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A Clone Marshal Commander walks into a cantina.
It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. In fact, Obi-Wan is certain he’s heard similar jokes multiple times. Bounty hunting involves an unfortunate amount of travel, after all, and very few hunters he’s partnered with were known for their sense of humor.
This time, however, he’s not in a pilot seat with a co-pilot that thinks they’re being hilarious rather than adopt the art of peace, serenity and silence—there are a few reasons Obi-Wan prefers to work alone, but peace and quiet are rather high on the list.
No, this time Obi-Wan’s seated in a shaded alcove of a cantina with a bottle of cheap whiskey in celebration of finally finishing his latest job—which took him weeks and really hadn’t paid enough for the effort he’d gone through to collect the fugitive for the Republic Judiciary Council.
He doesn’t often linger on Coruscant, not when the Force is dark and almost heavy no matter where you go. It used to only be the lower levels, where the scum and the desperate gather in an eternal darkness no artificial lightning manages to hide. Nowadays even the few places where daylight reaches feel cold and dark. But he has business with a Jedi Shadow tomorrow, Quinlan Vos both a business acquaintance with whom he shares whispers of the Sith and the Separatists that are worth something to the Jedi Order, and a trusted friend from his childhood days at the Temple—before Bandomeer.
Which leaves him here to watch the other man.
So obviously a clone, even if he’s not in his armor. But no spacer-outfit—complete with what Obi-Wan assumes is a borrowed leather-jacket that’s half a size too big and blaster strapped to his right thigh—hides his face.
It's funny how a clone can look so very different from the man he’s created after.
Obi-Wan had always thought Fett objectively handsome, but certainly not worth his time. Jango Fett was after all Jango Fett. So very capable with ruthless efficiency, but that and a handsome face are about the end of the short list of positive traits the man possessed.
But the man now sitting at the bar certainly draws his attention.
Marshal Commander Cody.
It’s the wicked scar curling around his left eye that gives him away. A distinguishing feature of survival that Obi-Wan’s seen on many holopucks—all of which he declined.
But while the shape of his face, the color of his skin and the barely-there curls in his hair are the same as Fett’s were, there are certainly things that distinguish him from Fett.
It’s in the slightest hunch in his shoulders in something not quite insecurity. Fett certainly didn’t know the word insecurity, and he doubts this man does either. Unease might fit better, and Obi-Wan can’t blame the man that has stepped into a dingy cantina with a truly impressive bounty on his head—the highest any clone has ever held, in fact.
It’s in the half-smile he offers the bartender as the Rodian serves him his drink. A politeness, perhaps even a kindness. Obi-Wan has worked with Fett a few times when he was still alive, but never has he seen the man offer a kindness just for the sake of being kind.
Most of all, though, it’s in his Force presence. Steady like an old oak tree and devoted like a massiff one raised since birth. An admirable combination, certainly one Obi-Wan doesn’t run into often considering the company he keeps.
It’s intriguing, refreshing. It’s almost like a beacon, waving Obi-Wan over with the insistent push of the Force at his back.
He shouldn’t.
But when the man looks right at him over his shoulder and their eyes meet, he gets up all the same.
The joke, it turns out, is Obi-Wan.
The Marshal Commander certainly seems to think so when Obi-Wan walks up to the bar, leans against it at just the right angle and orders the man a drink.
Brown eyes look up at him with the smallest flicker of annoyance which twists into interested amusement before disappearing behind a mental shield—weak, but there all the same.
Interesting.
“Not interested,” is the gruff reply in a rich, deep voice that almost sends a shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine.
Obi-Wan smiles disarmingly. “It’s just a drink, Commander.”
The other huffs. “And if it’s not drugged, the next one might be. I’m well aware of what you are and how much you think I’m worth.” He turns back to his drink, his face an impassive mask but there is a lingering of disappointment in the Force around him. “Leave it.”
It’s like the other wasn’t opposed to a connection—a liaison, perhaps a chance to forget the war exists at all—which Obi-Wan has ruined the moment he called the other by his rank. Normally he wouldn’t care, say too bad and move on. But something compels him to do some damage control. Try again. “No need to worry. I don’t take bounties on GAR personnel.”
The Commander snorts and slowly takes a sip of his drink, making a slight face as the strength of the alcohol fills his mouth and burns down his throat. He keeps his eyes on the glass as he puts it down on the bar. “A bounty hunter with morality?”
Obi-Wan hums. “We do exist, yes.”
The other huffs and takes another sip of his drink. He doesn’t look up nor does he say anything.
For all that the man seems interested in the Force, something is holding him back. Fair enough, but Obi-Wan is a bounty hunter not a therapist. “Enjoy that drink, Commander. You look like you need it.”
He feels eyes on him as he saunters back to his table and makes sure to put some extra sway in his hips.
If the other is interested, he’ll come to Obi-Wan.
A wave of curiosity, excitement and determination in the Force, and then: "Why are you on Coruscant?"
Obi-Wan hides his smug smile behind the rim of his glass. He takes his shot and looks at his new table companion with an eyebrow raised. "And here I thought you said you weren't interested."
The Commander slides into the booth, sitting much closer than technically polite and leans his elbows onto the table. He turns his head so he can look at Obi-Wan. "Just doing my duty to protect the general population of Coruscant,” he says, mirth and excitement around him.
Obi-Wan laughs. "No matter how handsome and charming I might find you, do you truly think I would tell you? I doubt you are that naïve, my dear," he teases. "But rest assured, I've already dropped my bounty at Judicial and collected. This"—he waves at the bottle—"is a celebratory drink."
