complains about some of the less intelligent people still flooding the Senate. 

“They’re not corrupt. So, Fox can’t arrest them. They’re just dumb,” she says, waving her fork in the air. 

Anakin smiles and watches her talk. 

Dishes are done. This time, he does load up the dishwasher, wanting to spend his evening with his wife. 

They cuddle on the couch and watch a holodrama. 

After the program is done, Anakin pulls Padme to bed so she can get some sleep before doing it all again tomorrow. 

As he lies there, mind drifting in and out of consciousness, he can’t help but think how much happier he is now. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s no longer a Jedi. Or because he’s seeing a mind healer regularly. Or if it’s because Palpatine is no longer manipulating him. Or all three. 

Regardless of why he’s happier now, Palpatine tried to take all of this from him. But he failed. 

Tomorrow, he’ll get up and prepare Padme’s breakfast. He’ll complete a moving meditation. Work out for a bit. See what new shinies Crowley brought along. Give children some new limbs. Maybe call up Obi-Wan and see if he and Cody want to come over for dinner. And they can bring Ahsoka too if she’s up for it. And then he’ll go to bed with Padme by his side. 

Chapter Text

The sounds of children laughing echoed through the Room of a Thousand Fountains as Plo stepped across the threshold. 

He took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, this deep breath wasn’t meant to ground him, or to stave off a breakdown. It wasn’t meant to release his anger and frustrations into the Force. No, there was nothing negative about this deep breath. 

Instead, this breath was one of complete and utter peace. The kind of breath one took when they smelled a particularly delicious dish. Or a beautiful flower. Or just wanted to be in the moment a little longer. 
He hadn’t breathed like that in a long time. 

Even after Palpatine’s death and the transition to the new government, there had been too many things going on. Too many unanswered questions. Too many fears for true peace to settle in his bones.

How would young Skywalker react to his punishment? 

Would they lose Obi-Wan to the Cosmic Force? 

Did Palpatine have another plan that the troopers hadn’t found, thus throwing them into danger once more? 

Would the rest of the Separatists accept the terms to end the war, or would they continue it? 

Had there been another Sith they missed? 

Was there ever a Sith at all or was this the plan of the troopers all along?

So many questions. 

And the only way to answer them was to sit tight and let the future reveal itself second by second. 

There was no past. 

There was no future. 

There was only the here and now. 

As each second passed, the future did reveal itself. 

And how bright and luminous it shone. 

Cutting through the darkness. First, like distant stars lighting the sky. 

Until slowly, a brilliant sun rose and chased away the night. 

Night would come again. 

Such was the cycle of life and death. 

Peace and war. 

Kindness and violence. 

For now, though. The night was a far-off, distant threat. 

One they would need to prepare for so that they never again became what they became during the war. 

Which was why Plo was in the Room of a Thousand Fountains right now. 

Called here by Master Yoda. 

He spotted the small master sitting on a bench in the corner. A scraggly, wooden cane clutched in his hands. His eyes watched as Stone and Master Beq chased the squealing younglings around the room. 

“Why are you covered in jam?” Stone asked as he picked up a squirming initiate. “We weren’t anywhere near the kitchens. How are you always sticky?” 

Then, without much fanfare or warning, he tossed the laughing youngling into one of the deeper fountains. 

The initiate bobbed to the surface, still laughing as a few of his friends hopped in after him, robes and all. 

“He does know those are not for bathing, correct?” Plo rumbled as he sat next to Master Yoda. 

Master Yoda chuckled. “Wonderful, it is, seeing children laugh. See it again, I never thought I would.” 

Plo nodded and watched as Master Beq fished the initiates out of the fountains, turning to give some gentle instructions to Stone. 

The ex-Corrie was good with the children and clearly loved them. However, the lack of gentle parental and authority figures in his own upbringing did show rather unpleasantly. His handling of the initiates only further highlighted the gaps in his knowledge. 

Plo did not think he’d ever purposefully hurt the children. 

If that was a possibility, Master Beq would have never allowed him to take up his position. However, when one of the nicest parental figures in your life was Alpha-Seventeen, that did speak volumes as to why he thought tossing a child into a body of water was an appropriate reaction. 

At least he wasn’t making them all do Fives. 

And at least Force-Sensitive children were more resilient than non-Force-Sensitive children when it came to rough-housing. 

Still, he trusted Master Beq was taking time to teach Stone the skills of normal children, not hyper-enhanced clones brought up in a brutal military lab setting. 

“I am happy these ones will get to live in peace and light instead of war and darkness,” Plo said. “I suppose I didn’t realize how dark the galaxy had gotten until it was chased away. A bit like your eyes adjusting to the lack of light, I suppose.” 

“Masterful in his manipulation, Palpatine was.” Master Yoda’s ears drooped. “Patient, he was. Dedicated to his cause, he was.” 

“Like putting a frog in a pot and slowly raising the temperature. The frog doesn’t notice until it’s too late.” 

And it almost was too late. 

In fact, had it not been for the troopers, Plo very much doubted they’d ever realize what was happening until Order 66 was carried out. Their children shot in their beds. Their padawans hunted like animals. The Masters and Knights, rounded up and executed like criminals. 

He didn’t want to believe such a horrible thing could come to pass. 

But Obi-Wan confided in him and Mace one night that several threads pointed to that very outcome. 

Their people were very nearly hunted to extinction. The galaxy was very nearly tossed into decades of darkness, pain, and suffering. 

It was Palpatine’s fault. And the fault of all the Siths that came before him. Make no mistake. He was the one who put these plans into motion. He was the one who sought total domination and power over everyone. He was the one who succumbed to the promises of the dark side. 

But, he could not be the only one to blame. 

The Jedi Order had lost its way for a while now. 

Some would argue that it had never found its way to begin with. What, with their shameful past of Jedi Warlords and Dictators. 

But Plo could not speak to his ancestors’ failures. He could only speak to his own. 

Yes, Palpatine had laid the trap that would have killed them all. And there was very little the Jedi could do to avoid being drafted into the war. 

But the troopers? 

Why had they taken the troopers at face value? 

