#unexpected-verse

The comm chimed just as Plo was finishing his afternoon tea. He answered without hesitation, recognizing the comm code.

Mira’s face blinked into view, her curls tousled and her brow furrowed in frustration. “Grandpa,” she said without preamble, “Father’s Day is this weekend and I still don’t know what to get him. I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

Plo folded his hands in front of him. “Ah. A very important mission, then.”

She huffed. “I asked him, and he said, ‘You don’t need to get me anything.’” She dropped her voice, mimicking her father’s accent with surprising accuracy.

Plo smiled behind his mask as she rolled her eyes so perfectly reminiscent of her father that it warmed his chest.

“And what do you think he meant by that?” Plo asked gently.

“I think…” Mira scrunched her nose, thinking hard. “I think he’s bad at gifts. Like, scared of them or something.”

Plo made a thoughtful sound. “That may not be entirely wrong.”

“I wanted to get him something good. Something he’d really like,” she continued, arms crossed now. “But he won’t tell me what he wants. And he never buys anything for himself. So how am I supposed to know?”

“Perhaps,” Plo said slowly, “you and I should discuss it in person.”

Mira stopped pacing. “Like… you’ll come get me?”

“If your mother approves,” Plo replied, “I shall place a call to her and pick you up after school tomorrow. We’ll take a walk. Perhaps near a few shops. And get some ice cream.”

Mira lit up. “With the candied berries?”

“If they have them.”

She leaned closer to the screen, grinning. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

#^#^#^#^##

The next afternoon, Plo met Mira outside the private academy she attended. She came bounding down the front steps, still in her school uniform, her bag slung over one shoulder and her hair only half-tamed. The moment she spotted him, her face lit up.

“You came!” she called, skipping the last step to land in front and hug him tightly.

“I said I would,” Plo replied, patting her head. “Did your lessons go well today?”

“They were fine,” Mira said, brushing the question off with a wave of her hand. “But I’ve been thinking about Dad’s gift all day. We have to figure it out.”

They set off together, Mira walking just slightly ahead, then circling back every so often to match Plo’s slower pace. The plaza they entered was wide and open, lined with fake plants in neat planters and a variety of shops.

“I thought maybe a mug,” Mira began. “Or a shirt. Something cool.”

Plo gave a thoughtful hum. “That is one possibility. Do you believe he needs a mug?”

Mira wrinkled her nose. “He already has like, a million mugs.”

“Mm,” Plo agreed, diplomatic as ever.

“I could get him something for his speeder,” she added after a moment. “But I don’t know what. He doesn’t really like… stuff.”

“No,” Plo agreed. “Your father does not seem to place much value on acquiring new possessions.”

Plo, ever subtly offered, “Sometimes, the most meaningful gifts are the ones made by hand.”

Mira wrinkled her nose again. “I guess. But I want it to be good.”

They walked a little further in silence before Mira brightened.

“He has this old jacket,” she said. “The one he wears on his speeder bike. It’s got a hole in the shoulder.” She reached up to show the spot. “Right here. So… maybe a new jacket?”

“Yes. I recall that jacket. It’s from Liri, I believe.”  Plo said.

Mira blinked up at him. “Mom bought it?”

“She did,” Plo confirmed. “It was one of the first civilian garments your father ever owned. I believe it holds some sentimental value.”

Mira went quiet, mulling that over. “So… he won’t get a new one because it reminds him of something?”

“Perhaps,” Plo said. “Or someone.”

Her brows pulled together. “Well… what if we fixed it?” she said suddenly. “Made it better. He won’t get rid of it, but we could fix the hole.”

Plo tilted his head, his tone warm with approval. “How do you propose we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Mira admitted. “Maybe one of those patch things. With a design. You can make those, right?”

“You can,” Plo said. “With patience and the proper tools.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “Do you know how?”

Plo made a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps. With some guidance. And a snack or two… I believe we can figure it out together.”

Mira grinned. “Okay!”

#^#^#^#^#

The gardens at the Jedi Temple were calm and serene.  Birds chirped in the canopy, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees and flowers. On a bench under one of them, Mira sat cross-legged beside Plo, surrounded by a carefully arranged bundle of supplies, cloth, threads, needles, and a small sketchpad.

