Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So they finally glassed Melbourne."

Cody doesn't drop his cup of tea at this declaration from Obi-Wan, who's leaning back in his seat like it's just another Tuesday, but it's a damn near thing.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he tells him, because what the fuck, another city glassed just weeks after they’d fucked Brisbane? No way in hell. That’d be insane.

“If you don’t believe me,” Obi-Wan says in the tone of someone who knows they are definitely not being believed. “Go check the office noticeboard.” He leans forwards, propping his elbows on his knees. “We’ve specifically been sent an official message from the government, telling us we legally cannot report it until the afternoon news.”

Cody makes a face at that, sure now that Obi-Wan is playing an especially fucked practical joke on him. God, what an asshole. Cody hasn’t even had his second coffee yet. “Yeah, right bro, and you’ve suddenly decided to get a car because you’ve fallen in love with them.”

If there was one constant in Cody’s world, other than death and taxes, it was that Obi-Wan had the worst taste in vehicles. The worst. He called cars 'cages' and said they were ‘alright at best’, and doted on his motorbike like it was a child. Once, he’d even called Cody’s car, his baby, an ‘abomination’. The worst taste.

All that to say that the likelihood of Obi-Wan falling in love with a car was somewhere in the realm of negative numbers. The sky would literally fall from the heavens before that happened.

Obi-Wan, the bastard, just rolls his eyes at Cody, throwing his hands in the air. The messy piles of paper on his desk rustle in the sudden wind. “Fine, fine, don’t believe me. Go check the notice board. Or, hell, talk with Kit about it, unsurprisingly he’s pissed.”

“Fine, I will,” Cody agrees, sipping at his drink. “Enjoy your tea.” With that, he turns to leave, accompanied by the dulcet tones of Obi-Wan’s fervent curses as he realises he’s left yet another cup of tea on his desk to go cold, and it is now utterly undrinkable.

Checkmate, fucker.

He walks by Kit’s desk first, and finds him hunched over a pad of paper, angrily muttering. His bin is full of scrunched up pieces of paper already, and as Cody watches Kit smacks his head against the table twice, smearing fresh ink all over his forehead. Bad morning. Cody can relate.

In this instance, discretion seems the better part of valour, so Cody continues through the cubicles to the office noticeboard where lo and behold, there’s a piece of paper on government stationery — the city of Melbourne had officially been glassed at 05:26 in the morning of the 23rd of March, joining Canberra, Sydney, and Brisbane in being razed out of existence. No news reports were to be made on the event until after 16:30 that same day.

Obi-Wan wasn’t fucking with him. Melbourne had actually been glassed. And the government was actually fucking telling them they couldn’t report on it for hours. Cody checks his watch — nine thirty in the morning — Christ, seven whole hours where they couldn’t legally say a word to anybody outside the office. Cody can think of three people he knows with family in Melbourne, just off the top of his head.

What the actual fuck.

This is insane.

He walks back to his desk in a daze, ignoring the smug look Obi-Wan throws his way, even as the smugness morphs into something more like concern. Kit is still scribbling away, trying to put together his midday news segment if Cody had to guess. Fuck, and not able to talk about the most important thing. It’ll be absolute hell. Luminara waves with a small smile, ear tucked against her shoulder on the phone, and he manages a nod back. He sits heavily at his chair, tea clunking against his desk.

They’ve been forbidden to report major news. What the actual, actual fuck.

Over the past few months they’ve been getting more and more of these official government notices, it’s true, but they’ve mostly been small things. The first notice, back in January, had been about not reporting on fuel shortages, in order to avoid a mass panic, and while people had grumbled about the price of petrol skyrocketing they hadn't run out. That was reasonable, in Cody's opinion. After that there'd been notices to the tune of, “Don’t report on this well-controlled grass fire, it’ll be out by newstime”, “don’t report on this string of petty thefts, it’ll mess up the police investigation”, “don’t report on this protest happening in the Domain, we really don’t need more people flocking to see them”.

It's very different to telling Hauraki they can’t report the destruction of the last major city of a neighbouring country, this is head and shoulders above.

The bombs only dropped a scant few hours ago, perhaps the government is making sure the situation is stable before they report? It'd certainly be bad if the media reported complete destruction only to be proven wrong a few hours later. But he's not sure if he believes that to be the case. And either way, he can't stop ruminating, running himself in ever more frustrated circles — if the government was going to delay or stop them from reporting on major events like this, how far could that censorship go? How far would they take it? How much would they try to stop people knowing? It was bad enough when it was little things, but now…

He sits at his desk staring into the distance for a long, long time. When he goes to sip his tea, it's stone cold.

Good morning everybody! You’re listening to Radio Hauraki, this is Kit Fisto reporting your midday news on this lovely Monday the 23rd March, 1998.

Petrol shortages continue across the nation, with the government threatening rationing in weeks to come unless an alternative provider can be found. We’ve also had two more earthquakes over the weekend in Dunedin and Whangārei measuring at 3.9 and 3.4 respectively, continuing our twelve day streak of one quake a day.

In slightly brighter news, Massey University has, in a New Zealand first, launched the “New Zealand Centre for Women and Leadership”, aimed at getting more women into the leadership positions they deserve. Here’s hoping we see other universities following their lead soon. And “Titanic” has won a stunning eleven Academy Awards, including Best Picture. What a ship!

That’s all for our midday news — hold on to your hats for this afternoon’s news segment, because we’ve got some news coming up for you, and it’s gonna be big. So stay tuned to Radio Hauraki: New Zealand’s real rock station.

The sun’s just starting to sink over the horizon when Cody gets off work. Stepping out the front doors of the office he shrugs on the comforting weight of his jacket and fishes his keys from his pocket, trying to work out what’s loose change and what’s car key.

Because God loves to test him, Obi-Wan is already in the carpark, cooing at his bike as he pulls his layers on. His jeans are lined in kevlar, apparently, so he doesn’t wind up an onion on his bottom half, but between his tee, his unbuttoned shirt, a close fitting layer of some sort of mesh armour — more kevlar maybe — and an oversized leather jacket, Cody really isn’t sure how Obi-Wan makes it home without ending up with heatstroke. He knows it’s dumb to ride in jandals and boardies, he’s seen enough road rash to last a lifetime thanks, but all this really does seem overkill.

“Still trying to off yourself via weather?” he asks as he keeps fishing for his keys, Christ he needs to clear this jacket pocket out soon this shrapnel is absurd. “I know it’s autumn, but you look like you’re about to faint dead away as soon as you get on the road.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes at him with an impressively dramatic expression, zipping up his leather jacket and cinching the belt tight. “There’s nothing wrong with ensuring safety,” he informs Cody, gaze sliding over to Cody’s car. “Though I suppose that’s probably not a priority for you. Is that thing even legal to drive?”

‘That thing’. Cody’s going to throttle him. Internally. Because it’s impolite to throttle coworkers and his parents raised him better than that. But oh, how he wants to.

“She’s perfectly fine, thank you. It’s a Kiwi tradition to mod your car, you know, maybe you should try with your bike. You’d have to be careful though, you wouldn't want to make it illegal to drive.” There may have been a little more venom in his voice than he intended, he realises belatedly, wincing.

Obi-Wan takes it all in stride with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Illegal to ride,” he corrects with a grin curling at the edges of his mouth. “But no, I like my darling just the way she is. The GS500 remains one of the best bikes on the market. She doesn’t need to be souped up.” He pats along the top of the bike as he talks, like he’s petting an animal.

Cody wants to judge him, but he can’t, really. He does the same to his baby.

“Well, riveting as this is, I really do need to be off.” Obi-Wan tells him, pulling on his helmet. “I need to get to Countdown before they close for the evening. I’m holding out hope that they’ll finally have the tea I like back in stock.” There’s just a flash of coppery hair peeking out at his throat, and it looks startlingly bright against the black of his armour.

“Good luck, bro,” he gets out, gaze still caught on that slip of hair and skin. Then, with the purr of a well-tuned engine and a sudden waft of petrol fumes, Obi-Wan’s off.

Somehow, Cody manages to fumble his keys and drop them under his car when he goes to open the driver’s side door, then spending ten very embarrassing minutes trying to feel for them under his baby’s belly because the lighting in the garage here is shitty at the best of times and he can’t see a thing.

He does get up close and personal with his right front tyre while he’s feeling around, though, and there’s enough light for him to see more wear than he’s strictly comfortable with on that wheel’s brake pad. He’s still feeling unsettled from the morning’s events, and he does have a bunch of spare brake pads at home. Maybe he’ll change it out for a fresh one tonight, after dinner. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two, and it’ll help him sleep tonight.

Well, that plus the long shower his brothers’ll make him take afterwards so he doesn’t get engine grease all over the house again. Ruin the walls one time with a greasy handprint, and they’ll never let you forget it. The ground up pumice they’d added to his body wash felt like overkill, but he can’t deny its effectiveness at scouring everything off him. Including what feels like half of his skin.

Finally his questing fingers bump against something that isn’t the concrete of the floor, and he pulls his keys out from their hiding place with a triumphant noise. It’s been a long, long day — he’s more than ready to go home.

Hey Cody,

Out at Legend, don’t wait up for us bro!
Leftovers in the fridge (don’t worry, Waxer made the meatloaf, it’s completely safe this time)

Crys, Waxer & Boil

Cody plucks the sticky note off the fridge with a snort, clubbing on a Monday night, what he’d give to be young again. Pulling out a beer, he drops the note in the bin. Ah well, it’s nice to have the house to himself for a bit. He pops the cap of the beer on the edge of the kitchen counter and surveys the leftovers in the fridge. Definitely enough for him to make a solid dinner from — it’s only fair, since he’ll probably be stuck making everyone hangover food tomorrow morning.

After a quick dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes — skins-in, must’ve been Crys who made them, he always liked weird textures, Cody washes his dishes and sets them on the drying rack before cracking his back and heading to the garage. With nobody else home, he hauls the boombox from the living room with him, tuning in to 1480AM reflexively before laughing at himself. Way to take your work home with you, Cody, he thinks ruefully before making the trip back into the house to pick out a CD to work to, instead.

He settles on Spellbound by Split Enz fairly quickly, setting the CD running then stripping off his tee — he likes this shirt and it’s much easier to get grease off his skin than out of fabric. Especially with the pumice still in his body wash. If it wouldn’t be hell on his knees he’d strip off his pants as well, but he does like having skin and the concrete is unforgiving at best. His jeans will just have to be washed until they give the grease up.

He grabs his torque wrench to loosen the lug nuts, mentally berating himself for his laziness even as he gets his baby set up on a jack before he finishes removing the nuts and pulling off the wheel. He can already feel the tension from the day leaching from his shoulders, sinking into the ground under him as he proceeds to pull the pin and flip the calliper up. And oh yeah, this baby needs replacing alright, she’s almost ready to squeak.

The clips come off easy, and the old pad’s in his hands soon after. He hurls it in the direction of the bins — he’ll chuck it in proper later — then turns to his meticulously organised wall of cupboards and drawers. Unfortunately, he’s not the one who meticulously organised everything, that had been Crys, so he resigns himself to searching through all of them until he finds the replacements.

As he does, he finds himself worrying at the inside of his cheek as he mentally rewinds over the day. He doesn’t wanna admit it, but the government decree thing had really spooked him. They’re just delaying when reports can be made now, but that’s already a hell of a step up from before, and they’re showing no signs of stopping. There’s also vague talk of mobilising the Navy to secure the border between NZ and Australia, declaring a state of emergency of their own, though who knows how accurate any of that is. Cody can’t help but worry — what if the government’s next step is refusing to let them report altogether? He can’t stand by while the truth is suppressed like that, he can’t.

Behind him, the boombox ticks over to the next track on the album, and the opening strains of ‘Six Months in a Leaky Boat’ start to play. Cody almost chokes on his sudden laugher, emotions getting the better of him all at once. Yep, that’s about right — he can’t stand by while the truth is banned, just like this song had been. Banned from UK radio during the Falklands War because it hit too close to home. Too many leaky boats, not enough sailors. God. What a fiasco that’d been.

He knows himself well enough to know he won’t stay quiet if they try to gag him, so he supposes the real question is what he’ll do to stop them if they try. He… doesn’t have an answer to that right now. But that’s okay, he has time to figure it out. Things are alright on that front right now, even if he's afraid they'll get worse. That’s something.

He keeps pulling open drawers until finally he finds the brake pads, shoved in alongside some inner tubes and a length of garden hose of all things. Weird, Crys, really weird.

Feeling slightly less off-kilter, he makes his way back to his baby, popping the hood as he goes to keep an eye on the brake fluid. He’s not topped it up in a while, so he shouldn’t be in danger of an overflow, but he’s made the mistake of assuming it’d be fine once, and that was enough for him to never take the chance again. The mess had been such a fucking pain.

Unbidden, his mind conjures an image of Obi-Wan with a spanner in his hand, working on his bike with a smear of something dark on his cheek, and he jerks so hard he covers his hands in the graphite grease he was using. Motherfucker. Obi-Wan isn’t even here and he’s still ruining Cody’s shit. He forcibly pushes thoughts of the absolutely aggravating man and his terrible taste in vehicles away — he can be mad about it later. In the shower or something. Not while working on his baby. She doesn’t deserve it.

He whispers an apology to her, patting her wing with a graphite-stained hand. Yeah, that’s not coming out for a while, even with pumice, that’s right in his pores. Ugh.

Thankfully, the rest of the process goes smoothly — he finishes installing the new brake pad, grabs a C-clamp to clamp back the brake piston with no brake fluid overflow whatsoever, and lowers the calliper assemblage back into place without a hitch. Removing the clamp takes all of five seconds, then it’s just a matter of reinserting the pin, wrenching it sturdy, and reattaching the wheel.

Achievement suffuses him as he brings his baby down off the jack. Yeah, he really needed this today. He always feels so much better after tinkering a while, like he’s dropped a physical weight. A quick check to his watch shows it to be nearly nine in the evening. He’d made good time, too. There’s enough of the evening left for one more beer, he decides, then a shower and bed. He wipes any remaining grease that happens to be on his hands over his jeans. They need a wash anyway.

Chapter Text

Shit doesn’t get better.

Obi-Wan gripes about not being able to get Twinings for days, to Cody’s great exasperation. “Look,” he tells the man more than once. “Countdown can shut down, just go to fucking New World. If they don’t have it, nobody will.”

In the end, sick and tired of the daily complaining, Cody goes to New World himself where, lo and behold, there’s boxes of Twinings Irish Breakfast sitting happily next to other groceries on the half-filled shelves. He throws the pack of one hundred teabags at Obi-Wan’s desk the next morning, watching it glance off a weird little statue of a tree made from rocks, and considers his job done.

He definitely doesn’t feel a warmth in his chest at the delighted sound Obi-Wan makes when he eventually gets in, late, and discovers the tea where it’d fallen. He does, however, rib him mercilessly for humming 'My Heart Will Go On' by Celine Dion in the office once he has a cup of the stuff in him.

Then, as if they didn’t already have enough on their plates with an international war and near-daily quakes, a volcano goes off.

Small mercies — it’s in Japan somewhere, not in New Zealand itself. Because of the location, this kind of event usually wouldn’t merit much more than a single line mention in their daily news, but this eruption is big. Big enough that Cody wakes up one morning, and the sky is no longer blue, but a greenish-greyish-tan that looks almost like a toxic cloud.

“What the fuck,” he asks the glass of his window, flicking on the radio next to his bed to see if anyone’s reporting on what the hell’s going on. There’s nothing on any of the frequencies. “What the fuck,” he whispers under his breath, jerkily moving to get dressed — if there’s anywhere he’ll find out what’s happening, it’s at Radio Hauraki. He can’t find matching socks, but who the hell cares, the sky has changed colour. That’s much more important than his sock situation.

“What the fuck,” he repeats yet again as he gets into the office, hand still on the doorknob. Luminara, seated at the desk closest to the door, valiantly resists laughing at him while on the phone, brandishing a piece of paper in his direction as she continues to talk to whoever’s on the other end of the line. Her hijab has a faint paisley pattern today, Cody notices as he takes the piece of paper from her hands. It’s nice, he should remember to comment on it later.

He looks down. The piece of paper is another gag order. No reporting on the volcanic eruption that’s fucked up the sky until the afternoon news. “What the fuck,” Cody says, feeling a bit like a broken record by this point. “They can’t stop us reporting on this, it’s the fucking sky!”

Luminara finishes her conversation and puts the receiver down, turning to face Cody properly. “Go take that to the breakroom and have some tea, hm? Everyone else will be in soon and we may as well have this conversation once rather than over and over.” She gestures to the piece of paper that Cody’s clutching tight, hard enough to crumple it, “I don’t know why they think this is acceptable, but we will work something out.” She’s not laughing anymore — her nod is serious, expression grave. Cody forgets, sometimes, that Luminara has already lived through a war before she came to New Zealand. Times like these, he can’t forget it.

The rest of the office arrives in dribs and drabs, all looking just as shellshocked as Cody feels. The tea — mint, at Luminara’s insistence — helps more than Cody expects. He doesn’t feel better by the time the breakroom’s full, but he’s actually able to think rather than just react. He pours a mug for Luminara as she finally enters the room, which she thanks him for with a gentle squeeze to his forearm.

“So,” she addresses the room. “We have a bit of a conundrum.”

“A bullshit government, more like,” Kit grumbles from where he’s nursing his mug on the other side of the table. There’s a generalised noise of agreement from the room at large, Cody included. The Prime Minister is a pakeha of the worst kind. He’s pretty sure the man would be trying to get rid of the Treaty of Waitangi if he could get away with it. It felt like he wanted to spark a civil war half the time, and Cody was thoroughly sick of the man and all his supporters.

"That too," Luminara agrees with a twitch of her lips. "It's become very clear that they've been attempting to silence independent media as much as they can over the past few months." There's another round of grumbled agreements at this statement. Cody's gut goes cold. It’s what he’d been worrying about weeks ago, while he was working on his car. He didn’t think that it’d happen, and certainly not so soon. Luminara looks around the table at them, and asks, "So, what are we going to do about it?"

Everyone is quiet as they sit a moment, digesting the question. What are they going to do about it? Continue doing what they're told, hiding the reality of the world from people? Or tell the government to fuck off, and risk the repercussions?

Cody itches at his leg, looking down at his mismatched socks, mind flicking back to his room — to the pinboard he has propped above his clothes drawer. The pinboard with his most prized possession, a signed postcard from Bob Leahy himself, of the ‘Tiri II’ out on the water. The ‘Tiri II’, the boat from when Radio Hauraki was pirate radio, broadcasting from the Hauraki Gulf. Back when they told the government to shove it. Obi-Wan and Kit are discussing something between themselves as Cody looks back up from his socks, right at Luminara.

"We need to get a boat." Once again, the room falls silent. This time, the silence feels more bewildered than contemplative. "I'm serious," Cody tells his coworkers. "We all know how Radio Hauraki started, right? We were pirate radio. Hauraki bay, the three mile limit, right in the middle of the bay, its international waters. We can report anything from there, right? We just need a boat to do it."

Obi-Wan, the absolute asshole, starts laughing. Cody scowls, offended as all hell, opening his mouth to ask just what was wrong with him, when Obi-Wan manages to choke out, "It's perfect! God, my father would have loved you." Um? Cody really doesn't know how to respond to that. His mouth clicks shut and he slumps back in his chair. He thinks he may be blushing, though whether it's from embarrassment or something else he really can't tell. It’s a good idea, he’s sure of it. With a boat, they can do anything.

"It's not an immediate plan," Luminara says, nodding slowly as she taps her pen against her ever-present notepad. "But it might just work. We'll need people who can work with a boat, though, so we can put a broadcasting station together. Does anyone here have mechanical or sailing knowledge?"

When he and Obi-Wan are the only two out of the entire office to put up their hands, Cody knows for sure that the universe is specifically out to get him. How the fuck is this his life.

Luminara nods, notepad in front of her as she jots down notes for herself. "So Cody and Obi-Wan will work on our long term boat planning, while Kit and Quinlan will manage and deflect any short term issues that come up with us ignoring the government advisories. This means you'll be deciding whether we report or not, you okay with that, boys?" Kit and Quinlan nod, already huddled together at Kit's seat, muttering to each other. "Everyone else can pitch in as needed, but you four will be our leaders. Does that sound like a plan?"

Once again there's general agreement, before people start filing out of the room or gravitating towards Luminara to talk with her. Cody wants to vanish into the floor — this morning has been far too much and it's only eight.

At least he doesn't need to stress about where to start looking for a boat, though, he knows just who to go to. Fringe benefits of a large whānau. He turns, and Obi-Wan is already staring at him across the table like an absolute creep. Cody absolutely doesn't jump. Definitely not. "How much sailing knowledge do you have, exactly?" he asks, trying to play his jolt off as the start of a conversation.

Obi-Wan makes a so-so gesture with his hand, politely ignoring Cody’s startle. "Mostly I've done boating on little Lasers so I've got that, but I also have some mechanical knowledge which I suspect will be more relevant. I figure we'll need that first anyways, not a lot of new boats around at the moment."

That's a fucking understatement and a half, Cody hasn’t heard of a new boat coming into the country in years now. He's still sceptical of this supposed mechanical knowledge though, as far as he knows Obi-Wan only has his bike to potentially work on and it hasn’t been modded a bit. How much mechanical knowledge could he actually have? "You're sure you've got the skills for this?" he can't help but ask, because apparently he doesn't know when to quit.

"I suppose you'll just have to find out," Obi-Wan tells him with an infuriating smile on his face, almost as if he's enjoying being obtuse, whereas Cody can feel his blood pressure elevating as they speak. "First we need to actually procure a boat, then you can judge me, hm?"

Cody, in a truly impressive feat of self control, does not reach over the table and shake Obi-Wan. He really, really wants to though — maybe that'd scramble his brain into becoming less infuriating. Knowing Cody's luck at the moment, though, it's more likely to make things worse rather than better, so he restrains the urge.

He drains his mug of the last of the mint tea, standing up to head to the sink and wash it. He has to do something with his hands or he’ll go mad. "You free Saturday?" he calls over his shoulder, already mentally moving on to planning how to approach things with Rex. Saturday gives him long enough to warn Rex he'll be showing up, but not long enough for Rex to do anything too stupid. That thing with the eels was traumatising enough for a lifetime. For both of them.

Obi-Wan hasn’t responded, and Cody’s mug is clean, so he plonks it on the drying rack and turns back to the bane of his existence, who raises a single eyebrow at Cody, lips curling like a contented feline. His voice is almost a purr when he says, "For you darling, I can make time whenever you’d like."

Cody realises what he’s implied with his question, accompanied by an emotion not unlike a sledgehammer to the face. He is definitely blushing now, and the widening of Obi-Wan’s grin lets him know he’s flushed enough for it to be obvious. He isn’t proud of it, but he makes an immediate escape out of the breakroom and towards his desk, feeling Obi-Wan’s gaze on him the entire time.

This morning cannot end soon enough.

A good morning to all our listeners here on Radio Hauraki, this is Kit Fisto here with your morning news on April 9th 1998. It’s an interesting Thursday we’ve woken up to, that’s for sure!

As I’m sure you’ve seen, it’s not the lovely clear sky of New Zealand outside our windows today — it’s not your eyes, listeners, what you’re seeing is the result of Mount Ontake, a volcano in Japan, erupting and throwing a whole lot of ash into the sky. So never fear listeners, the world isn’t ending, and I’m sure we’ll be back to our usual clear skies soon enough.

In global news, Australia’s martial law has been extended for another twelve months, says its acting PM in a press conference broadcast from the government’s nuclear bunker. This extension is the third in as many years, prompted by the destruction of Melbourne last month. The Pacific Island Coalition has responded to this by revoking all aid to the nation until martial law is lifted, calling it harmful and unnecessary.

Dunedin has some excellent news, with the revitalisation of the factory for our favourite, homegrown Pineapple Lumps. The company had been downscaling production in New Zealand in preparation for a move overseas, but between complaints of lower quality product and global uncertainty, they decided to keep things local. Good choice, we all know local is best!

Stay safe, listeners, and stay tuned for updates at midday here on Radio Hauraki: classic rock that rocks.

Cody, feeling like a coward, sticks a post-it note on Obi-Wan's desk with all the details, timed so that Obi-Wan is getting tea while he does so, entirely to ensure he doesn't have to talk to him again before Saturday. It has everything he’ll need — Rex's work address in Māngere, and a time to arrive which is about half an hour after Cody himself plans to get there. He needs to fill Rex in ahead of time. Otherwise he can just see this entire meeting being a complete disaster.

Naturally, when Saturday rolls around, Cody's only just managed to find Rex amongst his piles of scrap when Obi-Wan's motorcycle stops at the gates. Early. Twenty minutes early, even. How that man manages to effortlessly infuriate him with his every action is a question Cody would desperately love the answer to, because he swears it's like he’s been put on earth with the specific goal of making Cody lose his mind.

So, instead of an answer to his burning question, he gets to experience Rex making a very concerning speculative noise from beside him as Obi-Wan pulls off his helmet and shakes out his hair, shining copper and gold under the weak sunlight filtering through the volcanic ash still lingering in the sky. When he runs his hand through his hair to neaten it, tugging the strands back into his usual mullet, Rex makes an even more speculative noise, immediately loping off towards the gate — leaving Cody gaping and rooted to the spot in his wake.

As soon as Cody regains his senses, he desperately scrambles after Rex around the piles of gutted cars, trying not to skid on any stray bolts or screws as he goes. No, no, absolutely not, Rex is not allowed to talk to Obi-Wan alone. Cody hasn’t had time to prepare him for it, there’s no way it can end well, Jesus Christ if Rex starts to tell a single story about Cody as a child he's gonna fight him here and now, fuck the consequences.

He skids to a stop just as Obi-Wan and Rex finish shaking hands, Rex enthusiastically introducing himself while Obi-Wan bows slightly, tilting his head with a fascinated light in his eyes. “Oh, I understand why Cody wanted to come here now,” he’s saying. “This is your lot? It looks like an absolute treasure trove.”

Cody can’t help but feel rather miffed atop his alarm as Obi-Wan and Rex keep talking, Obi-Wan sparing him a glance and a nod but not much more, while Rex is ignoring him altogether. Rex keeps sidling closer to Obi-Wan, smiling far too much, and when he suggests they all go inside to keep talking he has the absolute audacity to put his hand on Obi-Wan’s elbow to guide him along. Completely unnecessarily, Cody might add. Obi-Wan is perfectly able to follow behind someone the ten metres it takes them to get to the little prefab cube that Rex likes to call an office.

Rex even goes so far as to grab one of his minions to send off to fetch them coffees from the nearby cafe, on his tab. Cody has to bite his tongue in order to not say that Obi-Wan only drinks tea and Rex is wasting his time. He knows why Rex is doing this, this is exactly what he wanted to not have happening today. Rex loves to get under his skin, and fucking hell but it’s working. It’s been all of five minutes and Cody is already ready to strangle him. It’s for Radio Hauraki, he reminds himself, he can do this. He can not strangle his brother until after he’s found them a boat.

Then though, it’s fair game, and Cody is going to murder him.

“You carry motorcycle parts as well?” Obi-Wan is asking, delight radiant on his face. “Only specific things, or…” He trails off leadingly, leaning towards Rex from the squashy armchair he’s placed himself in. Cody can’t see clearly from this angle, but he’s pretty sure that Obi-Wan is biting his lip. If he flutters his eyelashes, Cody might have to punch Rex.

Rex scratches at the short fuzz of hair behind his ear, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I can get whatever you need, it just may take a while. The reason most places don’t have things in stock is that nothing’s really coming in at the moment because ships aren’t making it to port, but I’ve got a whole lot of old bikes to be taken apart and a store of new things stashed away that I’d be happy to share with family.”