Why did they not look at their template, Jango Fett, and wonder why a famed Jedi Killer would willingly let his DNA be used to create an army for the Jedi? Why did they not see his association with Count Dooku and wonder why he wouldn’t have handed the troopers over to his benefactor, who aligned more with his beliefs? Why hadn't they taken Dooku's warning of a Sith in the Senate more seriously?

Plo could come up with dozens of reasons why they didn’t investigate further into the clone army. But they were all excuses in the end. 

The fact of the matter was, the Jedi Council failed. 

They failed the galaxy. 

They failed the troopers. 

They failed their people. 

It wasn’t entirely their fault. But they had to accept the consequences of their actions. They had to do better in the future.

Children all fished out of the fountain, Stone and Master Beq led them out of the Room of a Thousand Fountains to get changed and head to their lightsaber lessons with Master Cin in a few minutes. 

Master Yoda shook his head. “Old, I am.” 

“Come now, my friend. You hardly look a day over seven hundred and twenty-five.” 

He chuckled, but continued. “Led the order astray, I have.” 

Plo swallowed and stared at the fountains. The surface of the water rippled as droplets landed on the surface, snapping the tension and being absorbed into the rest of the body. 

He knew this was coming.

All of them knew this was coming. 

That didn’t make the event any easier. 

“We are all to blame for the failures of the Order these past few decades.” He knew he was only delaying the inevitable. 

Or, perhaps he wasn’t delaying it so much as easing Master Yoda’s conscience. After all, it wasn’t solely his fault, so the blame shouldn’t rest solely on his shoulders. 

“Old, I am,” he reaffirmed. “Not meant for politics, I am. Make a better mentor than leader, I do.” Master Yoda looked up at the fountains, his grip loosening ever so slightly on the cane. “Wish to play with the padawans, I do. Teach them important lessons, like mischief and breaking rules, someone has to.” 

“And that someone being you?” Plo asked, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. 

“Hard to teach mischief it is, when an example of a good Jedi, you are.” 

“Very true, my friend.” Plo sighed. “Do you think Mace will make a good grandmaster of the Order?” 

This got Master Yoda to let out a genuine laugh. His head tipped back as if that was the most ridiculous notion he had ever heard of. 

“If nominate him for grandmaster, I do. Murder me, he will. Not old enough to be grandmaster, he will say.” 

“I don’t know why he’d say that. His hair would be gray if he had any left.” 

Master Yoda laughed again. 

“If not Mace, then who? Kit and Shaak are both too young. As is Obi-Wan. Though I imagine we also want to keep Obi-Wan out of the position as Grandmaster so as to not ruffle too many feathers with the more traditional members. We are already pushing it with his relationship with General Cody. And I imagine he would gleefully take the position to irritate his master. That's probably not a good reason to have him be grandmaster, though. Ki-Adi, perhaps?” 

Master Yoda shook his head. “Too traditional, he is. Tradition, good and bad, it is. Someone more balanced, we need.” 

Plo stroked his chin. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind who you want to take over your position. Have you spoken to Mace about it?’ 

“Yes. Agreed, he has. A wonderful candidate.” 

“Mind telling me who you picked? I suppose it’s not General Cody. Though he would be efficient.” 

Master Yoda smiled and looked to him. “You.” 

Plo’s eyes widened. “Me?” 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t know what to say. Any member of the council would have been a good grandmaster to the Order. They all had their strengths and weaknesses. He himself felt his flaws magnified tenfold. 

Then again, he did live with himself all the time. He knew his own mind. He sat with his own thoughts. Sometimes, he felt that he got too attached to the people around him. He wasn’t strict enough with the Jedi tenets or their code. 

But, he could also see his positive attributes as well. 

If Master Yoda was looking for someone who was more non-traditional, but still fairly traditional, Plo was a good candidate. Yes, he grew attached and loved easily. But he had decades of experience letting those attachments go. Knowing when it was time to move on. Knowing what his place was in the lives around him. 

Master Yoda slid from the bench, hobbling off in the direction the initiates went. 

“Awaiting your acceptance, Mace is. Go, I must. Teach the initiates to prank Master Beq, I shall.” 

He slipped out of the room, leaving Plo alone with his thoughts and the gentle sounds of running water. 

Grandmaster of the Order. 

Perhaps with him and Mace working together (and borrowing a few of General Cody’s spreadsheets), they could better prepare for the next time night fell on the Order. 

Chapter Text

Quinlan leaned back in the cold, creaky metal chair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at the person across from him. 

Did he cross his arms as some sort of shield? To protect himself physically as well as emotionally? Or was it an attempt to look more intimidating? 

Perhaps both.

Perhaps neither. 

Perhaps Obi-Wan was right, and he did need to schedule an appointment with a mind healer immediately after this. 

Not that he’d ever tell him. 

Obi-Wan was insistent that this was a bad idea. That Quinlan didn’t need to torture himself like this. And for what? What was he hoping to get out of this? Revenge? Closure? An explanation? 

Even if he did get one of those things, would it truly be enough? Would it actually be what he needed? What he wanted? 

Once again, Obi-Wan was probably right. 

Quinlan shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have even entertained coming here. He should have gone to sessions with the mind healer once a week until the day he died. 

But he made his choice. 

And now he had to deal with the consequences. 

Perhaps this wasn’t just closure. Perhaps this was a test. Of both him and the person sitting across from him. 

Would he fall to the Dark Side once more? Did she still have some power over him? Did she feel remorse at all? 

So many questions swirling in his head. And so many desired outcomes. Some of which were completely contradictory. 

It made his head hurt. 

It made the Darkness at the corners of his psyche whisper about all the things he could accomplish if he would just indulge. He’d get exactly what he wanted if only he’d let it in. 

He shoved away the darkness, violently, and thought of Aayla. Now with her own little padawan, the Adorable Omega, who Quin would spoil until the end of time. 

He heard Qui-Gon managed to come back from the dead, albeit in a dream. And Master Tholme had managed to manifest himself long enough to yell at Quin to dig himself out from underneath the building before he died. He could totally die and still be there for his perfect Grandpadawan. 

Unless, of course, he gave into the darkness. 

He believed its lies. 

He tried to use it for something he didn’t even know if he wanted. 

“Why are you here?” Asajj was the first one to break the silence. Quin didn’t even greet her when he stepped in. Instead, he went straight to the chair and sat down, staring at her. 