Her brow was furrowed as she focused, tongue caught between her teeth, trying to copy the lines of the Wolfpack symbol onto a square of fabric. Plo sat,  one hand steadying the sketchpad as she drew, the other occasionally pointing or nudging to guide her lines.

“Like this?” she asked, holding it up.

Plo tilted his head, studying it with care. “Very close,” he said. “The placement is just right. You captured the spirit of it.”

Mira beamed. Next came the needlework. Plo threaded the needle for her, then gently placed his hand over hers to show the motion.  She got the hang of it rather quickly and soon he was merely supervising.

“Yours is a steady hand,” he said.

“It’s not perfect,” she muttered.

“Perfect is not the point,” Plo pointed out. “It is made with care. That is what matters.”

Eventually, the patch began to take shape: the Wolfpack emblem in silvery thread, and just beside it, a smaller silhouette of a wolfcub.

Later, they walked through the plaza near the apartment, on the way to bring Mira home. At a small food stall, Plo ordered his usual shake, and Mira got her ice cream piled high with candied berries.

She took a huge bite. “This was a good idea,” she said, mouth full.

Plo looked down at her, the edge of pride settling warmly in his chest.

“I believe it was.”

#^#^#^#^#

The table was set with a variety of pastries and finger foods, some fruit.  A light lunch.  Liri set the last of the dishes on the table with a flourish.

“Are you sure you won’t eat?” she asked again.

Plo inclined his head, hands folded neatly in front of him. “Just tea, thank you. I was served a rather generous breakfast earlier, and I still have two more visits and a dinner to attend before the day ends.”

“Well,” Liri said, pouring the tea, amused, “We’re glad you made time for us.”

“Of course.”  Plo said warmly.

Across the table, Mira fidgeted in her seat. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her whole body buzzed with barely contained excitement. She kept casting glances toward Plo and her father, clearly waiting for the right moment.

Wolffe was finishing his caf, the cue she’d been waiting for, when she finally burst out with, “I have something for you!”

He blinked, caught surprised. “You do?”

“Uh huh. It’s Father’s Day,” she reminded him, matter-of-fact. She darted across the room and retrieved a small, carefully wrapped box from behind a cushion on the sofa. She placed it in front of him. “Open it.”

Wolffe glanced between her and Plo, with just a hint of suspicion.  Plo gave a faint, knowing nod and Wolffe pulled the twine and opened the box. Inside was the embroidered patch that Mira had worked so hard on. The stitching was beautiful, the lines a little uneven in places perhaps, but she had done a remarkable job.

Wolffe stared down at it, silent.

“It’s for your jacket,” Mira said, her voice quick. “The one with the hole. That’s your symbol. And the little one is…” She hesitated. “Me.”

He looked up slowly, and something in his expression cracked wide open. His mouth twitched toward a smile, but it was his eyes that gave him away. He cleared his throat, voice low and a little rough.

“We’ll sew it on later,” he said, brushing a thumb over the edge of the patch. “Right over the shoulder.”

Mira beamed.

Liri was already reaching for a napkin, watching them, blinking against the emotion.

It was rare to see Wolffe so moved, rarer still to see him allow it.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” Mira said softly.

Wolffe reached for her, pulling her into his arms. He pressed his forehead to hers and kissed her temple. “Thank you.”

“Grandpa helped,” Mira added. “He taught me how.”

Wolffe looked over at Plo and nodded once, his voice steady now. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Wolffe stood slowly from the table, taking a deep, almost shaky breath. The emotion lingered in his expression as he crossed the room and pulled a box from a drawer..

He returned to the table and set it in front of Plo.

“Happy Father’s Day,” he said.

Plo tilted his head in quiet curiosity, then opened the box.

Inside lay a custom-made bracer, similar to the ones he wore, but clearly newer in a dark, polished material. It had his usual markings, the Jedi Order emblem and the Wolfpack symbol, carefully etched and painted. The inner lining was clearly custom.

