Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of Coruscant High always seemed a bit too bright on Monday mornings, but Obi-Wan Kenobi found he didn’t mind much once he spotted a familiar head of cropped dark hair near the lockers.
He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, dodging a group of freshmen, and felt that familiar, grounded sense of ease settle over him. Not much has changed since the day Obi-Wan met Cody, except the stakes were pre-calc exams and Cody had grown into his shoulders.
Obi-Wan sped up his pace, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulled up alongside his best friend.
"You're looking particularly official today," Obi-Wan remarked, leaning his shoulder against the locker next to Cody’s. "Is there a reason you're scowling at your chemistry textbook as if it’s a tactical map of a hostile system?"
Cody didn’t even look up, though the corner of his mouth quirked. "It’s a lab report, Obi-Wan. And some of us actually intend to pass this period."
"A likely story," Obi-Wan teased, falling into step as Cody slammed his locker shut and began the trek toward the science wing. "I suspect you're just grumpy because you haven't had your morning caffeine. It's a dangerous lapse in discipline, Commander."
Cody let out a short, huffing laugh, finally glancing over. His dark eyes were warm, dancing with the same dry humor that had sustained their friendship through a decade of scraped knees and awkward growth spurts.
"My discipline is just fine," Cody countered, nudging Obi-Wan’s shoulder with his own. "I’m just wondering why my lead scout is wandering the halls making jokes instead of securing us a desk in the back row. You're losing your edge, General."
The titles were a relic of a different time—of long summer afternoons spent in the treehouse in Obi-Wan’s backyard or the woods behind Cody’s house, wielding sticks and shouting orders about "clankers" to an audience of trees. Back then, they had been the galaxy's only hope against the imaginary Sith. Now, the titles were a shorthand for a bond that didn't need explaining to anyone else.
"I assure you, my strategic mind is as sharp as ever," Obi-Wan said, offering a mock-serious salute as they reached the classroom door. "I’ve already calculated that if we sit by the window, we can see the track team practice during the lecture."
Cody rolled his eyes, but he followed Obi-Wan inside. "Whatever you say, Obi-Wan. Just try not to get us a detention before lunch."
Obi-Wan let out a soft gasp of feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest as they slid into their usual scarred wooden desks at the back of the room.
"Detention? Me?" Obi-Wan shook his head, looking up at Cody with the widest, most guileless blue eyes he could muster. "I’ll have you know I possess the most innocent soul in the entire school. Perhaps the entire tri-state area."
Cody snorted, dropping his heavy backpack onto the floor with a dull thud. "Innocent? Last week you convinced the substitute that the school's fire drill protocol involved everyone walking backward. You nearly caused a pile-up in the stairwell."
"I was merely testing the faculty's commitment to unconventional safety maneuvers," Obi-Wan replied loftily, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "Besides, your own father agrees with me. Jango told me just last Sunday at dinner that I was a 'shining example of polite manners' compared to you and your brothers."
Cody paused, one hand halfway into his bag to retrieve a pencil. He gave Obi-Wan a flat, deadpan stare. "My father calls you a 'menace in a sweater vest,' Obi. He said your 'polite manners' are just a smokescreen so you can steal the last of the biscuits without anyone noticing."
"A tactical acquisition, Commander. Nothing more," Obi-Wan corrected, his grin widening. "And I noticed he still gave me the largest helping of mashed potatoes. Clearly, he recognizes my superior standing."
"He recognizes that if he doesn't feed you, you'll just talk his ear off about the socio-political themes of The Lord of the Rings for three hours," Cody muttered, though there was no real heat in it. He reached over and nudged Obi-Wan’s notebook toward him with the tip of his pen. "Come on, Obi-Wan. Focus. If we don’t get this lab right, we’re going to be spending our Saturday in extra credit, and I know for a fact you’ve already planned our 'secret mission' to the cinema."
Obi-Wan sighed, clicking his own pen open with a rhythmic snap-snap-snap. "True. The fate of the weekend rests on our shoulders. Very well—lead the way, Cody. I’m right behind you."
