Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Death comes to him in the crackle of blue lightning, thrown from gnarled fingers.

Death comes to him in the acrid smell of burnt flesh, the sudden stop, the spreading cold in his chest. Three Jedi masters have died today, and he will gladly be the fourth, if it means no more will be eaten up in this senseless war.

Qui-Gon died like this, a distant part of his mind thinks, struck through the heart, before he was ready to go. A hand comes up to his chest, unconsciously, as if he could stop the spread of the damage. He finds only agony there. At least he has dealt the killing blow first. The hidden Sith Lord at the head of the Republic stares in shock at the lightsaber wound bisecting his chest, right through the Republic insignia of his official robes. For all his power and machinations, there is no coming back from this.

Anakin will be sad, Obi-Wan thinks. Both his mentors gone in one day. Not that either of them were very good mentors, in the end; one a Sith Lord, and the other a fool who let his padawan into the Sith’s den. He wants to laugh, but his breath catches in his throat, in the painful cavity of his chest.

Cody will survive the war, at least, even if it is to mourn him.

The thought stabs through him, more excruciating than the lightning. Of all the people he didn’t want to leave behind, Cody is the foremost. So much sacrificed in this war, so much lost, but Cody is the one good thing he’s found.

But he is prepared for this eventuality. He’s been prepared to die the moment Mace Windu walked into the council room with the Sith Lord’s name at last and asked for volunteers.

He watches the light fade from Palpatine’s eyes. The two halves of the body slowly topple and fall. He needs to watch this time, to be sure.

When he’s sure at last, he closes his eyes.

Death arrives and closes over him like a wave, swallowing him whole.

===

There is no death, there is the Force.

===

Death is silence, and blue light filtering into his vision like dappled sun through the clear water of an Alderaanian lake.

Death is the push and pull of the Force against his consciousness, tugging him back and forth between oblivion and pain, like a scrap of foam caught on the tide, unable to wash out to sea or crash on the shore.

He thinks he hears Cody’s voice, distant as if through thick glass, calling him back, begging, desperate. If this is death, it is not as peaceful as he’d hoped.

He needs to apologize; he tried to keep the promises, he really did. He promised so much: after the war, they’d talk about things properly, and see if this spark between them could grow into a steady burn. After the war, they would finally take all their backlogged vacation time, and spend days and weeks mapping out the parts of each other they’d only known in late-night fumbling exchanges, in rushed kisses in the dark, in the breathless moments between bombshell strikes.

After the war, he’d take Cody to the ExploraCorp research outpost on Scarif, where the locals brewed the best coconut glug that side of the galaxy, and lead him through the pools of phosphorescent jelly-pods as they came in with the evening tide, like a sea of glowing stars beneath their feet. He’d take Cody to the cold red dunes of Jedha, to the temple in the Holy City lined with singing kyber, to the moons of Iego to watch the angels dance on the Northern lights, to all the planets Cody had never seen. After the war, he would show Cody how much there was to see of the galaxy beyond the battlefields and destruction.

He has tied all his promises to that hope—after the war, after this is all over, when there’s finally time. But there is no more after now, no more time.

He tries to say he’s sorry, but his lungs are filled with salt, and he’s dragged down again, carried further towards the depths by the inexorable wave of exhaustion.

Before he drowns, he thinks he hears:

No, damnit, you don’t get to do this, not now, don’t you dare—

===

Death is warm and soft, curled like a tooka kitten against his side. Something tickles the back of his hand, soft and itchy, and he wants to scratch it, but his limbs are slow to respond, as if his nerves are firing at half speed. It’s a familiar sensation, and elicits a familiar sense of annoyance. He didn’t think he’d have to deal with such things after he died, and he wants to speak to whatever entity is in charge and lodge a complaint.

He opens up his eyes, and sees light.

The softly lit Healing Halls are familiar as a second home, and he wonders if this is what happens after death, just one big holoreel of his life, starting from the most uncomfortable moments.