Probably creepy. But he didn’t know what else to do. 

He thought about what he might say. 

Force he thought so much about what he might say or do should he ever have a chance to meet Asajj face to face. 

But now that he had that, all of those questions went out of his head. It was like staring at a ghost. This haunted specter who tormented him in his dreams. Questions as to why she fell. Why he wasn’t good enough to keep her in the light.

Why did she hate him so much that she tortured him and killed his master? 

Could she say anything to give his soul peace? 

No. 

The realization was cold. 

No, she couldn’t. 

Looking at her now, an eyepatch where Wolffe had shot out her eye, hands shackled in Force Suppressing cuffs, wearing a prison jumpsuit. She was a shadow of her former self. Did that happen before her arrest? Or did the arrest and defeat cause it? 

He didn’t answer her. 

He couldn’t answer her. 

Anything he wanted to say felt hollow, useless in the face of everything that had happened between the two of them. 

Except for one question.

One question that burned him after she left. After she captured him. After she tortured him. After he clawed his way back to the light with Obi-Wan’s help. 

“Do you still love me?” The air of the interrogation room seemed to swallow his words up. Sucking them up through the fan, into the vents, and out onto the bustling streets of Coruscant. Disappearing into oblivion. 

Almost as if he never spoke at all. 

Ventress let out a laugh. It didn’t sound bitter. It didn’t sound happy either. It just… was. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, staring down at her shackled hands. 

He noticed now they were shaking slightly. He wondered if she worried he would kill her. He wouldn’t. That wasn’t who he was. That wasn’t the sort of Jedi he wanted to be. 

He didn’t want Aayla and Omega to think that murder was an acceptable reaction to injury. Even if his injuries were severe. 

He sighed and leaned forward. Well, what did he expect? He already knew nothing she said would ever be good enough for him. Her actions would never be adequately explained. And any attempts at doing so would only sound like excuses. 

“I think I did,” she continued. “That’s why I wanted you to fall. So we could be together. I don’t know, though. The Dark Side… it twists things. Emotions like love get perverted into possession. And Dooku manipulated me. Who knows what I actually wanted at that time?” 

“Don’t pass all the blame onto him. You had to torture me into Falling. You had to kill my master, so I could do it. And I still clawed my way back to the light the moment I got the chance. You know Obi-Wan would have given you the chance. You know he would have helped you.” 

“I know,” she whispered. “My pride was always my greatest weakness. I am sorry about Master Tholme. He was a good man.” 

Quinlan clenched his teeth together, tears burning in his eyes. “A good man you murdered. And for what? So some asshole in a cape could destroy the galaxy? What did you want, Asajj? I get leaving the Jedi Order, but were we really so terrible that you wanted to kill our children? You wanted to kill Aayla? What did she do to you to deserve that level of hate? What did Obi-Wan do?” He didn’t stop the tears from dripping from his eyes. He didn’t care if she saw this as a weakness. Maybe if she had a few more weaknesses, she could see they weren’t things to be crushed, but things to be supported and embraced. 

She didn’t look him in the eyes. She hadn’t looked him in the eyes this entire time. 

“Dooku wanted him to be his actual apprentice. I always knew I was his second choice. And I’d never live up to his standards.” She said it in such a matter-of-fact way. No excuses. Just an explanation. 

“So, jealousy, that’s why you did all this? That’s why you nearly killed Master Plo? That’s why you attacked the Temple to kill our children?”

“I wasn’t going to kill the children.” Her voice was still soft. Barely above a whisper. 

Quin almost wished she would get a little angry. Maybe if she did, it’d soothe the storm in his soul. Instead, her emotions were still calm. Like a bird floating above the eye of a hurricane. Oblivious to the destruction raining down below. 

“No, you were just going to sit by while the droids did all the hard work. Thank the Force, Stone and Amidala’s handmaidens were there. Otherwise, we might have had to set funeral pyres for toddlers.” 

She flinched. Perhaps the first emotion he had seen all day from her. A sign that his words were getting to her. 

“Why are you here?” she asked once more. 

Quin sat back in his chair and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I guess I was hoping some part of the woman I loved was still in there.”

“I killed her,” Asajj said. Once more, no emotion in her voice. Just a simple statement of fact. 

“I know.” Quin sighed. He had to come to terms with the fact that he would never find the answers he sought. Nothing Asajj would ever tell him would ever be good enough. They’d either sound like excuses or only tell a fraction of the truth he wanted to hear. 

Perhaps she herself didn’t fully know why she did the things she did. Perhaps she got so caught up in the power and the promises from Dooku and Palpatine that she didn’t stop to think about her actions. And now, away from their influence and nothing but time on her hands, she finally had time to think through her actions. 

Though just like with Quin, he doubted she’d ever find anything satisfactory in her thoughts. 

Did she have legitimate grievances with the Jedi Order that may have turned her cold? 

Yes, of course. 

Was she lost and struggled to find a place of belonging after leaving her home and family? 

Yes. 

Did any of that provide a good explanation as to why she thought murdering children was a good idea? 

No. 

Ventress had killed Asajj. Another casualty in the war, even if it never showed up on any official reports. And even with rehabilitation, she’d never be the same woman again. 

They’d never go back to the way things were. Quin would never trust him like he once had. And he would carry the trauma of her betrayal for the rest of his life. Both visible scars on his body, and invisible ones on his mind. She had fundamentally changed the way he saw the world. And not for the better. 

Ventress killed Asajj, and she also killed him. There was no closure for that. Only moving forward. 

He stood up. The metal legs of the chair scraped loudly against the floor. Ventress still hadn’t looked him in his eyes. Instead staring down at her hands. The table. Anywhere but Quin’s face. 

He almost wished she would. 

He almost demanded she do. 

He took a deep breath, and released these thoughts into the Force. Her looking at him would accomplish nothing. Best let go and move on. 

“I hope you find peace,” he said. 

As he turned to leave, she spoke one last time. “Quin.” 

He froze at the door. Hand outstretched and ready to exit. 

He didn’t turn to face her. He just waited. 

“I’m glad you returned to the light,” she said. It was so sincere. So hopeful. The first time since she left the Order that Asajj sounded like Asajj. 