“Does that make me family?” Obi-Wan asks, seeming genuinely curious to hear the answer. Rex's minion takes that moment to pop in with their coffees, absurdly cheery as he hands them out — flat whites all round, which is apparently the standard, and which Cody notes Obi-Wan quickly places on the side table tucked between their chairs, untouched.

Rex takes a long sip of his coffee, letting out a sigh that has his entire body relaxing against the backrest of his chair. “Depends on how long your list is,” he responds, scratching behind his ear again with his free hand. He winks at Obi-Wan, and Cody's eye starts twitching furiously. He takes a long sip of his own coffee, letting the richness of the blend distract him from the byplay continuing right in front of him. At least Rex has good taste in coffee. Even if that's the only thing he has good taste in.

Obi-Wan is counting on his fingers, looking up at the roof as he thinks. He's tilted his head in Cody's direction and oh, yeah, he absolutely bites at his lip while he thinks and it's… Cody takes another long sip of coffee, tearing his eyes away from how that skin is flushing pink where it's being abused and instead staring out the window like the piles of dead cars are the most fascinating things he's ever seen.

He only breaks his staring contest with the glass when Obi-Wan finally starts talking, listing a frankly alarming quantity of items his bike needs. “Well… I need a new side mirror, Renthal grips and the wire to match. Then probably some brake pads if you have them, and a new clutch lever.”

He can't have heard that right. “A new clutch lever?" he sputters. "You’ve been driving without your clutch!?” He must sound about as hysterical as he feels, because Rex snorts into his coffee, almost choking on the drink, and Obi-Wan looks over at him properly for the first time today, absently interlocking the fingers of his hands and twisting in his seat so he can turn the full force of his earnest expression against Cody's outrage.

He smiles, disarmingly, before trying to reassure Cody, “It’s fine, truly dear. It isn’t as if the clutch itself is broken so I’ve just been gear shifting with the throttle." He says this like it's not an absolutely insane thing to do for any length of time. Then he adds, "It’s a little more work, of course, than using the clutch, but very doable.”

Cody makes a strangled noise, caught between horrified and truly impressed — changing gears like that takes skill, especially when driving in the city where you need to do it both quickly and often. In order to get it right, you have to slot the gear change in at just the right revs to change up or down, and the only way to do that is by ear. What’s more, the timing has to be precise, otherwise you could wind up shearing off entire teeth from your gears, the machine needing an entire new gearbox because you couldn't just replace teeth at all easily.

It was obvious when someone had fucked a gear shift like that, though, it left a specific grinding hitch in the purr of an engine, and by now Cody knew the sound of Obi-Wan's engine well. It sang smooth as anything. Obi-Wan had somehow managed to perfectly time who knew how many gear changes since he'd broken his clutch lever, not once grinding the gears enough to damage them. That…

Cody suddenly feels very warm. Has Rex's office always been this stuffy?

Rex whistles low, eyeing Obi-Wan up again. “Impressive," he compliments, turning Obi-Wan's gaze back to where he sits at his desk. "I can get you what you need, no worries bro. Some of those bits I have on-site, but for the grips and maybe the brake pads I’ll have to raid a stash of mine.”

Obi-Wan perks up, before straightening further, hands flying up from his lap as he adds, “Oh, and oil filters. If you have oil filters for me I’ll love you forever.” He says it so earnestly that Cody has to trade his empty coffee cup for Obi-Wan's full one, still sitting on the side table untouched. He refuses to parse the last half of the sentence at all, for the sake of his sanity — the first half is concerning enough.

He takes a bracing sip of the lukewarm beverage before he asks, “When did you last change your oil?”

Obi-Wan doesn't look at him this time when he responds to Cody's question, eyes darting around the room as he tries to deflect. “Soon I hope,” he says breezily, and Cody can see the same horror he's experiencing reflected in Rex's face.

Before he can think better of it, and this does unfortunately seem to be a theme whenever he interacts with Obi-Wan, he blurts out, “That’s not a bike, that’s a death trap.”

Obi-Wan's brow furrows, and his eyes look stormy as he purses his lips. Before he can open his mouth however, Rex butts in — casually defusing the situation with a jovial, “Thankfully for Cody, I have those as well. Since you’re definitely family now. And we can’t have family running on old oil.”

Obi-Wan gives him the stink eye, but turns back to Rex and gracefully agrees that, yes, he's absolutely right and Obi-Wan is tremendously grateful, and if he wanted to write up an invoice then Obi-Wan would be happy to pay it however worked best. Rex's grin is all teeth as he agrees heartily, and assures Obi-Wan he'll have something written up by the afternoon. They're both pointedly ignoring him, because Rex is the most annoying younger brother a man could have and Obi-Wan is the bane of his existence. He hates them both, he should never have let them meet, this is the worst idea he's ever had.

Cody moodily sips from Obi-Wan's coffee as he watches them flirt — because that's what this is, flirting, and he doesn't even want to unravel how he feels about that — mildly regretting the quantity of caffeine he's consumed because he can feel himself start to jitter as they just keep at it as the office clock slowly ticks away behind him like a repeated smack to the head. He's about to start picking at the loose stitching on his jacket in addition to bouncing his leg when Obi-Wan finally segues away from pointless flirting and into the reason they actually came to Rex in the first place — the boat.

Or, rather, a boat, and the finding thereof.

Cody grabs at his chance to rejoin the conversation with both hands, sick of being sidelined when this entire outing was his idea in the first place and it was his brother they're talking to — he takes over from Obi-Wan to explain the specifications they need from a prospective boat, where the mooring needs to be geographically, and the things that definitely need to not be present. Like a sail. Cody is not dealing with a fucking sailboat, no way.

Rex, electing to act the professional now he’s done needling Cody to kingdom come, takes shorthand notes as Cody talks, with Obi-Wan occasionally interjecting to clarify some point or another. Once they’re done, he looks up at them with the sort of bemused expression Cody’s only ever seen directed at him once before — when he told Rex he was going to become a farmer, age nine. Rex had been right to be sceptical then since Cody had and still has an impressive black thumb, but that was completely besides the point. He had no reason to be sceptical now.

“So what do you need a boat for, exactly?” he asks, looking between the two of them.

“Work,” Cody tells him, at the same time Obi-Wan claims, “That’s a secret, darling, we could tell you but then we’d have to kill you.”

Rex throws them out of his office after that accidental comedy act, citing that he actually has to do his job — a statement of which Cody is supremely doubtful, especially when he immediately follows them from the office.

Obi-Wan checks his watch, an old fashioned thing with a leather band and a dark analogue face which Cody doesn't think he's ever seen before. Not that he spends long looking at Obi-Wan if he can help it, of course. That’d be weird. After a brief moment to read the time, he shakes his sleeve down again and looks up at the dim sky, then towards Cody. "Lunch?" he asks. "It's about time for it."

Cody has to resist the urge to look behind him in order to check if Obi-Wan is talking to someone else. He can't be asking Cody out for lunch, right? Are they that friendly? Does Obi-Wan know about the teabags, is he trying to make up for it? Is Cody hearing things from too much caffeine? He swallows, blinking hard as he tries to work out what's going on.

Credit where credit's due, Rex is his saviour here. He's still trying to convince himself that he's not hallucinating when Rex chimes in from his position leaning against the door to his office. "Great idea, bro. You two should head off and get food, give me a few hours, then come back and I can have all of Kenobi's parts ready for him. Take Cody's car, I'll take care of your bike for you, bro, and make sure all the salvage parts fit too."

Obi-Wan makes a noise that Cody can't parse, linking his fingers together in front of him again. "And you're sure I won't come back to her being stolen away for parts?" He asks it in a flippant tone, but there's a tense undercurrent of something that Cody thinks may be worry.

"If I steal your bike, I can hardly charge you for your new parts now can I?" Rex doesn't seem offended by the implication, but Cody can see through his poker face and he's at least a little hurt. Obi-Wan dithers a little more, fingers blanching as he tightens his grip on himself, before he eventually nods.

"Take good care of her?"

Cody shifts from foot to foot, feeling the need to try and reassure Rex. He's been a little shit today, but he's still Cody's brother. "He cares more for that bike than food, bro. Can't believe he's agreeing to leave it with you at all."

Rex's shoulders soften, head thunking against the doorframe. He may take apart vehicles for scrap, but he understands the love Cody has for his baby. He gets what isn’t being said — this is a show of trust. "Like I said, bro, you're family now. I'll care for her like she's my own."

Shaking out his fingers, Obi-Wan nods. "Thank you, Rex."

Cody unlocks his car, gesturing for Obi-Wan to get in the passenger side. While the man’s walking around the car, he rapidly throws a handful of receipts and empty cans into the back seat, clearing the seat enough for him to sit. It’s cool, he’s fine, he’s got this.

He almost thinks they’re going to escape without any major mortification on his end, which would be ideal, but just as Obi-Wan's climbing into the car Rex yells, "Make sure you don't accidentally fondle his knee when changing gears, bro! Wouldn't want to have to move to the Third World!"

Cody regrets throwing him a bone earlier. He regrets it so much. Rex has just placed himself firmly back on the murder list. He isn't going to be able to change gears once today without thinking about Obi-Wan and his knees.

“Third World?” Obi-Wan asks, mildly strangled, closing the passenger side door. Was it his imagination, or were Obi-Wan’s ears a bit pink?

“South Island,” Cody grunts as he depresses the clutch, cheeks flaring as he checks his mirrors to avoid looking at the man in the car with him. “I’d have to become an oyster farmer, it’d be terrible. I hate oysters.” Obi-Wan ducks his head, a grin spreading across his face.

“Truly a fate worse than death. Head back across the bridge? I can direct you.”

The drive is smooth, despite Rex’s curse — it’s slow across the bridge, as always, but an easy drive through Epsom, before slowing down as they get closer to Auckland city proper. When they hit Newmarket, Obi-Wan tells him to start looking out for a park. In Newmarket. On a Saturday. Yeah he’s definitely a motorcycle driver, he doesn’t have to worry about such plebian things as finding a space for an actual vehicle. Jesus.

It takes twenty minutes or so, but Cody does eventually find a spot that’s just large enough for his car, inching back and forth until he’s parallel to the curb. He checks with his foot that he’s close enough to the curb to not be fined — just, by all of a centimetre, then locks the doors before shoving his keys in his jacket. “Where to then?” he asks Obi-Wan, who’s inspecting the scant space between the cars on either side of his baby with raised eyebrows.

“That’s an impressive park,” he tells Cody, still looking at his car with an air of faint surprise. “Come on, we’re almost there.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket as he walks — strolls really, unhurried and slow, down the street. Cody takes a moment to fix where he’s parked in his mind (he’s lost his car in central Auckland once, and is not keen to repeat the experience), then follows.

Surprisingly, Obi-Wan is right and the walk is short. He leads them on to Broadway, then turns off it after less than a hundred metres and gestures for Cody to follow him up a flight of nondescript stairs.

At the top of them, Cody is greeted by a riot of red lanterns paired with red lacquered chairs, a surprising amount of dark wood panelling along wide open windows, and a tiny Asian woman dressed in a figure hugging vibrant green dress with a high collar and fastenings up the side, talking with Obi-Wan in a rapid back-and-forth patter of a foreign language.

Obi-Wan turns as he crests the stairs, smiling more widely, more genuinely, than Cody has ever seen him before, and switches back to English. “Cody, this is Mrs Yaddle. Mrs Yaddle, this is Cody.” The tiny Asian woman, Mrs Yaddle, bows shortly to him, a sly expression on her face, then says something to Obi-Wan that has the man sputtering.

She laughs at his response, not unkindly, then pats him on the arm with a wink and gestures for them both to follow her to a table. She and Obi-Wan chat a little more in that same language as they pick their way across the room, like old friends catching up. He must come here a lot, Cody realises, some of the waitstaff even wave to him from where they’re circling the room. This is a show of trust, just like Cody letting Obi-Wan come with him to Rex’s. It’s nice, somehow. Obi-Wan gets on his last nerve, but it’s also nice.

He is a little worried about what the food is going to be, though.

They’re seated near the bar, with Mrs Yaddle insisting on bringing them a pot of tea and pouring it for them both. Obi-Wan sips his with clear relish, and Cody takes a mirrored sip to be polite, trying not to jolt at the surprisingly floral taste. It’s not bad, necessarily, though he can’t see himself drinking it voluntarily.

“Have you had yumcha before?” Obi-Wan asks as he slips his arms out of his jacket to hang it over the back of his seat, leaving him in an unbuttoned shirt with a band tee underneath. Cody has no idea what yumcha even is. He is also trying not to notice how translucent the white tee has become, and how Cody’s pretty sure, if the dark fabric of the shirt wasn’t in the way, he’d almost be able to see Obi-Wan’s chest laid bare.

He manages to shake his head, shucking himself out of his jacket as well to reveal his plain black tee — he’s frankly out of his depth here, a fact which he tells Obi-Wan because he’s pretty sure that much is obvious right now. Obi-Wan begins to explain how all the trolleys moving around the room have food in them, and it’s brought to them to pick from, which sounds a bit weird but alright. He then asks if Cody can use chopsticks, which is a resounding no, but Obi-Wan reassures him that he’d guessed that to be the case and a fork is already on its way.

As if by magic, Mrs Yaddle reappears at the table just as he says this, a fork in one hand, which she places next to Cody’s plate, and a steaming wooden bowl-shaped thing in another, which she places in the middle of the table. With another short exchange that has Obi-Wan bowing to her with just his head and chest, she’s off again, moving seamlessly to another table.

“What language is that?” he asks, curiously peering at the covered not-bowl. “And what’s she given us, I thought the food came from the trolleys?”

A trolley comes by before Obi-Wan can answer, and he spends the next few minutes being shown various dumplings and listening to Obi-Wan’s recommendations as to whether they’re a good choice for someone who’s never had yumcha before. They wind up with prawn dumplings and coriander dumplings on the table, the woman pulling out a little stamp from her apron to stamp a card on the tablecloth twice, and then she too is off, showing another table her selection.

Obi-Wan uses the two sticks set by his place setting to gracefully snag a dumpling from the not-bowls set between them — steamers perhaps? They almost resemble some of the steamers he’s seen his mother use to cook mussels — before dipping it in sauce and putting the entire thing in his mouth.

“To answer your question,” he says once he’s swallowed, gesturing at Cody to take one as well. “We were speaking Mandarin. I spent much of my childhood and early adolescence in China with my father, who was the diplomat assigned there. It’s as much my first language as English, really, and certainly my first culture.”

Cody spears a dumpling with his fork, dipping it in the sauce just like Obi-Wan had, before cramming it in his mouth. It’s pretty good, the salt and tartness of the sauce is tasty, and prawns are prawns — always better when you don’t have to peel them. He makes an approving noise, and is awarded with another of those broad, genuine smiles.

“I’m glad you like it, try the coriander ones, it’s one of the things they’re known for here.”

Cody does, surprised at how clearly he can taste the herb mixture, and how pleasantly the pork counterbalances the lightness of the same sauce as before.

“To answer your other question,” Obi-Wan continues. “Mrs Yaddle brought over phoenix talons for me because she knows they’re my favourite, and the waitress working that trolley today must be new.” He leans over the table as if he’s sharing a secret, “They tend to avoid the tables with white people at them, unless they know me.”

That’s weird. “Why’s that?” he can’t help but ask, feeling as if he’s walking face first into a trap but unable to stop himself from doing so. Why he can’t just keep his mouth shut around Obi-Wan he’ll never know.

Obi-Wan grins, lifting the lid off the dish. There’s a rush of steam, and then Cody is looking at… some twigs stacked in a bowl? Cody may not know many things about foreign food, but he knows that wood is not for eating, no matter how it’s been cooked. He tells Obi-Wan this, trying to work out if he should take the steamer away from him for his own safety, and watches as the man tries desperately to keep his facial expression near neutral.

“I can assure you, there’s no wood involved in this dish,” Obi-Wan tells him. “Want to guess again?”

Ah, so it’s a game then. “Especially deformed carrots?” he tries. “Some sort of root?”

By his third guess, Obi-Wan has given up on keeping a straight face and is beaming openly. The expression looks stupidly good on him. “No, and no. That’s three guesses, do you want me to tell you?”

“As long as you don’t make me eat them.” Cody is staring at the steamer with intense suspicion now. He’s willing to try new things, everything he’s put in his mouth thus far has been a new thing, but he’s not eating something that looks so woody it could have come off a tree.

“Promise, they’re all for me. They’re chicken feet, in black bean sauce.” Cody wrinkles his nose. “And that face is why the waitresses tend to avoid tables with people like me at them.”

He fucking winks at Cody, before picking one up with his chopsticks, and biting off one of the toes. There’s some odd face contortions, before he delicately spits out the bones.

They sit in silence for a moment, other than the sounds of a chicken foot being demolished, before Cody feels compelled to open his mouth again, angling for a safer topic than strange new foods. Talking about family is safe, right? And Obi-Wan met some of his family earlier today, it makes sense for him to ask. Not to mention he’s curious, having realised just how little he knows about his colleague. “Is your father still in China?” he asks, spearing the last prawn dumpling to shove in his mouth.

Obi-Wan finishes spitting out the last of the bones from his foot before he speaks. Cody quickly realises this was not the safe topic change he had anticipated it being.

“Ah, no, he’s no longer with us I’m afraid. We got sent back to the UK eventually, and he got involved in some things he probably shouldn’t have, and, well…”

It’s abundantly clear that Cody’s treading close to a sore spot here, but at the same time Obi-Wan is actually telling him things today, not brushing him off like he so often does. Even if those things apparently involve a dead parent. But it’s family. If anything can tell him more about Obi-Wan as a person it’s his family, and it’s clear that the man is hedging around something big. Cody wants to know what it is with an intensity that surprises even him.

“Some things?” He shoves a coriander dumpling in his mouth, chewing as he looks at Obi-Wan, waiting for him to elaborate.They’re almost out of food, Cody hopes another trolley comes around soon because he’s still starving.

There’s a moment of hesitation from Obi-Wan before he asks, “Have you heard of the IRA?”

Cody is pretty sure he’s doing something weird with his face because, has he heard of the IRA, where does Obi-Wan think he’s been, living under a fucking rock? Everyone’s heard of the IRA. It’s impossible not to know who they are with how much they’re on the news.

A different woman comes by with a trolley, and they take a moment to pick two new dishes — some kind of dumpling that Obi-Wan calls "sue my", and what look like giant meatballs, one of which Cody wastes no time stabbing with his fork and bringing to his plate to devour.

He’s half way through the meatball when it clicks. “Holy shit, your father was in the IRA?”

Obi-Wan winces with half his face, looking towards the bar over Cody’s shoulder rather than directly at him. “Right until the end. He got unlucky, caught in the crossfire. Because he’d been a diplomat his death was hushed up and once he was gone there was nothing left in the UK for me and I was being watched as a potential accomplice so,” he waves his hand absently in the air. “Here I am.”

Cody blinks a couple of times in rapid succession. That was… a lot of information in a very small amount of time, and also not nearly enough information about anything. What the fuck. He can definitely understand the Irish being willing to fight for their homes, they'd suffered so much under British rule and all they want is to be able to govern themselves — who wouldn't? It's just that Cody never thought that he'd met anyone who'd been involved, let alone someone who'd actually lost family to that fight. Especially not all the way out here in New Zealand.

While he’s mentally trying to grapple with the enormity of everything Obi-Wan has just revealed, another two plates are placed on the table in front of them. One is flipped out of a bowl and onto a plate by the waitress, the other just put down wrapped in something that brings to mind the leaf-wrapped salmon sometimes cooked at the big family gatherings he’s been to. “That one’s chicken,” Obi-Wan tells him, pointing to the leaf. “And that one’s sausage.” He points to the plate. “I’m going to get a fresh pot of tea, do you want anything?” he asks, as if he hasn’t calmly picked up Cody’s world and shaken it like an etch-a-sketch. His father was in the IRA. What’s more, his father died for the IRA. Fuck. Family was meant to be a safe topic of discussion, not the airing of family secrets or whatever that was.

“A beer?” he responds hopefully. He thinks he deserves a beer after all this.

Obi-Wan obliges him, and soon enough he’s delivered a chilled bottle with ‘Tiger’ scrawled across a blue label, along with a glass which he ignores, drinking straight from the bottle. It’s not bad, a little sweeter than other beers he’s had recently, he thinks. Still definitely a beer, though, and that’s what he cares about right now. Obi-Wan gets another white teapot, this one apparently full of chrysanthemums which Cody thinks are a type of flower thus not meant for inside teapots, and a plate of tarts of some kind is plonked on the table in between them.

“You’ll like the egg tarts,” Obi-Wan tells him, humming with satisfaction as he sips at his new cup of tea. “They’re sweet though, so try them after the sticky rice.”

Cody does, still too stunned by Obi-Wan’s familial revelations to do otherwise. The rice is delicious, studded as it is with meat and mushrooms and spiced with things that Cody has no name for. The egg tarts, as Obi-Wan predicted, are also excellent, and he demolishes the entire plate of them before he realises they were probably meant to share. Obi-Wan waves him off when he brings it up, laughing. “I had my own plate too, remember,” he jokes. “This way we’re even. I’m glad you liked them, I thought you would.”

He looks at his watch, prompting Cody to do the same — somehow they’ve been eating and talking for almost two hours. “Finish your beer and I’ll have one last cup of tea, then we can head back to Rex?” Obi-Wan suggests. “At the very least, I need to get my bike back from him.”

Cody manages to insist upon paying for lunch, to his great pleasure. For some reason, Mrs Yaddle seems to find this delightful — he has to promise to come back and visit her soon before she'll let them leave.

Pay via cheque, cash, or bank transfer.
No refunds, all sales are final.

In the end, Rex comes through. A few weeks after that very memorable weekend, Cody gets an evening phone call from someone named Plo Koon. Which is to say that Plo calls the house and Waxer answers the phone then yells across the house, “Oi, Cody, bro, you got a call from some old guy!”

Cody almost doesn’t bother to get out from under his baby, where he’s checking on a patch job in the oil line he did a while back, but at the last minute decides letting whoever it is deal with Waxer is just too cruel and scoots himself out, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands as he does. “I’m coming bro, hold your horses,” he yells back, already resigning himself to telling someone they have the wrong number.

Waxer takes one look at him and makes him hold the phone receiver with the rag rather than his hands, which is about par for the course despite the rag probably being dirtier than his hands at this stage. He lifts the receiver to his ear and introduces himself by rote, and the voice on the other end honest to god chuckles. ”Yes, just the man I was hoping to catch! I heard from your brother, a young man named Rex, that you may be looking for a boat.”

Holy shit. Holy shit, yeah, this could be just what they need. Okay, cool, he’s got this, he just needs to be professional and calm, and not fuck this up.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, stuttering a little. “I am— or, we are, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name, who am I speaking to?”

There’s a pleased, albeit slightly crackly hum, then that same smooth voice replies, “My name is Plo Koon, but please, call me Plo.”

He winds up talking to Plo for almost an hour, certainly far longer than he expected to when he came to grab the phone. Turns out that Plo’s moving inland, that’s why he needs to sell his boat — though he never uses the word sell, Cody can’t help but notice, he just keeps referring to it as “passing it on to another deserving owner”.

They talk about Radio Hauraki for a bit, where Plo keeps dropping tidbits that make Cody suspect he used to work for them, way back when, then move on to complaining about the government where they both agree that the bastards are being absolute shitcunts. Cody doesn’t think before using that precise word to describe them, before smacking his hand over his mouth and gasping. Ah, fuck, he doesn’t want to offend the guy before he gets to even make an offer on the fucking boat, and that’s neither polite nor professional, fucking hell, good job Cody.

There’s another chuckle down the line, this one louder than before. “That’s the perfect word to describe them, I should say. Shitcunts indeed.” Somehow that word sounds more profane coming from the mouth of an old man, though Cody cannot for the life of him explain why.

After that, it all moves quickly. Plo refuses to let them pay any money for the boat, citing a deep mistrust for currency on the whole, confirms that the boat will be owned privately rather than by Radio Hauraki as an organisation to “stop it being stolen by The Man”, then posts Rex his completed Bill of Sale to pass on to Cody “and his lovely friends at Radio Hauraki”.

He also includes a promotional postcard from what has to be 1969 or 1970, featuring the boat Kapuni, aka the Tiri II in all her glory. This last item cinches it — Cody is absolutely sure that Plo used to work for Radio Hauraki back when it was still pirate radio, which is so incredibly cool he can hardly bear it. They're getting their new boat from an old member of the pirate team, with their blessing. Nothing could be more fortuitous than this.

Cody regrets not touching wood after those thoughts a few days later, sitting with Obi-Wan in the city offices of Maritime NZ. Autumn is yet to send a chill across the island, probably because of the damn volcanic ash that refuses to budge from the sky, so he’s stuck sweltering in a plastic chair, worried that he’s going to stick himself to the damn thing. Obi-Wan, seemingly impervious to the heat, sits calmly to his left. He’s got his fingers laced in his lap, the edge of his watch peeking out from under a shirt cuff and a goddamn plastic folder under his hands with his Declaration of Ownership Transfer documents slipped neatly inside it.

Cody’s documents, on the other hand, are folded small and stuffed in one of his pockets alongside a couple of old mints, a stray Allen key, and a slightly chewed-on pen. He won’t admit to feeling embarrassed, but he is living somewhere in that realm of emotions right now.

It only worsens when he pulls the documents out and gets a clump of pocket lint stuck in one of the creases — his attempts to shake the lint off before Obi-Wan notices are futile. The next few minutes of his life are spent in increasing mortification as Obi-Wan tries to keep his snickering quiet, while the lint proves to have come in contact with his mints at some stage because it is absolutely stuck to his papers and refusing to go anywhere. In the end he resorts to flicking as much off with his fingers as he can and hoping that whoever deals with their paperwork doesn’t notice.

Some minutes later he’s once again swearing at himself for cursing this entire endeavour as he sits across an office desk from one of his least favourite cousins, who is making vastly too judgemental a facial expression at the papers spread on the desk between them.

“A house would have been more traditional, you know, for joint ownership” Fox tells them, pen flicking across the pages to verify the documents against their identification before he inputs it to the system. “Though I suppose it was pointless of me to expect traditional from Cody of all people.”

“Are you sure you can legally do this, bro?” Cody asks, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. “Given we’re whānau and all.” Cody isn’t actually sure how they’re related, exactly — Fox is a cousin, of a sort, but that could mean anything in their family from an uncle’s kid to someone’s niece’s-brother’s-wife’s-uncle’s grandchild. All Cody knows is that Fox and he have been playmates since they were small, and pissing each other off just as long.

About half way down the page, Fox notices the minty goop that Cody hadn’t been able to remove. He rolls his eyes and mutters something, presumably unflattering, under his breath. “Cody,” he asks in a voice almost dripping derision. “Are these the mints uncle Fordo gave us at the last get together? They must be months old by now.”

“Of course not,” Cody replies, lying through his teeth. They are definitely the mints that Fordo shoved at him, which he is yet to get rid of. Obi-Wan tries to suppress a noise beside him, which comes out as an ungainly snort.

Fox sighs deeply, a longsuffering pall settling over him. “At least you’re well matched I suppose.”

He finishes his meticulous runthrough of their paperwork, settling it all in a neat pile to the side of the table as he turns to face them both dead on.

“Congratulations,” he informs them, inflectionless. “You now own a boat. The certificates should be sent out to both of you in the next couple of days, though given you share the same…” with a start Fox looks back down at the paperwork. “Apologies, you don’t share an address, you just both live in Ponsonby.”

Cody hadn’t known that. He knew the area had a lot of sharehouses — a lot of large Māori families as well, but he’d always assumed that Obi-Wan lived in the inner city somewhere. An apartment, maybe. Not out near him. He looks askance at Obi-Wan and his ears are definitely flushing pink. From Fox assuming they lived together? Or because his living location had been revealed? Was he embarrassed by the fact he lived so far out? He was so tight lipped about his life outside work, Cody still couldn’t work him out.