He turns his head and sees a dark head of hair mashed up against his warm side. The head is connected to a torso half-spread across the bed, one arm slung over his stomach. He can feel the warmth through the sheets, the comforting pressure. The face is turned away from him, but the shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

There’s another hand there too, lying against the sheets, veins prominent, thin and pale and stuck full of tubing and monitoring equipment. He almost doesn’t recognize it as his own, but the fingers twitch when he commands them to move.

It’s an effort, but he manages to get the hand to lift, to touch the head of hair and trace the faintly raised scar along the side of the temple, down to a stubbled cheek. It’s a familiar scar, a familiar warmth.

He smiles.

The face under his hand goes still. He hears a breath hitch, and a trembling hand comes up to cover his own.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody says, voice hoarse, and raises his head, turning to face him. His eyes are gold and wet, and full of desperate hope. “Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan wants to say something. Something light and reassuring, to sweep away the thickness from Cody’s voice. But before he can get his tongue to work, Cody surges up and throws his arms around Obi-Wan, clinging like to him like he’s the last piece of dry land in a flood.

Obi-Wan is warm, and surrounded by Cody, Cody’s warmth and Cody’s scent, and he wants to sink into it. He closes his eyes—just for a moment, he thinks, and then he’ll say something, and brush away the tears soaking into his shoulder. But it is so warm, and he just keeps sinking, until he’s sunk all the way down, where things are quiet and dark, and he can rest, knowing that whatever happens while he’s there Cody will take care of it.

===

When he wakes again, he hears a baby fussing, and someone making soft shushing noises. This combination of sounds is nonsensical—there hasn’t been a child that young in the creche for many years, since the war started and parents were not so eager to give up their children to be soldiers—so he pries his eyes open to see what exactly is happening.

Anakin sits in a chair by the bed, looking more tired than he’s ever looked, holding a bundle in his arms. He rocks the bundle, which wriggles in his grip. As suddenly as a shooting star, an impossibly small hand flails from inside the bundle of cloth, and hits Anakin in the face.

“Shhh,” Anakin says, catching the tiny hand in his, and the look in his eyes is tender, as if he held the whole galaxy in his arms, “it’s okay, Leia, shh, it’s okay, little one.”

Limned by the light streaming in through the window, he looks brighter, softer, less like the fearsome General Skywalker and more like Anakin, the padawan who dropped by the crèche when he was done with classes to let the younglings crawl over him, and taught an entire clan to reprogram the cleaning droids to follow them like ducklings, much to the crèchemasters’ displeasure.

“I think she’s hungry,” Obi-Wan tries to say, but his throat is so dry it comes out as a strangled, unintelligible sound. 

It catches Anakin’s attention anyways. He looks over and somehow manages to both look relieved and terrified all at once. He stumbles to his feet.

“Obi-Wan!” He says, lurching over to the bed. The child in his arms starts to cry in full, and he freezes, tries to shush her again with rocking, but his movements are jerky and nervous. He glances over at Obi-Wan though, trepidation written across his features. Obi-Wan wonders why he looks so worried.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin tries again, “I can explain—”

The door opens, and Senator Amidala’s head peeks in, her hair down and bags beneath her eyes. Regardless, she glows. Ah, Obi-Wan thinks. That does explain everything.

“Ani, is Leia hungry—” Padme says, then catches sight of Obi-Wan looking at her.

“Oh,” she says, hand flying to her mouth, and the door swings open to reveal the other bundle of cloth in her arms.

Huh, Obi-Wan thinks, because he hadn’t expected two. He smiles and raises his hand to give her a wave. He’s gotten better at moving his hands, it seems.

“Padme,” Anakin says, trying to both soothe his child and gesture towards the bed, “Obi-Wan’s awake—”

And Obi-Wan is slipping again. Time speeds up, skips like a disconnecting comm call. The next moment Anakin is leaning over him, frowning saying his name again. He wants to say something to Anakin, reassure him that things will all turn out well in the end, and that his children are beautiful, and he will be a good father to them. But time jumps again and Anakin is gone, and he hears voices, someone shouting for the healers, and he blinks once, his eyelids heavy as ocean waves—and slips under once more.