"Judicial?" the other asks with a surprised frown that looks rather cute.
Obi-Wan hums, not elaborating further. "I'll even let you celebrate with me, Commander."
“Cody,” the Commander says, sitting up and sticking out his hand.
“Obi-Wan.” He reaches out his hand, slides his fingers around Cody’s in an almost intimate gesture and leans in close to press a kiss against the other’s cheek. “A pleasure to meet you,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over the other’s skin and he takes great pleasure at Cody’s slight shiver.
This is going to be fun.
He waves at the bottle and purrs: “So Cody, how about a drink.”
They’ve been drinking and talking for close to three hours—a surprisingly fun conversation that includes many lingering looks, flirty smiles and teasing yet fleeting touches—when Cody reaches for the bottle again.
“Refill?” he offers, but with his teasing eyes on Obi-Wan and about half a bottle of whiskey in him his hand bumps against the bottle rather than wrap around it.
“Fuck!” Cody curses as the bottle wobbles.
Out of habit, Obi-Wan steadies it with a wave of his hand.
Next to him, Cody freezes with a cloud of suspicion surrounding him.
Fuck indeed, Obi-Wan thinks and resists the urge to sigh.
Cody pulls back his hand, sits straighter and gives Obi-Wan a blank look. All relaxed tipsiness is gone. "You're a Jedi."
Obi-Wan grins wryly. "In another life."
Cody’s hand goes to the blaster at his hip. "Sith then."
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. "No need to offend me,” he says, a bit more venom behind the words than intended. “There is more to us Force-users than just the Jedi and the Sith."
Cody silently watches him for a few seconds, and Obi-Wan wishes he was privy to the thoughts running through the other’s head. Especially when Cody gives a small nod and relaxes. "So a Force-sensitive bounty hunter?" he asks nonchalantly, reaching for the bottle again.
Obi-Wan waits for Cody to fill his glass and takes the shot straight away, waving a hand at the glass to indicate to an amused Cody he’s free to fill it again. "Yes. Just a bounty hunter with an advantage. Nothing special."
After filling both their glasses, Cody puts the bottle down again and smirks at Obi-Wan. "I doubt it."
Pleased the other is still interested, Obi-Wan slides closer to Cody in the booth, their legs brushing. "My-my, Commander."
“Wasn’t that what you wanted?” Cody asks, a hand brushing over Obi-Wan’s thigh under the table. “You were hardly subtle.”
Kark, he wants to kiss this man. Wants to take him to bed, make him lose both his composure and his stress until there is nothing but Obi-Wan on his mind.
He catches Cody’s eyes, his desire reflected back at him.
He wants to kiss this man, and so he does.
The morning after is surprisingly soft.
Obi-Wan doesn’t often wake with someone in his bed and from he way Cody stiffens as he wakes, he’s not alone in that.
But it only takes the both of them a few seconds to relax before silently agreeing to linger on the cusps of sleep, cuddled together.
The beep of Cody’s comm breaks through the serenity they’ve wrapped themselves in.
Cody sighs. “I have to go.”
“Of course,” Obi-Wan says and leans in to kiss Cody, slow and lazily as he tries to savor the feeling of the other’s lips on his, the hand in his hair and the scarred skin under his hands.
One night, less than twelve hours even, and he already knows he’ll miss Cody.
The fact the other lingers in bed another five minutes tells him he’s probably not the only one.
He watches lazily from the bed as Cody gets dressed. When the other is done, Obi-Wan gives him a coy smile. “A last kiss for good luck?”
Cody leans over him, the kiss almost desperate and Cody’s hand curls against Obi-Wan’s cheek while Obi-Wan’s fingers slide through the other’s short hair.
The longing is almost stifling, the way it thickens the Force, swirls in the depths of Cody’s eyes as their kiss breaks and flows through Obi-Wan as he’s made to let his hand drop down to the bedcovers.
“Thank you,” Cody breathes against his lips.
Then, he’s gone.
He’s laying belly-flat on the top of a roof overlooking the plaza, annoyance prickling his mind in the same way the sun is prickling his skin.
He’s just following a bounty. An easy retrieval, nothing special.
He knew, of course, about the celebrations taking place. That’s why his bounty is here.
He didn’t know it was the 212th attack battalion—Cody’s battalion he knows after some research—providing security detail for the Republic Senatorial delegation.
Now, he’s left his bounty to be chased another day and is watching another hunter in the crowd.
Obi-Wan’s seen the Togruta a few times. A little name with even smaller skills.
Of course he’s dumb enough to take the bounty on Marshal Commander Cody.
Obi-Wan assumes Cody can take care of himself. But he’s right here already, his sniper blaster trained on the hunter.
It’s not good practice to kill another hunter. But it’s not as if anyone will ever know it was Obi-Wan and this is Cody—the man that hasn’t left his mind, heart nor desires since their night two months ago.
He takes the shot.
The other’s body drops to the ground, nothing but confusion etched on a face drenched with blood from the blaster shot between the eyes.
Obi-Wan might avoid to kill his quarries, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a good shot.
In the following panic, one clone turns and looks up at the exact spot where Obi-Wan is not-quite hiding and watching the plaza—the same clone now looking at him—through the scope of his sniper blaster.
Obi-Wan’s heart flutters at seeing Cody again.
The slight incline of the other’s helmet indicates he sees Obi-Wan as well, most likely with help of the HUD Obi-Wan imagines being built into those GAR helmets.
Obi-Wan brings his hand up to the side of his head in a mock-salute.
Looks like he’ll be looking for another chance encounter in a cantina tonight.