“Regardless, I hope you’ve put some thought into how you’ll be fueling it,” Fox continues, moving smoothly along like his slip never happened. “Given that fuel shortages are going to worsen, rather than improve, and diesel will be hit earliest.”

Cody leans on the desk, eyes faux wide. “Insider trading, for me? Fox I’m touched.” Fox closes his eyes, looking faintly pained. Their appointment is the last before lunch, and Cody would bet on Fox trying to decide whether it’s worth it to just walk out and take an early lunch break right now.

“Don’t need insider knowledge to know where these things are going, codfish.”

There’s a sudden choking sound, followed by a bout of violent coughing as Obi-Wan doubles over. Fox offers him a cup of water, which he sips slowly as his breathing starts to even out. “Apologies, the ash, you know. Not excellent for my lungs,” he croaks. He keeps mouthing “codfish” to himself, as he sips the water, though, so if Cody’s a bad liar then he’s vastly worse.

“You two really are perfect for each other,” Fox sighs. His eyes are closed again, brow furrowed. He almost looks like he’s coming down with a migraine, which is a bit insulting. Cody’s been perfectly well behaved. “Congratulations on your boat. Now get out of my office.”

Chapter Text

[entire scene is spoken fast and snappy, high energy]: Hi, it's Cody, your pop roadie here at Radio Hauraki, and have I got some great sounds for you in our hour of Golden Oldies this afternoon! If you're at work, we're gonna make the afternoon go like that! It's currently one seventeen pm and I know I'm ready for some music to get me rearing to go after lunch. We've got that in spades with our first track:

'Beds Are Burning', Midnight Oil. More Oils this hour. What a band! What a man! Some iconic dancing there.

'Great Southern Land' by Icehouse, right here on Radio Hauraki. Up next, for you, this is a song you love: 'Under The Milky Way', The Church. The Milky way, now that's the clear skies of New Zealand!

Now we've got a double Kiwi for you, no talk, starting with Crowded House, 'Four Seasons in One Day'. We've already had three of them — big storms coming tonight!

Banned in the UK for being "too inflammatory" — those Poms wouldn't know good music if it hit 'em over the head. You know it, it’s Split Enz, 'Six Months in a Leaky Boat'.

Now back to Australia, here's a song we all remember for that first night on the beach. 'Come Said the Boy'

[end of the song fades to radio static]

Chapter Text

"I miss the stars," Obi-Wan sighs, shoving a chip into his mouth. "Also coffee. God, I miss coffee."

Cody sits down next to him on the wooden bench, doing his best to balance his bag of fish and chips in one hand, and their file of loose boat documents in the other. A can of L&P — the only fizzy drink available at the fish and chip place, wobbles precariously on top of the paper.

He drops his fish and chips on his lap, then puts the documents down with slightly more care beside him. Brow furrowed, he asks, "You don't drink coffee, though? You only drink tea.” He rips open the paper covering his dinner, looking over at Obi-Wan’s food. “I can’t believe you got calamari instead of fish."

“I like calamari,” Obi-Wan shoves one of the offending rings in his mouth, nabbing Cody’s can of L&P and cracking it open. “Oh this is terrible,” he exclaims after a sip. “Why do people drink this?”

Cody snorts at Obi-Wan’s screwed up face, grabbing the can back from unresisting fingers and taking an exaggerated gulp. “Not all of us are weak imports, pakeha.”

“Now that was uncalled for, darling,” Obi-Wan contorts himself into an exaggerated wounded position while Cody chokes from the unexpected petname, the both of them nearly losing their precariously balanced dinners to the concrete below in the process. After a brief scramble where the everpresent seagulls score a handful of chips, they sit back, breathing heavier.

“As for the coffee question,” Obi-Wan continues, drawing Cody’s attention away from the birds circling them like sharks and the faint heat in his cheeks. “I do drink coffee, but only good coffee. And the beans I like haven’t been available anywhere for months now. Tolerable tea is easier to find, though I’m starting to think I should be stockpiling that just in case.”

He probably should, yeah. Shit’s still not getting better. Cody eats a few chips of his own — double chicken salt, perfect as always, trying to reconcile his mental image of Obi-Wan with “coffee snob” while listening to the soothing sound of water slapping against the concrete. It’s not working, but at least the scenery is nice.

He’s always liked Hamilton Road Beach, especially around sunset. It always felt like a little patch of wilderness within walking distance from home. Sure he needed to bring a torch to get back out after the sun had gone down, but he’d only made that mistake once before he learned not to navigate the steps blind. Today he even remembered to bring an extra for Obi-Wan.

“This is how I got that nickname, you know,” he eventually says through a mouthful of fish, gesturing to the food on his lap. “It’s my favourite.” Obi-Wan had told him something about himself, it was only right he does the same in return, right? That’s how this whole friendship thing worked. And, well, he’d like to learn more about Obi-Wan, he supposed. He seemed pretty cool, under all that bluster and Britishness.

Obi-Wan looks perplexed for a minute, brow scrunching as he thinks. “Your nickname…” he mutters, before realisation steals over his face. “Oh, the one that Fox called you? Uh, fish, something fish?”

“Codfish, yeah.” Cody can’t believe that Obi-Wan remembers that, he’d thought he’d need to remind him. Fox had only managed to use it on him once before banishing them, after all. “Cod is a NZ fish, so a lot of fish and chip places use it. And I only ate fish and chips for like a year as a kid, so.”

“That’ll do it,” Obi-Wan agrees. “I don’t think I had any embarrassing nicknames as a kid, the benefit of being an only child perhaps.” Cody adds “only child” to his mental list of Obi-Wan information. “Though my name did get shortened to “Obi” a lot once we moved back to the UK, which always bothered me.” He adds that to his mental list too. No shortening the man's name, got it.

The sun finishes its slow descent below the horizon as they finish eating, casting everything in shades of yellow, then orange, then red. An entire autumn's spectrum of colours played out on the leaves and the water. "Ready to look at the boat stuff now?" Cody asks, balling up the remains of greasy paper and shoving them in one of his pockets, pulling one of Fordo's old mints from another. It's a little linty, but still edible. He doesn't think too hard about why he wants his breath to smell nice when he's never cared before. That way lies madness, he's sure of it.

They spread out the papers between them on the bench, Cody handing over one of his torches when the light becomes too dim to read by so they can keep leafing through the pages. It's mostly records of services done on the boat, as well as Rex's own review of the thing which included "you're fucking idiots, also repaint above the waterline asap or it's gonna rust" and "I know you know nothing about diesel engines, but this one hasn't been run in years so I give it 50% chance of running smooth, and a 50% chance of exploding so good luck with that". He's also given them a list of parts he thinks the ship will need, and where they might be able to find them — with him, mostly, but apparently the boat paint was beyond even Rex's broad reach.

Obi-Wan eventually sits back with a sigh, cracking his back somewhat alarmingly. “Well," he says slowly, somehow drawing the one word into multiple syllables. "Rex sure found us a real fixer upper.”

Yeah, he sure as hell did. Cody is already beginning to regret taking the boat from the old guy, even if he was part of Radio Hauraki back in the day. “You can call it a piece of shit, I won’t be offended.”

One of Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raise, and his mouth quirks. He looks Cody in the eyes and tells him, deadpan, “Your brother sure found us a piece of shit.”

Cody chokes on his mouthful of L&P, feeling the fizz burn its way up his nose and down his throat. Obi-Wan looks on in bemusement as Cody hacks up a lung, and despite not saying “you asked for this” in as many words, manages to give off such an air that he really doesn’t need to.

When Cody finally recovers, shaking his head to try and clear the fizzing sensation inside his skull, Obi-Wan has turned back to the pages in front of him, specifically the one talking about the engine. “I propose we start here,” he says, tapping at the paper. “Either the engine works, or we need to do some work on it, but either way it’ll be integral to us getting far enough out to sea that we can safely broadcast without being in breach of legislation. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s to always make sure they can’t catch you on a legal technicality.”

He worries at his lip a moment, the motion barely visible in the dark. “Also if the motor needs to be replaced entirely, then that’ll be easier to do immediately, rather than after we’ve made a series of changes to the boat itself.”

“Makes sense,” Cody agrees. “The mooring’s out Coromandel way, my whānau has a bach out there we might be able to use for the weekend?” He doesn’t quite realise what he’s suggesting until the words are out of his mouth, and by then it’s too late to stuff them back in. Oh God, he’s going to have to tell his brothers he wants to take someone to the bach. A pakeha, no less. The fact it’s for work rather than any other more personal reason doesn’t matter, they’re never, ever going to let him live this down.

Cody can hear Obi-Wan shift in the dark, the sound of fabric against wood. “A bach? Is that like a beach house?” he asks. “Either way, it would be good to have somewhere closer to the mooring to stay, riding hours each way would be incredibly tiring.” Cody bites his tongue to resist the automatic urge to suggest that Obi-Wan could come up in his car with him. No, nope, not after last time, and Rex, and the knees. It was bad enough when they were only in there together for twenty minutes, he doesn’t think he could cope with hours of worrying about touching Obi-Wan’s knee when he shifted gears. It’d give him an ulcer, or something equally as unpleasant. Sharing the bach would be intimacy enough all on its own.

Yeah, Cody is definitely experiencing regret, but unfortunately them going up to the bach really does make the most sense for getting as much work done on the boat as possible in the time they have. They can hardly just take days off work willy-nilly, especially if they want to fly under the radar. It’ll have to be chunks of work done over the weekend, and for that they’ll need the bach. If for no other reason than to clean up after they’d been tinkering around with the engine of the thing, they were bound to end up covered in grease.

Cody once again has to divert his brain away from the thought of Obi-Wan covered in grease, before he overheats. Thank fuck the evening sea breeze was here to keep him cool, icy cold as it was with the coming of winter.

“So it’s settled then, we’ll go up to the beach house on the weekend and take a look at the ship, maybe take one or two of Rex’s suggested parts with us, the filters definitely, they’ll need changing and doing so will give us a bit of a look at the engine itself which will help us plan out our next steps. Agreed?”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good.” Cody hasn’t heard a single word that Obi-Wan just said. His brain is still stuck on the thought of Obi-Wan covered in grease, and the fact that he might actually be seeing that sight in less than a week. He’s not ready. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready, but he sure as shit isn’t right now.

“Right then, give me your hand.” Obi-Wan says this with such an authoritative tone that Cody holds out his arm before really registering what he’s doing. Obi-Wan wedges Cody’s torch between his teeth, pulls a pen out of his pocket with one hand, and manoeuvres Cody’s limp hand with the other until he can write down a number on the back of it. He releases Cody, the pen vanishing again, and the torch spat back into his hand. He wipes it dry with the cuff of his shirt. “That’s my home phone number,” he tells Cody, gesturing to what he’s just written. “Let me know where the beach house is, and when I should be up there, so I can meet you.”

“Bach,” he corrects, brain still reeling. “It’s a bach, c’mon bro.”

“Bach then. Let me know, alright?”

Cody nods, before realising that Obi-Wan probably can’t see him doing so. “Yeah, I will, bro.” Obi-Wan just gave him his number, holy shit. His cheeks feel like they’re scorching hot, and he’s suddenly, inanely, glad for the darkness so that Obi-Wan can’t see.

“I’d best be getting back before all the hot water’s used up, here’s your torch back.” Obi-Wan stacks the papers before standing, holding both the folder and the torch out to Cody.

Cody takes the folder to stuff in his car so he doesn’t lose it, but shakes his head at the torch. “Nah, keep the torch, you’ll need it to get back up the stairs. You can give it back to me later.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Those stairs are tricky in the dark, trust me, I know.” He absently rubs at his elbow.

“The product of harsh experience, I take it?” There’s wry amusement in Obi-Wan’s tone, as if he already knows the answer to this question. Which, in all fairness, he probably does, Cody does tend to speak from his own experience more than anything else.

“The skin of my elbow never was the same after,” he duly informs the man.

This nets him a snort. “Alright then, for the sake of my elbows I suppose.”

With that, Obi-Wan walks off into the dark, light bobbing like an anglerfish as he heads away and up into the brush. Cody sits a while longer, not quite ready to head back home where his brothers are undoubtedly waiting to hear the outcome of the “date”. It’s not a date. It’s not. It was a completely practical set of decisions he’d made in order to get things moving on the project Luminara had given them. She’d be wanting to hear what progress they’d made soon, and they needed to go over the boat documents and plan, which they couldn’t do at work because they’d be distracted every five minutes by someone else in the office. It just made sense for them to get dinner on the way, it was dinnertime, they were both hungry. And it wasn’t like he’d planned for them to be here at sunset.

At least it’d been a productive meeting. Meeting, yeah. Work meeting. The two of them had gone over all the information they had, and put together plans for taking their first steps, and worked surprisingly well as a team. Cody had expected Obi-Wan to be, not incompetent, but certainly less confident about his decisions than he was.

He’d been expecting to have to pull more than his weight, so the discovery that it wasn’t necessary had been… a relief. Relieving, that was a good word to describe how he felt, even if he could admit to himself that it didn’t actually explain the heat in his cheeks when Obi-Wan displayed his competence with machines, or at the thought of him actually working with the things. A sight which he’ll be seeing firsthand in a manner of days.

Fuck, he might be in over his head.

The Grease Rules

1. Cody is not allowed to touch the walls when greasy.
2. Cody is not allowed to touch light switches when greasy.
3. Cody is not allowed to touch anyone’s hair when greasy, including his own.
4. Cody is not allowed to touch any furniture when greasy INCLUDING the back of furniture where he thinks we won’t see his greasy handprints, bro, fuck you.
5. Cody is not allowed to touch doorknobs when greasy if you don’t leave the door to the bathroom open before you go grease yourself up that’s your problem, bro.
6. Cody is not allowed to touch the telephone, the fridge, or any other electronic item while greasy, even if he claims the grease came from that item to begin with.
7. Cody is not allowed to lean against anything, or sit on anything when greasy. Yes this includes the walls, we talked about this bro, see rule #1.
8. Cody is not allowed to TOUCH OTHER PEOPLE’S SHIRTS WHEN GREASY. You owe me a new shirt asshole. —Crys
9. Cody is not allowed to put his greasy hands over communal food or tools, if you want someone to feed you like a baby bird get yourself a █████████.

EXCEPTION: If the police come to the door, Cody MAY touch the doorknob while greasy, because there’s no way in hell the pigs will arrest him while he’s looking like that.

10. Cody may touch his pakeha, so long as both of them then degrease before doing any of the above.

As he both expected and feared, his brothers tease him absolutely mercilessly about his definitely-not-a-date, then only double down when he mentions spending weekends up at the bach. In the end, desperate for the wolf whistles to cease, he points the slavering hoards at Rex who’s also met the not-boyfriend — after getting them to promise he can use their assigned weekends at the bach for the next few cycles.

He calls up a couple other members of his whānau too, begging them for their weekend slots as well. Most of them hand them over without trouble — though he has to promise to go and fix someone’s oil leak on their car, and someone else’s microwave of all things, before they give him their time. He can work out how to fix a microwave, probably. It’ll be worth it.

It’s late by the time he gets this sorted out, and finally, blessedly quiet. Cody assumes that his brothers are off clubbing again — Wednesdays are naked wrestling or something equally absurd — so he’s not expecting the call from Rex.

Specifically, he’s not expecting when Rex calls the home phone at eleven at night to ask what the fuck he did to piss Cody off. In the background, Cody can hear his brothers’ voices, overlapping each other, still trying to ask questions while Rex is on the line as if somehow this’ll make him give up answers. Cody can just about make out the phrase “Cody’s pakeha” over and over, which actually explains everything. He didn’t think he’d foisted them off to Rex quite so physically, but he’s not unhappy about this turn of events.

He tells Rex he knows what he did and hangs up.

Then, to stop Rex immediately calling back, he dials up the number Obi-Wan wrote on his hand, his annoyance at his family for making this such a big thing when it wasn’t overriding his intrinsic panic at the idea of actually calling Obi-Wan at home.

Obi-Wan is not the person who picks up. Instead there’s a smooth voice, far too cheerful for this time of night, asking, “Hello, you’ve reached the home of villainy and debauchery, how may I help you this evening?”

“Uh…” Cody wonders if Obi-Wan gave him the wrong number. Maybe he’s playing a shitty prank on him? It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he’d do, but then Cody’s been wrong about him before — he does do his own work on his bike after all. “Does Obi-Wan live here?” he asks hesitantly.

The voice snorts, “Yeah the old man’s asleep, his bedtime’s, like, eight can you believe it. Insane.”

Cody would like to be in bed right about now, he’s frankly jealous that Obi-Wan’s apparently been out for hours. “Can I leave a message then?” he asks, half expecting to be hung up on.

“Sure, sure, lemme just grab a pen.” There’s a series of rustling sounds, a loud swear, and a heavy thunk, then the voice returns, “Okay, lay it on me.”

“Uh, so it’s Cody letting him know—”

He’s cut off by a loud holler from the other end of the line. “Cody, bro, why didn’t you say so earlier? It’s Quinlan, bro.”

Cody sputters, almost dropping the receiver in surprise. “Quinlan? What the fuck, bro, I didn’t know you lived with Obi-Wan, bro, what the hell.”

“Nah, yeah,” Quinlan tells him, laughing. “Ran into him at the airport — literally, funny story, remind me to tell you some time, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

That sure as hell does sound like Quinlan, yep. He has a knack for making friends immediately, and in the most unlikely of places. “Okay, fuck, yeah, we should grab lunch or something tomorrow, bro, but the message for Obi-Wan? It’s late, dude, I need to get to sleep.”

Quinlan makes the exact same fucking disbelieving noise as Obi-Wan when faced with the idea cars are the superior vehicle — which they are thank you very much — adding, “Yeah, yeah, sure, bro. Noodles?”

“Sold.” Noodles for lunch tomorrow did sound good. “Okay, bro, so the address is 148 Wyuna Bay Rd, on Coromandel. I’ll be there at nine, so he can rock up whenever after then.”

“Sweet as. I’ll whack it on his door so he’ll see it in the morning.”

“Awesome, thanks bro.”

“No prob, and good luck. He likes lamb, bro, just so you know. Since you can cook and all.”

Cody resolutely ignores how he is once again very warm across his cheeks. “That’s nice? Night bro.”

He hears Quinlan laughing at him as he smacks the receiver back into its cradle. Everyone is being so weird about this, it’s driving him nuts. They’re trying to successfully set things up so that they can evade the law! It’s not like he and Obi-Wan are going on a romantic getaway.

It’s with an emotion he’s not quite ready to name sitting heavy in his chest that he watches Obi-Wan’s motorcycle coast up to the bach in the sickly golden light of Saturday morning. Cody had arrived at the bach early, before nine even, making sure he had time to air the place out and change the sheets on the beds and stock the kitchen with tea, and he wasn’t thinking about why it was so important that Obi-Wan love the bach as much as his family does, that way lay madness. They were here for the boat, the bach was just convenient. That's all there was to it.

Obi-Wan pulls up by the front door, knocking down the kickstand and getting off the bike in one smooth motion. "It's cute, I like the sloped roof," is his immediate verdict, helmet muffling his voice. "I'll drop my bag inside and we can head down to the boat? The sooner we get a look at her, the sooner we can start."

Cody's chest swells with pride, which he swiftly tamps down — not thinking about it, nope. He doesn't have time for these emotions cluttering up his head. "Yeah, sure bro, I'll show you your room." His voice doesn't crack, though he can feel it coming perilously close. God, everyone's weirdness is rubbing off on him, he's acting like this actually is a date or something. Get it together Cody, he mentally chides himself. Just focus on the fucking boat.

He has to remind himself to focus on the boat again when Obi-Wan stops at the damned Grease Rules his brothers had made up, cooing about how cute the handwritten list is. Cody gets one good look at it, sees the new “rule” that someone's scribbled onto the end, and has to ruthlessly quash the urge to commit homicide. He doesn't care which one of his brothers or cousins it was, he's going to murder them. His only relief is that Obi-Wan still doesn't seem to know what pakeha means, or that it's specifically referring to him. He just jokes about leaving the bathroom door open for when they get back, touching the paper almost wistfully, before moving on. Right, Cody remembers, only child. He probably didn't have this sort of teasing in his life.

It doesn't quell Cody's murderous urge, but it does blunt it enough for him to start breathing again. His other Obi-Wan related emotions choose this moment to flood back in, enabled by the sight of the man gently patting his bike as he tightens the belt on his oversized jacket. Obi-Wan, covered in oil. Probably soon. Fuck.

They ride to the mooring separately, and Cody resolutely focuses on recalling the boat's mooring location, and going through the list of things they're hoping to get done this weekend. Today the plan is to do an initial inspection of the boat — see if there's anything that the reports missed, and make sure everything looks solid enough for them to actually start work at all. Then tomorrow they’re hoping to do an oil change, coolant change, and filter change. All rote, really, almost the same as working on his car. They’ve got this.

Hopefully they can get it all done this weekend — if it were his baby he knows he'd be able to get it all done in a single afternoon, easy, but new systems always take longer to puzzle out. And he'll be working on it with someone for the first time, too.

His stomach does not flutter at the thought. It doesn't.

Soon enough, they're at the mooring and looking at their brand new second hand boat. It's, well, somehow underwhelming. Like all the past Hauraki boats, it's a coaster — shallow keeled, divided into two decks, with the wheelhouse perched on top of the upper deck. The entire thing is painted a uniform pastel green, which definitely has to go. Hauraki boats are always yellow. Other than that it's just a boat. A thirty metre long boat.

Okay so perhaps he hadn't realised how large thirty metres would be in front of him when he was signing the paperwork. That's more daunting than overwhelming, though. Rex had said they'd need to repaint the entire thing.

They’re gonna need a lot of paint. And possibly more than just the two of them. Maybe they can swing it as a team bonding activity? The entire office can come out for a weekend to repaint her, it could be fun. Well, for some value of fun at least. Cody doesn’t remember painting houses being fun, and he imagines ships are worse, but he’d always found his brothers more tolerable after they’d been working together all day so those memories are tinged fond. Surely boats can’t be that much different. They’re just like watery houses, right?

Next to him, Obi-Wan curses quietly, grumbling, “No mast.” under his breath. Cody hadn't been expecting a mast, he knew enough about the original Hauraki boats to know they'd need to construct and add that particular feature on themselves — so at least that isn’t an unpleasant surprise. He’s just trying not to think about it, because if he thinks about all the things they need to do to get this boat seaworthy, he may just decompose on the spot. Become one with the algae and seaweed growing off the pier.

He breathes deep, taking in the salt and mineral tang of the air, letting it bolster him. “It’s like souping up a car, or a bike in your case,” he tells Obi-Wan, trying to convince himself just as much as the man next to him. “We start by making sure the framework is sound, then do a system-by-system check and upgrade. We got this, bro.” He finishes his pep talk off with a firm nod, then takes a firm breath and walks up to the gangplank. “We know the hull is sound, so that’s the chassis. Next step is the engine, so let’s get on board and uh… find where it is.”

Where did they put engines on boats? Above water, to keep them dry in case the boat sprung a leak? Or right in the bottom of the boat, to try and weigh the thing down? He gets onto the deck, wobbling a little as the boat moves under his feet. Obi-Wan joins him a moment later, only wavering once before he steadies. “Down to the engine room for us, then,” he says, clapping Cody companionably on the back. “We can check out her other rooms on the way down, see what we’re working with.”

There are a lot of rooms on this boat. By his count, six bedrooms — possibly seven, but that may be a storeroom — along with an enormous amount of cupboards tucked in random places, a very confusing and curved bathroom right at the stern of the ship to offset the rather normal bathrooms seen throughout the rest of it, and a galley that seemed somehow even smaller than the apartment kitchenettes he’d seen when he was considering moving out, and yet was somehow meant to feed a whole family’s worth of people. It takes them a while to find the stairs down to the engine, mostly because the stairs are camouflaged next to a pantry full of very suspicious looking tins, but they crack the door eventually, stepping down into the dark.

It’s not pitch black down in the engine room, but there are a fair few blown bulbs that’ll need to be replaced. The engine takes up most of the space, hulking and massive, bigger than Cody’s car engine by far. The room’s a bit dusty, and clearly hasn’t been used in quite a while — a tug pulled the boat into dock, Cody knows, because they hadn’t known if the engine worked or not. Rex’s 50/50 guess at functioning/exploding floats to the top of his mind, which he pushes back under ruthlessly. They won’t even be turning the engine on today, they’re just having a look and maybe draining shit out if they feel especially adventurous.

Admittedly, he had thought that it’d look a little more like his car engine. He’s not entirely sure where to start.

Next to him, Obi-Wan is biting at the inside of his lip, eyes squinting a little as he frowns. At least Cody isn’t alone in that emotion, he supposes, even if it would’ve been nice if one of them knew what the fuck was going on.

Then, of all things, Obi-Wan pulls a book out of his jacket’s inner pocket and cracks it open.

“What’re you…” Cody trails off, not even sure what question he’s asking. What’s Obi-Wan doing? What’s he reading? Why’s he reading a book now, when they’re meant to be looking at an engine?

Obi-Wan doesn’t respond, just tilts the book so that Cody can see the cover as he continues to leaf through it. ‘MARINE DIESEL ENGINES by Nigel Calder’ is emblazoned across the front cover, which also features a 3D engine schematic. “The woman at the library told me this was the best option if I wanted to work on the engine myself,” he adds after a pause. “I didn’t have time to read it all before we came up, but now I’ve actually had a look at the engine, I think I can finish reading the relevant sections today. Have you seen everything you needed to? Shall we head back to the beach house? The sooner we start, the sooner we can get out from under the government's thumb.”

Cody’s mouth works without his input to tell Obi-Wan, “Not until you can call it a bach we won’t.”

Obi-Wan peers up over the top of the book, pupils wide in the gloom, mouth twisting into that damnable smirk of his. He all but purrs when he says, “Shall we head back to your bach, darling?”

The asshole knows exactly what he’s doing, and there’s no way he doesn’t see how fast Cody goes red at the endearment, as mocking as it is. Cody can’t say anything, just makes a choked noise in the back of his throat and turns on his heel, fleeing back up to the surface. His hands are disgustingly clammy against the boat’s railing, and he still hasn’t found his sea legs. He kind of wants to throw up.

This whole thing is going to be a disaster.

He’s trying not to mope too obviously when they get back to the bach, feeling discouraged and overwhelmed and all round unhappy. He turns to his go-to method to pull himself out of a funk — cooking. He didn’t bring much, but he can definitely put together some toasted sandwiches and a simple salad or something.

“I’ll put us together some sandwiches if you wanna go and grab some feijoas off the hedge at the back?” he asks, fiddling with the pockets of his jacket as he tucks his car keys away and pulls out the one for the bach.

“Some what?”

The obvious confusion in Obi-Wan’s voice jolts him out of his maudlin contemplation of the front steps, and he finally turns towards the man, who’s looking utterly lost. “Feijoas?” he tries to clarify “The fruit?”

“Kiwis?” Obi-Wan responds, still visibly bemused.

Cody winces a little. “Uh, no. Maybe just sit on the verandah for a bit, I can show you after we’ve eaten.” Obi-Wan shrugs, shucking off his outer layers as he climbs the stairs to sit on one of the chairs piled around the massive dining table on the verandah. He carefully stacks his fabric jacket and helmet on a chair, hanging his leather jacket over the back of it, then seems to exhale back into the shape of the chair he’s on in a way that Cody can only call feline. It’s a struggle to tear his eyes away, but food is calling — Obi-Wan’s pulled out the book again, anyway, and seems already absorbed in its pages.

He whacks together some marmite and cheese sandwiches while a pan heats on the cooktop, filling the kettle and putting that on one of the backburners as well. The garden’s got wild rocket in it — which is to say they can’t get rid of the fucking stuff, plus watercress growing rampant in the ditch near the bottom, and he brought a cucumber up from his crisper at home, so he can put together something that vaguely resembles a salad while the sandwiches toast. Easy.