Not this bitter, hateful half-sith who couldn’t get her master’s approval. And not this shell of a person who sat across from him, chained to a table. But an actual person, still capable of love and empathy. 

Something loosened in his chest. 

It wasn’t the closure he wanted, but it lightened something inside his soul. The cracks she caused healing. They’d never fully disappear, even with decades of therapy, but that didn’t mean he had to break further. 

He opened the door and stepped out. 

As it closed behind him, Obi-Wan threw his arms around Quin’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. 

Quin hugged back, tears still in his eyes. “Should I have said something to her?” he asked, his voice watering and weak. 

“Only if you wanted to. Do you want to?” Obi-Wan pulled back to look him in the eyes. 

Quin glanced back at the one-way glass. Ventress had finally pulled her head up and was looking around the room. 

“No. I think I got what I needed.” 

“Then let’s get out of here.” Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around Quin’s shoulders and led him out of the prison. “We’ll go to Dex’s and get you something to eat. Then straight to a mind healer.” 

“Not the mind healer first?” Quin let out a wet laugh, leaning into Obi-Wan’s warmth and light. 

“Food is a good therapist all on its own. Especially those shakes of his. And Ahsoka’s organizing a padawan movie night with Omega and a few of the others. I’ve graciously volunteered for you to chaperone.” 

Quin squeezed his shoulders as they stepped out into the sunlight. Where life hummed on every level. People busy with their jobs. Children laughing and playing. A galaxy healing, though never able to fully return to what it was. 

He smiled and let the sun warm his face. “I can’t wait.”

Chapter Text

Howzer woke up at exactly 0430 every single morning. Even though the war ended, there was still so much to be done. So much to rebuild. People to help. Wounds to heal. 

Commander (now General) Cody agreed to let him stay on Ryloth to aid in the restoration efforts. And to keep an eye on Orn Free Taa. The politician seemed to have turned over a new leaf. Almost dying because the former chancellor snuck in several armies' worth of droids tends to force a person to adopt a new outlook on life. But one could never be too sure. 

It was Howzer’s job to ensure that Free Taa wasn’t slipping back into old ways. That his people were taken care of. That his planet could heal from the trauma and blockades that had bombarded them for months. 

To do that, he needed to wake up at 0430 every morning. He headed to the gym to get a good workout in. A mix of weight lifting, cardio, agility, and flexibility to keep him strong, but highly mobile. 

After a good sweat session, he went to the mess hall to grab breakfast. 

After breakfast, at around 0700, it was time for his actual work to begin. 

“Hi, Commander Howzer,” a gaggle of young women said as he stepped outside the GAR base. 

“Ladies,” he said, tipping his head to them to acknowledge their presence. General Cody had written a GAR memo stating that soldiers did not have to wear their buckets unless in an active combat zone. 

Howzer didn’t mind wearing his bucket, but when the mornings were this crisp and clear, he wanted to smell the fresh air with his own nose. Not the filtered stuff he was used to. 

“Can you please walk us to our jobs, Commander?” One woman said. “It’s so dark out. And you know it’s not safe for us to be walking around in the dark.” 

“I suppose I can. It’s on my way anyway,” he replied. The women cheered. A few even hugged him. 

He didn’t know what for. It was plenty light out in his opinion. And while nowhere was ever truly safe, the crime rates in this neighborhood were practically non-existent. Not to mention the woman would have had to walk here in the dark in the first place, and then sit outside and wait for him. 

No matter. It wasn’t up to him to determine what they did and did not feel comfortable doing. Besides, he liked helping people. And, by showing the civilians that troopers cared about them, it went a long way to aid in building trooper/civilian relationships. 

He dropped the women off at various places of education and employment. A few gave him kisses on the cheeks. While others hugged him. One woman asked about his workout routine and how he got such big arms. 

Howzer’s chest puffed up a bit at that. He had been working hard to increase his one rep max in all his lifts. It was nice for someone to notice. It was also nice for someone to take an interest in exercise. So, he gave the woman a detailed account of how he worked out, including his splits and weight progression. 

“Can I have your comm code?” he asked her as they neared her place of employment. 

Her skin darkened. “Oh, whatever for?” She batted her lashes. Was there something in her eye? 

“I want to send you the routine we talked about. It’s a lot to remember, so it’s better if it’s written out.” 

“Oh. Um. Sure.” She gave him her comm code, and Howzer made a mental note to send her the routine by the end of the day, along with videos showing how to do the lifts correctly. 

Once all the women were dropped off safely, it was time for him to get some actual work done. 

The day passed quickly enough. He somehow managed to get himself a secretary. A young twi’lek man who liked to remind Howzer that he was very single and what a shame that was. 

“I’m sure you’ll find someone, Cedrik,” Howzer said. “If Jesse can find someone to love him, then there’s hope for you as well. You’re a much better catch than Jesse.” 

“Right. Thank you, Commander,” Cedrik said. 

Was it just Howzer, or did he seem almost disappointed in that response? Maybe he didn’t believe Howzer’s words. So, it wasn’t disappointment so much as it was disbelief. He did hope Cedrik found someone who loved him. He was such a nice young man. 

After working for several hours, it was time for lunch. Lunch was his favorite time of the day because he got to spend it with Hera. 

“Howzer!” Hera shouted, leaping up to wrap her arms around his waist as he stepped outside. 

“Hera. Chopper,” Howzer greeted both of them. 

“Commander, you can come sit at our table,” a group of men and women said, waving him over. 

“Well, that’s very nice of them,” Howzer said, going to sit with them. 

“Oh, we can’t. There are only two seats there. Omega’s coming.” Hera said. She bit her lip and looked at Howzer. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Of course not. I’m interested to hear how she’s liking her training.” He turned to the group that had invited him to sit. “Sorry.” 

“No, it’s alright,” one man sighed, propping his chin on his hands.  

“You’re so good with kids,” another woman added. “It’s so sweet how much you care for them.” 

“Of course I care for them. We wouldn’t have won the war without Hera.” He put his hand on Hera’s head, who beamed with pride. 

Chopper let out a string of binary curses. 

“Or Chopper. No, I didn’t forget about you.” 

Chopper beeped an acceptance of Howzer’s explanation. 

The group sighed, all with their chins propped up on their hands. 

Howzer and Hera found another table. Just in time for Omega to bound over, waving at them wildly. 