The teacher, Mr. Windu, rapped a ruler against the chalkboard, signaling the start of the period. "Safety goggles on, everyone. If I see one person trying to smell the sulfur, it’s an automatic zero."
Obi-Wan groaned softly, reaching for the scratched plastic goggles in the center of the table. "Truly, the dark side is at work today. These things haven't been cleaned since the eighties."
"Just put them on, Obi," Cody said, already snapping his own into place. The elastic band caught a few strands of his dark hair, and without thinking, Obi-Wan reached over to smooth them down. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary against Cody’s temple, a brief spark of warmth passing between them before he pulled back to adjust his own mask.
The lab required them to measure out precise amounts of various solutions to observe a series of color-changing reactions. Because their desk was tucked in the corner, space was tight. As they leaned over the shared beaker, their shoulders pressed together, a constant, grounding heat that neither of them moved to avoid.
"Steady," Cody murmured, his hand hovering near Obi-Wan’s as the latter tilted a test tube. "If you drop that, we’re both going to smell like rotten eggs for the rest of the day, and I have wrestling practice after school."
"Have a little faith, Commander," Obi-Wan whispered back, his breath hitching slightly as Cody leaned in closer to check the meniscus of the liquid. From this distance, Obi-Wan could see the faint scar on Cody’s eyebrow—a souvenir from a particularly ambitious "commando crawl" through a thorn bush when they were ten.
"I have faith in your brain, General," Cody retorted, his voice low and vibrating right next to Obi-Wan’s ear. "It’s your clumsy hands I’m worried about."
"My hands are perfectly—oh!"
The liquid hit the beaker and instantly hissed, blooming from a dull clear to a vibrant, electric blue.
"See?" Obi-Wan beamed, tilting his head toward Cody. Their faces were inches apart now, the plastic of their goggles nearly clinking. "A perfect reaction. I told you I was the right man for the job."
Cody didn't pull away immediately. He looked at the blue liquid, then back at Obi-Wan, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well. Even a broken clock is right twice a day."
Mr. Windu paced the aisles with the slow, deliberate stride of a man who had seen every possible way a teenager could accidentally set a classroom on fire. He stopped just behind their station, his arms crossed over his chest, his shadow falling over their bubbling beaker.
"Kenobi. Fett," he said, his voice a deep, steady rumble. "I see you two haven't managed to cause an evacuation yet. I'm almost impressed."
Cody straightened up instantly. "We’re following the procedure to the letter, sir."
"Are you?" Windu raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing at the way their chairs were practically fused together and the way Obi-Wan was currently leaning half-way across Cody’s personal space. "Because from across the room, it looked less like chemistry and more like a tactical briefing for a prank on the senior lounge."
Obi-Wan turned in his seat, wearing a look of such exaggerated, wide-eyed offense that even Mr. Windu’s lips twitched for a fraction of a second.
"Who, us? Never, Mr. Windu," Obi-Wan said, placing a hand over his heart with saintly devotion. "We are the very picture of academic focus. Model students. Pillars of the community."
"You're a menace, Kenobi," Windu replied dryly, though there was a glint of buried fondness in his eyes. He’d went to the same high school as Obi-Wan’s father, Qui-Gon, and had dealt with this specific brand of charm for years. "Just make sure that 'model student' behaviour lasts until the bell rings. I don't want to spend my lunch break filling out an incident report because you two decided to see if the solution was flammable."
"Rest assured, sir," Cody added, a playful smirk finally breaking through his stoic mask as Windu walked away, "I'll keep the menace under control."
"See that you do, Fett," Windu called back over his shoulder.
Obi-Wan waited until the teacher was out of earshot before leaning back toward Cody. "Did you hear that? He called me a pillar of the community. I think I’m making progress."
"He called you a menace, Obi," Cody reminded him, bumping his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s. "Now, get back to work before your 'innocent soul' earns us that detention for real."