The kettle boils first, like he expected, and he puts a couple of teabags in the teapot he’d fished from the back of a cupboard, blowing off the dust as he does. Armed with two mugs, he carries the teapot out to Obi-Wan, who’s still dutifully sat on the verandah, and plonks it down with a thud. “New Zealand Breakfast tea,” he informs him, pivoting straight to the garden in order to grab some greens. The sound of belated thanks floats down the stairs after him, followed by china clinking.

It takes barely two steps into the garden for him to find fistfuls of rocket, the watercress coming easy from its damp soil, and he’s back in the kitchen before the sandwiches have time to burn. The rest of the prep goes quickly, and next thing he knows he’s sitting down next to Obi-Wan on the verandah, lunch stacked in front of them. “I didn’t know you could cook,” Obi-Wan tells him, sounding mildly awestruck. “Thank you.” He sketches a little half bow again and Cody refuses to find it endearing. He refuses.

“This isn’t really cooking,” Cody demurs. “It’s just sandwiches.”

Obi-Wan makes a noise of disagreement, which is somewhat muffled by his mouthful of food. He barely seems to chew before he takes another bite, and the noise that escapes his mouth this time sounds almost pornographic. Cody hurriedly shoves a sandwich into his own mouth before he can say anything he’ll absolutely regret. They polish off all six sandwiches between them, as well as the salad which they pick at with their fingers because Cody hadn’t remembered to bring any cutlery with him. The New Zealand breakfast tea has a hint of bergamot or orange peel in it, and is surprisingly okay — for a tea.

“I keep thinking that government agents are going to jump out of the bushes and scold us like my father did when I was a kid,” Cody gripes, sinking back in his chair and staring out at the feijoas which hedge the bottom of the yard. It’s absurd, they haven’t done anything wrong, all they’ve done is get a boat perfectly legally, but his gut still clenches with anxiety and he’s starting to twitch when he sees movement in the corner of his eyes. Somehow seeing the boat in person has made everything seem all the more real, when before it’d just been a cool concept in his head. Be like Bob Leahy, stick it to The Man.

And now they were actually doing this, they were actually working on making a mobile broadcast station to send out to sea. He feels a bit like he’s out at sea himself right now, with no land in sight, trying desperately to keep his head above water. He doesn’t understand how Obi-Wan seems so blasé about this, surely he has to be feeling just as lost under that nonchalant façade.

“First time in the resistance?” Obi-Wan asks him, taking a sip of his tea as he looks at Cody askance. “I felt the same back in Ireland, though one of those times they were actually out to get me, as it were, so I’m not sure how much that counts.”

Cody jumps on the chance for a distraction, desperate to think about anything other than the enormity of what they were doing here. Obi-Wan’s past was much less terrifying to contemplate, even if it seemed absurdly improbable. “So you were your father’s accomplice?” he says, angling for joking and falling slightly flat if the gentle look Obi-Wan gives him is any indication. Like he’s something breakable. He frowns slightly, not liking the sensations coupled with the emotions that swirl their way around his gut at that expression.

WIth a so-so gesture and another sip of tea, Obi-Wan responds “Of a sort, I suppose. If by accomplice you mean I went to several public marches, did some basic first aid when necessary, and did a great deal of outreach encouraging people to boycott English products and support local businesses. All quite legal, I assure you.” With another sip of tea, he continues, “My father never told me what he was up to, so I simply assumed it was the same sort of work until proven otherwise. The Provos is like that, very secretive. It’s how they survive.”

Uh, hang on, that didn’t quite make sense. Obi-Wan had said… “Provos? I thought he was with the IRA.”

Obi-Wan nods at him, finally turning so he’s almost facing Cody rather than the garden. “He was,” he begins, eyes firmly fixed on his tea. “The Provos are the militant arm of the IRA. Well, no, that’s not strictly correct, there was a split back in the sixties, maybe the seventies, and they’re two separate groups now. Both still called the IRA. I helped the Official IRA, who were focused on peaceful protest rather than anything militant.”

Cody hadn’t even known there was a peaceful IRA, he thought it was all bombings and hostages. That’s all they ever reported on, anyway. “Why did you leave? After…” He almost regrets asking, but he’s been wondering ever since Obi-Wan mentioned it in Mrs Yaddle’s restaurant all those weeks ago. If Cody lost a brother, he’d make sure he stayed to finish whatever work they’d left behind.

He doesn’t get an answer right away, Obi-Wan humming and turning to pour himself a fresh cup of tea from the pot. He fiddles with the handle of the mug as he says, “I suppose I lost hope.” His mouth quirks into something that isn’t a smile and he looks up, pinning Cody with his sea-grey gaze . “It seemed like things would never improve, no matter what we did, and it’s hard to push through that when you’ve lost someone you loved. I couldn’t stay, not if I wasn’t fighting, but I couldn’t fight either. So I ran.” He breaks off at this, voice catching in his throat. Cody wants to tell him he doesn’t have to bare himself like this, not if it hurts, but he can’t make his voice work.

With a bracing sip of tea Obi-Wan finishes, “I was hopeful that things would improve this year, but, well. We reported that news, didn’t we, they got bombed instead of signing a treaty. Seems to be the way it goes. The government here has its problems, but they’re not killing peaceful protestors in the street. That counts for something.”

Cody remembers the bruises mottled over Waxer and Boil’s skin when they came back from the fiscal envelope protests a couple of years ago, remembers how the police were so ready to haul everyone at the Pākaitore occupation into custody. They were fighting for their home too, against a government that wants to forget they were and still are the invaders.

“They haven’t yet.” He settles on.

Obi-Wan gently bumps shoulders with him. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Yeah.” Cody really hopes it does.

Cody’s half way through unscrewing the fasteners on his car battery the next morning when Obi-Wan’s bike appears through the manuka — he almost hadn’t heard the purr of the engine over the sound of his boombox playing Dragon’s ‘Body and the Beat’ from its perch on the roof of his car. He raises one hand in greeting then gets right back to his work, managing to finish the job and get the screws settled back in the threading before the man makes it off his bike and over to his car.

“Engine trouble?” he asks, peering over Cody’s shoulder to take a look under his baby’s hood. Please, his baby would never do that to him, not unless the V8 was playing up — but that was happening less and less these days, and had nothing to do with the battery anyway.

Cody strangles his reflexive urge to be offended at the assumption, reminding himself that Obi-Wan's asking because he worries, that's all. They're not exactly at Rex's where he could grab a new part immediately, and there’s no hill to do a manual start on. If his battery was flat, he’d be fucked. “Nah, bro," he reassures him. "I just need the battery to power the floodlight. I’ll chuck her back in once we’re done for the day.”

This perks Obi-Wan right up. “Oh, I’d just assumed we’d be using torches, but a floodlight will make things much easier. Good thinking, Cody.”

Cody snorts, gently elbowing Obi-Wan back so he has enough space to close the hood. “I have been known to have good ideas from time to time,” he says wryly as Obi-Wan follows him around the car, watching with interest as he goes through the occult motions needed to open his boot. He'd been miffed by Waxer nicking his screwdrivers, once upon a time, and now nobody could get in but him. When he finally gets the boot open, he can feel Obi-Wan recoiling behind him and his stifled offence rears its head again.

“Oh my god what do you have in there?” The tone is vaguely appalled, which is rude when Obi-Wan himself walks around with entire hardback books shoved in his jacket.

“The essentials, mostly," he replies, because it is — he'd even done a clean out of useless shit recently so there was less random crap hanging around. "Stanley knife, tow rope, axe, socket set, pliers and number eight wire, screwdriver set—”

Obi-Wan cuts in with, “I’m not entirely sure those screwdrivers are a set, darling. They’re much too numerous for that.”

Cody absolutely does not flush at the endearment, it's just the chill in the air pinking his cheeks. Pointedly he continues on, “— claw hammer, ball peen hammer, jumper cables, backup pants, first aid kit, couple of fence posts, some nails, and the floodlight. The important stuff. Lay off.”

Obi-Wan makes a noise that can only be described as incredulous, still staring at Cody’s boot like it was about to bite him or something absurd. Cody huffs, chucking the battery at him to hold before he rummages around a moment to pull the floodlight out. The boot closes with a satisfying thunk, then with the floodlight held in one hand, and the boombox grabbed off the roof with the other, he heads towards the boat. Obi-Wan can catch up if he wants to be involved. Obi-Wan snorts at him, seeing the dramatic offended flounce for what it is, but obediently follows nonetheless.

Once the door to the interior of the boat is unlocked, Cody crouches and starts wiring up the floodlight, one of his screwdrivers clamped between his teeth as he folds the copper around the battery terminals, only shocking himself twice before the connection holds. Obi-Wan waits alongside him, fiddling with the boombox as he does. Cody’s about to ask what he’s up to when Dragon stops playing and there’s a moment of crackling static before Quinlan’s voice comes on, announcing the next song.

Cody can’t help but laugh. “We’ve got the weekend off, and you’re playing Hauraki at us? I thought we weren’t meant to take our work home with us.”

“It seemed easier than us disagreeing over what music to play, don’t you think?” Obi-Wan replies with a wink and a laugh. “And besides, I think we’re taking our home to work right now, it’s a bit late for that warning.”

He shocks himself on the battery again, laughing hard enough that he loses track of his fingers. Shaking the tingling out of his fingertips, he makes the mistake of looking at Obi-Wan, whos’ limned in golden light and looking unfairly radiant as he hoists Cody’s boombox up onto his shoulder.

“Shall we?” His hair is the same shade as the copper cabling, Cody absently notes. His insides flip over in a manner that’s frankly uncomfortable and he shakes himself, trying to get rid of the feeling.

“Yeah, let’s go. You got that list you put together last night on you?”

The list appears from inside Obi-Wan’s jacket, tucked into the front of the engine book. “First thing is we have to give everything a bit of a clean,” he recites, though they’d both gone over the list last night. “Then do a visual check of the hoses. After that, I’ll check the electrics because I at least kind of know what I’m getting into there, and you can replace the air filter because that’s like your car’s. Then we can both figure out the coolant situation together and hopefully replace that too.”

Cody nods along, using his hip to nudge the door to the engine room open. The entire space has been painted white at some stage, presumably by Plo, which means the floodlight’s glare bounces off the walls to illuminate the entire space. It also makes it easy to see where any mess is — mostly in the engine drip pan by the looks of things, which is a good sign, Cody’s pretty sure.

They take the drip pan out and give it a thorough scouring with handfuls of manuka, then water from the parking lot public tap mixed with some detergent that Obi-Wan had apparently stuffed in his tank bag that morning — yet somehow he’d been horrified by Cody’s boot, honestly, he was so much worse. They haul the newly scrubbed and dried pan back in, and go over the outside of the engine with soapy water, then fresh water, then dry rags. This lets them look up close and personal at all the hoses, one of which definitely needs replacement, and another which probably needs replacing soon. Obi-Wan makes notes on the back of his list, sticking his pencil behind his ear in an unfairly adorable move.

With the engine needing to evaporate off the last remnants of water before they can progress to the next step, they leave things to dry and walk along the road until they hit the dairy — which still looks just the same as it did when Cody was a kid. He chats with the owner a while as Obi-Wan looks around in faint bemusement, before ordering chips to share, and a pie for each of them. While he’s there, he also grabs some minties to replace Fordo’s old gifts, now all consumed.

He doesn’t think about why he wants his breath to be nice and clean at a moment’s notice. If he doesn’t think about it, it can’t scare him.

They eat lunch back on the wharf, legs dangling above the water. Cody talks about modding his car, how much it means to him as one of many siblings to have something that’s completely his.

“The bike’s my father’s, originally,” Obi-Wan tells him, staring out over the blue-green curves of water. “He taught me to ride. When he died, it was all I had left of him, rather than the man he pretended to be.”

They both reach for a chip at the same time, fingers brushing. Cody pulls his hand back as if burned, an apology on the tip of his tongue. Obi-Wan has such slender fingers, he can’t help but notice — or maybe that’s the effect of the black nail polish, making his fingers seem lengthened. It’s certainly striking against the freckled skin of his hands.

Obi-Wan chews slowly, a crease forming between his brows and eyes flicking sightlessly across the horizon. “Like I said, I couldn’t stay in the UK, after everything that happened. It was never really home for me, you know? Not like it was for my father. And he was no longer there to make it somewhere I wanted to be. So I took the bike and his jacket, the things that actually mattered, and came here. Ready to start a new life.”

This explained a lot about Obi-Wan actually — why Obi-Wan was so devoted to his bike, and also, “So that’s why your jacket’s so big on you, I thought it was just a fashion choice.”

This realisation at least prompts a laugh, the mood lightening from its sombre austerity into something more wistful. “No, nothing that fashion-forward I’m afraid, just my father being a large man.”

That’s an understatement, Obi-Wan himself has to be 5’9” or so, taller than Cody by a couple of inches at least — and the jacket comes almost half way down his thighs when it’s belted. Cody bets it didn’t hang that low on Obi-Wan’s father. “I’ll say,” he whistles, impressed at the thought. “He must’ve been a giant.”

Obi-Wan looks his way, a melancholic twist to his mouth, misty eyed. “He was, in so many ways. I really do think that you and he would have gotten along like a house on fire.” At this point he pauses, before adding, “Perhaps literally. Probably literally. Perhaps it’s best you two never got a chance to meet now that I think about it.”

That sends the sombre mood plummeting to the bottom of the ocean, and Cody snorts out a laugh at the thought of him and Obi-Wan’s exceedingly tall father sneaking around to set things on fire. “Are you saying you only like me because I remind you of your father?” he asks jokingly. “I’m wounded.”

Obi-Wan sputters, seeming lost for words for once. A bright red flush gathers on his cheekbones, spreading across to his ears. “No!” he eventually squeaks out, sounding very strangled. “Oh, you’re terrible, I don’t know why I like you at all.”

With that, he stands up, still flushed. “I’ll be in the engine room if you need me,” he tells Cody, before turning on his heel and power walking away. Huh. Did Cody just win one of their verbal spars for the first time? That’s new. Fuck he looks cute when he’s flustered. Cody would like to see it again.

Cody squashes that train of thought before it can go anywhere else, gathering the remains of their lunch and unwrapping a mintie. The image on the wrapper is a man with one foot on a wharf, and the other on a boat. Cody feels a bit like he’s being mocked.

Obi-Wan is already fiddling with a multimeter when Cody gets back to the engine room, so Cody makes his way over to the air filter. They’d gone through the parts of the engine together as they’d cleaned it, naming all the parts they could, and they both have a much better understanding of how the thing works now. At least mechanically. Cody suspects he’ll need to do some more reading to understand how this engine differs from his baby’s in how it combusts fuel. He’s watched diesel fuel put out matches before — it’s nothing at all like petrol.

But the air filter’s put together just like his car’s, so at least this is something he knows. The clips are tight, but a twist anticlockwise and a gentle tug has the housing coming free, bringing with it a rather grimy looking cylindrical air filter. Okay, that absolutely needs changing yesterday, that level of grime cannot be good for the engine. Cody chucks the old filter up the stairs to where the boombox is still playing. “Filter?” he asks Obi-Wan, who’s muttering at a set of cables with pliers held in his mouth. He looks up, blinking a couple of times as if to reset his brain, before he jerks his chin towards Cody’s left where, huh, there’s a new filter in its box. That’s some good forethought. “Thanks, good luck with your cabling.”

Obi-Wan groans, looking upwards as if praying for divine assistance. Cody would also like some divine assistance, specifically some divine assistance for the sudden discomfort in his pants. Obi-Wan has no business sounding like that outside of a bedroom, Jesus fuck. Cody bites the heel of his palm so he doesn’t audibly choke, shifting to try and lessen the pinching. This is getting ridiculous. Cody needs to go out and get laid. Not that it’s ever helped before, but maybe this time he’d be lucky and it would stop… whatever this was before it could grow any further.

Yeah, nah, it’s too late, he’s stuck with a fucking crush on a colleague. How is this his life?

He finishes fitting the new paper filter and clipping the housing back on without any conscious input from his brain, then automatically checks the pulley belt’s tension. It’s a bit loose, so he ducks out to grab his spanner kit from his boot, running through a couple until he lands on the right gauge and can tighten the bolt. When the tension’s better, he tucks the spanner back away, rerolling the set to take back to the car when they leave.

“Oh, good catch,” Obi-Wan says from just behind him, peering over Cody’s shoulder after having once again appeared from nowhere. “I had to shorten some of the wiring, but the electrics should work again once we put a new battery in. The current one is running rather flat.”

Cody is unfortunately and acutely aware of how Obi-Wan has managed to smear some grease across his nose. He wants to wipe it away with his thumb. He absolutely is not going to wipe it away with his thumb. Nope. He’s frozen to the spot, barely able to breathe as Obi-Wan leans even closer, humming quietly as he seems to look at the pulley belt. “Yes, that’ll do nicely,” he murmurs to himself.

As he pulls back, his cheek brushes ever so lightly against Cody’s, so light that Cody’s half sure he’s imagining it. Obi-Wan bites at his lip, still far too close, looking at Cody through his lashes and that, at least, is definitely intentional. “We’ll need to do the oil next weekend, assuming that Rex or someone can source us the right grade,” he tells Cody, as if he’s not staring at Cody like he wants to eat him. “Same with the coolant, it’ll need to be distilled water. Unfortunate that you don’t carry that around in your boot.”

Cody huffs a laugh at that little attempt at a jab. “Not yet at least. Any other requests, babe, I’ve got the space.”

Obi-Wan’s face goes pink again, and Cody can’t help but think that, of all his colleagues, Obi-Wan is perhaps the least terrible one to have a crush on. He’s witty, and knows his engines, and isn’t afraid to get grease under his nails. He’s also, frankly, unfairly pretty. Not that Cody will ever tell the man any of this — his head’s big enough as it is. Endearing grease stain and all.

Ah fuck, they’re both greasy. Did he remember to leave the bathroom door open before they left the bach this morning? God, he hopes he did. His poor heart can’t take both of them stripping in the yard to wash off with the hose, he’s already struggled enough today.

Afternoon from Radio Hauraki, New Zealand's real rock station — you're listening to Kit Fisto coming in live with your afternoon news today, Sunday the 17th of May, 1998.

It’s been confirmed that no major power in the Asia-Pacific region has received any form of communication from Australia in the past two weeks, with experts calling this “unprecedented” and “an ominous sign of things to come”. The official statement from our government is that there is “no need to worry at this time” and that they have “full faith in Australia’s ability to manage itself inside its own borders”.

Unpopular as it is, fuel rationing will nonetheless be coming into effect from tomorrow, Monday the 18th. First priority will go to government vehicles, followed by essential transports, and finally the average consumer. No word yet as to how strict rationing will be once it begins, but the government has warned that anybody bulk-buying fuel before rationing comes into effect or circumventing the system once it’s in place will be slapped with a $5,000 fine and potential jail time.

Three more earthquakes, measured at 1.8, 2.2, and 2.7 have been recorded over the weekend thus far, all around Christchurch. No major damage has been attributed to any of them, though we remind our listeners to practice their earthquake plan in case of a major shake up in weeks to come. This has been your afternoon news from Radio Hauraki: classic rock that rocks.

Chapter Text

Cody can hear it when Obi-Wan’s brain gives out, because the man lets his head fall forward to hit the dining table with a resounding thunk. “My head hurts,” he complains, voice muffled by the wood, staring with one eye at the pile of papers and books he’d strewn about the place as if he could gain their secrets if he just looked at them long enough.

Poking his head out of the kitchen where he’s putting the finishing touches on dinner, Cody asks, “The aerial again?” It’s always the aerial, these past few weeks. They’re both learning things as fast as they can, but they’re also both working full-time and neither of them know much about the mechanics of radios, let alone how to build the specific aerial they need. Things are getting dire — they’ve almost finished repainting the boat, in yellow, of course, with ‘THE GOOD GUYS' emblazoned across the wall just like the original Kapuni in the seventies, and just this week the metal they need to construct the aerial itself arrived, courtesy of Rex. They just can’t work out what to do with the fucking stuff.

He gets a mournful nod from Obi-Wan in answer to his question, and a deep sigh that rustles the mess of paper somewhat alarmingly. “I know we need to make a Yagi antenna with a folded dipole for the driver, but I can’t get the calculations to work.”

“I think I understood about a third of the words in that sentence. Maybe less.” Probably less. He gets that they need an aerial, but the type and specifics are still a bit beyond him. He can do the wiring for it, that’s within his skillset, just as long as someone else designs the damn thing.

“Unfortunately, I’m in the same boat,” Obi-Wan sighs. Cody snorts, and Obi-Wan curses with feeling when he realises what he’s said. “Fucking hell, Quinlan’s infected me with that phrase and I can’t seem to get rid of it. I swear he’s doing it on purpose to try and bother me into working faster.”

“Is it working?” Cody ducks back into the kitchen to check on the oven, still able to hear Obi-Wan clearly through the open front door as he pokes at the vegetables — almost done, maybe another fifteen minutes until they’re perfect.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Obi-Wan sounds about as exasperated as Cody feels around Quinlan eighty percent of the time, which does make him feel better about his sometimes contentious relationship with the man. He really doesn’t understand how Obi-Wan can stand to live with him — Cody thinks he’s great, and he's the best bro a guy could have, but he also leaves half-finished mugs of suspicious liquids all round the office and it drives Cody mad. He can’t imagine his house being the same. He'd crack within a week.

Obi-Wan continues after another deep sigh, “If it wasn’t for the antenna eluding us, we’d be on track to finish things up within the next few weeks I think, especially now we’ve managed to get our hands on that heavy duty coaxial cable. The wiring should be fairly simple, you said, right?”

Simpler than designing this damned aerial at least. “Yeah, should be,” he agrees, resisting the urge to go into detail. He’ll talk it over with Rex or Boil later in the week, make sure he’s not doing anything too idiotic with his wiring plan. “Maybe we could try looking at the antenna stuff together after dinner?”

There’s a low groan of what sounds like pain from outside. Obi-Wan audibly thunks his head against the table again, before pulling himself together. “Yes, I don’t think I’m making any headway at the moment, and whatever you’re cooking smells absolutely delicious. Can I help at all?”

Cody looks over the kitchen, running through the steps for their meal in his head. "Nah we're pretty much ready here, just gotta wait until everything comes out of the oven then we can eat."

Faintly, he can hear the sound of wheels on the gravel leading up to the house. With a frown, he throws his tea towel over his shoulder and heads towards the verandah, Obi-Wan turning towards him with an inquisitive noise.

"Can you hear that?" he asks, squinting into the gloom.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, even as headlights pierce the underbrush, moments before Rex's bright blue monstrosity of a car becomes visible down the driveway. Cody's eye twitches. That absolute asshole. Rex is gonna be hearing about this from Cody until the day one of them dies. There isn't a good enough reason in the fucking world for him to be here today — he knows Cody's here, knows he’s here with Obi-Wan what’s more, and it wasn't even his weekend at the bach to begin with.

The car pulls up, engine cutting out, and it isn't just Rex who piles out of the damn thing. Oh no — it's Rex, Waxer, Boil, Crys, and fucking Fox of all people. They must've been packed in the car like damn sardines. Cody can feel his eye twitch harder, hard enough to hurt.

He storms down the stairs, rounding on Rex first given he’s the one who agreed to drive these assholes to the bach and thus obviously more culpable than the rest — as well as being the only one able to take his brothers the fuck away from here before they ruin things any more than they already have. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses, trying to keep his voice low enough that Obi-Wan, up on the verandah, can’t hear him.

Rex looks at him like he’s an idiot, which is rude and uncalled for since he’s the one crashing the place. “I heard you were making lamb, and I wasn’t gonna pass up a chance for that,” he says blithely. “Hi Obi-Wan, how’re you doing?”

Cody jumps a little when Obi-Wan’s voice comes from far closer than anticipated, almost directly behind him. “I’m alright, thank you Rex.” Obi-Wan puts his hand on Cody’s forearm, coming to stand next to him, smiling at Rex like he wasn’t barging in on his and Cody's evening. “Cody didn’t tell me we were having company for dinner, I’d have tidied my mess up if I’d known. So I’ll apologise for that upfront.”

Rex laughs the apology off — honestly a few papers and books across the table hardly even counts as a mess when you’ve grown up with as many brothers as they did. Obi-Wan smiles again, even though he winces the moment Rex looks away, fingers coming up to massage his temples. The headache he had earlier hasn’t gone away, then. Perhaps Cody could make him some mint tea? No, that was for upset stomachs wasn’t it? Maybe it’d help anyway. And mint did go well with lamb. Mint tea it was. It wasn’t like he had any black tea to offer him, Obi-Wan had finished off the bach’s stash that morning.

While he’d been distracted, Waxer and Boil have meandered across the gravel and up the stairs, to where Obi-Wan’s papers are still strewn across the table. Crys had already vanished, probably to scavenge some feijoas from the bushes, and Fox was leaning against the passenger side door of Rex’s car looking intently amused. Cody narrows his eyes, ready to open his mouth to ask what was so funny, when Obi-Wan, who’d gone back to the table when Cody had been lost in thought, exclaims loudly enough to break through Cody’s train of thought, “Oh you’ve built an antenna before! Does that mean you can help with this, I’ve been stuck for weeks.”

It’s Boil who responds, looking over Obi-Wan’s pages of notes. “Yeah, of course. You’ve got the ARRL book here and it’s got the tables we need, so we can work everything out once we’ve eaten. I’ve not made a Yagi specifically, mostly I’ve only needed dipoles for my radio stuff, but I know how they work so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Cody tries to remember if he knew his brother was interested in radio, and comes up blank. Boil had said something about rewiring the house a while back — which had been soundly voted down by everyone else because they didn’t want to be shocked to death, but after that he doesn’t remember any kind of talk about electrics or radios or anything. He’d have expected it from Crys, probably, who’s emerging from the garden’s gloom with a feijoa in each fist, but not Boil.

Fuck, he really can’t throw them out now, can he. They’ve been stuck for weeks, they need someone who knows what they’re doing. Cody hisses out a curse, and stomps back to the kitchen. He’s going to need to make a bigger salad. Crys shoves another feijoa in his mouth and vanishes back into the darkness, hopefully to help Cody out by grabbing some greens.

Fox comes to bother him in the kitchen as he angrily mixes up more salad dressing, making an amused noise at what he sees in the oven and on the counters. It’s not that much, really, just some roasted veg, a leg of lamb Cody’d managed to get ahold of via Quinlan of all people, fresh baked bread, and a garden salad. A normal roast. Nothing to write home about, even if Cody is quietly proud of how the rosemary seems to be infusing the lamb.

“God, you’re such a sap fish,” Fox drawls, propped up against the door. “All this for him?”

Cody bristles. “How old are you, aren't you working for the government doing fancy legal shit,” he snaps, chopping tomatoes and cucumbers with more force than strictly necessary. This is just him making dinner for a friend, that’s it, it’s a normal thing people do. Obi-Wan took him for lunch a while back, he’s returning the favour. And it’s not like Obi-Wan can cook anything that wasn’t rice based, as he’d openly admitted to Cody a while back. Cody is so sick of people being weird about him and Obi-Wan when they’re just being normal friends. This is what normal friends do!

A snort from the doorway, before Fox almost sings — his favourite refrain from about age five onwards, “Codfish don't get to talk.”

The only reason Cody doesn’t strangle him is that it’d look bad to murder his cousin in front of Obi-Wan, plus the timer for the vegetables in the oven dings, and Cody is sufficiently distracted managing hot trays that Fox can slip back out to the verandah with one final laugh at Cody’s expense.