“Omega, you made it!” Hera went to hug her friend while Howzer set up a little picnic. 

“Of course I did! Hi, Howzer! It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Nice to see you too, Omega.” 

The girls quickly got to talking about what they had done that day. 

The Bad Batch, along with Rex, Fives, and a few other members of the 501st, were on Ryloth helping to disarm some land mines left behind by the Separatists. Very dangerous and very slow-moving work. But also very important work. 

It seemed that Tech had taken a break to help Hera with her flying skills. She had gotten much better since her, Caleb, and Grey’s escape from Separatist Captivity. Howzer was glad someone could teach her. 

While he was a good pilot, as required by the GAR, he wasn’t the best teacher. He struggled to explain certain concepts in a way a beginner could understand. Honestly, he was surprised Tech was as good a teacher as he was. 

But the results spoke for themselves. Both Hera and Omega had really excelled under his direction. 

As lunch came to a close, Omega asked, “Want to come with us to help restore some of the city?” 

Howzer flipped through his schedule. He didn’t have any more meetings. Free Taa was off planet for a Senate meeting. And he had remained efficient in the morning, meaning he got all his work done for the day. 

“I guess I have the time. It’ll be nice to get some physical activity in. Sitting behind a desk all day hurts my back.” 

Omega and Hera (and the other tables) cheered. 

“Come on.” Hera grabbed his hand and pulled him off the bench. “I think Hunter and Rex are that way.” 

Howzer let the girls pull him along, sending a message to Cedrick where he would be for the rest of the day. 

Cedrik wrote a reply, “I’ll be there!” 

Howzer furrowed his brow.”No need to come. It’ll just be me doing physical labor for a few hours.” 

Cedrik was quick to reply. “I am your assistant. What if you need assistance? I’ll bring water and a towel.” 

Well, Howzer couldn’t argue with needing to stay hydrated. Cedrik didn’t do a lot of physical labor, but surely he could help with something. 

“Commander,” Howzer greeted Commander Rex, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been roped into volunteering.” 

“We do mind!” Fives shouted. 

Echo threw a rock at him. 

“The more hands we can get, the better,” Commander Rex said, paying the Domino Twins no mind. “We need to take this building down. It’s too damaged to be repaired and is a hazard as it stands.” 

Howzer looked over the remains of what used to be someone’s home. The war might be over, but the scars would never truly go away. Even if the people inside were safe, their lives would never be the same. It hurt him so much that even now, people suffered because of Palpatine and what he did. What he was. 

“Of course, Commander. Direct me where you need me.” 

Rex gave him some instructions, ending with one final suggestion. “You might want to strip down. It’s hot out. Even the blacks can’t compete with that sun.” He pointed up to where the sun was reaching its peak. 

Howzer looked around. Sure enough, the men seemed to all be stripped down to their lowers and tank tops. He could see why. Even just standing out here, he could feel sweat building at the base of his neck and trickling down his spine. 

“Good call, Commander.” He went to strip out of his armor.

“No! No! Don’t do that!” Fives shouted. 

“What? Why?” 

“You… You’ll get sunburned!” 

“Sunburned?” 

He saw Rex face-palm. 

“I have sunscreen!” A twi’lek said, practically pouncing on Howzer’s back. “I can help you put it on. Just in the areas you can’t reach.” Her face flushed with the heat. 

“Oh, that’s very nice of you,” Howzer said as he removed the rest of his armor and stripped down to his tanktop. She let out a happy sigh and began rubbing the sunscreen on his back.

“Thanks for reminding me about the sun, Fives.” 

Fives looked like he was about to say something. But Tup tackled him before he could. 

Now completely suncreened up, it was time for Howzer to get back to work. He grabbed a shovel and began removing debris. His muscles burned from exertion. Despite stripping down as much as was decent, he still sweated. His skin glistening in the sun as he flexed and grunted, working methodically to bring down the building brick by brick. 

When he turned around, he saw that quite a crowd had gathered. 

“I suppose it’s fascinating watching a building get destroyed,” he called up to Rex. 

Rex rolled his eyes. “Force, I think we need to get Kenobi down here to explain some things.” 

Howzer’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know what that was about. 

As the day wore on and Howzer wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hands, the crowd only grew. 

At one point, he lifted a rather large piece of rubble. Grunting and flexing, he picked up that rock and held it above his head before tossing it into the trash compactor, his muscles rippling so much that he thought he heard his tanktop rip just a bit. 

The crowd cheered. 

“Oh, come on!” Fives shouted. 

Howzer looked down. Indeed, he had flexed enough to rip the tank top. 

“Well, no use keeping this one.” He grabbed the collar and pulled it off his head, now leaving his torso completely exposed to the elements.

"I'll put some more sunscreen on your back!" a young man shouted, leaping over the crowd to get his back.

"Thank you. That's very nice of you. I forgot that was a concern."  

“Seriously?” Fives shouted once more. 

Howzer looked up at him. Maybe Fives had heat exhaustion. He had been working outside longer than Howzer had. 

He turned to Rex. “Maybe we should take a water break.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, what had to be at least half a dozen people shoved cool water bottles under his nose. Condensation pooled around the bottles as the heat of the air met the cold water. 

“Thank you so much,” he said, grabbing one from a woman. 

“Thanks,” Rex said, grabbing the rest and tossing them to the men. 

Howzer squirted the water straight into his mouth. Instantly, he felt refreshed, feeling the cold water work down his body before settling in his stomach. It felt so nice, he decided to pour some out on his head. 

What a fantastic idea!

As the water splashed onto his hair and clung to his curls, he could swear his body temperature dropped by at least a few degrees. He shook off the excess and patted his neck with a towel. 

The crowd let out a sigh.

“Force, you’re going to kill someone,” Rex grunted. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Come on. Let’s finish this up before the sun sets.” 

Howzer nodded and got back to work. 

Eventually, the rest of the building came down, leaving an ugly, open pit. He shook his head at the sight, still angry and frustrated that it had to come down in the first place. 

Rex put a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll rebuild.” 

“Of course they will. They never should have had to, though.” 

“I know. But I’d rather they have a chance to rebuild than no chance at all.” 

He supposed there was some logic in that. “Are you guys staying for the night or are you heading out?” 