The cafeteria was a cacophony of slamming plastic trays and the dull roar of three hundred teenagers, but their table in the far corner was a relative sanctuary. Obi-Wan dropped his tray—mostly a sad-looking salad and a carton of milk—across from Quinlan Vos, who was currently trying to see how many grapes he could toss into the air and catch in his mouth.
"You're late," Quinlan mumbled around a mouthful of fruit. "I was about to declare this territory a sovereign nation and tax your seat."
"Blame Cody," Obi-Wan said, sliding into the bench. Cody sat down beside him, their thighs brushing in the cramped space, a contact so habitual neither of them acknowledged it. "He insisted on triple-checking our results. It’s a miracle we made it out before lunch ended."
Siri Tachi, sitting next to Quinlan, rolled her eyes as she stabbed a piece of grilled chicken. "He’s just trying to save your GPA, Kenobi. Someone has to."
"I do my part," Obi-Wan defended, leaning his chin on his hand.
"Your 'part' usually involves talking until the teacher gets confused and gives you an A out of sheer exhaustion," Bant added with a grin. She was leaning back, her feet hooked on the rungs of Siri’s chair, looking every bit the relaxed middle-school recruit they’d picked up years ago. "I saw Windu hovering over your desk. What did you do this time?"
"Nothing!" Obi-Wan protested.
"He tried to claim he had the most innocent soul in the world," Cody deadpanned, opening a Tupperware container of pasta his father had packed.
The table erupted. Quinlan nearly choked on a grape, and Siri let out a sharp, bark-like laugh.
"Innocent?" Siri leaned forward, her eyes bright with mischief. "Obi, I’ve known you since sixth grade. I remember the 'Great Glitter Incident' in the gym lockers. There isn't an innocent bone in your body."
"That was a strategic deployment of psychological warfare," Obi-Wan corrected loftily, though he was fighting back a smile. He reached over and, without asking, swiped a piece of broccoli from Cody’s tray. Cody didn't even flinch. He just moved the container closer to the centre to make it easier for Obi-Wan to steal.
"See?" Quinlan pointed a finger at the two of them. "Look at that. The General and his Commander, sharing rations. It’s sickening, really. Do you two ever turn it off?"
Cody looked at Quinlan, then at Obi-Wan, a small, private smile playing on his lips. "Why would we? The war against the Separatists never truly ends, Quin. Even in High School."
The comfortable atmosphere at the table shifted almost instantly as a shadow fell over the group. The clatter of the cafeteria seemed to fade into the background as three figures came to a halt at the end of their bench.
At the lead was Qymaen, his tall, gaunt frame draped in a high-end tracksuit, his eyes narrowed behind a pair of expensive glasses. Behind him loomed Paz, a boy whose sheer bulk made the narrow aisle look like a tightrope, and Bruck Chun, who was already wearing a sneer that looked like it had been surgically attached to his face since the third grade.
"Well, if it isn't the 'Grand Army' of the cafeteria," Bruck drawled, his voice dripping with practiced condescension. "Still playing soldier, Fett? I thought you’d have outgrown the dress-up games by now."
Cody didn’t even stop chewing. He swallowed his pasta slowly, his expression shifting into the stony, unreadable mask that usually meant someone was about to get tactically dismantled. "It’s a free country, Bruck. Though I’m surprised you’re wandering around without a leash. Does your ego usually let you go this far without a handler?"
Paz stepped forward, his knuckles rapping against the table hard enough to make Obi-Wan’s milk carton rattle. "Watch it, Fett. Some of us actually have a future that doesn't involve pretending to be a hero in the soccer field."
Obi-Wan leaned back, his posture radiating a calm that was far more patronising than any insult. "A future? Oh, Paz, don't tell me you’ve finally mastered the alphabet. We should celebrate. Cody, do we have any stickers left in the command center?"
Qymaen let out a low, raspy scoff. "You always have a comment, don't you? Always so clever until things get... complicated." He leaned over the table, his eyes flicking between Obi-Wan and Cody. "I hear the two of you are still inseparable. It's almost pathetic. Does the General let you go to the bathroom without his permission, Commander? Or are you just his shadow?"