“It’s reinforced,” Wolffe explained quietly. “Adjustable straps for support. Heard your wrist was acting up again.”

Plo paused, claws tracing the curve of the bracer. “And who, may I ask, told you about my wrist?”

Wolffe’s eyes flicked toward Mira, amused, almost conspiratorial. “A little bird,” he said. “Or cub, rather.”

Mira grinned wide.  “You did say handmade things were better than buying them.”

The view from the rooftop was spectacular, the sun setting in streaks of color, skylanes glittering as the city transitioned into night. The table was tucked into a corner, quiet, the lamps giving everything a warm glow. Cody still wasn’t entirely used to dining out like this or the idea of sitting and savoring a meal out in public with the man he loved.

But Obi-Wan looked good across the table, in a collared shirt, the first few buttons open almost casually, sipping a dry red with a sort of elegance like he belonged here.

They were on dessert, some complicated confection Cody had never experienced or thought possible when the conversation drifted into familiar territory.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said, tone far too casual, “for someone as sharp as you, it took you entirely too long to notice I was flirting.”

Cody raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glass. “In my defense, you flirted with everyone .”

Obi-Wan looked scandalized. “I did not.”

“Ventress?” Cody countered.

“That was tactical,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Maybe I tried not to see it because we were at war .  You were my general,” Cody reminded him, setting his glass down. “And flirting with you seemed like the sort of thing that ended careers.”

Obi-Wan sobered and nodded.  “And yet you let me kiss you.”

Cody raised a brow. “I let you what now?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “The mission on Tedros. Remember? You were injured, just a graze, but you were angry I jumped into the crossfire. I was… a little shaken. You were sitting there being treated and when the medic looked away, I leaned in and kissed your cheek.”

Cody blinked, then scoffed. “You kissed me through the helmet. That doesn’t count.”

“Perhaps not.”

“It was confusing is what it was ,” Cody shot back, but his mouth twitched into something close to a smile. “I spent the next month trying to figure out if it meant something or if I was imagining things….”

Obi-Wan sipped his wine. “It meant something.”

Cody looked at him. “You know, you could’ve said something, something not in riddles.”

Obi-Wan sighed, glancing out at the lights.  “It was all so…complicated, I suppose.  It didn’t feel right to push.”

There was a long pause.

“I was in love with you,” Cody said quietly. “Probably before I understood what it was. Took me until Kamino to really admit it to myself.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “That late?”

“I…realized then…that you meant it, that you had no reason to still have anything to do with me.  You weren’t my General anymore…”  He blew out a breath.  “I kept expecting it to fade, you know? That maybe it was just proximity. Wartime dependency. That once the fighting stopped, so would… whatever it was I felt for you.”

Obi-Wan didn’t interrupt. Just watched him with that patient, unshakable calm that used to drive him mad in briefings. 

Cody’s voice dropped. “But it didn’t. You were gone, and I still wanted you there. I still looked for you in every room.”  Cody stopped, almost embarrassed as he ran his hand through his hair.

Obi-Wan set his glass aside.

“I thought I’d missed my chance,” Cody said. “That maybe you’d already moved on. And then there you were, just walking into the barracks on Coruscant like it was nothing. Like no time had passed.”

“I almost didn’t,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. You always did such a good job keeping everything locked away.”

Cody snorted. “Yeah, well. I’m not sure I’m any better at it now.”

“I disagree,” Obi-Wan said gently.

Cody looked up.

“You’ve changed,” Obi-Wan went on. “Not all at once. But you’ve let yourself feel more. Say more. You’ve let yourself be seen , Cody.”

Cody swallowed, jaw working. “By you, maybe.”

"Maybe."  Obi-Wan agreed with a smile.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Obi-Wan reached out, his fingers wrapping gently around Cody’s hand where it rested near his wine glass. He turned it palm-up, thumb brushing across the old scars, the calluses.

Then he leaned forward and kissed Cody’s hand.

“We got here,” he said quietly. “Finally.”

Cody looked at him, the softness in Obi-Wan’s eyes, the quiet certainty, the peace, hard fought and won.