“We’re heading out tomorrow,” Rex said. “Most of the land mines have been taken care of, and we’ve trained enough brothers to clear out the rest.” 

“Good. How about you come to the Mess Hall with me so we can catch up?” 

Rex smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’d love that. Alright, boys, let’s pack it up. Hit the showers and then let’s eat.” 

The men let out weary cheers at a job well done. 

Howzer turned to address the crowd of Twi’leks still gathered. “Thank you all for coming out and supporting us. We’re so grateful to be a part of your reconstruction efforts.” 

“Thank you, Howzer,” the crowd said in unison. There was something almost dreamy about the way they spoke. Maybe it was heat exhaustion. Just because they weren’t doing physical labor didn’t mean they weren’t also hot and tired being out in the sun all day. 

Howzer smiled at them and put back on his armor, kept safe and clean by Cedrik. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Anything you say, Boss,” Cedrik sighed happily. 

As Howzer walked back towards the base, Hera and Omega, on either side of him, chattering away happily, he couldn’t help but feel like today was a very successful day. And he was glad to share it with so many people who loved and cared about him. 

Chapter Text

“Cody love,” Obi-Wan said as soon as Cody stepped through the door. 

His tone of voice made Cody pause. It wasn’t bad, per se. But there was something almost anticipatory about it. Something that made his gut squirm as his mind raced with possible reasons. Most of them were bad and getting increasingly worse the longer he sat there and thought of all the reasons Obi-Wan would be waiting for him. 

To ease himself out of his anxiety spiral, he decided to reach out in the Force to get a better handle on Obi-Wan’s emotions. That was one of the things he could do now, after all. And why sit there and worry when he could reach out and tell right away if Obi-Wan was happy, scared, angry, or hungry. 

He must have been a bit too forceful, though, as Obi-Wan let out an “oof!” and then presumably fell onto their sofa. 

“Shit. Sorry, sorry,” Cody said as he rushed further inside to make sure he hadn’t accidentally cracked Obi-Wan’s head open on the coffee table. 

His assumption had been correct. He had accidentally shoved Obi-Wan onto their couch. The normally poised Jedi master now sprawled out with his legs at awkward angles in the air and his Jedi robes tangled around his limbs, while his arms flailed helplessly to help him get back up. 

Thankfully, he seemed to have avoided the coffee table. 

Obi-Wan managed to detangle his arms from his cloak and pushed himself up. His hair was adorably ruffled and mussed due to the cloth. Cody wanted to run his fingers through it. 

“No worries,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s normal when you’re learning. Most padawans are a bit overenthusiastic with their use of the Force. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has accidentally bowled me over with excitement. I suppose I worried you, ambushing you as soon as you got home. That was not my intent, and I apologize for worrying you, my love.” 

Cody breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever was going on, it didn’t seem to be bad. 

“I shouldn’t have let myself spiral so much. We’re safe on Coruscant. I don’t need to jump to the conclusion that you’ve been stabbed and are bleeding out every time you speak.” 

“One time. I was bleeding out one time, and you have never let me live it down.” 

“One time is all it takes, cyare.” Cody corrected as he pulled him upright. 

While Obi-Wan was doing much better with the prosthetic, sometimes, if he couldn’t get it underneath him properly, he struggled to balance. Skywalker assured them both that it would go away with time. His body would learn how to move the leg just like it would flesh and blood. 

“Did you need something?” Cody asked once Obi-Wan was properly righted and stable. He didn’t dare reach out in the Force again to gauge his emotions. Even if his heart rate did spike a bit as his mind raced through the possibilities. He tried his best to organize them from most likely to least likely. 

How likely was it that Obi-Wan had decided he didn’t actually love Cody and would marry Wolffe instead? 

Obi-Wan let out a chuckle and pecked him on the lips. “Not likely, love. Hang on. I dropped it when I fell over.” 

He bent over and picked up a rectangular thing covered in brightly wrapped and glittery paper. Obi-Wan thrust it towards him. “Here. It’s a gift for you. Ahsoka helped me pick it out. And the wrapping paper. Hence why there are glittery tookas wearing party hats all over the paper.” 

Cody looked down at it, brow furrowed. “Why’d you get me a gift?” 

Obi-Wan’s gaze darted from his, and he shifted from foot to foot. “No reason. I just… I wanted to get you a gift.” 

Cody’s mind flipped through all the reasons natborns gave each other gifts. It wasn’t Life Day. 

“Is it our anniversary?” It seemed a little early to have an anniversary. They hadn’t been dating for that long. Unless it was the anniversary of the day they met. But that wasn’t it because Cody had that marked on a calendar. And his calendars were never wrong. Was there another anniversary he was supposed to be tracking? 

“No. I don’t think so. It’s just a gift, Cody.” 

He frowned. “Is it my decant day?” 

“No, Cody. It is not your decant day. At least, I don’t think it is.” 

“Then why the gift?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “You’re such a wonderful man, Cody. I’ve wanted to give you so many things over the years. I wanted to give you things you never had before. But I held back because I didn’t want to seem like I was playing favorites. Or make you feel as though you needed to return the gift by engaging in a more personal relationship than you were comfortable with. But, now that I’m not a general and we’re in a relationship, I wanted to give you something nice.” 

Cody’s frown deepened as he took the box from Obi-Wan. “Do I need to give you a gift?” 

Obi-Wan smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Not unless you want to, sunshine. I swear, Cody, I expect nothing from you. This is simply one way I want to show how much I appreciate you. And everything you’ve done for me. Ahsoka. The Jedi Order. Force, the entire galaxy. You didn’t have to. You could have run away with the troopers. I wouldn’t have stopped you. But you stayed, and you fought.” 

Cody felt his cheeks heat up. “Of course I did. I was made for you.” 

You. He wasn’t made for the Jedi. Or the Republic. Or for Palpatine. No. He was made for Obi-Wan. Mind, body, and soul. Just as Obi-Wan was made for him. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything because I did something I wanted to do,” he said, even as he tugged the wrapping paper off. 

“I know. But you’re no longer a slave now. You’re allowed to own things. And I know you’re too practical to ever buy the bits and bobs that make life beautiful. So, I decided to do it for you. If you don’t like it, let me know, and I can get you another.” 