A few minutes later, as soon as the oven’s closed, Crys and Rex are in the kitchen, Rex grabbing plates and cutlery and glasses for everyone while Crys washes the mass of rocket and watercress — more of the latter than the former, he’s always had his preferences, then throws them in the salad bowl with everything else. By the time he’s done, Rex is back to fetch the overful bowl of salad and piles of roasted vegetables. Before Crys, who Cody trusts not to burn water, can escape outside again, he asks him to put the kettle on so Cody can make that mint tea for Obi-Wan’s headache. Crys does so without complaint, before slipping out to join the others.

At least throughout all the bustle Cody is left in peace to carve the lamb. He makes sure to put all the choice portions to the side of the serving plate, where he can make sure to give them to Obi-Wan before his brothers try to steal them away. Even if his brothers insist on showing up to ruin his night, it doesn’t mean that Obi-Wan has to suffer inferior meat. Not after all the effort Cody put into making this roast perfect.

Obi-Wan looks a little stunned when Cody emerges from the kitchen with a teapot and his tray of roast, whether it’s from the quantity of food on the table or the sudden appearance of his brothers he can’t tell. Cody smiles in what he hopes comes off as a bracing manner, companionably bumping against Obi-Wan as he puts the teapot down, before setting the serving tray over his own plate to dish the meat out.

Immediately, he’s fending off errant forks, mostly from Rex who seems intent on stealing the choice bits he has set aside for Obi-Wan. He gets a serving fork to the back of his hand for his troubles, and a quelling look that Cody learned from their mother. There’s a universal snort from around the table at Rex’s attempt at puppy dog eyes, which Cody ignores, instead serving first Obi-Wan, then Crys because good kitchen helpers deserve rewards. Boil gets served next, because he’s hopefully going to be helpful when it comes to the aerial after this, then Waxer, then Fox. Rex gets last pick for his impatience.

There’s a companionable quiet as everyone serves themselves vegetables and salad, Obi-Wan gamely fighting Waxer for the last potato and winning like he’s been part of the family his entire life. “So,” Cody says into the companionable quiet of full mouths. “Who spilled the beans?”

Obi-Wan takes a sip of his tea, his little snort of laughter hidden from everyone but Cody. Cody resists the urge to smile back. He’s interrogating his siblings, this isn’t the time for fond smiles. Not even if he really wants to.

“Codfish for brains,” Fox sighs from the other end of the table, almost quiet enough that Cody can’t hear him. Almost.

He can feel his brows pull down in a furious scowl as he turns to look at Fox. “You? Bro.” He and Fox have a contentious relationship, sure, but to give Cody his weekend at the bach only to then use that as an excuse to crash it with Cody’s brothers seems a step too far, even for him.

Fox rolls his eyes at him, unimpressed. “Please. I was the last to find out. It’s my weekend you’re taking, which I suspect is the only reason I was invited at all. That and the fact they actually pay me at work, so I could help cover fuel. Use that brain of yours, codfish, who knew about the lamb and your compulsive inability to cook for less than ten people?”

"I can cook for less than ten people, fuck you bro." The cursing is mostly rote, without any heat to it, all his energy focused on thinking through what Fox’s said, because for all he can be an ass he’s also very astute. So if he thinks this is related to Cody’s cooking, he’s probably right. "Nobody knew about the lamb at all,” he says slowly, thinking through the rush of the end of the week. “Except Crys.”

Crys had seen him loading the cooler with the meat into his car and asked about it, so Cody had told him the truth because why wouldn’t he, it was his brother. He’d roast the lamb on Saturday, bring the leftovers back on Sunday, and they’d have pie on Monday, it was all planned out. He’d mostly just thought everyone would be excited about pie — who wouldn’t be excited about pie?

From the corner of his eye, he can see Crys wince, immediately giving away his guilt for all to see. He simultaneously shoves another forkful of lamb in his mouth and starts chewing rapidly like he’s afraid it’s about to be taken away from him.

Admitted, Cody is tempted, but he can’t quite bring himself to be that cruel. Even if Crys has completely and utterly betrayed him. "We'll be talking about this after dinner, bro," he warns, because Crys has to repent for his betrayal somehow and if Cody isn’t taking his dinner away then they’ll have to work out some other punishment. House rules. Crys nods, dejected, mouth still full of lamb.

“It is delicious,” he adds mournfully, once he’s managed to swallow his mouthful. The rest of the table joins in, complimenting the meal, which has Fox launching into the tale of Cody’s mint phase, to Obi-Wan’s evident delight. Cody had been a very experimental cook for a time, and Fox will never let him live it down. Obi-Wan makes all the right noises in all the right places, finally asking Cody if this is what the mint tea is making up for once Fox has concluded the tale with his dramatic claim of a lifetime aversion to mint.

“Warding away Fox? I can only hope. He’s grown immune over the years,” Cody laments. Obi-Wan’s delighted laugh is like music to his ears. His knee bumping against Cody’s under the table, then staying pressed close, is even better.

They wind up in the living room after dinner, Obi-Wan and Boil sitting on the floor around the coffee table in order to scribble on graph paper, and everyone else splayed out on the soft furnishings like a pride of lions settling down for a nap. Rex has already fallen asleep, knocked out by a full belly, and his soft snoring undercuts the rustle of leaves and evening birdsong coming in from outside.

"So what's all this for?" Boil asks eventually, flipping through one of the heavy books colonising the heavy wood coffee table. "Doesn't seem like a good beginner's project if you're wanting to get into radio."

Obi-Wan looks up from where he's making notes on the piece of paper they're passing back and forth, and shrugs then says with a grin, "Oh, you know, resistance against the man." Boil grins back, even as Fox's head whips around from where he'd been watching the yard, a complicated expression on his face.

Cody resists the urge to curse when Boil presses, "Which man in particular, you're gonna need to be more specific here." Luminara hadn't said anything about keeping the boat project secret, but Cody hasn't told his brothers anything, hasn't felt it safe, didn’t want to drag them into something potentially dangerous. Obi-Wan apparently doesn't feel the same way about secrecy being the best plan. They should have talked about this before now, shit. Shit.

From his armchair, Fox sighs dramatically, looking towards the door, then back to Obi-Wan, "I feel like I should leave the room to maintain plausible deniability, but tell me more."

Obi-Wan snorts and leans back on his hands, twisting to look Fox in the face. "The government of course,” he says blithely. “They're the worst of men."

Fox’s nose twitches with suppressed amusement. “As a government drone, I can confirm. Rage against the machine, it’s what it’s there for.”

“Precisely!” Obi-Wan beams at Fox, then turns back to Boil who’s asking him a question about grounding that has Obi-Wan staring at the ceiling for a long minute as he tries to remember something, before mumbling a response that has Boil shaking his head.

Cody gives them a minute to finish their discussion before he tells Obi-Wan, “I was trying to keep the whole thing secret, you know. It’s safest to have as few people involved as possible.” He tries not to come off as scolding, but suspects he fails if the way Obi-Wan’s shoulders tighten, the way he laces his fingers together on the table, is any indication. Cody tries not to wince, feeling like an asshole, but it's his brothers. He has to keep them safe, and Obi-Wan is jeopardising that. He can't just let them get hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan tells him, “They are helping, Boil especially. They’re all part of our little revolution, now.” Obi-Wan looks up at him with such tenderness, it hurts like a knife to the ribs. He doesn’t want to be the root of his brothers’ hurt, he couldn’t stand the guilt — he’s the eldest brother, he’s meant to protect them, not cause them harm. As if Obi-Wan is reading his mind he continues, voice gentle, “And besides, it isn’t as if we’re doing anything illegal. Our project is all perfectly within the bounds of the law. I went and checked it against the legislative books in the library before we even touched the engine. I’m sorry, I should have said something.”

Oh. That’s actually a remarkably smart idea. Cody feels like an idiot for not having done so himself, or at least for not having checked before now. He’d just assumed it was illegal, because it felt illegal. He’d endured all that stress, and all that teasing from his brothers, for nothing in the end. He resists the urge to beat a hasty retreat, knowing his brothers will smell blood in the water if he does. At the moment, they don’t know that all the weekend trips up here were related to the boat project, and he’d like to keep it that way if at all possible.

He tunes back into the conversation to Obi-Wan talking about some of the protests he was part of, back in Ireland. It’s something Cody’s wondered about since Obi-Wan mentioned it all those months back at Mrs Yaddle's restaurant, so he takes the opportunity to ask, “Why did you march in those protests, though? It’s not as if they ever actually do anything unless they’re violent, and violence only provokes more violence.”

Waxer winces, rubbing at his side where he’d cracked a rib when he was kicked by the cops at that protest he insisted on going to years back. Fox makes a noise of agreement from where he’s buried his head in a book. Obi-Wan says nothing, so Cody pushes on, “And you've seen what violent resistance can do, with your father. How can you support it?" He stops himself from saying that what they’re doing seems a lot like what Obi-Wan’s father had done — between the secrecy and the severity of what will happen if they fail. What they’re doing is legal now, sure, but Cody’s sure it won’t stay that way. And he has no idea how Kit and Quinlan are keeping them on-air, but he’d bet money on that not being legal whatsoever.

“Father?” Crys asks, perking up from his sprawl like a sighthound at the scent of blood. “What happened?”

Obi-Wan’s smile becomes more of a grimace as he tells a pared-down story of his father dying for the IRA and his coming to New Zealand in the aftermath. Cody notes that he makes a point of emphasising that what they’re doing here is nothing like that. Cody's not so sure that's true, but Cody isn’t planning on dying anytime soon so he lets it slide. No matter what, going up against the government is dangerous. Bombs or information, it's all dangerous in their minds.

He tunes out the rest of Obi-Wan's story as he thinks that over again — bombs or information, it doesn't matter. They'll be treated as a threat either way. He'll be treated as a threat either way. He's spent so much of his life trying not to be a threat, trying to make it so that people actually listened to him like they did the pakehas around him.

But if they won't even listen to the pakehas, then what's the point?

All he wants to do is keep his brothers safe. He'd told Waxer and Boil not to go to that protest, then when they'd come back bruised and battered he'd felt vindicated in telling them that they shouldn't have gone in the first place. Maybe they'd had the right idea of it, though. Maybe, instead of telling them off, he should have gone with them instead.

Cody closes his eyes, biting at the dry skin on his lip. He needs a beer, but he didn’t think to bring any up this weekend, didn’t think he’d want one. More fool him. He really wants to leave the living room, go curl up somewhere and process this in peace, but he can’t do that either. His brothers will smell the blood in the water, and they’ll be on him like sharks. He really doesn’t have the energy to deal with that tonight, not on top of everything else. Christ he’s tired.

“So that’s the story, I suppose,” Obi-Wan is saying. Cody opens his eyes, and sees that Obi-Wan’s look suspiciously glassy. “Sometimes, resistance is the only option. But it’s not always kind to us.”

“Your dad sounds like the coolest fucking guy,” Crys exclaims, because he’s never had the best grasp on other people’s emotions. “It takes guts to fight like that.”

“Can you imagine the look on the PM’s face if someone set a bomb off in parliament,” Boil mutters under his breath, loud enough for both Cody and Waxer to hear. Cody looks away, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing, while Waxer shoves his face in a pillow to hide his cackling at the idea. It is, admittedly, a hilarious mental image. He’d get all indignantly puffed up like a pigeon and spend the next eight hours monologuing about national security. It wouldn’t be worth it, but a man can dream.

Fox waits until everyone’s stopped muttering to give his own verdict. "So you've always been a revolutionary then," he declares, nodding at Obi-Wan like he’s passed some sort of test. "I should've known you'd be Cody's type."

Cody is far, far too exhausted to be maligned in this way. "What does that mean?" he asks — though it does sound somewhat like a squawk to his great dismay.

It's Waxer who answers, eyebrow half way up his forehead as if this should be obvious, "Cody, your sense of justice is so overdeveloped it almost left none for the rest of us. You wrote so many letters to council that they actually went in and cleaned up the alleyway behind our house, just to make you stop.” Well, yes, of course Cody did that, they needed to remove all those used syringes before one of the local kids stepped on them. Kids shouldn’t have to worry about that.

Crys chimes in with, “You put up all those guilt-trippy signs about speeding near our house so the kids could play handball on the road.” Again, the kids shouldn’t have to worry about that, what was Cody meant to do, let them get run over?

“All those anti-littering pamphlets in everyone’s mailbox,” Boil contributes, still scribbling away.

Finally there’s Fox, adding a deadpan, “You went into radio to help people."

Cody’s being ganged up on, by his own brothers no less. These are all just normal things that normal people do, and not deserving of this treatment. What’s so wrong with wanting to make things better for the people around him? This whole conversation is a horrible betrayal and he is going to rain fire down upon them for this unwarranted attack. Before he can do anything more than open his mouth, Obi-Wan looks him dead in the eye, smiling softly as he strikes the killing blow. “You are the one who had this brilliant idea, to take our broadcasting to the water. I have to agree with your brothers here, your sense of justice is quite a sight to behold.”

Cody makes a noise he’s not proud of, a little choked-off whine, as his mouth shuts with an audible click. He can feel heat rising in his cheeks, fanning hot instantly as he processes what Obi-Wan has said. It isn’t— how is he meant to respond to that? How is he meant to do anything other than melt into the ground under the weight of that sort of sincerity? He’s not— he’s just Cody. He wants to protect his whānau, that’s all. He just wants his people to be safe. It’s not—

He’s saved from having to put any of his jumbled thoughts into words by Boil, who smacks his pencil down on the table with an air of triumph. “Okay I think it’s done,” he tells Obi-Wan, who tears his gaze away from Cody’s mortified form with obvious reluctance. “Come have a look at it.”

Cody takes this opportunity to escape into the kitchen, citing dishes that still need doing. They do need to be done, it's not a lie, there’s only so much crockery in the house and they’ve managed to use nearly all of it during dinner tonight — but mostly he just needs some quiet to think.

He gets through the cutlery, and about half of the plates, before Obi-Wan comes to join him. “I’ll dry?” he suggests, plucking a tea towel from its hanging spot on the front of the oven. Cody nods, gesturing to the drying rack where the clean plates are dripping puddles on the drainboard. Obi-Wan hums as he works, something lilting and slow, with odd jumps in the notes that come at the strangest times — possibly it’s Chinese? It doesn’t sound like any music Cody’s heard before.

Eventually, Obi-Wan runs out of plates while Cody’s scrubbing the baked-on muck out of a baking tray. He really should have left it to soak as soon as he took the lamb out, but he’d had other things on his mind at the time. Leaning against the counter in the family bach, a damp tea towel thrown over his shoulder, Obi-Wan looks like a dream. “Is it alright if your brothers stay the night?” he asks, quiet and low. “Rex is still out of it, and I don’t think the rest of them are that far behind.”

In all honesty, Cody doesn’t want them to stay, but the reasoning is purely selfish. He’s come to enjoy the time he gets to spend with Obi-Wan out here, just the two of them, and his brothers’ presence feels like an intrusion. But a glance at the kitchen clock shows him it’s almost midnight, and he can’t in good conscience wake Rex up and make him drive almost two hours back home now no matter how much he may want to. He’s not that kind of older brother.

“Yeah, I suppose so. Someone’s sleeping on the floor though, we’re short a bed.” Even with Rex laid out on the sofa, they’re one sleeping berth short. Obi-Wan’s been sleeping in his parents’ room, while Cody’s in the “kid’s room” — a set of two bunk beds that had been the site of many a nefarious childhood plan in his ill-spent youth. That leaves three bunks free. Three bunks, four brothers who need a place to sleep. Someone's missing out.

Obi-Wan hums, "I'd certainly prefer someone share the bed with me than them sleeping on the floor. Fox offered but—"

"I can do that," Cody blurts out, nearly dropping the pan into the sink. "I mean, uh, it's definitely better than putting someone on the floor, as long as you're comfortable with it? Are you sure you're okay to—" He's cut off with a gulp when Obi-Wan puts a slightly damp hand on Cody's bare forearm, squeezing reassuringly.

"I certainly won't complain, darling," he says, and Cody tries to ignore the way all the hair on his neck stands up at the name, the gentle touch. Oh god he's going to be sleeping in the same bed as Obi-Wan. He'll be lucky to make it to morning without having a heart attack.

He clears his throat, swallowing heavily. "We can even make them help with putting together the antenna tomorrow," he suggests, pleased when his voice doesn't crack. "Boil and Rex will be helpful at least."

Obi-Wan all but beams. "Indeed they will. Now, how's that baking pan going?"

Honestly, Cody had completely forgotten about it. At least it got a chance to soak, he supposes. That'll make his job easier — and the sooner it's done, the sooner he can go to bed.

Cody checks his watch for the fifth time in a minute, watching as the second hand ticks agonisingly slowly towards the hour. Today’s a Sunday, near the end of August, and the sea winds are bitingly cold even through the closed doors of their boat’s wheelhouse, where they’ve set up the equipment to play tapes alongside the boat controls. The motor quietly rumbles along below him, providing the entire setup with the power it needs to broadcast.

His finger taps lightly over the play button, never quite hard enough to depress it. It’s not time yet, he has to wait.

There’s a tape in the equipment right now — not one they made themselves, but one of Cody’s R.E.M. tapes, ‘Document’. It’s near the end of side one somewhere, Cody can’t quite remember whereabouts precisely, but the specific location doesn’t actually matter for this experiment. When his watch finally hits midday, he’s going to press play. Obi-Wan is a ten minute ride away, towards Auckland, and Luminara is in the office with her own radio tuned to Hauraki’s FM frequency. By mid afternoon, they’ll know for sure if their boat setup works or not.

He and Obi-Wan synchronised their watches before they left Auckland that morning, the early mist still clinging to the valleys under the bridges. To save on fuel, they’d both ridden up on Obi-Wan’s bike, and if Cody focuses he can almost feel the lingering heat under his jacket from where he was pressed close against Obi-Wan’s back as they raced along the highways towards Coromandel.

Obi-Wan’s back off along the road, his little battery powered radio with him which he’ll turn on precisely on the hour as Cody presses play. Luminara just plans on keeping her desk radio playing from eleven through to two, and listening out for music breaking through Kit’s lunch report. Thankfully, there’s not a lot in the way of important news to report on today, just a few more of those daily earthquakes, so they don’t have to feel guilty about messing with it.

Cody checks his watch again — still six minutes to the hour. He bounces restlessly on the spot, looking across the mooring. It's full of still and silent boats, creaking quietly in the wind. People aren’t wanting to waste fuel on pleasure trips if they can even get the diesel for it, so the boats are just left at the moorings. Some of them are starting to rust. His brain invariably slips off the view in front of him, and back to thinking about Obi-Wan, offering to ride them both up on his bike, a faint flush feathering across his cheeks but gaze steady as he waited for Cody’s response. How could he say anything but yes?

Every train of thought he has seems to wind up back at Obi-Wan, these days.

It’s not a bad thing, he’s decided. He’s still not sure wholly what he does feel about it, but they’re not negative emotions. More confused than anything else. Obi-Wan somehow makes him feel so much, all at once, and it’s just — it's a lot to deal with. He’s had crushes before, and that’s probably the closest emotion he can use to describe how Obi-Wan makes him feel, but there’s something different about this which he can’t quite put his finger on. A few months ago he’d have said it was how much Obi-Wan pisses him off, but he really doesn’t. Cody can’t help but wonder if he ever did, or if it’s been whatever emotion this is all along.

Ugh, no, this is making him feel maudlin and weirdly squishy, he needs to stop.

He checks his watch again. Still four minutes to the hour. Maybe he should have brought the seaworthiness paperwork up with him after all. They’d already applied twice, and it’d been knocked back both times for “incompleteness” which was honestly very likely the case knowing Cody’s knack with paperwork. But he doesn't know if he can fill the forms in a fourth time and not go mad, so this time he plans on getting both Obi-Wan and Rex to look it over before he submits it, just to make sure he hasn’t done anything too dumb.

Maybe Fox too, if that isn't a conflict of interest. It isn't, Cody's pretty sure, but Fox would know best there so he’ll have to call and ask. Maybe he could invite Fox over for dinner, bribe him with the promise of food — it’d be tolerable so long as Obi-Wan was at the house as well to distract him. Distract both of them from each other.

Three minutes to the hour. Fuck he hopes this works. Kit and Quinlan have been increasingly drawn and tired at work, and Cody still doesn't know what they're doing, but whatever it is it's clearly weighing on them. There’s only so long that they can give the government the run round, and it's starting to feel like they’re all running out of time. They need this to work. They need to be ready.

Cody bounces on his feet again, both to keep away the chill as well as to get out some of his nervous energy. Two minutes. One.

He watches the second hand as it ticks towards the hour. Five, four, three, two, one… he presses play. The tape starts to play, ribbon running smoothly — Cody can’t hear anything in the wheelhouse, which had seemed like a reasonable idea at the time but might have been an oversight actually. He can only watch with bated breath as the tape plays right through to the end of side one.

Then he has to wait some more, while Obi-Wan makes his way back to the dock. Cody turns the boat engine off, locks everything back up like it was when he got there, and slowly walks towards the mooring carpark, listening impatiently for the familiar purring of Obi-Wan’s engine.

He’s paced back and forth along the entire carpark seven times, jumped on the spot, and discovered yet another mint from Fordo in his pockets by the time he hears the sound of a motor coming from the other side of the ubiquitous manuka. He’s power walking towards the entry for the carpark before he can even see the bike, which is possibly why Obi-Wan has to pull a quick manoeuvre to avoid running him over.

Through some application of what has to be black magic Obi-Wan doesn’t slide out, instead swerving around him before bringing the bike to a stop behind Cody and cursing fervently as he catches his breath. The little puffs of air mist around his mouth, and Cody, despite having not smoked in years now, suddenly desperately wants a cigarette. Wants to share a cigarette with Obi-Wan, passing the thing back and forth, both of their lips wrapping in turn around the filter.

“Did it work?” he asks, forcibly dragging his mind back towards more pressing matters. ”Could you hear it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, a short, sharp thing nonetheless packed with wry amusement. “Yes, I could. ‘End Of the World As We Know It’ was a bit on the nose, but I can’t deny its effectiveness.”

Cody hadn’t realised that was the song the tape was up to, but Obi-Wan was right, it sure was pointed. He can’t help but laugh himself, wheezing a little and breaking off into a cough as he chokes on air. “Back to the bach to call Luminara?” he asks.

At Obi-Wan’s nod, he throws a leg over the bike behind him, settling in close and holding on to the chassis with his thighs before he calls out that he’s ready. He still has to grip the handhold behind his seat to avoid falling off every time Obi-Wan goes around a corner. It’d probably be easier to grab onto the man himself, but Cody can’t quite bring himself to do so. Being pressed up against him is almost too much for his poor heart to take.

It’s a quick zip up the hill to the bach, then almost fifteen minutes on hold until Luminara finally answers the phone. “Did it work?” is the first thing out of Cody’s mouth, rather than anything useful like a greeting, followed by him quickly trying to explain it’s them and not some random caller before Luminara hangs up on them.

“Start with your name next time, Cody,” she teases. “And if you can’t remember it I’m sure Obi-Wan can help.” Cody makes a strangled noise before he can stop himself, which sends her into a fit of giggles. Once she recovers, she tells them, “It did work, I heard music through the first half of Kit’s news report, loud and clear. Well, everything was rather fuzzy, but for both broadcasts not just yours. That means it worked right?”

Obi-Wan breathes out sharply next to Cody’s ear, the air curling warm around Cody’s neck. Cody’s throat clicks as he swallows dry. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah it worked. Holy shit it worked.” Everything seems to go kind of fuzzy around him, like tuning the television to a dead channel. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, can feel his heart thumping in his chest. He half thinks that if he tries to take a step he’ll float off the ground altogether. They’d done it. They’d really done it.

“I’ll go tell the others!” he hears Luminara saying, somewhere far away. The receiver drops from his hand with a clatter as he turns around to face Obi-Wan, still a scant foot away from him, the both of them grinning wide and joyous at each other. Something bubbles up inside his chest, bright and electric, as he stares into Obi-Wan’s eyes. He doesn’t have a single coherent thought in his head, only a fizzing joy.

The next thing he knows, he’s kissing him. Obi-Wan’s lips are chapped from the cold and the wind, already bite-swollen and blood-warm against Cody’s. He feels Obi-Wan's gasp more than he hears it, letting his tongue peek from between his own lips to trace at the soft skin revealed to him.

Then his mind boots back up again, and he jerks back against the phone table, his hand flying to his mouth to cover it, as if that’d somehow take things back. He’s breathing hard, nostrils flaring against his index finger. Shit. Obi-Wan looks struck, eyes wide, mouth still just barely open. As Cody watches, he licks his lower lip, biting at it, then licking it again, worrying at the flesh — Cody can’t tear his eyes away.

When the tension between them ratchets tighter in the silence, Cody forces himself to remove his hand from his mouth and speak. “Fuck, I’m sorry I— I’m clean, I promise. I wouldn’t…” He presses his lips together, eyes wide. Oh shit he’s fucked everything up hasn’t he, what if Obi-Wan is straight, he hadn’t thought things through, he—fuck.

Obi-Wan almost trips over himself to respond, blinking rapidly like he can’t quite believe that what he’s seeing is real. “I’m clean too, it’s— it’s fine, more than fine. It’s good. I’ve been wanting to do that for some time now actually.”

“What?” Cody chokes out, trying to figure out if he’s dreaming. Surely this is a dream, right?

Obi-Wan bites at his lip again, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he responds, “Kissing you. I’ve wanted to do that for some time now. May I do it again, darling?” Cody nods, struck dumb by the thought that this may not be a dream at all, that it’s really happening.

“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan all but purrs, sounding so very much like his engine, before his lips are back on Cody’s and Cody can’t think at all.

Good morning to our listeners here on Radio Hauraki, this is Kit Fisto here with today’s news on September the 16th, 1998. A lovely sunny Wednesday to get us all into the spring mood. Consider having lunch in the park today, and soaking in some of this warmth and light.

Our quake-a-day record continues into its third consecutive month now, with a 2.7 being recorded in the Bay of Plenty yesterday evening, as well as an early morning quake in Rotorua hitting 4.1.

In national news, the Royal New Zealand Navy has been officially mobilised to patrol the Tasman Sea, in a bid to tighten the protection of New Zealand’s borders. There have been increasing concerns of rogue Australians fleeing the war-torn nation, with many of them from the east coast heading towards New Zealand. The Prime Minister has previously welcomed these arrivals, but stressed that “appropriate checks and measures” must be taken with any immigrant in order to ensure the safety of our fellow citizens. The Navy plans to collect any boats they discover on their patrols, and prepare those aboard for processing.

More news to come after the PM’s press conference scheduled for this morning, with rumours that the plan is to declare martial law. We’ll bring you updates as they happen. Until then, this has been Kit Fisto, and you’re listening to Radio Hauraki: rocking the boat for thirty years.

Chapter Text

Hello there, and a massive thank you to everyone who called in to let us know what they wanted to hear in our top ten songs of September. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I am here to give our supporters what they want here at Radio Hauraki: Rocking the Boat for 30 years.

First up we have an absolute classic, re-released this year by Depeche Mode. It’s something we all wish the government had right now, that's for sure.

That's right, it's ‘Policy of Truth’. What a classic. Speaking of classics, here's another that's come back into our top ten all the way from 1988. New Zealand’s first rap record, and what a record it is.

Our very own Upper Hutt Posse’s ‘E Tu’. Say what you want about the Nation of Islam, but they have excellent taste in music — who wouldn’t want to invite this posse over? We’re off across the pond for this next song.

You know it, it’s ‘You Don’t Care About Us’ by Placebo. The mood of the times, isn’t it. Almost as gloomy as the sky outside, more smog and rain to come this week.

Faithless, ‘God is a DJ’. Fresh off the boat and into your ears. Don't forget, if you're a supporter make sure to send in your request for a birthday track with two weeks' notice. We've got some birthday treats coming up today including Imogen Heap’s 'Come Here Boy'.