The air at the table turned cold. Quinlan stopped tossing grapes, his hand hovering near his tray, and Siri’s hand tightened around her fork.
Cody’s eyes darkened, but before he could speak, Obi-Wan stood up just enough to close the distance. He didn't look angry, he looked bored, which was much worse.
"Cody doesn't follow a shadow, Qymaen," Obi-Wan said smoothly, his voice dropping into that dangerous, melodic tone he used when he was truly done with a conversation. "He leads. Which is more than I can say for the two followers you’ve dragged along today. Now, unless you're here to apologise for the sheer lack of style you're bringing to our table, I suggest you move on. You're blocking the light, and I was quite enjoying my stolen broccoli."
Bruck opened his mouth to snap back, his face flushing a deep, angry red, but Cody was faster. He didn't stand up, and he didn't raise his voice; he simply leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with the effortless authority of someone who didn't need to prove his rank.
"You know, Bruck," Cody said, his voice calm and conversational, "it’s fascinating how much time you spend worrying about our 'games.' For someone who claims to be so far above us, you’re remarkably well-informed about our social habits."
Cody’s gaze drifted to Paz and Qymaen, then back to Bruck. "Maybe you’re just frustrated because you haven’t found anyone who’s actually willing to follow your lead without being paid in lunch money or intimidation. If you’re looking for a recruitment brochure for our 'Grand Army,' I can find you one. But I should warn you—we have a very strict 'no-idiot' policy."
Quinlan let out a loud, theatrical “Ooh,” covering his mouth with a hand, while Siri simply smirked into her water bottle.
Bruck’s jaw tightened so hard it looked like it might snap. He looked at Cody, then at Obi-Wan, who was currently inspecting his fingernails with an air of complete indifference. The power dynamic had shifted entirely; the trio standing up looked like children throwing a tantrum, while the group sitting down looked like they were merely waiting for a minor annoyance to pass.
"Come on," Qymaen hissed, grabbing Bruck by the shoulder and pulling him back. "They aren't worth the trouble."
"Wise words, Qymaen," Obi-Wan chirped, waving a hand dismissively. "Ten points to your respective house. Do try to have a better afternoon."
The three rivals turned and stormed off toward the far exit of the cafeteria, their retreat punctuated by the sound of Prie letting out a sharp, mocking whistle.
As soon as they were out of earshot, the tension evaporated. Cody exhaled as he turned back to his pasta. "I hate Mondays," he muttered.
"Oh, I don't know," Obi-Wan said, sliding back into his seat and nudging Cody’s leg with his own under the table. "I thought you handled that brilliantly. Your 'no-idiot' policy? Truly, Cody, you’re a master of the verbal riposte. I’ve taught you well."
"You haven't taught me anything, General," Cody replied, though his eyes were warm again. "I just have a lot of practice dealing with you. Compared to your nonsense, Bruck is an amateur."
The gym smelled of old floor wax and hard work. From his vantage point on the bottom bleacher, Obi-Wan had his history textbook open on his lap, though he hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes. His gaze was fixed on the wrestling mats, where Cody moved with a grounded, lethal grace that always made Obi-Wan’s throat feel a bit tight.
Cody was in his element here. There was no banter, only focus. He took down his sparring partner with a swift, technical precision that looked effortless—a snap down, a quick transition, and then he had the other boy pinned.
"And that," Obi-Wan murmured to himself, "is why he’s the Commander."
When the coach finally blew the whistle to end practice, the room filled with the sound of groans and the slapping of mats. Cody stood up, his gray t-shirt darkened to a charcoal color with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He grabbed a towel from the bench, wiping his face as he scanned the bleachers.
Obi-Wan didn't wait. He snapped his book shut and hopped down, weaving through the lingering athletes to reach the edge of the mat.
"An impressive display, Commander!" Obi-Wan called out, his face lit up with a genuine, proud grin. "I particularly liked that last move. Very 'aggressive negotiations' of you. I think you actually broke the poor boy's spirit."