===

He wakes to a voice humming against his side, a quiet, out of tune song that he somehow still recognizes as a Rylothian folk song, one of the few Cody picked up on one of their campaigns there. It is a campfire song that sings of desperate refugees following the stars to find water in the desert, and the strength of hope in the face of destruction.

He smiles, and hums along for a few notes. He always liked the way Cody sings. Like rain in the parched sand, his voice always brought Obi-Wan relief when he needed it the most.

The voice stills, and he shifts, not wanting it to stop. If he had to choose one moment to stretch into the rest of eternity, it would be Cody singing, a warm weight against his side. When there is nothing forthcoming, he finally opens his eyes, if just to see what is keeping Cody from his song.

He finds Cody staring back at him, face awash with relief.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody says, “You—you’re—Force, you scared us—I thought—“

He’s choking up, and Obi-Wan wants to reach out and comfort him, soothe away the frown lines between his brows, the downturned corner of his mouth, the bags under his eyes.

And he can. The realization strikes him like a thunderclap. He is awake, and Cody is here, looking tired with his hair unkempt and his skin pallid and grey, like he’d spent too much time out of the sunlight, but beautiful nonetheless. And if this is death—but no, he can feel the dull ache in his chest that is of the flesh and not the Force, and the warm weight of Cody’s arm across his chest, and the starlight flicker of life in the temple beyond, his home. He is alive, and awake, and Cody is still staring at him in delighted disbelief. All the lost futures are suddenly here, present, pressing against his skin, breathlessly tight. He reaches out to brush a hand over Cody’s face, and the touch of skin is electric on his fingertips.

He wants to tell Cody that they can go to Scarif now, and he is sure he can stretch his sick leave into a long, long vacation, and if the war is over, they can do all the things he promised, and so much more.

“Cody,” he tried to say, and realizes that perhaps there are still some things he can’t do with a throat as dry as windswept sand.

Cody notices immediately—of course he does, as attentive as he is—and reaches over to bring a glass of water with a straw. It takes him two tries to get the straw in his mouth, and the water is lukewarm, but it’s the best thing he’s had in the Halls of Healing yet, and he drinks long and deep. When he finally feels more human and less like a piece of dried meat scraped off hot duracreet, he tries again.

“Cody,” he says at last. Then he says it once more, just to hear it, and see the brightness in Cody’s eyes. And finally, he asks, “what happened?”

“You went off the moment my back was turned and almost died on me, that’s what happened.” Cody says, but there is no heat in it, “you ended the war. The chancellor—” he hesitates.

“The chancellor is dead, and has been revealed as the Sith Lord behind the entire war,” a third voice speaks, and Obi-Wan and Cody turn to see the Head Healer, Master Vokara Che, standing in the doorway of the room, arms crossed, looking tired as all hells, but clearly relieved. “He was passing intelligence on to the enemy, but his death, and the elimination of their two most prominent generals spelled the end for the Separatist cause. He took two Jedi masters with him when he was taken down. I’m glad to see you are not the third.”

“Two?” Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry again, as fragments of the fight replay in his memory. He remembered Agen Kolar, and Saesee Tiin falling to Palpatine’s blade, and Mace Windu’s last attack that gave Obi-Wan the cover he needed for the final blow. Cody’s hand tightens around his, and he takes comfort in the solidity of the grip.

“Masters Tiin and Kolar had succumbed before help arrived. Master Windu survived the fall out the window, and was brought back to the temple by the Coruscant Guard.” 

Obi-Wan bows his head. They had been prepared for death, and yet still the loss hurt. “I remember—may they be one with the Force,” he says, with a bow of his head. It’s a prayer and an acknowledgement of their sacrifice.

Vokara nods, solemn, “And you, well, let’s just say we have the Commander here to thank for keeping you from joining the Force long enough for us to grow you a new heart graft.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, and remembers Cody’s voice filtering in through the murky in-between spaces, where time ceased to matter, like a tether in the vacuum of space to keep him from floating off. Lucky indeed. He glances over at Cody, who is looking away, towards the door. His face is impassive, but his tell has always been his eyes, which are red-rimmed and damp. Obi-Wan squeezes the hand in his, as best he can, trying to be reassuring.