Fox set his helmet down on the table and took in the faces of the Senate committee seated around him. Most of the chatter died immediately, and he could see the way they were looking at him, really looking . He knew every single one of them by name, face, schedule, voting record… and in more than a few cases, their secrets.

They might’ve known him by title, maybe by reputation. He’d had run-ins with some of them before. But judging by the expressions, a few were genuinely confused about why he was even in the room, or maybe it was just shocked that he had a face under the helmet at all.

Times had changed.   Under Palpatine, the Guard followed strict protocols. No one removed their helmet. Identical armor for the most part. Strength in anonymity.   Now those protocols were obsolete. Clones had rights. Things were changing, everything was changing. Which is why he was here, to offer his expertise on restructuring Coruscant security.

He took the seat offered to him, arms folding over his chest plate as he waited. He wasn’t here to perform.

Bail Organa was seated at the head of the table and  gave him a nod. Fox returned it, short, stiff, the kind he reserved for the few people he actually trusted. Bail was one of the only reasons he’d agreed to come at all.

Organa opened the session with an overview of the day’s agenda, points on the interim plan while the new government found its footing. The priorities, keep the capital secure, keep the Senate functioning, keep the people calm. Especially while they waited for a Chancellor to be elected.

Fox didn’t flinch at the disapproval around the table. He was used to being disliked.

Senator Hallus from the old Defense Commitee cleared his throat. “Commander Fox, thank you for joining us. I imagine this sort of discussion is… unusual for you.”

Fox gave him a flat look. “In the sense that I’m being asked my opinion? Sure. Endless meetings, bureaucracy? That’s routine enough.”

A few senators stiffened. There were some polite, uncertain chuckles.

Bail stepped in smoothly. “Let’s stay on track. We’re here to discuss the Guard’s future. Structure, jurisdiction, and civilian coordination. Marshal Commander Fox currently oversees all Coruscant security. He’s here as an expert.”

The meeting rolled on.

Fox outlined the plan he and Bail had already discussed, reformatting the Guard into a proper security force, focused on the Senate District, spaceports, and Republic administrative zones. A formal liaison between the civilian government, the Jedi, and local authorities. The Guard had the training. The personnel. The experience.

He was halfway through explaining jurisdiction overlap when one of the older senators interrupted.

“Why is he here? Surely there are other opinions. Less… personally involved. Civilian experts.”

Fox tilted his head, surprised.  Being ignored, animosity, that was the usual.  But blatent disregard was new.   Silence dropped over the table like a physical thing.

In the gallery above, Riyo Chuchi sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. No audience today, this topic wasn’t hot-button enough for public interest, but she was here regardless. Not on the committee, just observing. Watching.

Fox glanced at Bail, who gave him a quiet look as if to say don’t escalate.

Fox snorted. If Bail had wanted diplomacy, he should’ve called Cody.

“Experts,” he muttered, feigning boredom. “I’ve led the Guard through a full-scale planetary attack, a coup attempt, a bombing, multiple assassinations, and a riot outside the Senate chamber that left six dead and thirty-nine injured—and that’s not counting my own men. I know every tunnel under this city, every gang still operating, every target a saboteur would hit first. But if you’ve got someone with better credentials, bring them in.”

Bail gave him another look. A little warning, a little weary.

Fox didn’t apologize. He just folded his arms again and let the silence sit.

Senator Daree cleared her throat, trying to steer the conversation back. “There’s also the matter of whether the Guard would… police its own. Clones, that is.”

“You should direct that question to Commander Fox,” Bail said calmly, gesturing to him.

She flushed at the pointed look Bail sent her way.  She didn't seem to be able to summon the nerve to look Fox in the eye.  The eye contact was aimed somewhere near his shoulder. “Of course. I meant what would happen if a clone committed a crime? Will the Guard be expected to arrest them? Would they… comply?”

Fox raised a brow. “We’ve been arresting criminals since the day we’ve been here, ma’am. Our jurisdiction was always military. If one of ours stepped out of line, we handled it. Now, if a senator committed a crime, we usually got a memo asking us not to act. I’m sure you can see why we need to restructure who answers to who.”