The last bit of wrapping paper fell away. 

“A cookbook?” Cody asked, holding up the book to read it better. It was printed on real flimsy, with a hard cover and a picture of a tall chocolate cake. Above the cake, the words 1001 Elevated Dessert Recipes! Stood out in bright, gold, raised letters. 

The subtitle under the cake read For Bakers Who Want to Take Their Cakes to the Next Level!

“That’s a lot of exclamation points,” he muttered. 

“You do like to bake,” Obi-Wan explained. “And I worry about you, Cody.” 

Cody flipped the book open to the table of contents. It didn’t list all the recipes in the book. Probably due to the fact that 1001 would take up too many pages. But they were broken down into sections. 

Cakes

Cupcakes

Cheesecakes

Pies

Cookies

Bars

Chocolate

Fruit

Ice Cream

Pastries

Toppings

Other 

He could appreciate the art of a well-organized document. Especially one that contained so many different items. Though he did wonder if chocolate cakes could be found under “Chocolate” or “Cake”. Or if the section labelled “Chocolate” meant chocolate candies. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said. The pictures were nice and bright, clearly showing off what the end product was supposed to look like. He was going to have to make a list if he wanted to go about baking this cookbook in an organized fashion. 

Obi-Wan stepped forward to wrap his arms around Cody’s waist, leaning his head on his shoulder. “You know I worry about you always. Just as you worry about me. But as I said, you’re a free man now. You’re allowed to explore what you like as a person. I worry that you’ve jumped straight into this new position and you’ll get stuck constantly working. No idea about what you like to do in your free time.” 

“You on our bed is a pretty nice thing to do in our free time,” Cody muttered. 

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan swatted at his waist. “I’m being serious.” 

It appeared that Chocolate Cake was under the Cake Section. And that there were approximately 20 different types of chocolate cake. Under the Chocolate Section were chocolate candies, but a few other creations, such as mousses and the art of sculpting chocolate. 

“It’s good for you to have a hobby outside of work,” Obi-Wan continued. “I also figured it’d be nicer for you to have an actual book. Something you own. That you don’t need. But that you have because you like it. This one does get good reviews on the Holonet. Mind you, I’m useless in the kitchen, so I wouldn’t be much help in determining the validity of the recipes.” 

Cody flipped to the end, relieved to see there was a well-organized index. His chest grew warm, and his stomach flipped in ways he was getting used to. This feeling of happiness and excitement. 

He could probably find all of these recipes for free on the Holonet. He didn’t need a hardcover book that had to weigh close to ten kilograms and was filled with beautiful pictures. 

But, he supposed, that was Obi-Wan’s point. He didn’t need this book. But he still had it. Because he was a free man now. Free to own useless cookbooks and bake brown butter sea salt chocolate chip cookies. 

He smiled and kissed Obi-Wan softly. “Thank you, cyare. I love it.” 

The beam Obi-Wan sent his way was almost as good as the book itself. 

“I can’t wait to make them all.” 

*****

“What are we looking at?” Waxer asked as he spotted Boil watching the General in his office. General Cody’s office had a large glass window so they could see inside. 

And right now, inside the Commander was standing along the back wall, marker in his hand, writing things down on a whiteboard. 

He had several rows and columns. Occasionally, he’d look down at his desk, flip through something lying on it, then turn back to the whiteboard to scribble something down. It was too far away for Waxer to read it properly, though. 

“No idea,” Boil said as he sipped on some caf. “He’s been listing things for the better part of an hour. Looks like it’s all coming out of that book.” 

The General erased something in one of the boxes and then wrote something else in the box before moving down several spaces to write something else there. 

“He’s pulling up a calendar,” Waxer said. “Maybe coordinating attacks?” 

“Could be,” Boil replied. 

“What are we looking at?” Wooley asked, upon spotting Waxer and Boil sitting there, staring at the General’s office. 

“The General is listing things on a whiteboard,” Waxer said. “We don’t know what he’s listing, though. He’s been at it for the better part of an hour and is also pulling up his calendar.” 

“Maybe locations for Thrawn?” Wooley suggested. “And then cross-referencing that with dates?” 

“No. Don’t think so,” Boil explained. “He keeps looking down at some book on his desk and flipping through it. 

“It could still be a lead on Thrawn. Maybe it’s an old book from the Jedi Archives or something. Doesn’t Thrawn want to reinstate the Chiss Empire?" Wooley suggested. “He could be looking up the history.” 

“Yeah, but it’s just the one book, though,” Waxer said. “If he were looking at the history of the Chiss, wouldn’t he need multiple books? And why him? He could have one of the archivists do this for him.” 

“What are we looking at?” Longshot asked upon spotting Waxer, Boil, and Wooley standing there staring at the General’s office. 

“General’s listing things on a white board, using a book, and sometimes pulling up his calendar. But we don’t know what for,” Wooley explained. 

“Let’s see then,” Longshot pulled out his scope and put it to his eye. 

“Fuck, why didn’t we think of that? We have our binocs,” Waxer said, elbowing Boil. 

“Because you’re an idiot,” Boil replied. 

“You didn’t think of it either.” 

“Maybe I did. But maybe I decided I didn’t care enough to look.” 

Waxer glared at him. 

“Are they locations for Thrawn? Or a history of the Chiss?” Wooley asked. 

“Um, no.” Longshot frowned, pulled his head away from the scope, cleaned the lens, and then looked back through. “Salted Caramel Cake. Rosemary Lemon Shortbread Cookies. Flourless Chocolate Cake with a Dark Chocolate Raspberry Ganache…” he pulled his head back. “These are all desserts. What’s he doing listing a bunch of desserts?” 

“Don’t know,” Boil said. They turned back to the General. 

“Think we’re going to get some?” Wooley asked. 

*****

As it would turn out, they would, indeed, get some. 

As would Fox. And Wolffe. And Gergor. And Rex. And Trapper. And Monnk. And Gree. And Bly. And Satine Kryze. And Master Windu. Alpha-Seventee. Fordo. Skirata (it was a chocolate sculpture in the shape of a hand flipping him off). Hondo Ohnaka. Breha Organa. Anakin Skywalker. Quinlan Vos. One of Palpatine’s old assistants, who was still in therapy for everything he had to go through. Sinker and Boost. Hera. Howzer. Master Luminara. Barriss. Caleb. Kal. Grogu. Omega. Avi Singh. Riyo Chuchi. 