Cody looked over, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. A tired but genuine smile broke through his exhaustion. "He’ll be fine, Obi. He just leaned too far into his lead leg."
As Obi-Wan reached him, he made a move as if to throw an arm around Cody’s shoulders in a celebratory hug, but he stopped just short, recoiling with a dramatic crinkle of his nose.
"Oh, dear stars," Obi-Wan gasped, fanning the air in front of him. "I retract my praise. You are absolutely biohazardous. Truly, the Separatist army could learn a thing or two from your scent alone. It’s a chemical weapon."
Cody laughed, a low, raspy sound, and deliberately stepped closer into Obi-Wan’s personal space. "What happened to my 'innocent soul' friend? Too refined for a little hard work?"
"There is 'hard work,' and then there is whatever swamp-beast you’ve transformed into," Obi-Wan teased, though he didn't actually back away. He reached out, using a corner of his own clean sleeve to daintily pat a bead of sweat off Cody's temple. "I suppose I’ll still drive you home, but I’m rolling all the windows down. Even if it rains."
Cody grabbed the end of Obi-Wan’s sleeve, holding his hand there for a second, his thumb brushing against Obi-Wan’s wrist. "The windows are fine, General. Just give me five minutes in the shower and I’ll be human again."
"Five minutes? It’ll take a miracle and a pressure washer," Obi-Wan shouted after him as Cody headed toward the locker rooms.
The windows were cracked just enough to let the crisp afternoon air swirl through the cabin, though Obi-Wan maintained that it was a "safety precaution" against Cody’s gym bag in the backseat. Obi-Wan eyes were focused on the suburban traffic while Cody leaned his head back against the headrest, finally beginning to look human again after his shower.
The local radio station faded through a moment of static before the iconic, upbeat synth-pop intro of Whitney Houston’s "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" filled the car.
Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up, a delighted grin spreading across his face. "Oh, heavens. Cody, do you remember?"
Cody let out a long, pained groan, burying his face in his hands. "No. Absolutely not. Do not bring it up."
"Rex’s eighth birthday party!" Obi-Wan continued, ignoring the protest entirely. He glanced quickly at Cody. "Your brothers ganged up on you, but Rex was the mastermind. He insisted it was the only song a 'true commander' would sing for karaoke. You were so red, I thought you were going to spontaneously combust."
"I was a victim of a coordinated ambush," Cody muttered through his fingers. "Don't remind me. I still have nightmares about the high notes."
"What are you talking about? You were magnificent," Obi-Wan insisted. He reached over to crank the volume knob up several notches. "The choreography was a bit stiff, but the soul was there. Come on, Cody, you have to do it again. For the sake of the Republic!"
"No. No, no, no—Obi-Wan, turn it off!" Cody was laughing now, the sound breathless and bright as he tried to reach for the radio, but Obi-Wan playfully blocked him with an elbow without swerving the car an inch.
"I can't hear you over the music!" Obi-Wan shouted over the chorus. He took a deep breath and began to sing, his voice dramatic and entirely too loud for the small car. "Oh, I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!"
He glanced at Cody again—just for a second—catching the sight of his best friend sinking lower and lower into the passenger seat. Cody was doubled over, his shoulders shaking with hysterical laughter, his face flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the wrestling mats.
"You're—you're the worst!" Cody managed to wheeze out, shielding his eyes as Obi-Wan hit a particularly vibrato-heavy note while merging perfectly into the turn lane.
"I’m a delight!" Obi-Wan countered, shouting the next line with a theatrical toss of his head, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the entrance to Cody’s neighborhood. "With somebody who loves me!"
By the time they pulled into the Fetts' driveway, the song was fading out, and Cody was gasping for air, leaning his forehead against the dashboard.
"I am never," Cody panted, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, "letting you drive again."
"Liars don't get to go to the cinema on Friday, Cody," Obi-Wan teased, putting the car in park and finally turning to look at his friend fully. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden light over them, and for a moment, the banter died down into a comfortable, humming silence.