That earned a few scowls, and from one senator near the end of the table, a cough that might’ve been a laugh.

Bail sighed quietly and raised his hand. “Let’s take ten. We’ll reconvene shortly.”

Fox was on his feet before Bail finished the sentence, helmet in hand. He didn’t wait. He didn’t look back. He headed straight out into the corridor like a man who’d more than earned his break.

#^#^#^#^#

She found him exactly where she expected, the small caf nook off the hallway, pouring himself a cup. 

“‘Why is he even here,’” he muttered under his breath. “Entitled—”

“I liked that last bit,” Riyo said behind him.

Fox turned, already defensive. “If you’re here to tell me to play nice—”

“You know I’m not.”

She stepped closer.

He scowled into his cup. “They want expertise, but don't want to hear the truth.  And they sure as hell don’t want to be reminded the Guard has faces .”

“They saw yours today.”

“Yeah.” He took a sip. “Judging by how half of them looked, you’d think I pulled a blaster.”

Riyo leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He tensed, but didn’t pull away as she smoothed a few stray curls back from his forehead.

She kissed him again, smiling faintly against his skin. “Don’t let them get under your skin. Focus on the plan. Trust Bail to handle the rest. You’re smarter than half the people in that room and you damn well deserve to be there.”

Fox snorted, glancing away, but she saw it. The flicker of something real, nearly a smile.

“Too late for that,” he muttered into his caf. “But… I’m not sorry.”

Then he glanced sideways at her. “Shouldn’t you be in your own meetings? I know your schedule’s been hell this week. Gala planning, the interim council, you barely sleep.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And you’ve been reading my calendar again?”

He didn’t answer, just gave her a look. She did look tired, pale, a little thinner than she had been last month. He didn’t say it, but something was wearing on her.

She smiled, soft and wry. “I had a free hour. I wanted to see you.”

Fox snorted. “I’m not exactly a break from the chaos.”

“You are,” she said, fondly. “You remind me what we’re still fighting for.”

He stilled, glanced at her and didn't have an argument.  Instead, he leaned into the kiss she planted on his cheek, giving her one in return.

The village was quiet, dusk just beginning to settle in. Ahsoka moved slowly down the dirt path that passed for a main road, the low, squat houses that lined the street. Smoke curled from chimneys and cookfires. She passed children running in bare feet, people gathered around outside, conversation and life was all around her as people enjoyed the warm evening. They smiled at her as she passed. After three weeks, she was no longer a stranger here.

They had one more week before they'd return to Coruscant, back to the noise and speed of it, back to responsibilities of their jobs.  Ahsoka didn’t really miss Coruscant, but she missed the people there.

Technically, neither she nor Rex were part of the Humanitarian Corps anymore. Those years, immediately after the war, had been long and full of important work.  Eventually they had tired of living out of tents and prefabs, tired of dealing with the aftermath of the war and they had settled. But still, once a year, they picked a place in need and offered their time for a month.  Back to the roots so to speak.

Rex always claimed these trips helped him breathe again. No datawork or briefings. No pressure. Just helping people without the shadows of war hanging over them. Other couples might take beach vacations, and they had a few times.  This though, this was them.

She loved her work on Coruscant, most days, anyway. Teaching combat training at the Temple was usually a joy and it really felt like giving something back to the next generation. The survival courses she ran for privileged kids and executive types on Coruscant, the elite, paid well enough to keep them comfortable, but it was less fulfilling. This was real. This was balance.

This particular village on a small Outer Rim world had been hit hard by flooding earlier in the season, nearly wiped out. By the time she and Rex arrived with the relief unit, most of the wreckage had already been cleared. What remained was more than just damage, it was rebuilding and making something better than before.  Real improvements.

Now, three weeks later, there were new houses, those that had been still standing had been repaired. Gardens had been replanted, there was a temporary schoolhouse until the permanent one was back up.  A clinic. Ahsoka could see the progress everywhere she passed. She could feel the gratitude in the air.

She slowed as she reached the square. The fountain had been rebuilt, a point of pride, because the townspeople said it was even better than the old one. Perched comfortably on its edge, was Rex, surrounded by a cluster of children.