Practically everyone whom Cody didn’t despise with every fiber of his being got some sort of baked good either delivered to their doorstep or in the mail. 

Because Cody was getting back pay, and the pay of a High General, and because he was living in the Jedi Apartments, where he didn’t have to pay rent or for food because he ate at the mess hall, he quickly acquired more money than God.

And, with nothing else to really spend it on, he spent it on baking supplies and ingredients. 

“I never knew there were this many types of flour,” Ahsoka said as she and Obi-Wan watched fifteen different types of flour be loaded into their apartment by the crateful at the direction of some very enthusiastic trooper cadets living in the Temple. 

“Or sugar,” She added. 

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had to leave for a few weeks on a mission. Obi-Wan made Cody promise he’d try to relax a bit and not just work the entire time. He had not anticipated Cody deciding to open up a working bakery using troopers and initiates to help him. He supposed if the creche masters were alright with the children helping out Cody, he didn’t mind. Though he was curious about where Cody was planning on storing sixty dozen eggs. 

Cody, bless his heart, was completely oblivious that Obi-Wan had even returned. He was in the kitchen, whipping up a cookie cheesecake of some sort. He apparently had good enough use of the Force to hold the cookbook and several mixing bowls up; spoons swirling various batters and doughs together. 

“Cody love,” Obi-Wan tried, hopping over a pallet (yes, a literal pallet) of chocolate. Truly, even bakeries did not have this many ingredients lying around. 

“Oh, you’re back, how’d the mission go?” Cody asked. “Cadet Jules, what is that temperature on that sugar?” 

Cadet Jules was not a trooper, but a Jedi Initiate. A tiny little Togruta who was probably not old enough to be watching melted sugar on the stove. 

“One hundred and sixty degrees Celsius, General,” she squeaked out. 

“Good. Pour it into the moulds. The rose-shaped ones. You remember how to do it?” 

“Yes, sir.” She saluted him and carefully poured the literally boiling sugar into the silicon molds Obi-Wan did not remember owning before he left. 

“It was good.” Obi-Wan tried. 

The oven dinged. A cookie tray of freshly baked cookies floated out and landed gently on the counter. He picked one up and popped it in his mouth. “Chewy. Good flavor. But not amazing. It lacks depth, and the flavors are a bit underwhelming. Who’s my least favorite brother at the moment? Neyo? Yeah. Send these to him,” he handed the cookies off to an initiate Obi-Wan had never seen before, who nodded and rushed off. 

“Hey, hey! Buddy system! Who’s your buddy?” Cody called. 

“Sorry, General.” The initiate said as he grabbed the hand of a trooper cadet and rushed off to send the subpar cookies to poor Neyo. 

Cody turned to another trooper Cadet who, Obi-Wan was fairly certain, was named Bell. Bell was standing next to a very large whiteboard that Obi-Wan had also never seen before this moment. 

“Move the Earl Grey Tea cookies to number two-hundred and thirty-one. What’s next on the list?” 

“Red Wine Chocolate Cake with Black Cherry Compote, sir,” Bell squeaked out. 

Cody nodded. “Ahsoka, you’re staying with Rex tonight. I’m sending these black sesame and tahini chocolate cupcakes to you.”

“Well, I know what that means,” Ahsoka said, wrinkling her nose. 

“Cody!” Obi-Wan said, exasperated. 

Cody looked up. Jules, now finished with her task of pouring the sugar into silicon molds, was measuring out wine (his good wine!) into a small bowl. 

“Yes?” Cody asked. 

“What are you doing? Have you quit your job to open a home bakery? Not that I mind. I just.. This seems rather excessive.”

Cody pointed to the whiteboard. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in horror as he realized that all 1001 dessert recipes were listed. One column (presumably) had a list of all the ones he had made. All 231 of them. The Earl Grey Tea cookies currently ranked last place. The other side, 770 left to go. 

It now made sense why he was getting so many calls from people asking him to thank Cody for his gifts. He thought they were just finally recognizing that Cody himself was the gift, and they should all be thankful he stuck around to sort out the shitshow of a war they all participated in in one way or another. 

Cody stood straight, arms clasped behind his back, as he paced. It was what he did whenever he needed to lecture the troops about an upcoming battle. 

“I’m being organized about this, Obi-Wan. There are 1001 recipes in this book of various flavor profiles and techniques. Furthermore, not all of them are worth making a second time. I also need to consider being efficient with my ingredient use, so I don’t have leftover eggs or purchase fruits outside of their growing season. The book was quite clear that out-of-season produce would be bland and mealy. If I want to go about this efficiently, I need to plan,” he tapped on the board. “This is the plan.”

“Force, I made a monster,” Obi-Wan muttered. 

Ashoka patted his back sympathetically. “I think you forgot just how little chill Cody has.” 

He sighed. “Ahsoka, dear, could you please…” he gestured to the army of children still baking. 

“Sure thing, master.” She chirped. “Who wants to help me hunt down Rex?” 

“Oh, I do! I do!” The children clambered after her. She grabbed the black sesame cupcakes and led them out the door, leaving Cody and Obi-Wan alone. 

Cody frowned. “I thought you wanted me to get a hobby?” 

He stepped up to him and turned off the oven. “I do. But I don’t want it to stress you out. You have time now, my love. You don’t have to get all of this done in twenty-four hours because that’s how long you have for shore leave. Be honest, Cody. Did you enjoy baking any of this?” 

Cody’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I was too busy trying to be efficient that I didn’t really notice if I liked it or not.” 

“Exactly. You have a life now. You should enjoy it. And sometimes, that means being inefficient.” 

Cody looked around the apartment, now covered in various types of flour and sugar. “I suppose I did go a bit overboard, didn’t I?” 

He laughed and wiped some flour from his cheek before giving a peck. “Perhaps a little. I think we also need to work on the concept of downtime, my love. Though I am a bit sad I didn’t get to try any of your creations.” 

Cody wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. “Well, I did already measure out the wine. And we do have a lot of eggs to get through. Want to show me how to bake inefficiently?” 

He smiled and kissed him softly. “Always, my love.”