Cody stayed where he was for a moment, his forehead still resting against the dashboard as his laughter finally tapered off into a contented sigh. He straightened up, looking out at his front door and then back at Obi-Wan.
"You coming in?" Cody asked, his voice returning to its usual steady rhythm. "My dad probably made enough chili to feed a small battalion, and he’ll give me hell if I let you leave without a bowl."
Obi-Wan offered a small, apologetic smile, his hands finally relaxing their grip on the steering wheel. "I’m afraid I have to pass this time, Cody. My father called earlier—he said he has something 'important' he needs to discuss with me when I get home."
Cody’s expression shifted instantly. The playfulness vanished, replaced by that sharp, attentive look he only got when he was looking out for his own. He shifted in his seat to face Obi-Wan more directly. "Important? Is everything all right? Your dad isn't exactly the 'serious meeting' type unless something's up."
It was true. Qui-Gon Jinn was more likely to spend an afternoon contemplating the "living force" of his garden than holding formal family summits.
"Everything is fine, I'm sure," Obi-Wan reassured him, reaching out to give Cody’s shoulder a quick, grounding squeeze. "He sounded calm. Just... cryptic. You know how he gets."
Cody didn't look entirely convinced, his brow furrowing as he searched Obi-Wan’s face for any sign of hidden worry. "You sure? Because if you need a distraction, or if things get heavy, you know you can just come back over. My window is always unlocked."
Obi-Wan felt a swell of warmth that had nothing to do with the car's heater. "I know, Cody. I promise, if something were truly wrong, you would be the very first person to know. I don't have secrets from my Commander."
Cody held his gaze for a long beat before finally nodding, his tension easing. "Alright. But you better text me as soon as the conversation is over. I don't want to be left wondering if you're being sent on a diplomatic mission to the grocery store or something."
"I'll report in immediately," Obi-Wan promised with a mock-solemn nod. "Now, go on. Your chili is waiting, and I have a date with destiny—or at least with whatever lecture Qui-Gon has prepared."
Cody opened the door, but paused, looking back over his shoulder with a faint smirk. "Just remember, General: stay focused on the here and now."
"Always," Obi-Wan replied softly.
Obi-Wan’s mind was spinning with Cody’s concerns. By the time he pulled into the driveway of the modest, plant-filled house he shared with Qui-Gon, his stomach was tied in a small, anxious knot.
He found his father in the living room, but Qui-Gon wasn't meditating or tending to his ferns as usual. Instead, he was pacing a small track in front of the sofa, looking uncharacteristically fidgety.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, stopping mid-stride. "You’re home. Good. Please, sit."
Obi-Wan dropped his bag by the door, his heart thumping. He resorted to his typical deflective humour. "You’re making me nervous, Father. Did someone die? Am I being sent to boarding school?"
"No, nothing of the sort," Qui-Gon said , gesturing to the armchair. He sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward with his large hands clasped between his knees. He looked... vulnerable. It was a look Obi-Wan rarely saw on the man who usually took life’s storms with a shrug. "I wanted to tell you this privately. For the past month, I have been seeing someone."
Obi-Wan blinked, the air leaving his lungs in a rush of surprise. "Oh. Oh."
"Her name is Shmi Skywalker," Qui-Gon continued, a softness entering his voice that Obi-Wan hadn't heard in years—perhaps not since his mother had passed. "It’s been a short time, I know, but we have become very serious, very quickly. She is... quite remarkable, Obi-Wan. And I would very much like for you to meet her."
The knot in Obi-Wan's stomach untied itself, replaced by a buzzing electricity. He was instantly, genuinely thrilled for his father, but a sharp spike of nerves followed right behind. If this woman was serious enough for Qui-Gon to be this nervous, she was going to be a permanent fixture. This changed everything.
"I... of course! Yes, I want to meet her," Obi-Wan said, leaning forward, his hands mirroring his father’s posture. "I’m happy for you, Dad. Truly." He paused, his mind racing through a dozen questions. "What is she like? Is she a teacher? An artist? Does she like coffee, or will I have to hide the good Earl Grey?"