‘Teardrop’ by Massive Attack. Top of the charts all over, you can see why. Next up is Garbage, here today with ’I Think I’m Paranoid’, and don’t we all. Though who knows, perhaps someone is out to get us…

[audio fades to radio static]

Chapter Text

Cody’s just about finished his lunch — lamb sausage sandwiches and some pickles, when Obi-Wan slides into the seat next to him, mug of tea in his hands and a mournful expression on his face. It's a Monday, which frankly deserves that expression all on its own, but Cody suspects there's something else to it. Luminara laughing when she spots Obi-Wan only serves to drive that point home.

"No lunch today?" she asks, still grinning as she pours the last of the hot water in the kettle into her mug, pulling out a box of biscuits from somewhere and arranging a handful on a plate.

Obi-Wan's sigh can really only be described as melodramatic. “No," he says, turning to Cody to add. "Quinlan’s quite upset with me after my last show, apparently I went too far this time.”

In Quinlan's defence, Obi-Wan was beyond blatant in telling the government he thought they were a load of shitheads. And if even Cody thinks that, he knows it's obvious as day to everyone else. “In the doghouse, huh?” He softens the question by pushing over his last sandwich, gesturing with his head so Obi-Wan knows it's for him. Obi-Wan bobs his head in thanks, even as he reaches for the bread.

“Very much so,” Obi-Wan sighs, before making a very work inappropriate noise as he bites into Cody's food. Cody himself bites at his knuckle to avoid saying anything, because they are at work, around other people, now is really not the time no matter how much he wants to suggest they take this to a bedroom. After work, Cody. Be professional. Someone has to be and it sure isn't Obi-Wan right now.

“He is making poor Quinlan’s life exceedingly difficult,” Luminara chimes in as she joins them, tugging on the longer hairs at Obi-Wan’s nape chidingly. “So I can understand why he’d be cross. You really don’t need to provoke them, Obi-Wan, they’re already mad at us. My poor family is worried sick.”

Cody wasn't aware of that. "Oh?"

She fiddles with one of the pins holding her hijab in place, humming as she takes a sip of tea. "Back in Iraq, I had an uncle who worked for Althawra, wrote an article that was too critical of Hussein, we think, we don't actually know for sure. But then he was gone, vanished. Hopefully he was just killed but," she shrugs. "My parents are worried because this was meant to be a fresh start but the government increasingly feels the same. And where else can we go now?"

"Shit." That's Obi-Wan, looking shellshocked. Cody's feeling pretty chided himself. He'd had no idea. He'd known that Luminara came as a refugee, of course, but he'd never really thought about what that meant. "Luminara, I—"

She waves Obi-Wan off before he can say anything more, clicking her tongue at him in reprimand. "It's the past, we can only move forward. But still, maybe don't go poking sleeping lions, hm? If Quinlan quits from stress, who'll make sure you don't get scurvy?" She nudges the plate of biscuits towards them, elbowing Obi-Wan in the side as she does. "Have a biscuit, they're orange blossom."

Obi-Wan grumbles, but does take a biscuit from the plate. "Luminara, that was one time, and before I had a job here." His baleful glare is ineffective against the both of them, but Cody at least manages to keep a straight face. Luminara is laughing again. "And it was only mild anyway," he appends as if this somehow changes that he got scurvy in the first place. Even Cody never quite managed that, not even when he was at uni and living off porridge and potatoes.

In the manner of very good friends, Luminara is merciless. "Quinlan will be telling that story all the way to his grave, Obi-Wan, there's no escaping it. But do keep eating fruits, think of how much worse he'd be if it happened again."

Obi-Wan sets his mouth in a serious line, even as his eyes sparkle with mirth. Cody isn't sure whether he should be preparing for flirtation or the worst joke he's ever heard. "I think I'd have to move to the Third World, which I am reliably informed is the South Island, and become an oyster farmer. Do oysters have vitamin C?"

Worst joke he's ever heard it is, it was bad enough when Rex was using it. Jesus, in Obi-Wan’s mouth it’s not even a dad joke it's a step beyond it. A grandad joke or something. "Why do I like him?" he asks rhetorically, staring up at the ceiling. Goddamn those lights are bright.

He looks back down just in time for Obi-Wan to respond, "My charming disposition of course." He somehow manages this with a completely straight face. He is the worst. Why does Cody want to kiss him? Surely this means there’s something wrong with him. There can’t be any other explanation.

The shrill ringing of the landline in the front room cuts through Cody’s contemplation of Obi-Wan’s mouth — specifically contemplation of how he’d like to shut up Obi-Wan’s mouth with his own mouth. "Duty calls," Luminara tells them both, gracefully standing with tea in hand. "Don't have too much fun without me." She sweeps out of the room regally in a whirl of orange and cedar, heels clicking against the floor as she goes.

Obi-Wan leans over to set his head heavily on Cody’s shoulder, yawning wide enough that his jaw clicks. He seems so much smaller all of a sudden. “Thank you for lunch,” he murmurs into the quiet hush that’s fallen over them. He sounds worn, tired but with none of the softness that Cody would expect as a result. “Would you like to come to the cinema with me tonight?” he continues, so low that Cody almost doesn’t hear it.

He does hear it though, even if when he parses the words he initially thinks he’s misheard completely. “The cinema?” he can’t help but ask, trying to twist his head at an impossible angle to see Obi-Wan’s face and just getting a mouthful of hair. “Like on a date?”

Obi-Wan hums into his shoulder, noncommittal. “Not this time, darling. This time we have someone to meet. Usually I would have taken Kit, but he was very insistent on not missing his date night tonight.”

Cody tries not to feel crushed by Obi-Wan's kind rejection. It’s not like he’d been hoping for a date, he tells himself. They were still feeling things out, trying to work out where the ground between them lay. Now wasn’t the best time for those kinds of things. And besides, they spent their weekends together already, had for months and months now, and that was pretty much a date in its own right. He had no reason to feel disappointed. None at all.

“Who’re we meeting?” he finally manages to ask, not missing the way that Obi-Wan has been tensing against him, as if preparing himself for a rejection.

At his question, the tension drains from Obi-Wan all at once. “A friend of mine who does some government work,” he says, which tells Cody absolutely nothing. “He says he has something we very much need to hear, in relation to our ongoing project.” The way he emphasises “project” makes it very clear that he’s referring to the boat, and that tells Cody much more. “He doesn’t usually insist on a face-to-face meeting, so I suspect whatever he has to say is very serious indeed.”

Oh, that sounded concerning. Cody doesn't know who Obi-Wan might know in the government, but after hours meetings never boded well for anyone involved. He half heartedly thinks about taking a smoke break, despite not having smoked for years. The stress really must be getting to him, for these old cravings to resurface.

“When are we meeting him, I’ll block out my diary.”

Obi-Wan snorts mirthlessly, even as he nudges himself ever so slightly closer to Cody's side to take the sting out of the sound. “Tonight.”

It's already lunchtime, which gives him all of six hours or so until the meeting happens. Cody shakes his head in disbelief, talk about last minute, even as he tells Obi-Wan, “Lucky that I’m free. I’ll call my brothers once Luminara's done, let them know I won’t be home for dinner.”

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan reaches over to lace their fingers together, squeezing hard. Today, his polish has faint green sparkles to it. There's a tremble in his hands that Cody's never seen before, not in all their months of working together. Cody doesn't know what to do but squeeze back and let Obi-Wan rest his head, just for a while. Just until lunch is over.

Mr Obi-Wan Kenobi
17 Tole St
Ponsonby 1011
New Zealand

Dear Mr Kenobi,

We regret to inform you that your application for a certificate of seaworthiness for your vessel has been denied, as the ship failed to meet the minimum standards set forward by the Maritime Transport Act (1994).

As this is your third application in the past three months, a mandatory cool down period of six months is now in effect (04/10/1998 - 04/04/1999). Please reapply after this date, as any forms received during the cool down period will not be processed.

If you have further questions, please contact your local Maritime New Zealand office.

Something weird is going on with this, the denial isn't coming from anyone who's usually responsible for them. Whatever you're doing, be careful.
— F

"— and that's why I don't eat eel anymore," Obi-Wan concludes with a flourish, neatly sidestepping a passing pedestrian by ducking behind Cody to let them pass. Fewer people are out and about these days, but it's early evening and fewer in Newmarket still means the footpath is packed.

Cody twists round to continue facing Obi-wan, walking backwards with the ease of practice and hoping someone'll yell out before he runs into anything. “How did your father even find that many eels?” he asks between laughter, wanting to be horrified but mostly still imagining the look that must've been on little Obi-Wan's face when faced with that many eels in his house.

A wry grin on his face, soft at the edges and crinkling the corners of his eyes, Obi-Wan responds, “I honestly have no idea. He was frighteningly effective when he put his mind to things, and this was no exception. It certainly served its purpose though, I didn’t go down to the river unsupervised after that.”

“No shit.”

Cody notices, helplessly, that Obi-Wan's eyes look exceptionally blue against the deep purples of oncoming night, glinting with their own stars. He's still staring into them as they widen suddenly, Obi-Wan reaching out to grab at his arm and pull. He tugs too hard, and there's a vertiginous moment where they're both trying desperately to balance each other and not fall into incoming traffic, before they're stable, both breathing fast from the adrenaline of the moment and clutching at each other's arms. Cody's close enough to watch as Obi-Wan swallows heavily, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Apologies, there was a…" Obi-Wan trails off, gesturing behind Cody, who turns to see a postbox sitting innocuously on the side of the road. Cody'd been so worried about running into another pedestrian, he hasn't even thought of all the inanimate objects that might be out to get him.

He thanks Obi-Wan, feeling warm and buoyant from their talk and the save both. With a final gratuitous squeeze of Obi-Wan's arms to feel the lean muscle underneath, they both let go, continuing to walk through the city, side by side once more. They're almost at Pearl Garden, Mrs Yaddle's restaurant, to get something to eat before they move on to the cinema. Apparently dinners are much more normal — no trolleys, just a menu and various foods to order. Obi-Wan had been complaining earlier about how impossible it was to get rice at the moment because it couldn't be grown in New Zealand at all, then said something about noodles, so Cody's hoping that this means he can get pasta. He likes pasta, even when it's got weird toppings.

The dinner menu is completely different to the lunch list, which Cody knew, but he still winds up looking at the pages with something resembling panic. He has absolutely no idea what any of these things are. When he asks Obi-Wan for suggestions, he immediately suggests the crispy squid, and Cody can’t help but make a face at that idea. “It’s like fish and chips,” Obi-Wan assures him, and that just makes it worse. If they’re going to have fish and chips on the menu, they should do it properly, no squid, just fish, the way it was intended.

In the end, Obi-Wan orders for the both of them and they wind up with identical plates full of thin pasta — noodles, as Obi-Wan keeps insisting with a grimace — and mixed seafood. Cody’s taken by surprise when, as well as tea, they’re both presented with a beer as well. He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen Obi-Wan drink before, and isn’t quite sure what to make of it now. Before his traitorous mouth can say anything stupid, like it so often does when Obi-Wan’s involved, he shoves a mouthful of food into it to shut it up — alongside the noodles themselves he gets a bite of fish, hoki maybe, and some of the sauce that’s on it, and all in all it’s pretty damn good. Salty, and fatty, with an interesting bite to it. Not quite pepper, but it warms his mouth pleasantly nonetheless.

Unlike Cody’s plate, Obi-Wan’s has squid on it, and Cody watches with suspicion as the man uses his chopsticks to pop a bite of it into his mouth. “Something on my face?” he asks, grinning. “Or do you just really want to steal my squid for yourself?” Cody grumbles at him, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue like a child. He shoves more noodles in his mouth instead, just as delicious as the last. “I do love squid, it’s so wonderfully tingly in my mouth,” Obi-Wan continues.

Cody swallows his food before he finishes chewing it, almost choking on a chunk of prawn as he does. “Squid is not meant to tingle,” he rasps out, taking a swallow of his beer to wash the prawn down before it makes a break for his lungs. “That’s not a good thing.”

“Oh yes, I do know that.” Obi-Wan reassures him, taking another bite of squid. Cody is not reassured by this statement. “I’m just a little allergic, that’s all. Don’t worry, it hasn’t killed me yet!”

Cody doesn’t bury his head in his hands at this declaration, but it’s a near thing. Obi-Wan sounds just like Crys does about mangoes. How is he constantly surrounded by these people? Why can’t they just eat food that doesn’t try to kill them? He’ll never understand.

He’s distracted from his angst by a waiter putting a heavy metal dish down in the middle of their little table, cautioning them that it’s very hot, before pouring a bowl of raw meat, mixed with onions and capscicum, into the dish right in front of them. The moment the food hits the plate it hisses, sending up a billowing cloud of steam and spitting reddish sauce all over the white tablecloth. “Sizzling beef,” Obi-Wan explains, picking up a thin slice of the now-cooked beef with his chopsticks. “I figured we’d both be hungry after, if we only had noodles. I know I need more protein to get through the night.” Cody laughs, taking a bite of meat for himself. Just like everything else he’s had here, it’s delicious.

Obi-Wan continues to chat all through dinner, telling stories about his childhood in China and his time in New Zealand before he started working at Radio Hauraki. He even tells Cody the story of how he'd met Quinlan — at the airport, just like Quinlan had said, though Quinlan hadn't mentioned he'd been "knocked clean on his ass by a twink half his size", as Obi-Wan had described it. Cody can't imagine him that tiny, and says as such. "New Zealand has been good to me," was all Obi-wan had to say to that. He must've been skin and bone.

It's fun, the two of them getting to have dinner out, hearing Obi-Wan talk about his childhood. He's been comparably closed lipped until now, and Cody's been dying of curiosity but not comfortable asking. Seems Obi-Wan was just waiting for the right time to regale him with stories that, were it anyone else, Cody would call bullshit on. Obi-Wan has the devil's own luck.

Once they're done eating, Mrs Yaddle brings them both shot glasses of port and a plate of cut fruit, happily chatting with Obi-Wan for a minute in Chinese before swanning off to greet another table who've just arrived.

"Thank you for letting me prattle on," Obi-Wan tells him between small sips of liquor, suddenly unable to meet Cody’s eyes. "It's something of a bad habit when I'm especially nervous which I never quite managed to drop."

Cody makes a confused noise, trying to work out how to say he found Obi-Wan's “prattling” absolutely charming without using those words. To buy himself time, he takes a slice of orange from the plate between them, tearing the flesh from the pith and gulping it down in two bites. He does his best to project reassurance into his words when he responds, "It's not a problem, not at all. I liked hearing about… all of it. About what you were like as a kid and all your weird stories. They're way more interesting than mine."

It must've been the right thing to say, because Obi-Wan smiles, that soft little smile Cody's only ever seen directed at him. "Oh, I wouldn't think so, Cody. We always think of others' stories as being more interesting than our own. And you've shared so many wonderful ones with me this year. You can think of this as balancing the scales, if you'd like." He looks down at his watch, visibly startling. "Oh God, is that the time? I completely lost track. We'd best be heading off so we're not late." Cody doesn't preen about being such a good dinner partner that Obi-Wan forgot the time, but it's a near thing.

After a brief wrestle over who was paying the bill, which Cody won through sheer force of will and also through Mrs Yaddle laughing at their attempts to block the other from the register then plucking the cash from Cody's hand to decide for them, they're back down the stairs and on the street.

"It's just a short walk," Obi-Wan is saying. "Not even a block."

Less than half a block later, they're stopping in front of the Rialto cinema.

The facade of the place is cream coloured plaster, with Rialto spelled out in brickwork on the third floor, painted in bright red. The colour continues through the trim, all the way down to the ground floor where they stood.

Everyone in Auckland knew the Rialto — it was infamous as a den of sin and iniquity. Or that's how the authorities phrased it, anyway. Back in the sixties, it'd been the only cinema in New Zealand that played European films, often unrated and involving far more sex than the authorities were strictly comfortable with. They'd been trying to get it shut down, with varying degrees of intensity, ever since it opened, but the owners — a couple who'd emigrated from Europe after World War Two, were staunch in their defence of “high art”. In the eighties it'd looked like things were calming down and they'd be left alone, but the current government was keen on pushing the same line as they had in the sixties. So sin and iniquity it was.

What this all meant, though, is that the owners of the Rialto were very picky about who they'd sell tickets to. Cody's not sure if he'll pass muster.

“You did not mention we were going to the Rialto.” He turns to Obi-Wan, who’s tilting his head like a bird, one eyebrow raised in question. Does he not know about the Rialto, or is he just so sure Cody will be fine that he didn’t even think about the alternative? “Will they even let me in?” he asks.

If anything, that question makes Obi-Wan look even more confused. “Why wouldn’t they?” he responds, stepping closer to Cody and the outer wall of the cinema, moving out of the flow of traffic. He looks so incredibly baffled that Cody can’t even think of where to start. It’s probably not worth trying to explain right now anyway — either they let him in or they don’t and nothing Obi-Wan says can change that.

“You know what,” he shakes his head, trying to put a reassuring smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go.”

He holds the door open for Obi-Wan, because he can, and because it nets him the sweetest little flush high across the man’s cheeks. Even if he gets kicked out by the owner, at least he has this.

The two of them make their way to the dark panelled front counter, across the sea of worn red carpeting. The woman standing behind it, elderly, with silver hair pulled back into a tight bun, fixes Cody with a stern expression, clearly cataloguing him as he walks closer. He feels uncomfortably like a child in a library, about to be chastised by a librarian for being too noisy. His shoulders push back without his conscious input, back straightening and chin raising. He’s not going to let himself be intimidated, no matter how nervous he may be.

Cody’s broken from his staring contest with the woman by Obi-Wan taking ahold of his hand, lacing their fingers together slow enough to be deliberate. Cody looks down just for a moment, and when he looks back the woman’s gaze has visibly softened.

“Who’s this then, Obi-Wan?” she asks as they come close, seeming to catalogue Cody again but with a different focus this time. A kinder one, somehow? Certainly less uncomfortably flaying than the first time she’d looked him over.

“I’m Cody,” he says, quailing a little as her gaze sharpens again.

Obi-Wan tches, pulling them even closer to the desk. The entranceway is surprisingly empty for an evening, even if it is a weekday, and Cody’s brain is starting to run away from him and list all the horrible things that could happen to them.

“Jocasta, meet Cody, he’s my very good friend,” Obi-Wan says with a wink that seems to mean something particular to the woman — Jocasta, because she actually smiles, gaze softening even further.

“Well met then, Cody, and welcome to the Rialto.”

Obi-Wan smiles, still holding Cody’s hand in a loose grip. “We’re here to meet Mace, has he turned up yet?” he asks, fiddling with the trim on the edge of the desk with his free hand. Jocasta spares him a look and he stops, instead shoving the hand into his pants pocket.

“Of course he has,” she tells Obi-Wan, Cody seemingly forgotten now that he’d been determined to not be a threat. “You know him, he has to be ten minutes early to everything. He paid for your tickets as well, like the gentleman he is, so head on up the stairs when you’re ready. This film's a real treat. You don’t know how difficult it’s been getting it into the country. They’ve been so stubborn! I can hardly understand why.”

Obi-Wan thanks her with a bow, which she returns, then pulls Cody towards the steps to the left. “She’s picky about correct etiquette,” he murmurs in Cody’s ear, breath fanning across his face. “Always go up on the left, and come down on the right.” Cody didn’t even know that there was stair etiquette. What a weird thing to have etiquette about, pakeha were very strange sometimes.

It’s not a date, he firmly reminds himself as the lights go down. It’s a weird business meeting that they’re going to, for reasons which are still to be fully explained to him. It’s work, and important work, something that they need to do. It’s not a date, even if it happens to look like one from the outside. It’s not a date. Obi-Wan still hasn’t let go of his hand.

Cody walks out of the theatre after the evening showing of Velvet Goldmine feeling vaguely like he’s been hit over the head by an engine block. He's getting the impression that spending any meaningful amount of time with Obi-Wan has that effect on him, but the addition of the movie really dialled things up to the max. Cody hadn't even been aware they made films like that, let alone showed them anywhere.

One of the main characters had looked oddly similar to Obi-Wan, only with bleached blonde hair instead of russet, and Cody’s struggling to shake the thought of Obi-Wan dressed in glitter and only glitter from his head. Beside him, Obi-Wan and the man in a sleek three piece suit who had been introduced as Mace, are chatting about the effectiveness of non-linear storytelling, but Cody can’t make himself focus.

Obi-Wan steers them away from the stairs downwards, towards another half flight of stairs that takes them up to a wall of windows, with a well stocked bar to one side and plush seating surrounding stout wooden tables covering the floor. There are a few groups of people clustered around, quietly chatting, and slow jazz coming through hidden speakers. The entire place is dim, lit by low yellow-toned lights scattered around the tables and not much else.

Mace leads them over to the bar, nodding at the man behind it. Like Jocasta below, he too is elderly, with a full beard and a severe expression. He is also, somewhat oddly, wearing a dark damask waistcoat cut like he's from the twenties, alongside a matching bowtie. He smells like clove cigarettes, and Cody has to forcibly repress another pang of craving.

Without making a sound, the old man stares the three of them down, gaze piercing and unblinking, for several seconds before he nods and turns towards the dazzling array of liquors behind him without a word. This place is incredibly weird, Cody doesn't even have the capacity to be surprised anymore. It's the Rialto, after all, it only makes sense it would actually be as absurd as all the stories say and more.

"I also thought the music was exceptionally done, getting real rock bands in made all the difference," Obi-Wan is saying, and Cody can't help but come back to himself somewhat at that. Yes, the music, he can talk about music. He can always talk about music.

He sets an elbow on the bar, leaning forwards a little so he can see both Obi-wan and Mace before he starts, "Yeah, the cover of the T-Rex song they did was especially good, and overall the way they managed to fuse the sounds of the 70s and now was masterful. I kept wondering if the songs the main character sang were unreleased Bowie tracks."

Obi-Wan's face breaks into a cheeky grin. ‘Twentieth Century Boy?’ he asks. "Yes, that was exceptional, wasn't it. I knew you'd like Placebo if you gave them a chance."

Oh goddamnit, of all the bands to unknowingly choose. Obi-Wan's been trying to get him to listen to them for weeks now, even going so far as to put one of their CDs in Cody's boombox while they were working on the boat. Obi-Wan won't listen to Cody's music, so Cody's determined not to listen to Obi-Wan's until it's tit for tat. There's a reason they've listened to so much Hauraki broadcasting together. "That was Placebo?" he moans. "I take it back, it was my least favourite. The cover of ‘Bitter-Sweet’ is my favourite now."

Mace laughs at that, shoving his tie into a pants pocket and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his aubergine shirt. "Trying to force more people to listen to your terrible taste in music, shame on you, Obi-Wan." Cody decides then and there that he likes this guy.

Suddenly, a drink is placed in front of him — a tall glass full of something opaquely orange, with a blush of pink sinking through the liquid from the top where it's stained almost red. The old man, the one who's bestowed this drink upon him, nods once. "Tequila sunrise," he says somberly, before turning to Obi-Wan and placing a squat glass of what looks like whisky garnished with a twist of lemon zest in front of him. "Old fashioned, but appalling," he states with similar gravitas. "And a mojito." Mace is gifted a tall glass full of clear liquid and crushed mint.

"I didn't order this," Cody whispers to Obi-Wan, looking at his drink with intent suspicion. Who puts tequila in a drink, rather than having it as a shot? Surely that's not the right way to drink it.

Obi-Wan grins, eyes glimmering in the low light. "Yes, you don't order here. The Count decides what you drink, and he's never wrong. It's a gift of his. Try your drink."

Cody doesn't even know where to start with that sentence. The Count? What is he, a vampire or something? And him choosing what you drink? Cody's not a big fan of bars, he much prefers the pub, but even he knows that this is weird. Obi-Wan's grin simply widens at whatever expression he must be making, even as he pulls out his wallet to pay. Cody goes to argue reflexively, only to have Obi-Wan remind him he paid for dinner and Mace paid for their tickets, it was his turn, and Cody could hardly argue with that. So he settles back on his stool with a grumble, taking a sip of his drink. It's citrusy, and sweet, with a burn that lingers in his mouth.

It is, unfortunately, absolutely delicious.

Obi-Wan is grimacing as he drinks his own cocktail next to him, and Cody can't help but ask, "Does he know you don't like that? I thought he was meant to be good at picking." He's not even tipsy, despite already somehow being half way through his drink, but he blames the alcohol for how the question slips out before he can think it through.

"Oh he knows, this was my father's favourite and I suppose the sins of the father are yet to be forgiven. It really is appalling. Would you like a sip?" Obi-Wan offers him the glass. Cody accepts, because he can't think to do anything else, taking a small sip of the amber liquid. Appalling really is the best word to describe it, and he tells Obi-Wan as such.

"Frankly," he opines. "I think coolant would be less objectionable, and I'm willing to test that." He's not, actually, he's been lectured enough about how coolant is never to be drunk under any circumstances — and he really doesn’t understand what his brothers think he gets up to in the garage when he's working on his baby — but the statement works to pull a surprised laugh out of Obi-Wan.

"Please do not, we don't need to be dragging you to a hospital, Cody. We have enough going on." He takes another sip of his drink, grimacing once again.

"Speaking of," says Mace. "I unfortunately have more to add to your list of woes."

Obi-Wan blinks a couple of times, turning fully toward Mace. "I thought this was a regular update."

A regular update of what, Cody can't help but wonder with increasing concern. What's Obi-Wan been getting himself into? And when has he had the time? Between work and the boat, Cody feels like he's barely seen his brothers or worked on his baby for months, and he lives with them all. Any free time is spent hunting down spare parts or cramming his brain with the knowledge he needs for their next task, and he'd thought Obi-Wan had been the same. Is this why he's been looking so tired, recently? Is it something new? If so, why didn't he tell Cody about it?

Mace sighs heavily, rubbing at his brow. "It was going to be a regular catch up, with some interesting news on top," he tells Obi-Wan. "Until about four forty this afternoon when we got reports of an earthquake off the coast of Peru. Usually this wouldn't be an issue, the entire Ring of Fire has been very active recently, except this earthquake was a nine point seven—" Cody chokes. An earthquake measuring that high on the Richter scale is enormous, it'd knock half of New Zealand flat. "—and because it was off the coast the likelihood of a massive tidal wave heading towards New Zealand at this time is close to a hundred percent."

"We haven't heard anything about this," Obi-Wan says slowly, putting his drink down and fiddling with the curl of lemon zest in it. "You'd think the government would be asking news outlets to tell people urgently."

Mace grimaces, staring intently at the marble of the bar. "If I had my way, yes, every media outlet in New Zealand would already know." He looks up at Obi-Wan, then finishes the glass in one long swallow.

"You've been gagged." Obi-Wan sounds resigned, with a tinge of anger underlying his words, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the bar counter as he thinks. Cody freezes. It's been bad enough that the government has been gagging them at Hauraki, bad enough when they have to wait. But not being told, not being allowed to report at all, about a tidal wave, that'll kill people. That'll kill so many people. They're a coastal country, almost everyone lives near the water, what the fuck are the government playing at?

Mace nods at Obi-Wan, face grave. "We have been gagged, yes." Both he and Obi-Wan seem to have forgotten that Cody’s there, talking back and forth to each other in a rapid-fire call and response. Cody grabs for Obi-Wan's hand, needing skin contact to try and ground himself even as the tremor in Obi-Wan's hands makes a return. Cody squeezes tighter, helpless to do anything more.

”Fuck.” Obi-Wan breathes.

“Quite. It came right from the top as well, no way to appeal it. Not that tidal waves are polite enough to give us the time to go through an appeal process regardless.”

“No, I imagine they’re quite impatient. What sort of timeframe are we looking at?”

Mace smiles, the expression mirthless. “The quake happened just before five. Based on the data we have, we think that the tidal wave will arrive tomorrow, sometime between midday and midnight.”

“Tomorrow.” Obi-Wan hisses like a curse, then, “Jesus Christ.”

“Tomorrow, yes. We’re lucky that we have that long, frankly.”