He was mid-story, judging by the way his hands moved, gesturing in an exaggerated way. The kids were hanging on every word, eyes wide, occasionally letting out gasps or laughs. His voice lifted slightly as he leaned into the story, his expression full of mischief.

She crossed her arms and watched, unable to help the soft smile that pulled at her lips.

He’d cleaned up, dressed in fresh fatigues, sleeves rolled to his elbows.  Last she’d seen him earlier, he’d been covered in mud up to his eyebrows, helping a team get the new well working.

Seeing him like this, so relaxed, open and expressive always did something to her. Rex wasn’t big on words unless he needed to be, often listening more than he spoke. But with children, he was different. He always had been. She’d seen it when he visited their nieces and nephews. She’d seen it when they worked with families, when tiny hands reached for him in refugee camps and his expression softened.

She watched him crouch lower to act out a monster’s voice, saw the kids shriek and scatter, only to pile right back in seconds later. One little girl climbed up beside him, and he let her lean on his shoulder, completely at ease.

Ahsoka felt it, a sharp, swell of emotion. It was sudden and quiet and overwhelming.

He looked up then, catching her eyes across the square. His face lit up. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his mouth twitched into a smile.

She lifted a hand in greeting.

Rex turned back to the children, voice lowering as he began to wrap up the story. 

They’d been together for nearly twenty years. They’d survived a war, loss, built a life together that wasn’t always easy. They shared a home on Coruscant. They had their work, their routines, their family and friends. She hadn’t expected to want anything more.

Watching him now, listening to the way the children laughed, something opened in her she hadn’t let herself consider, that maybe she did want more.

The children eventually peeled away in twos and threes as parents called them for dinner. Rex ruffled a few heads, offered a piggyback to the smallest boy just across the way to his mother. He spotted her still waiting by the corner of the square and started toward her, falling into step beside her without a word.

They walked in comfortable silence.  Rex glanced at her a few times as they walked, eyes lingering. She knew he could read her, always had.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

He didn’t push. Just kept pace beside her.  She reached out, giving his hand a quiet squeeze in reassurance, even as she was trying to make sense of what she was feeling, sort it.

Their shared quarters were small, just a single room in one of the prefabs the crew had set up. Nothing fancy, a small kitchenette, a bed, a fresher.

Ahsoka stepped inside first and went straight for the kettle.

Rex shut the door gently behind them, then leaned against it, watching her. “You’ve been quiet since the square.”

“I’m tired,” she said.

But he didn’t buy it.

“I’ve seen you exhausted enough to fall asleep while running,” he said carefully. “You don’t go quiet like this unless something’s on your mind.”

She didn’t turn, hands braced against the edge of the counter.

He crossed the room slowly, came up behind her.

“‘Soka.”  He laid a hand on her back. “You want to talk about it?”

She closed her eyes, then turned to face him.

“I was watching you with the kids,” she said. 

He blinked.

“It just hit me.” Her throat tightened again. “How good you are with them.”

“Had practice,” He said with a slight smile and shrug.  She smiled and nodded.  That was true enough.  Their home was one of the favorites of the collective nieces and nephews.  Probably because of all the sweets and how Rex let them get away with damn near everything.

“And I just… I don’t know, Rex. I’ve never really let myself think about it. About what it might mean to have that.”

His expression shifted. “Are you saying…?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe. I think, part of me does want it. A child. One that’s… ours.”

He looked at her like she’d just handed him the galaxy.   He reached for her hand gently, linking their fingers.

“You really mean that?” he asked.

She nodded. 

His thumb brushed along the back of her hand. “Is it even possible? You and me?”

“It’s rare,” she said, “but not impossible. There are treatments that can help increase the chances.  We can look into it when we get back…”

He was quiet, nodding slowly.

And then he looked her in the eye. “If you want to try then we’ll do it. I’d like that.”

Tears filled her eyes. She tried to blink them back but it didn’t work.

She gave a watery laugh, stepping forward to bury her face against his shoulder.

His arms came around her instantly, holding her tight. 