Qui-Gon laughed, a genuine sound that chased the tension from the room. "She works as a technical engineer at the city’s transit hub—she can fix things I didn't even know were broken. But more than that, she has a strength of spirit that is... humbling. She’s kind, but she doesn't suffer fools. I suspect the two of you will get along famously, or she will see through your charms in ten seconds flat."
"A challenge, then," Obi-Wan murmured, his mind already drifting to how he would describe this to Cody. "Does she have any family? Or is it just her?"
Qui-Gon’s expression softened even further, a look of profound respect crossing his face. "She has a son. His name is Anakin, and he’s seven years old."
Obi-Wan leaned back, his mind immediately flashing back to himself and Cody around that age—running through the sprinklers and imagining empires. It was a pivotal, energetic age.
"A son," Obi-Wan repeated, testing the weight of the word. "So... I’d be an older brother?"
"In a sense, yes," Qui-Gon said. "His father passed away when he was only a few months old. It has been just the two of them for a long time. Shmi has raised him with incredible devotion, and he is... well, he’s a bit of a whirlwind, from what she tells me. Very bright, very gifted with machines, and perhaps a bit too adventurous for his own good."
Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile. The idea of a little shadow following him around was both daunting and strangely endearing. "He sounds like a handful. I suppose I’ll have to brush up on my storytelling skills. Does he like stories about brave knights and distant galaxies?"
"I think he’d like anything you have to say, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, reaching out to pat Obi-Wan’s knee. "He’s a sensitive boy. He’s never really had an older male figure in his life, and I know Shmi is as nervous about him meeting us as I am about you meeting her."
Obi-Wan nodded slowly, the gravity of the situation sinking in. This wasn't just a girlfriend. This was a potential family. "When do I meet them?"
"This weekend? I thought we could all go for a walk in the park—somewhere casual where Anakin can run around."
"The park sounds perfect," Obi-Wan agreed. His mind was already racing. He needed to tell Cody. Cody, who lived in a house full of brothers and a single father, would actually understand the nuances of this better than anyone. He’d probably have a list of 'How to Deal with Seven-Year-Olds' ready by morning.
"I'm glad, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, looking immensely relieved. "I'll let her know."
As soon as Qui-Gon retreated to the kitchen to start dinner, Obi-Wan rushed to his room and pulled out his phone. His fingers flew across the screen.
- To: Commander Cody Status report: The 'important talk' happened. It’s not a crisis. It’s a lady. Her name is Shmi. Also... I think I’m going to be a big brother to a seven-year-old named Anakin. Emergency debrief needed ASAP.
The phone in Obi-Wan’s hand hadn't even hit the bedspread before it started vibrating with such intensity it nearly danced off the mattress. He swiped to answer, a breathless laugh already bubbling up in his throat.
"That was remarkably fast, Commander. I didn't realize you were sitting by the comms awaiting my signal."
"What the hell, Obi?" Cody’s voice came through the speaker, thick with a mix of shock and genuine amusement. Obi-Wan could hear the faint sound of a television in the background—likely Rex and the others in the living room—but Cody’s voice was private, focused. "A lady? Your dad? The man who once spent forty-five minutes apologizing to a spider he accidentally stepped on is moving that fast?"
Obi-Wan flopped back onto his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "Apparently! Her name is Shmi. He says she’s an engineer. And Cody... she has a son. A seven-year-old. His name is Anakin."
There was a brief pause on the other end. Obi-Wan could almost picture Cody’s brain working through the tactical implications—the shift in household dynamics, the shared space, the responsibility.
"Seven," Cody repeated, his tone softening. "That’s a tough age. That’s right when they start thinking they’re invincible but still need you to cut the crusts off their sandwiches. Does he know about you?"
"I don't think so. Not yet," Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I’m nervous, Cody. What if he hates me? Or worse, what if I’m a terrible influence? I’m used to being the 'responsible one' around here because Qui-Gon is so... ethereal. But this is different."