Vokara looks between them, and sighs at whatever she sees there, “Well, there are a few quick tests I need to run before I let you two be. Force knows you two deserve some time together before the rest of the visitors arrive.”

Cody draws away as she sweeps forward, diagnostics ready, and Obi-Wan abruptly misses the warmth.

He answers Vokara’s questions, follows her fingers with his eyes as directed, lets her poke and prod and take measurements off the machines he’s still connected to. The whole time, he watches Cody from the corner of his eye.

Cody smiles when Obi-Wan insists to Vokara that he is fine and definitely does not need all the tubes connected to his person, and frowns when a prod in a still sensitive place elicits a wince. But he does not speak, and he hangs back as if he is trying to become part of the furniture. Despite his previous relief, there is a stilted air between them now that there is a third person present. It reminds Obi-Wan uncomfortably of the times during the war when duty came before passion, and they put on a veneer of professionalism for the public. He supposes old habits are hard to break.

When Vokara presses a Force-imbued hand over his chest, he feels the whisper-light tendrils of her probing presence, a foreign sensation of something just slightly off. The sound of his heartbeat is strong but unfamiliar, like a stranger’s voice coming out of his own throat. The sensation vanishes when she moves her hand away, but the echo lingers.

She notes his expression and smiles thinly, “You’ll get used to it in time. Your original heart was unsalvageable, unfortunately, so we had to grow one from scratch. Better an unfamiliar heartbeat than none at all.”

“Of course,” he says, trying to smile, “I have all the faith in your handiwork, Master Che.” He dips his head in an approximation of a respectful bow, which elicits a more genuine smile from her. “I’m sure you’ll have me up and about in no time at all.”

“You appear to have made a sufficient recovery, if you’re trying to butter me up for an early release already,” Vokara says, putting away her instruments at last, as if she were an instructor pronouncing his efforts adequate but not exceptional.

“Sufficient will have to suffice,” he replies, with his most winning grin.

“I’ll think about it.” Vokara rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips are still curled up at the edges, and her exasperation is no more than show. She glanced towards Cody, and turns back to Obi-Wan, “I can only promise to keep the crowds out for another half-hour at most, before your padawan attempts to break down the walls again. Try not to do anything too strenuous in the meantime. I wouldn’t want to have to grow you another organ anytime soon.”

She slides the door shut behind her before Obi-Wan can splutter a response, and then it is only the two of them in the room.

Now that they are alone once more, Obi-Wan turns to face Cody, who still lingers near the far wall, as if waiting any moment for another interloper to barge in. He wants to return to the moments just before, when there was just the unreserved relief and joy at seeing each other again, but finds himself at a loss for words.

“I’m...sorry for the loss of the other Jedi Masters,” Cody says, at last.

Obi-Wan accepts his condolences with a dip of his head. “There was a chance to end the war,” he says, “We were all prepared for the possibility of not being there to see it.”

Cody’s expression does not fall, but it is as if a duracreet wall has shot up between them, rigid and implacable.

“Even you?” He says. His voice is carefully absent of any blame, which is an indictment in itself.

Obi-Wan has always tried to be honest, especially with Cody. He says, “Yes. Even I.”

There is a long moment of silence, in which Obi-Wan waits for the verdict to fall like an executioner’s bolt.

“I got your comm,” Cody says, “when we were on our way back from Utapu. Just after general Fisto received the transmission from the temple.”

Obi-Wan winces.

He barely remembers sending the comm, just a sense of urgency, spurred by the knowledge that time was short, and that if he failed, or if he succeed but did not survive, he needed to let Cody know everything that he hadn’t been able to say out loud when there was still a war to fight and obligations to fulfill, and the many threads that bound him to duty were still present and pressing.

He might have said—

— if there’s one good thing to come of this war, it’s you—

—I would have left the Order once, if she’d said the word—

—I thought I’d never say it again, but now—

—if we make it—

—once the war is over—

—I love you.

—I’m sorry.

He buries his face in one hand.

Cody comes up to the bed and puts a hand on his, gently prying it away, so he could see Obi-Wan’s face. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, carefully, “Sometimes people say things they regret later when they don’t think there will be a later.”