Cody has to butt in here, because he has to make sure he's hearing what he thinks he's hearing, has to know that the worst case scenarios unspooling in his head aren't just catastrophic thinking. “To confirm,” he asks. “There’s a tidal wave heading towards Auckland right now, which you think will be bad enough to actually flood Auckland, and the government isn’t putting the tidal wave action plan in place for some reason?" Mace nods. Cody swallows, take a deep breath. Fuck. "How do you know this?” He sounds choked, but he thinks that can be forgiven, considering what he's just been told.

Obi-Wan replies to this, squeezing Cody's hand apologetically as he does. “Ah, that’s my error, I didn’t introduce you two properly. Cody, this is Mace Windu, he’s with the Ministry of Emergency Management. He deals with earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanoes, those sorts of things.”

This introduction really only raises more questions, rather than answering a single one already rattling around in Cody’s brain. “And you two meet up regularly to exchange natural disaster information?” None of this is making any sense. How does Obi-Wan even know Mace, and how does Mace know Obi-Wan well enough to come to him with this information, if this isn't what they usually meet up to discuss? And surely it can't be, Obi-Wan hasn't showed any interest in them before. Cody's spent so much time with him over this past year, he's sure he'd know if the interest was there.

Obi-Wan flushes, visible even in the low light. “No, not quite. We mostly meet up to exchange, how best to phrase it…”

“Gossip,” Mace explains, face deadpan. “We meet up to exchange internal department and inter-department gossip. Mostly it’s about whether Obi-Wan here has been classed as some sort of security risk and is in danger of being deported. Which was why I asked to see you in person today, by the way. Some interesting things filtering down through the ranks about deporting potential insurgents. Wanted you to know, and remind you to check your membership isn't current with your little church group and all that. No telling what they'll define insurgent as this time."

Obi-Wan nods, rolling his eyes for good measure. "Just what we need right now, a show of force. How very facist of them."

With a nod of his own, Mace continues, “But yes, to answer your question, Cody. There is a tidal wave coming, and I’ve been told that under no circumstances can I activate any of the tidal wave plans we have. Apparently it would cause 'mass panic' and that would make the government look weak.”

"Facists," Obi-Wan hisses. He's squeezing Cody's hand hard enough the bones are grinding together.

Cody takes a deep breath, trying to process everything that's been said in the last ten minutes or so. He doesn't think he's doing a particularly good job at it. It feels a little like the world is closing in on him, trying to strangle him where he sits. “Why are you telling us then?” he eventually asks.

“Why? Well, you both work for the radio, don’t you. And I’ve heard all about your boat. If anyone’s going to play the heroes here, if anyone has a chance to make it work, it’ll be you.”

IN RESPECT OF LICENCE NUMBERED CR100221 GRANTED ON 17 MARCH 1970 AND PRESENTLY HELD BY RADIO HAURAKI TO PROVIDE A COMMUNITY RADIO SERVICE UNDER PART III OF THE 1989 BROADCASTING ACT

This notice is to inform Radio Hauraki (“the licensee”) that they are in breach of Broadcasting Act (1989) 4(1)(b) — every broadcaster is responsible for maintaining in its programmes and their presentation, standards that are consistent with the maintenance of law and order.

There have been multiple breaches of this statute by the licensee at the time of writing, as detailed below:

[...]

As such, if the licensee continues to fail to conform to standards, there will be no other option but to judge them no longer fit and proper to hold a licence to broadcast in New Zealand. This is the final warning that the licensee will receive before the issue of a formal notice of revocation is issued.

Cody and Obi-Wan don’t sleep that night.

Mace hands them a file with all the information he could print out before he left the office, which Obi-Wan tucks into the inner pocket of his jacket with a terse nod. With that handover complete, Mace excuses himself, citing an early morning in the office fighting the fire from inside the building. Obi-Wan wishes him luck, and then the man's off down the stairs like he didn't just drop a bombshell that has the potential to ruin thousands of lives. The two of them are plied with another round of drinks by the Count before Cody suggests they go for a walk — he's getting jittery just sitting here with all this knowledge skittering around in his head. The alcohol isn't helping as much as he'd half hoped either, softening the terror but worsening the anxiety in equal measure.

They head back towards the office almost on autopilot, Obi-Wan clearly deep in thought as Cody navigates the evening traffic, brow furrowed, staring sightlessly at his lap. Once Cody parks, they come together like magnets, bumping shoulders, hands twining together between them. The cool sea breeze coming off the harbour is bracing, and without thinking Cody steers them down Nelson, towards the wharves.

Queen's Wharf is quiet at this time of night, the cranes silent sentinels overlooking empty cargo lots. Even a few years ago, the open space would have been carpeted by new cars being processed before they came into the country proper. Now it's almost ghostly in its emptiness, just blank concrete stretching on and on out into the water, broken up only by the old corrugated iron sheds that've been there longer than Cody's been alive.

"They used to use that shed for bananas and pineapples and stuff," Cody tells Obi-Wan, not entirely sure why he does, even as he gestures to the further of the two sheds with his free hand. "Wonder if any of it's still making it in or if the whole thing's empty."

Obi-Wan turns to Cody, eyes sparking like the waters of the bay behind him and that soft little smile that seems just for Cody once again gracing his lips. "We could always find out," he playfully suggests.

It takes Cody a minute to work out what's being implied there, but when he does he stops short, pulling Obi-Wan to a halt with him. "I'm not gonna—"

Obi-Wan cuts him off, still smiling. "Why not?" He leans his shoulders against the sturdy iron fencing, an old Victorian remnant that's both taller than them and completely impenetrable. A tug at their joined hands has Cody leaning towards Obi-Wan, a scant breath of space separating him. Like this, Obi-Wan seems taller than usual, looking at him with so much fondness it aches. "Why not?" he repeats, when Cody stays silent.

"It's illegal," Cody settles on, which is at least part of the truth. He doesn't say, "I've only made it this far by obeying every letter of the law and this goes against years of ingrained thought", or "I don't know what they'd do to me if I got caught, and that terrifies me". He thinks them, though, breath coming short in his throat.

"It is," Obi-Wan agrees, brushing their noses together. "It'll be fun. And tomorrow we'll be doing something else that's very illegal, so we should get some practice in beforehand, don't you think?"

Obi-Wan is terrible, terribly convincing, absolutely awful. Cody doesn't know why he likes him. "Has anyone ever told you you're very persuasive?" Cody asks as Obi-Wan trails his fingers up the side of Cody's face and traces behind his ear. He doesn't succeed at repressing a shiver, head tilting into the touch. Obi-Wan's playing dirty, and Cody can't even find it in himself to be mad about it.

Obi-Wan's nose crinkles with amusement. "It's been said once or twice, yes," he reveals, which, if Cody's recollection of Obi-Wan's skill at understatement is correct, probably means he was nicknamed something absurd like 'The Negotiator' back in Ireland. "Does that mean you'll accompany me?"

"I can hardly let you go alone," Cody tells him, more sure than he feels. "Something might happen to you." His palms are sweating something fierce, and he can feel his heart beating rapid-fire in his throat. There's a vague sense of nausea, which he can't even ascribe to the alcohol — he's not drunk nearly enough to feel sick. Nor anywhere near enough to deal with a playful Obi-Wan, apparently.

Obi-Wan laughs, his breath warm against Cody's face. "Indeed, you'll have to come and keep me safe. What an excellent point. Shall we, my dear?"

What else can Cody do but follow?

Obi-Wan, as it turns out, is very good at breaking locks. He has a piece of metal tucked away in his wallet, behind some old loyalty cards, which he pulls out and slips into the padlock holding the gate to the wharf closed. It only takes him a few moments of fiddling, under a minute, before he makes a triumphant sound as the lock simply springs open. "How did you do that?" Cody asks, both shocked and impressed. He still feels vaguely ill, and hopes he'll be able to calm down a bit once they're off the street and out of the light of the street lamps.

Slipping through the cracked gates like a ferret down a rabbit hole, Obi-Wan tells him, "I just bypassed the lock, nothing too fancy. It's an old trick I learned in my misspent youth — comes in handy at the strangest of times."

"Who'd you learn it from?" Cody follows Obi-Wan through the gate, letting him close it behind them. Once inside, Obi-Wan tucks the device away and once again takes Cody's hand. Cody can feel the warmth of his body against his side, a comforting companion to the chilled sea air.

"From my father, of course," Obi-Wan informs him in a whisper. Cody probably could have guessed that if he'd thought about it for more than five seconds — of course the IRA anarchist also knew how to pick locks. "Then I taught all the other children and we were unstoppable together. Which building did you say was full of fruit? I could use a late night snack."

"The far one," Cody whispers back. "Nearest the water." Obi-Wan bobs his head in a little bow of thanks, and then they're heading off towards the shed. The building isn't even locked, so all they have to do is open the door and then they're inside. It's, well, pretty empty if Cody's being honest. Also fucking freezing, as if there's a surplus of electricity right now, which there sure as shit isn't, and it's reasonable to chill an entire warehouse to cool… a single pallet of boxes jammed into one corner. He's not sure how the place looked before things started going to hell, but he thinks it's a pretty safe bet that there was more than a single pallet of goods in here.

He lurks by the open door, unable to make himself go any further into the building, while Obi-Wan sneaks off, poking into corners and peeking behind support beams. He's got the air of a kid in a lolly shop, and his excitement is almost enough to rub off on Cody through all his anxiety, even if it doesn't manage to make the sensation vanish wholesale. Eventually, Obi-Wan makes his way to the pallet of boxes in the far corner, reading the label on it and laughing loud enough that Cody jumps at the sudden volume. With a little rummaging, he emerges with a bunch of slightly under-ripe bananas, heading back over to Cody victorious.

"The boxes were labelled for the PM's residence," he confides as Cody eases the door closed with a quiet click. "I couldn't not nick something."

Cody has to suppress his own bout of mildly hysterical laughter at that declaration. They really are going for the most crime possible in one night, huh. He's not sure if stealing from the PM in particular is a crime, but he'd bet the asshole would do his best to make it one if he could. "If there's anyone it's right to steal from, it's probably him," Cody agrees, heart pounding away in his chest. He doesn't understand how Obi-Wan is so blasé about all of this, from the meeting at the Rialto, to the circumstances surrounding their boat, to stealing from the PM, all of it. Cody feels like he's lost control of his life, but Obi-Wan just seems to be swanning along.

He works up the courage to ask, once they're sitting at the far lip of the wharf, legs dangling above the night-black water. "How do you stay so calm, with all of this?" he gestures with his half-eaten banana back towards the wharf, then out towards the sea. "You know, the boat, the government, everything." He bites off “I feel like I’m drowning” before the words can come out, shoving them deep down in his chest.

Obi-Wan takes a bite of his own banana, chewing thoughtfully as he thinks the question through. “Practise, I think,” he eventually tells Cody, looking over despite both of them being half blind in the dark, the moon a dim, wobbly oblong in the sky. “Practise and also I suspect that I’m less calm than you may believe. Something like what we’re doing right now, well, it isn’t the first time I’ve done it, and I’ve even been charged with breaking and entering before, so I know what to expect there too. That takes away a great deal of the fear and leaves the joy behind.”

He stops to take another bite, hair whipping around his face as a gust of wind comes in from the water. Somewhere, in the dark beyond them, seagulls sleepily caw. The rest of the world sounds so far away, the two of them sitting in some sort of liminal space where they’re the only two people in the universe. Their ankles knock together where Obi-Wan’s swinging his legs, and Cody starts.

Leaning back on his elbows, Obi-Wan stares up at the sky as he starts talking again. “With the boat, of course, nothing we’ve done thus far has been illegal, and with Mace, well. He and I have been catching up for some time now. The Rialto is perfect, because Jocasta won’t let the police in, and nobody expects there to be actual treason happening there, so they don’t even look for it.” Cody can see the edge of Obi-Wan’s smile, caught in the light of the moon, and the curve of his lips is achingly sad. His next sentence only twists the knife in Cody’s chest. “I’ve known for years that my time here could be cut short by the whims of those in charge, and though I’ve been furious about that knowledge in the past, fury can only power one on for so long. In the end, I had to accept reality and let that fury go.” With a huff, Obi-Wan adds, “I’m not sure that answers your question, though.”

Cody chucks his banana peel on the concrete next to him, leaning back on his elbows as well, matching Obi-Wan’s position. “It does, I think. And what Mace told us tonight? How does that…” He isn’t quite sure how to end that sentence, but as it turns out he doesn’t need to.

“Well that terrifies me, of course. Having so much riding on our decisions, I don’t think there’s any way to make that less frightening. My heart’s been beating double-time since we were told, just like yours.”

Cody can feel himself flushing, embarrassment and pleasure tangled together in his chest. He hadn’t said anything, but somehow Obi-Wan had known anyway, had been paying enough attention to Cody that he’d noticed. “That obvious?” he asks, only a little strangled.

With a long exhale, Obi-Wan flops even further back until he’s flat against the concrete. His hand sneaks out until he’s caught Cody’s wrist in his grasp — he feels startlingly hot, every finger a line of heat against Cody’s skin. “Call it an educated guess. That’s why I suggested we come in here, when you mentioned it, you know. I thought it would be a good distraction for us both.”

Cody turns to look at him, incredulous. A distraction? What? But then he thinks back and realises that, actually, he hasn’t been thinking about the tidal wave or the looming terror of what they’re about to do since Obi-Wan suggested the idea. He’s been too busy thinking about the here and now.

He makes a noise that’s pure offence, and Obi-Wan laughs, his hand moving down from Cody’s wrist to tangle their fingers together. They lay like that for a while longer, staring up at the sky and talking quietly about other times in their lives they’ve been in this sort of situation, waiting for something momentous to happen without the ability to do anything — for Obi-Wan, waiting for his father to come back from his engagements with the IRA even though he didn’t know just how dangerous that truly was at the time, and for Cody, pacing around the house while his brothers were at the Fiscal Envelope protests, not knowing whether they were fine, or hurt, or arrested, or worse. It doesn’t get easier, they agree. But it’s better to be in this situation with someone else — easier now that they’re not alone.

Eventually, the concrete’s cold seeps through their jackets, and they decide it’s probably time to make their way back to the office. Cody knows he won’t be able to sleep, doesn’t even bother to consider going home. He doesn’t want to be alone, right now.

Obi-Wan must feel the same, because they wind up curled together on the office sofa, an old, sagging thing mostly used for afternoon naps. They talk about what they’re going to do once the morning comes, just a little, just enough to soothe the uncertainty raging in Cody’s chest — they’ll call their colleagues, get them to come in right away, then decide what to do together. Just like all those months ago, when they decided on the boat, this is a decision that needs to be made as a team.

After that, Cody works up the courage to run his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, methodically working out all the tangled knots brought upon by the evening’s adventures. Obi-Wan all but melts into the sensation, sprawling himself across Cody’s lap like a contented cat and unabashedly pressing his head into Cody’s hands. The process, the touch. it’s almost meditative, and Cody drifts for a while, continuing to pat Obi-Wan even after every knot has been teased out and the strands lay flat under his palms.

Eventually, Obi-Wan turns himself over, capturing Cody’s hands in his own and bringing them to his mouth to place a gentle kiss against Cody’s knuckles. “Thank you, darling,” he murmurs, soft and sweet as honey. Cody’s body, torn between everpresent anxiety and intense attraction, settles on poorly timed arousal. He feels a bit like a teenager again, which was bad enough the first time and doesn’t suck any less right now.

“No problem,” he croaks out, trying to work out if he should make a break for the bathroom or just will his problem away. Obi-Wan makes his decision for him, settling more comfortably with his head on Cody’s thighs, knees thrown over the arm of the sofa and Cody’s hands tangled up in his, resting over his chest. He closes his eyes, looking so peaceful — Cody can’t bear to move him.

Cody rests his head against the top of the sofa back, resigning himself to a cricked neck in the morning, and closes his eyes as well. He can’t say that he sleeps, not really, but he floats somewhere between conscious and not, rousing every time Obi-Wan shifts on his lap. Some indeterminable time later, Obi-Wan yawns, releasing Cody’s hands as he levers himself to standing, stretching in a way that reveals a sliver of skin above his hips — Cody has to look away, before his earlier problem makes itself known again.

A quick glance at his watch tells him that it’s almost four in the morning. There’s still a few hours until the sun’s set to rise, and after a glass of water and trip to the loo, Cody starts pacing, trying to drown his renewed panic under the steady beat of his footsteps, the count of fourteen steps from one side of the breakroom to the other. Obi-Wan shoves a mug of tea into his hands, which he drinks without tasting it, then winds up herding Cody back to the sofa with his body, trapping him in a tight hug when he tries to get back up.

“You’re going to give me vertigo, darling, pacing like that, and I’m worried you’ll hurt yourself. Please, let me hold you for a while?”

Cody fidgets, but relents, and they sit together in silence, pressed tight, as the morning ticks on around them.

By the time the sun starts to inch its way above water, they’re reaching for the office phone and calling their coworkers one after the other, telling them to come in, right away, no time to waste — it’s an emergency. They have to come now. An hour later they’re all seated in the break room, bleary eyed and still sleep-mussed, trying to blink themselves awake.

Cody and Obi-Wan, on the other hand, are both visibly jittering in place, running on ten minute naps and caffeine. Cody’s thankful his darker skin hides the worst of the dark bags under his eyes, but Obi-Wan almost looks like he’s been punched in the face. The way he’s compulsively gnawing at his lip until it bleeds isn’t helping the impression that he’s been in a fight.

“Alright, so what’s going on?” Luminara asks once Kit, the last of them to arrive, has dropped heavily in a chair. “What’s so urgent?” Her headscarf is slightly askew, more of her forehead showing than usual, and she has to stifle a yawn behind her palm after she speaks.

Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance, with Obi-Wan nodding towards him to indicate he should be the one to speak. Probably for the best — it looks like a stiff breeze would knock the man over right now, let alone the inevitable deluge of questions.

“So,” he starts, taking a breath to steel himself for what he’s about to say. “There’s a tidal wave coming towards Auckland right now, and it sounds like it’s gonna be a pretty big one. And the fucker in charge has decided it’s in his best interest to say nothing and let people die.”

Okay so perhaps that wasn’t the most diplomatic way to phrase things. But sue him, he’s been awake for more than twenty four hours now and he’s tired, and pissed, and terrified. Obi-Wan snorts, pressing his palms to his eyes as he leans back against the wall and finally gives in to gravity, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor.

As expected, the questions come thick and fast, overlapping each other so he has no chance of answering any of them. “Yeah, no, one at a time, guys, I only have one mouth. Round the table, go.”

Quinlan’s to his left so gets to go first, and predictably his question is, “Is this what you were doing while I was out last night?” Obi-Wan, hands still pressed to his eyes, lands a perfect kick with surprising force against the leg of Quinlan’s chair, shoving the man sharply against the edge of the table. “Ow! Obi, c’mon! Okay, okay, who gave you this information if it’s being suppressed?”

Solid question, even if it had to be prompted. Cody looks over to Obi-Wan again, who takes one hand off his eye to wave his hand in the vague direction of the table, even as he nods again. Free reign it is. “A man named Mace Windu, who works for the Ministry of Civil Defence and Emergency Management. We met with him last night, where he passed on the information to us and told us it was being suppressed within the department.”

“Do you have this information with you?” That’s Kit, looking expectantly at Cody. “Mace has never been anything but meticulous.” The rest of the room turns to look at Kit, Obi-Wan included, who looks perhaps even more baffled than Cody feels despite telling Cody that Kit usually came to the Rialto meetings with him. Though he supposed if they were mostly exchanging gossip, rather than life saving knowledge, the meetings would be somewhat different, in tone if nothing else.

“We go diving together,” Kit clarifies. “He’s always meticulous with his gear, the most meticulous man I know about ensuring everything is as it should be, there’s no way that doesn’t flow over to his work life. I may not know his work, but I know his character. He’s honourable, and diligent. I’m still intrigued as to how you know him by the way.” At this he looks at Cody, then at Obi-Wan with a meaningful expression on his face.

Cody gestures to Obi-Wan, who mumbles something under his breath before adding, louder, “Long story, ask me later.” Kit acquiesces with a snort and a grin, taking the folder of documents and perusing them with a face that becomes more grave with each page he reads.

Eventually he takes a deep, deep breath, and lets it out slowly. With a heavy swallow, he closes the folder and pushes it back across the table to Cody, before turning to Obi-Wan and asking him something too low for Cody to hear. Obi-Wan takes his palms from his eyes and laces his fingers together in front of him, twisting them back and forth as he answers, equally quiet. They talk back and forth for a couple of minutes, before Kit finally nods and turns back to the table, face set. With that, he passes the torch to Luminara.

“So we’re reporting it,” she says, blunt and unambiguous.

It’s not a question, but Cody answers her regardless, “That’s what we’re all here to decide. What we’re going to do with this information. It wouldn’t be right to leave anyone out.” His thighs ache with fatigue, and his shoulders feel tight and sore. He’s tired. He’s so tired. But this is something they have to do, a decision they have to all make together. More than just the question of the tidal wave itself, they’re deciding on something much broader — do they toe the government’s line, or strike out on their own? They have their boat, the one that he and Obi-Wan have spent so long working on — do they use it? Are they ready to make this final jump, and openly defy the people trying to silence them?

“If the government had tried to hush this up in the sixties,” Luminara asks him, gaze steady and knowing. “What would Pirate Hauraki have done?”

“They’d have reported it.” He doesn’t even need to pause to think, the answer is obvious. If people needed to know these things, they’d have told them. That’s what Hauraki did. It’s what it was made to do.

Luminara doesn’t hesitate in her response, either. “Then we report it.”

There’s a few more questions from other people, but with Luminara and Kit onside, the matter is all but settled, and they swiftly move on to the logistics. It’s all well and good to stick to one’s morals, Luminara tells them as she takes control of the meeting, but that means little without the actions to back it up. So let’s act.

This broadcast is being played on a continuous loop.

It is presently October 5th, 1998.

A tidal wave warning is in effect, and low-lying parts of coastal towns and villages along the East Coast of New Zealand including Auckland, Whangārei, Mercury Bay, Whangamatā, Bay of Plenty, Whakatane, and Napier need to evacuate immediately.

People are strongly advised to go to higher ground, at least ten metres above sea level, or if possible move at least one kilometre away from all beaches and the water's edge of harbours and coastal estuaries. Take only essential items that you can carry including important papers, family photographs and medical necessities.

If you cannot leave the area take shelter in the upper storey of a sturdy brick or concrete multi-storey building. Please, check that your neighbours have received this advice.

Take care. Stay safe.

This has been Kit Fisto reporting from Radio Hauraki: Home of the Good Guys.

They wait until they're three miles out on the boat before they start broadcasting, just to be safe. Every mile feels like it takes an age as the boat chugs its way from the mooring and towards their permanent buoy, Cody, Obi-Wan, and Kit aboard. Luminara and Quinlan had stayed in the office — Luminara listening in, waiting to hear the same interference that she heard during their tests. As soon as she'd heard it, she'd tell Quinlan, who’d turn off the broadcast from the office, then jam the machinery so that the office broadcast couldn’t be turned back on once the authorities realised what they were doing.

Once that was done, both of them were then leaving work immediately, going to get their families away from the water.

Cody had debated staying behind as well, to make sure he could get his brothers out, but if something went wrong on the boat he was the one who’d wired it. He needed to be there, to make sure that if something went wrong it was fixable. Otherwise they’d just be dead air.

So, with the office’s blessing, he and Kit call their families — Kit his sister, and Cody, Fox. If anyone could get the entire family away from the water before the wave could come in, it'd be Fox. He'd curse Cody black and blue, but he'd get it done.

As anticipated, Fox had cursed him out on the phone with not-insignificant creativity when Cody told him what was happening, but immediately agreed to make sure everyone got to safety while Cody went and did, in his words, “Stupid shit, were you dropped on your head as a kid, bro? How many times, because it has to be more than once.” Obi-Wan had taken the receiver from him at that stage, talking to Fox in low soothing tones for several minutes before thanking him, and wishing him luck, and hanging up. Cody doesn't have the words in him to thank Obi-Wan verbally, but the gentle way Obi-Wan bumps their foreheads together tells him the message was received regardless.

After that, Cody can barely remember the drive out, despite being the one driving them to the mooring. Everything had felt surreal, dreamlike, so normal around him when everything should have been falling apart. He definitely doesn’t remember throwing the keys to the boat at Kit — perhaps it had been Obi-Wan who’d done that? It didn’t matter. Either way, Kit was directing the boat from the wheelhouse and had been given a crash course in the broadcasting equipment, and had in no uncertain terms told them to go into one of the cabins and rest. He’d wake them if he needed any more help.

And so they wait. And wait. And wait.

After all the flurry of action and stress, and with their complete lack of sleep the prior evening hanging over them, it doesn’t take long for both of them to collapse fully clothed in a heap of limbs and leather in one of the cabins. With the sea rocking them like babes, it doesn't take long for them to conk out, completely dead to the world. Not even the afternoon sun shining in through the porthole is enough to make them stir.

When Cody finally wakes, untangling himself from the sluggish pile of limbs before stumbling outside, the sun is starting to set, pinks and oranges smearing across the long clouds that line the sky. Kit’s standing on the deck, staring out over the water pensively. “Anything?” Cody asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He sounds like he’s gargled rocks, throat dry as sand. He also feels like he’s gone three rounds with a concrete wall. For all he desperately needed that sleep, it sure hasn’t been kind to him.

“Nothing yet.” Kit looks back at Cody, while he tries to suppress another yawn, and smiles. “Comfy in that?” he asks, gesturing.

“Huh?” Cody looks down, only to discover that he’s managed to pull Obi-Wan’s jacket on, instead of his own. He feels a dull rush of embarrassment, but mostly he’s still too tired to feel anything much at all. He can freak out about it later, he decides. He doesn't have the energy now. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

Kit laughs, warm as the last rays of the sun. “Go get something to eat and drink, you sound like you need it. I’ll let you know when things change.” If things change, he doesn’t say. Food sounds like a good idea — he hasn't eaten since Mrs Yaddle's yesterday. Unsurprisingly, he's famished.

Cody trudges to the kitchen, where he eats baked beans straight from the tin and guzzles down two cups of water before he starts to feel vaguely more human again. Obi-Wan stumbles into the kitchen then, hair tangled into a bird’s nest atop his head and gaze blearier than anything Cody’s ever seen. He’s wearing Cody’s jacket. The jacket, which fits Cody perfectly, ends above his hips, somehow making him look even taller than he already is.

With a grunt in lieu of words, Cody shoves an unopened tin of baked beans at Obi-Wan, followed by his freshly-refilled mug of water. Obi-Wan throws the water back in one gulp, gasping for breath after he finishes his rapid swallowing before asking, “Anything?” Cody shakes his head, resisting the urge to shove his hands in Obi-Wan’s jacket pockets. He’s trying very, very hard not to worry about what will happen if they’ve made a mistake, and there’s no tidal wave coming at all. He’s not succeeding all too well.

Once Obi-Wan has eaten a tin of beans as well, they both walk together back to the deck. Kit’s still standing by the gunwale, though he’s now smoking a cigarette. The cherry is bright against the falling evening, spilling pale ashes against the yellow paint. Cody can smell the bad decision from over here, but it doesn’t stop him from going over to Kit to bum one.

He rejoins Obi-Wan at the bow of the boat, starting to fish in his pockets for his lighter before he remembers once again that this is Obi-Wan’s jacket and not his own. “Can I?” he says, then. “C’mere.” Obi-Wan dutifully steps closer and lets Cody rummage around on him, smile on his lips. “What?” Cody asks, looking up as he flicks his Zippo open and spins the sparker

“Nothing.” Obi-Wan’s eyes follow the flame as Cody lights the cigarette and takes a pull, letting the old, familiar process calm him. He tucks the lighter away, ducking his head for just a moment to deal with the unfamiliar pockets, and then the cigarette’s gone from his mouth.