"Obi-Wan, listen to me," Cody said, his voice dropping into that low, steady tone that always managed to settle Obi-Wan’s nerves, whether they were facing a pre-calc final or a rival school’s prank. "You’re the most patient, observant person I know. You spent three hours last summer helping a toddler find a lost flip-flop at the beach. You’re going to be fine. If anything, I’m worried for the kid—he’s going to have to listen to your 'General' lectures for the next decade."
Obi-Wan let out a soft huff of a laugh. "I suppose you're right. I’ll have to recruit him into our ranks. The GAR needs a new General now that we’re retired, right?"
"Exactly," Cody said. "And if he’s a handful, you just bring him over here. Between Rex, the twins, and my dad, we’ve got enough experience with 'whirlwind' children to give you a manual. Actually, Rex is already asking who I'm talking to. I think he smelled the gossip."
"Don't you dare tell him yet," Obi-Wan warned, though he was smiling. "I want to survive the first meeting before the Fett Battalion starts giving me parenting tips."
"Too late," Cody’s voice pulled away from the phone, and Obi-Wan heard him muffledly yell, 'Get out of my room, Rex!' before returning to the line. "Anyway, I'm happy for you, Obi. For your dad, too. It’s been a long time since he looked at someone that way, hasn't it?"
"It has," Obi-Wan whispered, a sudden lump in his throat. "It really has."
"It’s good, Obi," Cody said, his voice dropping into that quiet, private register that always made the distance between their houses feel much smaller. "He deserves to be happy. And so do you. Even if it means you have to share your Earl Grey and your bathroom mirror with a seven-year-old."
Obi-Wan leaned his head back against the wall, watching the shadows of tree branches dance across his ceiling in the moonlight. "I suppose I can share the tea. The mirror, however, remains a sovereign territory. He’ll have to negotiate for that."
"Spoken like a true diplomat," Cody teased. "Get some sleep, General. You’ve got a long week of being 'the responsible one' ahead of you."
"And you have a long week of wrestling practice and avoiding Rex’s interrogation," Obi-Wan countered. "Try not to break any more spirits before Friday."
"I make no promises. Goodnight, Obi."
"Goodnight, Cody."
The line went silent with a soft click, but Obi-Wan held the phone to his chest for a moment longer. The hum of the house felt different now—not empty, exactly, but pregnant with the possibility of change.
He stood up and crossed the room to his window, looking out toward the neighborhood where Cody lived. He knew exactly which roofline was the Fetts', even in the dark. For years, that house had been his second home, a place of noise and chaos and brotherhood that provided a sharp contrast to the quiet, philosophical halls of his own life.
The idea of bringing some of that noise home—of a small boy’s laughter and the clatter of mechanical parts on the kitchen table—wasn't as daunting as it had been twenty minutes ago.
He walked down the hall to the kitchen, where the smell of Qui-Gon’s vegetarian chili was beginning to fill the air. His father was at the stove, humming a low, tuneless melody as he stirred the pot. He looked lighter, Obi-Wan realized. The weary slant of his shoulders seemed to have vanished, replaced by a quiet, expectant energy.
Obi-Wan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "So," he said, catching his father's attention. "Does Anakin like Lego? Because if I’m going to be a mentor, I need to know if I should be worried about stepping on plastic bricks in the middle of the night."
Qui-Gon turned, a brilliant, relieved smile breaking across his face. He reached out, resting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he passed by to grab the bowls. "I believe he prefers taking things apart to see how they work, Obi-Wan. So, perhaps keep your watch in a high drawer."
Obi-Wan laughed, the last of the day’s tension finally dissolving. "Noted. I’ll begin the defensive preparations immediately."
As they sat down to dinner, the fluorescent lights of the kitchen feeling warm and inviting, Obi-Wan realized that Cody was right. The war might be over, and the plastic lightsabers might be gathering dust in the garage, but a new mission was beginning. And as long as he had his Commander on the other end of the line, Obi-Wan was fairly certain he could handle whatever was thrown at him.