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she said.

“We’ve never done anything easy,” he replied, voice warm against her skin.  “Never been our thing.”

She lifted her head to kiss him. He kissed her back, gently brushing away the tear that had run down her cheek, kissing away another one.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

“I love you too,” he replied. “Always.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms as the kettle finished behind them.

Finally, Ahsoka smiled against his neck, brushing her hand down his back in the way she knew he liked and felt the shiver run through him. “We could always start practicing.”

The hallway outside Cody’s quarters was dim. Obi-Wan stood outside the door for a moment, balancing the bag of food in one hand, then pressed the chime.

No answer.  He waited, then keyed in the override. He had the code, not that he’d ever used it before. The door slid open with a muted hiss.

Cody was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, just in his blacks.  The rest of his armor, usually so meticulously stacked and cared for, was barely wedged into a corner, which was telling.

“Thought you might not eat otherwise,” Obi-Wan said gently, lifting the bag slightly.

Cody looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, but he managed a faint snort. “That obvious?”

Obi-Wan stepped inside, let the door slide shut behind him. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

He knelt and set the food down on the small table, then lowered himself to the floor beside him. They sat in silence for a moment. 

“I read the report,” Obi-Wan said. “But I know it’s different. Reading it and… seeing it.”

Cody let out a breath, low and rough, “They knew the storm was coming.”

Obi-Wan turned his head slightly.

Cody scrubbed a hand down his face, then let his head fall back against the wall. “The tanks were already cold when we got there. They shut them down, just... powered them off. There wasn’t anything we could do for them.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, looking at Cody with quiet, steady presence. “You did what you could.”

“Not enough.”

“You saved hundreds—”

“We lost more.” Cody’s voice cracked. “We should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve pulled everyone out the second the rights bill passed, it should have been obvious that they would pull this, but we were too damn slow.”

He shook his head.  “I tried not to take it personally,” Cody continued. “The Kaminoans, how cold they were about it all.  We are just products to them after all. Just didn’t expect them to shut everything down. Tanks, all the systems and the support droids.”

Obi-Wan stayed quiet.  There wasn’t much he could say to that.  He’d been there when the message had come through, that the Kaminoans had essentially told the Republic that they could pick up what had already been paid for and cut their losses.

Cody rubbed at his jaw. “We were still pulling cadets out of the dormitories when the storm hit. I don’t know how it happened, but the lower platform seals failed.”

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but not quite.

“They had to have known what would happen the first time the water hit and just… let it. The kids down there didn’t stand a chance.”

Obi-Wan’s heart twisted. He reached out, let his hand rest against Cody’s shoulder, thumb brushing along the fabric of his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said. “I know that doesn’t fix anything, but—”

There was silence between them for a moment, thick and painful.

Obi-Wan shifted closer. “And on Alderaan? How are the new facilities?”

“Better. A lot better. Clean, quiet. Warm. We’ve got actual bunks for the cadets. Civilians watching the place.  Caretakers they call them.  A few Alphas came along too.” He gave a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Toys in the rec rooms. Stories before bed. Real food.”

He paused. His voice went a little quieter.  “It’s good. It hurts like hell to see, but it’s good.”

“Alpha-17 among the new caretakers?”

That pulled a small smile from Cody, one the two of them shared.

“First one to volunteer. Claims it’s to keep them in line.”

They both chuckled softly.

A breath shuddered out of Cody. “I just can’t stop thinking about the ones that we couldn’t….”

Obi-Wan turned toward him, shifted closer. Cody didn’t resist. He leaned into him, eyes distant. Obi-Wan reached up and brushed a thumb under his cheekbone, just as a tear tracked its way down. Then another.

He kissed them away. First one, then the other. Gentle, like it was the only thing he could do.

Cody didn’t speak. He just leaned harder into him, his forehead nearly touching Obi-Wan’s temple.

“I’m tired,” Cody said, barely above a whisper. 

“I know.”

He didn’t stop him when Cody shifted, laying down sideways and pulling his head to Obi-Wan’s chest. Just wrapped an arm around his shoulder and held him.