He looks up sharply, opening his mouth to protest, only to close it again with a click at the sight of Obi-Wan’s lips wrapped around the filter, taking a drag of the cigarette. His brief fantasy from all those weeks ago comes back with a rush, and he swallows heavily with the knowledge that this is actually happening. Buoyed by the uncertainty of everything, but sure that he can hardly make circumstances worse right now, he reaches out, running his thumb along the curve of Obi-Wan’s lower lip until he bumps against the filter. “The curves of your lips rewrite history,” he quotes, quiet and low, before plucking the cigarette from that unresisting mouth.

“And here I thought you’d only paid attention to the music of the film,” Obi-Wan murmurs back. Cody laces their fingers together on the gunwale, letting the chill of the metal seep into his palm. Then he blows his mouthful of smoke out of the side of his mouth, right at Obi-Wan who sputters a moment before laughing. "Yes, yes, message received, you pay very good attention to all you put your mind to."

Cody hands him the cigarette, a blatant reward, and they share a grin.

By now, night is falling faster, the sky darkening with the sea until it resembles nothing more than black velvet studded through with stars. They can see the smear of light that makes up Auckland in the distance, unobstructed by the low rolling waves — and trailing from it like ribbons, streams of vehicles, headed up the mountains. Away from the shore. Towards safety.

"Do you think we—" Cody cuts himself off, unsure how to even finish that sentence. “Do you think we did the right thing?” sounds trite, “do you think we got everyone out?” is a question with no answer all the way out here. “Do you think we were wrong?” is too terrifying for him to say. He can barely stand to think about it.

Obi-Wan squeezes his hand, finishing the cigarette down to the filter before flicking the butt overboard. "Mace said it could take up to thirty six hours. There's still time." He had said that, yes. But he'd also said he thought it'd be closer to twenty four hours, and that's come and gone with absolutely nothing. "Worrying doesn't help matters," Obi-Wan adds, as if sensing Cody's thoughts.

"I know that," he tries not to snap, wincing when he fails and the words come out accusatory. "Sorry, I just—"

"I know. I'm worried too."

Somehow, knowing that Obi-Wan is also fretting calms him more than anything else has thus far, and he deflates, leaning his head heavily on Obi-Wan's shoulder, pressing them together from shoulder to hip. They stand there as the sun finishes the last minutes of its descent, and night blankets them in a chill that seeps under their leather. Only the warmth of Obi-Wan's hand on his keeps Cody from losing sensation in his fingertips. Still they wait, hoping and dreading in equal measure.

Cody doesn't know how long it's been when the wave finally comes. They hadn't felt anything as it'd moved underneath them, hadn't seen or felt any sign. But it must have, must have passed them by unnoticed, because suddenly, all at once, the light of Auckland vanishes from their view.

"Holy shit," Cody breathes, choking on air. The ribbons of light are still there, high up in the mountains, but the bright smudge of Auckland at night is gone. Completely and utterly. If he hadn't been staring towards it for the last who knows how long, he'd have thought there was never anything there at all. His head spins, ears ringing. It’s gone. It’s all gone. The buildings, and people, and— everything. It’s gone forever, swallowed up by the sea.

Obi-Wan clears his throat, asking over his shoulder, "Kit, have you?"

"I saw." Kit's voice comes from close behind them, followed by him dropping a hand on each of their shoulders. "Good job, the both of you. Without your work this would have been… very different." Cody's ears are ringing louder now. He can barely hear Kit add, "I feel I should offer you a chocolate fish for a job well done, but—" before being cut off by Obi-Wan laughing.

"No, no, keep your stash, we all know how much you love them. Cody? Cody are you alright? Cody?"

He snaps back at the sound of his own voice, tongue wetting his suddenly dry lips. "W-what?" he asks. "Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan presses a hand to his forehead, before muttering, "Ah, you're going into shock, I think. Your lips are grey. Let's get you inside, okay?"

Cody nods, and Obi-Wan half carries him back to the cabin they'd slept in earlier, softly murmuring to him as they go. Cody refuses to lay down without him, terrified that if he lets go, Obi-Wan will vanish into the sea, just like his city. "What if people didn't listen," he whispers into Obi-Wan's chest. "What if they stayed and got swallowed up."

"We can't make people's decisions for them," Obi-Wan tells him, carding his fingers through Cody's short hair. "Only give them the tools so they can make an informed decision for themselves. Sleep, darling. You'll feel better in the morning."

Chapter Text

Cody passes the last box on the motorboat up to Obi-Wan on the Kapuni II with a relieved sigh. “Don’t drop that one, no matter what,” he warns. “Crys will murder everyone on the ship and then some. We all pooled our sugar rations for him to make it.”

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asks, peering under the lid. “A marshmallow of some sort?”

Cody snorts. “A pav. Pavlova. It’s dessert for today, just don’t touch it. Put it in the galley somewhere safe, you haven’t seen wrath like Crys’ when his baking is threatened.”

Obi-Wan passes the box along to Kit, along with Cody’s dire warnings. “A pav!” he exclaims, sounding delighted. “I’ll take extra special care of it then.”

With their dessert safe, and nothing left on the boat to unpack, he turns back, leaning over the side with his arm outstretched to help pull Cody the distance between the two ships. “Coming up to join us?” he asks, grin wide and eyes sparkling like the clear sea below them.

“Just one more thing,” Cody smiles back at him, just a little cheeky. “I’ve got a Christmas gift for you.”

As he expected, Obi-Wan starts to protest immediately. “Cody, you really didn’t need to— oh!”

At their agreed upon cue, a man steps out steps out of the bowels of the motorboat, grinning broadly at both Cody and Obi-Wan. Dark curly hair gleams in the sun, cropped short above a light poncho and plain cotton pants. His prominent nose is somehow already sunburned. He inclines his head, as Cody explains, “This is Plo.”

Neither of them had ever actually met the man before today, but Cody had kept up intermittent phone calls with him, and while stuck on the Kapuni II Obi-Wan had started writing the man letters, and his Plo’s letters in return delivered each fortnight along with the food and water deliveries. They’d become fast friends, the three of them, and Cody could think of no better gift for Obi-Wan than to be able to see the man in person.

“Happy Solstice, Obi-Wan,” Plo says, beaming. “I’m honoured to be your gift this year.”

Obi-Wan visibly softens. “Well with a greeting like that I can’t argue, now can I.”

Smile all but splitting his face, Obi-Wan helps them both up onto the deck, which is a scene of organised chaos. Cody’s brothers are setting up the camp chairs and the barbie, while Kit and Luminara try to hang garlands of hand-cut paper snowflakes along the wall under the wheelhouse. Quinlan is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s probably getting everything settled in the fridge so it doesn’t spoil before lunch.

“Did you make the snowflakes?” Cody asks, skirting the edge of the chaos to try and get a better look at them. They’re very pretty, and each one of them is unique. He’s not even sure how many there are, but there’s more than enough to be strung along the entire width of the ship. That’s a lot of snowflakes to have cut out.

“I have been incredibly bored, Cody dear,” Obi-Wan tells him, voice dry. “There’s only so much one can do on a boat.”

Cody sidles back over to him, slinging an arm around the man’s waist. He’s missed Obi-Wan something fierce while he’s been on shore. “You could work on your tan,” he suggests, resting his head against a bony shoulder. “You’re still as pale as a ghost.”

“You know full well I just burn, darling. That sounds like a recipe for disaster.” Obi-Wan slides his arm around Cody’s waist in turn, then viciously tickles his side. “And if I burn to a crisp, how will you get to spend time with me, hm?” he asks a wriggling Cody, who’s ineffectually trying to squirm away from the tickling fingers.

“Hey lovebirds,” Quinlan calls from the entrance to the living quarters of the boat. “I need Cody to come here so he can start lunch prep, Crys’ orders, you can canoodle later.”

“Quinlan, how could you!” Obi-Wan yells, stopping his tickling in order to use both arms to dramatically hold Cody close to his chest. Cody has to stifle a laugh into his shirt. “I need my canoodling time or I may die of neglect!”

Quinlan doesn’t bother to stifle his laugh in turn, still snickering as he replies, “You’ll die of being thrown overboard if you deny everyone lunch, bro, I’m already starving and I still have to wait like an hour. C’mon, don’t starve me.”

With a sigh, Cody flops his head back onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder, trusting the other man to hold his weight. “He’s right unfortunately,” he murmurs. “I do need to start prepping now if I’m going to get everything done in time. Why don’t you go talk to Plo, I brought some more fresh mint with me, you can have tea and chat. We have the whole day, and once I’ve finished lunch I’m free as a bird.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darling.” Obi-Wan twists his head to give Cody a kiss on the cheek, then another on the tip of his nose. “Good luck with your cooking.”

Things come together with a frightening smoothness that has Cody rapping against wood for luck, though he has always tended towards simplicity when it came to feeding a crowd. The lamb was put in its marinade to rest before the barbie got fired up, the potatoes were parboiled and set aside, the seafood washed and picked over to remove any bad shellfish from the lot. The ham had been cooked the day before because Cody had no idea if there even was an oven on the ship and besides cold ham was better anyways in the ever-present summer heat — he'd glazed it with pineapple and clove, and it sits majestic on one of the counters out of the way.

They'd brought a slab of beer with them on the motorboat, and Cody alternates between sipping at one and judiciously pouring it into whatever he's cooking at the time. All it'll do is improve the flavour. It starts out cool enough in the galley, but by the time it gets close to midday Cody is starting to sweat through his shirt and is doubly sad he doesn't have to contend with an oven on top of everything else.

"Alright, I'm done," he tells Crys who's in this overwarm purgatory along with him. "I'll head out and make sure Waxer and Boil don't accidentally set the boat on fire trying to start the barbie."

Crys snorts, waving him off with a hand from where he's making a truly frightening salad. "Have fun, don't get eaten by sharks."

Cody groans. "Fuck you bro, now I need a swim." Actually, that's not a bad idea. He's already in his boardies and jandals, he'd just need to pull his shirt off and dive off the side. Maybe he could get away with a quick dip before he goes to watch over the fire starting.

With a stretch that has his back popping in four separate places, he heads back through the corridors of the ship and out into the sun. And is immediately hit in the face by someone's shirt. Someone's dirty shirt, at that.

He sputters, flailing around as the rest of the boat's occupants laugh and heckle. Whoever threw it sure has good aim, he can give them that much, but he's also hot and his feet are sure and he's not feeling the most charitable right now. "Oh no! Blinded!" he yells, before sidling along the wall to the edge of the boat, slipping off his jandals, and throwing himself off the side.

The water is wonderfully cool against his skin as he cannonballs down, and the force of his entry pulls the shirt off his head, which is probably for the best — he hadn't considered how unpleasant accidentally waterboarding himself would be. He comes back up for air to the sound Quinlan bemoaning his poor lost shirt while leaning over the side of the boat. "Shouldn't have chucked it at me, bro!" he yells back, reaching around in the water until he grabs the sodden fabric, which had just been starting to sink. "Your lucky day though." With that, he hurls the shirt back up the boat, accidentally hitting Quinlan in the face with it, just like how he'd nailed Cody earlier.

There's a roar of laughter from the boat again, then two more splashes into the water as Rex and Kit join him in the water. "Can't let you have all the fun down here," Kit tells him when he comes up, before diving back under the surface like a seal, moving smoothly through the water. Rex starfishes, staring up at the perfect blue sky before closing his eyes.

This is followed rapidly by a yelp as Kit, shark-like, swims under him and pinches his back, diving deeper to escape the flailing limbs he's produced. "It's too early to sleep," is his perfectly innocent excuse when he comes up for air again. "And it's dangerous to fall asleep in open water." He looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, and Cody suddenly understands how he and Quinlan managed to keep the government off their backs for so long throughout the year. It's honestly a little terrifying.

Now that the metaphorical cork's been popped, the others start to join them in the water as well. First Waxer and Boil, then Quinlan sans shirt, followed swiftly by Crys who cannonballs in with gleeful abandon yelling, "Freedom!" and almost braining Rex with his landing. Finally, they're joined by Plo, who's produced board shorts from somewhere magical because Cody would definitely have remembered if he was wearing them before, who performs the neatest and smoothest dive Cody has ever seen off the side of the boat and into the water.

After a while, Obi-Wan pokes his head over the gunwale, indulgent smile on his face. "I'll light the coals now, shall I?" he asks down to the mass of splashing people below. "It's almost midday, and I can't have Cody being murdered by a hungry Quinlan. Don't worry, Luminara can oversee me, help ensure I don't set myself aflame."

"Setting yourself on fire is definitely prohibited today, Obi," Quinlan yells back up, simultaneously trying to push Boil under the waves for telling a terrible physics joke — something about a spherical cow?

"So is drowning my guests," Obi-Wan shoots back with a mock stern look and a waggled finger. "I'll see you all back on deck in half an hour, if you're not back up I'll have Luminara come over and yell at you."

With that final threat, he vanishes back onto the boat. Cody doesn't wait too long to climb back aboard himself, half out of desire to see more of Obi-Wan, and half because he really doesn't want Luminara to yell in his direction. She's the eldest of like four kids, she can corral a crowd without breaking a sweat using her voice alone.

Above deck, he shakes himself free of the worst of the water, then pads over to where Obi-Wan and Luminara are laughing by the barbie, occasionally poking at it with a stick. He pops his head over, attempting to sling an arm around Obi-Wan's waist but being blocked by the man himself slipping out of the way like a greased eel. "Nope, no salt for me, I have quite enough of that already. Go shower, you can use my room if you like."

"It's got your names on the door," Luminara tells Cody, winking.

Cody is only going red because he's sunburned, he tells himself. He's been out in the sun for hours, it's normal to be a bit pink. Unfortunately, he can't quite make himself believe it this time, and so power walks away instead.

He feels marginally less flushed after a quick shower — they always need to be aware of water usage on the boat, especially with so many more people than usual here right now. Cleaned and dried, hair curling damp around his temples, he pulls on one of Obi-Wan's shirts before detouring by the kitchen to grab the lamb. It'll be the first thing on the barbie, and it's well and truly marinated by now.

Obi-Wan welcomes him with a proper hug this time, letting Cody politely peck him on the mouth. "First of the food for sacrifice to the flames?" he asks, eyeing up the bowl in Cody's hands. "What is it?"

Cody's all too happy to explain.

"Lamb shoulder," he tells Obi-Wan, tilting the bowl towards him so he could see it better. "Boned and marinated in a mix of oil, anchovies, and herbs."

Obi-Wan blinks at it for a moment, before licking his lips. Cody hadn't forgotten that lamb is his favourite, and while lamb is traditional for their family he's put extra effort into making it sublime this year.

"I've never had lamb for Christmas before. Is it the main dish?" Obi-Wan asks after a moment.

Cody hums, putting the bowl of lamb down to fuse over the placement of the coals in the belly of the barbie. It's almost ready to go, and Cody's read to eat. "Well, there's a ham as well, and we managed to get some super fresh seafood from the whānau so we'll have that done on the barbie too," Cody explains, deciding that things are good enough and the lamb is ready to go on. He grabs the tongs and uses both pairs to lay the lamb shoulder fat side down over the grille, listening for the hissing that tells him the fat's searing nicely. Perfect. Ten minutes and he'll flip it over to cook the other side.

"Other than that…" he trails off a minute as he tries to work out where to put the tongs, settling on plonking them over the marinating bowl. "There's the lamb of course, and a couple of salads — a green one like the ones I've made for you before, and Crys' potato salad. Then for dessert there's the pav, and a bunch of fresh fruit we picked up here and there."

Obi-Wan looks surprised, but pleased about it. "Definitely not a traditional Christmas meal. I look forward to trying it." He keeps looking down at Cody's chest, covered in his shirt, and Cody has to resist the urge to flex. Obi-Wan is taller, but his shirts are one size smaller so it clings to Cody like it's been painted on. Cody hadn't picked the shirt to wear with the intention of being a distraction, a clear oversight on his part he can see now, and it's a very pleasant side effect.

He can't go past the opportunity to gently rib Obi-Wan though. "Not a traditional Christmas meal for you, maybe. We've been eating something like this every year since we were kids. I can't imagine eating a hot meal and hot dessert when it's thirty degrees out, we'd all die of heatstroke."

Obi-Wan laughs. "Very true. I love Christmas pudding, but the idea of eating one now is horrifying. I might sink to the bottom of the ocean."

"Least it'd be cool down there," Cody shoots back. "We're going tramping with the whānau tomorrow and it's meant to be thirty five, we're all gonna die."

"I got most of that sentence, but tramping?"

Cody mock sighs. "You're lucky you've got a pretty face, my weak foreign import."

He deserves the attack that Obi-Wan and Luminara launch upon him for that one. He doesn't regret it though. At least not until the lamb nearly burns.

Luminara does eventually go to call people up for lunch, which has been cooked and set up on a series of small tables set against the wall in the shade. Obi-Wan is put in charge of handing everybody one of their stack of mismatched plates and a handful of cutlery before they go and pick what they want from the lineup. Cody keeps a fresh stream of in-shell prawns and cockles coming, which generally go straight on people’s plates rather than onto the serving plate reserved for them.

They serve themselves last, along with Rex who’s reluctantly dragged himself from the water at the last possible moment and is still dripping salt. Cody asks Obi-Wan to put a bit of everything on his plate, while he cooks the last of the seafood for the two of them. He’s made sure to keep some of the big cockles back for them — perks of being the chef. The other perk, of course, being the steady stream of cold piss he’s been plied with since he took up his post by the barbie.

He’s just finishing his latest can when he catches the tail end of a question from Obi-Wan, chatting to Rex as he fills both their plates. "... no Fox?"

Cody butts in, gesturing with one hand for Obi-Wan to come over and receive their freshly cooked bounty. "I did ask him to come, I know you find him tolerable enough. He didn't want to." With a flourish, he deposits the prawns on top of the green salad, since there’s no space left on either plate for them to be on the ceramic.

Still at the tables of food piling up his own plate, Rex snorts. "He specifically said “I don't want to see codfish in his natural habitat”,” he tells Obi-Wan. “It's important that you know that's exactly how he phrased it."

“Because Fox is terrible, yes,” Cody finishes, putting the lid on the barbie to let the coals simmer down a bit before dessert. Not enough to strangle the fire, but to cool it just a bit. He doesn’t want to burn the fruit he’ll be grilling to go with the pav.

They wind up sitting against the wall, in the shade, because Obi-Wan keeps muttering about getting burned. His hair’s become a lovely reddish gold with all the sun he’s been getting out on the boat, bleached even as his skin’s darkened with a spattering of freckles. They’re dense over the bridge of his nose, and Cody has to force back a corny line about them looking like constellations. He’s a sap, but he’s not that bad. Despite what Fox may say, were he here right now.

Obi-Wan is pressed against him at the hip, despite the heat, intermittently knocking elbows as they make their way through their plates. He makes especially appreciative noises about the lamb, and Cody all but glows with pride. It is pretty good honestly, soft and juicy, with an especially savoury taste that pairs really nicely with the rocket and watercress in the salad. The prawns are, of course, delicious, especially so when dipped in the lamb juice, and Crys’ potato salad is a perfectly fatty counterpoint. Even the ham, which Cody is usually ambivalent about, is better than usual this year — though Cody’s not sure whether that’s because of the new pineapple glaze he’s tried on it, the salt from the ocean spray, or the fact he’s sharing it with Obi-Wan who’s eating it with clear relish.

“So why are you out on the boat all the time,” Rex is asking next to them. Cody tenses a little, still unsure if this is a sensitive topic for Obi-Wan or not. He’s been trying not to bring it up, in part because there’s nothing either of them can do, and in part because if it were him he’d be hurting so much that talking about it would be like digging into his chest.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried at all because Obi-Wan is remarkably blase about the entire thing. He turns to Rex with a vague smile and says, “Oh, they’re trying to extradite me for sedition, last I heard.” Rex’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth a few times wordlessly. Obi-Wan’s grin twists into something a bit cheekier at that response as he continues blithely, “But of course they can’t do that if I’m not in the country, and we’re broadcasting from international waters out here. So it’s a safety measure, more than anything.”

Rex takes a few moments to recover from that, understandably. The silence stretches into something strained, and Cody racks his brain for something else to talk about in order to break it. Obi-Wan seems utterly unconcerned, continuing to plough through his plate full of food.

“Which government are they even talking to?” Quinlan yells from where he’s sitting with Waxer and Plo, both of whom look mildly bemused by this outburst.

Obi-Wan responds in kind, yelling back, “Yes I think that’s part of the problem for them, they keep being shunted back and forth. The Irish Republic certainly isn’t talking to the English Kingdom, and vice versa.” Ever since Irish reunification after the first bombs were dropped, their relationship with England had been fraught, and that’d only grown worse as England itself had become more xenophobic. And the Irish were an easy target.

“The other problem, of course, being that the idiots in power can’t actually get you out here,” Quinlan adds, cracking his fingers above his head in a stretch before flopping back onto the deck, sprawling out like a starfish.

This gets a laugh from Obi-Wan, which cracks any remaining tension right in two. “I’m sure that’s not helping either. Unfortunate for them!”

The rest of lunch passes in a sunny haze, where Cody must drowse for a bit because the next thing he knows he’s being gently shoved by Crys in order to get him up and grilling the fruit to go with dessert. Cody feels stuffed enough that moving sounds like a terrible idea, but he grudgingly levers himself up and checks on the state of the coals. They’ve cooled a little too much while he’s been out of it, so he spends a moment fanning them back to life, then flipping over the grille with a fresh pair of tongs to avoid the fruit tasting like anchovies. He’s not sure Crys would forgive him for that, brother or no.

He’s been given halved peaches, pineapple rings, and watermelon slices, the latter of which he looks at a bit dubiously as he places them on the grill. Crys had basted them earlier with a mix of cinnamon and brown sugar, from the looks of things, and the smell of caramel quickly starts tickling at Cody’s nose as they brown against the metal. He flips them after a few minutes, letting the other side caramelise as well.

Crys brings out the pav — doctored with cream, kiwi slices, strawberries, and passionfruit innards — to great fanfare. The slices are small since they could only make so much with their sugar rations no matter how much they stretched it, but everyone’s already so full from lunch that it just feels like a sweet ending to a delicious meal. Not enough to overwhelm, but enough to sate the urge. The grilled fruit also turned out better than Cody expected, having never done fruit on the barbie before today. The watermelon, which he’d been most suspicious about, somehow tastes sweeter than it did when raw, and has a delicious smokiness to it that rounds out the taste. He has to commend Crys, he’s really made a delicious set of desserts out of what they could get their hands on.

It’s almost enough to forgive him for crashing his dinner with Obi-Wan, all those months ago. Almost.

They wind up sitting on the deck, chatting with Quinlan and Plo. Quinlan's especially keen to hear about Cody's forays into learning to ride a motorcycle, to Cody's great consternation. Plo seems to find the entire thing hilarious, despite telling them outright that he has very little idea about vehicles in general. "Bikes and my own two feet," he tells them. "They've always been more than enough for me."

Obi-Wan is, rather hearteningly, incredibly eager to hear about Cody's adventures, and even more relieved that his bike is safe in Cody's garage and "not the poor vehicle being subjected to his inexpert fumblings". Quinlan cracks up at this phrasing, wheezing something about young virginal bikes until Obi-Wan kicks him with his bare foot.

"Rex found me the bike I'm learning on, it's a…" he racks his brain, but the numbers are gone from his memory. He still thinks cars make more sense, it's much easier to remember a name than it is a string of letters and numbers. "Nope, I've forgotten again. Hey, Rex, what's the bike you got for me?"

"A Suzuki VL250," Rex yells back from where he's hanging off the gunwale and doing inverted sit-ups for a rapt audience of Kit and Luminara. Show off. Cody makes a note to tease him about it while they're tramping tomorrow.

Obi-Wan makes a high pitched noise that Cody has never before heard come out of his lips, then exclaims, "Oh, a baby bike! Adorable!"

Cody wilts a little, unable to help himself, and starts picking at the last smears of passionfruit on his plate. "That's not the response I was hoping for," he mutters, even as Plo turns to ask Quinlan if this means the bike Cody has is smaller than average, and why this is since Cody is very average in height. Quinlan haltingly starts trying to explain, and Cody swears he sees Plo wink at him.

"I'm sorry, darling," Obi-Wan apologises, leaning in to press a kiss to Cody's shoulder. "I'm truly glad you found another bike to learn on — there's always so many drops when you're starting out, and my bike really can't take that. Or, I suppose, my heart can't take that being done to my bike. I started out on a baby bike too, and my father teased me mercilessly as well, it's something of a rite of passage for all riders.”

“The VL250 is a baby bike though." Quinlan adds, clearly having finished his explanation to Plo and shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.

Cody's ire rises, muted as it is by the sun and a full belly. “You don’t even ride, how could you know that?” He'll accept the teasing from Obi-Wan, especially now he knows it's meant lovingly, but Quinlan doesn't have a leg to stand on here. He doesn't even have his licence, he can't drive or ride.

“I lived with Obi-Wan for years, trust me, I know.” Obi-Wan makes a loud tching noise, and kicks Quinlan again.

"The one time you tried to ride my bike you overbalanced in some sand at like twenty kays, put your foot down to stop, and somehow broke your ankle. Then you decreed you were never riding ever again in your life." He punctuates this anecdote with another kick to Quinlan's thigh. "You can't learn about motorbikes by osmosis, Quin."

Plo chuckles at them, letting Quinlan attempt to hide behind his poncho to escape Obi-Wan's feet. "Does this mean that when you're on land again, the two of you will be able to ride places together?" he asks.

"Like a date," Quinlan adds from behind Plo's body. "Your first date, even. Start as you mean to go on, and next thing you know Cody'll be selling his car to— ouch!" This time it was Cody who'd kicked him, and Cody wasn't pulling his punches.

"We already had our first date," he says tartly, looking at neither Obi-Wan nor Plo. It still felt heretical to say these things out loud, even now. "We went to dinner together and then saw a movie."

There's silence from their little huddle after he speaks. He has to struggle not to swallow the frog suddenly taking up residence in his throat. Quinlan pops up from under the poncho to stare at them intently, eyes flicking between Obi-Wan and Cody. Cody can hear Obi-Wan make some sort of cut off noise next to him, which makes Quinlan's eyebrows jump up in surprise.

"Well then," he says, a manic grin growing on his face. "I can guess where Obi-Wan took you to eat, but what movie was it? Was it any good, or were you too busy gazing into one another's eyes?"

With all the dignity he can muster, Cody tells him, "It was Velvet Goldmine, and it was very good." It was definitely something. It's been months now and Cody still can't stop thinking about it, and had even gone back to see it at the Rialto again on his own because he half convinced himself that it couldn't have been as off the wall as he'd remembered. Of course, it had somehow been more, rather than less.

Quinlan stares for a minute more, eyebrows almost to his hairline, before he starts laughing so hard he falls over, nearly dragging poor Plo with him. He can barely talk between his wheezing, occasionally managing to say something nearly incomprehensible through the way he's shaking. Cody loves Quinlan, he's a great bro, but he's also the absolute worst.

Finally he manages to make himself turn to face Obi-Wan, who's got pink dusting over his cheeks and is looking at Cody as if he's never seen him before.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Yes?" Cody can hear his smile in his voice and it makes him feel as melty and as sticky as a bowl of ice cream in the sun.

"For my Christmas present this year, can you please throw Quinlan overboard."

Obi-Wan's face lights up, even as he gracefully levers himself to his feet. "A wonderful gift indeed, I'd be honoured."

"Wait, what?" Quinlan manages to get out as he's scooped up into a fireman's carry and carted off towards the edge of the boat. "Obi— Obi-Wan, no!"

The splash that follows is incredibly gratifying, and he tells Obi-Wan as such while giving him a very grateful kiss.

"Invite me back any time," Plo tells them both from where he's watched all this play out. "This is the most fun I've had in years."