“I don’t regret it,” Obi-Wan says. He hears Cody’s sharp intake of breath and barrels on. “I am a Jedi. I had a duty to the Jedi order, and to finish what I started on Kamino, on Geonosis. I would have died to bring it to an end, even if it meant letting you go.” He lets out the breath he holds in his still-tender chest and feels lighter, as if he were setting down a long-held burden. “But.”

“But,” Cody repeats, turning the word over slowly, reluctant to let it go.

“The war is over,” Obi-Wan says, cutting the final thread. And he hopes his intention is clear, that all the promises come rushing up, like an oasis spring from the desert sands. He curls his fingers around Cody’s hand, holding tight.

Cody’s hand spasms around his, like a shock going through him. And then he settles. His fingers open, interweaving with Obi-Wan’s, locking their hands together tight.

Cody says, “You said there was a time when you thought about leaving the Jedi Order, for love.”

“I was young then. And reckless,” Obi-Wan says, “and sometimes I don’t think I’ve changed so much in the last twenty years.”

Cody snorts. “I can attest to that,” he says, “But this isn’t a decision you should make lightly.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, smiling because it is just like Cody to caution against impulsive behavior, no matter how much he wants the outcome, “it still doesn’t change my answer.”

That, at last, seems to loosen the last of the tension holding Cody upright and away. He slumps forward, draping his body across Obi-Wan's, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder, where the flimsy healing gown is not thick enough to hide the warm wetness spreading from there.

“You’re a fool, sir,” he mutters into Obi-Wan’s neck, sounding much too happy about it.

“But I’m your fool,” Obi-Wan says, running his free hand on Cody’s hair.

Cody turns his head and brings their intertwined hands up to his lips. He presses a kiss into Obi-Wan’s knuckles, tenderly.

“That you are,” he says, breath warm on his skin.

He doesn’t even let go when Anakin barges into the room, takes one look at the two of them clinging to each other on the bed, and starts screeching.

Chapter Text

Later...

Obi-Wan stands before the rest of the Jedi Council and offers up his lightsaber with both hands.

“What is this?” Mace Windu asks, arms crossed in front of his chest, and new cybernetic fingers tapping impatiently on his elbow.

“My lightsaber,” Obi-Wan says, “as of today, I tender my resignation—“

“No,” Mace says, “resignation rejected.”

Obi-Wan blinks, “What? But—“

“You think you can just kill the Sith, almost die, resign and leave this mess for us to clean up?” Mace says, “Try again.”

Obi-Wan looks beseechingly at the other Masters, who all stare back at him with various looks of disapproval.

“But I’m hopelessly attached,” he says, “to—“

“Your Commander Cody, yes,” Master Plo Koon says, “quite a nice young man, isn’t he?” There are murmurs of agreement around the room.

“The Jedi Code—“ Obi-Wan tries again.

“Forbids attachment, yes,” Master Yoda says, tapping his gimer stick emphatically on the floor, “but not attachment this is. Your duty you performed, despite your affections. Your commitments to the Jedi you kept. Understand, do you?”

Obi-Wan considers before he replies, “I don’t intend to give him up in the name of duty.”

“That we know,” Master Shaak Ti replies with a sharp grin, “nor would we ask you to, after all you have done already.”

Obi-Wan looks around to see only approval, and lowers his hands at last. He clips his lightsaber back to his belt.

He lets himself think about the implications.

“You understand,” he says, “that this is setting a precedent.”

“The war has set many precedents for the Order,” Mace says, “it’s about time we had a good one.”

“The will of the Force this is,” Yoda says, “fight against it we should not.”

“Perhaps it is time for change in the Order,” Master Ki-Adi Mundi says, “Many bonds have been forged in the war that would have been censured previously.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, thinking of Anakin sitting in the sunlight, holding a small bundle in his arms like it is the center of the whole galaxy. He smiles suddenly, and the ones who knew him better might have noticed a devious sliver of teeth.

“Not that I’m considering it yet,” he says, “but how do you all feel about marriage and children?”