Chapter Text
The war is over, and yet, Obi-Wan realizes, the work never ends. There are planets to reintegrate back into the republic, war torn worlds to reassure and restore, reparations to make. The Jedi are no longer generals in the army, with the clone citizenship bill passed and the army massively downsized, but their presence still holds weight, especially a Jedi with as prominent a reputation as the Negotiator himself. He takes missions at a relentless pace, knowing that no matter how soon he returns there is always another plea for help, a request for rebuilding waiting for him. He’s always been restless, a result of spending his youth adventuring at Qui-Gon’s side, and more recently three years barely setting foot off a battlefield. But now, Coruscant holds too many things he’d rather avoid, thoughts of what might have happened if Palpatine—if Sidious’ plans had come to fruition. The inescapable hole of Anakin’s absence from the temple, though his former apprentice still resides on Coruscant with a certain senator and keeps his door open to old friends. The reform that the Order desperately needs, to replenish their decimated numbers and fix whatever faults allowed a Sith Lord to ascend to near ultimate power right under their noses.
And most of all he avoids thinking about the clones, with their newly minted Republic citizenship, trying to make lives for themselves beyond the cogs of war, and the complex mass of feelings that gives him—guilt for his role in the war, mixed with happiness that they are finally free of that life, and concern because three years of eating, sleeping and fighting at each other’s backs does not turn into polite distance so easily. He still comms Cody and a few of the 212th regularly, of course, and guides them gently in the direction of the appropriate Republic resources for resettlement and job training, but he needs—time, and space to untangle it all. And they need room to grow without the Jedi that they were made for hovering over them like an inescapable yoke, time to become their own persons rather than the faceless soldiers they were created to be. So it’s no wonder he’s run himself harder even than during the war, when injuries and mandated leave kept him from drowning completely.
He is tired, so tired he feels sometimes that he might just sink into his bunk and hibernate for a whole year like a cranky wampa. Of course, there’s no rest for the weary.
He’s on his way back to Coruscant from another tedious negotiation of a small Separatist planet’s reentry into the Republic when the shuttle he’s on, a small transport carrying just him and a contingent of minor politicians heading back to finalize the process, shudders and abruptly exits hyperspace.
The pilot states with an edge to his voice that there’s no need for panic, it’s just a minor technical difficulty, but Obi-Wan can already feel the presence of another ship, too close for coincidence. He recognizes the handiwork of pirates from his many encounters during the war, but now, he doesn’t have a starship destroyer, or an army of clones behind him. He still has his lightsaber, of course, and the politicians, but from the way they huddle behind him and stare fearfully at the door, he doesn’t think they will be very helpful.
And of course, when the shuttle doors open for the docked ship, it is none other than Honda Ohnaka who swaggers through, his little monkey-lizard perched on a shoulder and arms wide in a welcoming gesture that belies the menacing way the rest of his crew hold up their blasters behind him.
“Kenobi! My old friend!” He says, “What a wonderful coincidence to see you here!”
Obi-Wan lowers his lightsaber with a sigh. “I suppose you’re not here for a social visit?”
“I always have time for friends!”
“If I go with you, will you at least let the rest of them go?” Obi-Wan says, not in the mood for prolonged pleasantries, “I guarantee I’m worth more than everyone else combined.” As far as pirates go, Hondo is one of the better ones, and will probably keep his word about letting the others go.
Hondo scoffs, “All business and no fun? Why, the General I remember would never be so unimaginative. Although,” he pauses, leaning back to look Obi-Wan up and down, like a critic eying the work of an up and coming artist, “I do not recall you so...weathered, my friend.”
Obi-Wan can imagine what he’s seeing, a tired man with too many bags under his eyes, grey in his hair, and grooves worn deep on his forehead. He shrugs, “War is not easy on a man,” he says, “and we can’t all live the carefree pirate life like yourself, Hondo.”
That makes Hondo laugh, “Very true, my friend. But who knows I might make a carefree pirate of you yet!”
He ushers Obi-Wan through the doors onto his ship with a hand on his elbow, a nice enough gesture if it hadn’t been at blaster point. Still, he tells his crew, “Leave the rest, they are only small fry, and Hondo Ohnaka does not deal in small fry!”
The pirate ship is depressingly familiar. He even has the same cabin he did last time he was a “guest” aboard.
“You know, I’m not a general anymore,” he tells Hondo, as soon as the shuttle he came on slips hastily back into hyperspace, “The Republic won’t authorize the credits for my ransom. And the Jedi funds are tight now.”
Hondo shrugs, “A pity, but not to worry, a pirate is adaptable!”
Obi-Wan narrows his eyes, “The Separatists are disbanded,” he says, “you won’t get much out of them either.”
Hondo snorts, “The war has made a cynic of you, Kenobi! I would never sell my dear friend to the separatists. I am an honorable man, undeserving of your suspicion! All I want is to spend some time with an old friend who needs some vacation time. The Jedi have run you ragged.”
Obi-Wan pauses. He hasn’t taken a day off that wasn’t spent in the Halls of Healing in what feels like a half a decade, and he’s tired. Hondo may not be the most trustworthy of friends, but he was a friend, mostly. When it suited him. But Obi-Wan still has his lightsaber and a great deal of faith in his own abilities. He can fight the pirates and take control of the ship and make them bring him to a civilized planet for pickup by the Jedi, and return to his endless rotation of missions. Or he can see where this all goes.
“And what would your idea of a vacation be? There’s not much to do on a pirate ship besides playing sabacc for credits I don’t have.”
Hondo mimes shock, clutching his chest, “Oh you wound me, Kenobi. I assure you the great Hondo Ohnaka has more taste than that! And there are a great many things to do on a ship.”
He flipps an object from some pouch or other on his duster. Obi-Wan catches it instinctively, and looks down bemused at the bottle of amber liquid in his hand. He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t know you drank Corellian brandy,” he says.
“Pirates do not drink this fancy swill, but for you, my friend, we make an exception.” Hondo looks so eager, and for a moment, Obi-Wan considers it.
It’s a bad idea, he knows. A terrible idea. But he’s stressed, and his head already aches from the thought of more paperwork and politicking, and he's just tired enough to make bad choices. Oh fuck it , he thinks, and, with a gratuitous use of the Force, uncaps the bottle with a thumb and takes a swig. The brandy goes down smooth, much to his surprise. It really is the good stuff.
Hondo cackles, and a few pirates who have been surreptitiously watching them cheer, “So the Jedi can loosen up!”
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, “Really, I don’t know where you get the idea that Jedi are all ascetic monks who don’t know how to have a good time. Although,” he looks around the cramped halls of the pirate’s ship, “I do hope we’re headed somewhere more...exciting.”
Hondo beams, “Oh we are. It’s somewhere you will like very much, my friend.”
===
Scarif may be a small remote planet, but it has the best beaches this side of the Rim. At least, that’s what the billboards say as their ship flies in low enough to skim the tops of the palm trees, scattering white and grey seabirds like foam in their wake. If they were here for any other reason, it might even be a nice vacation. But Cody doesn’t have time to pay attention to those things. He focuses only on the small strip of sandy archipelago beach that is their destination, where the coordinates had led. He is half afraid of what they might find there, a trap or a rescue, or—
A hand steadies on his shoulder and he returns to himself. Rex, in the copilot’s seat next to him asks him his status in a low voice. He grunts that he’s fine, and focuses back on piloting, thankful for his vod’s presence here. Usually he is the calmer one, the voice of reason to Rex’s insanity, but now Rex grounds him to their mission. It’s almost like the war again, keep it together until the mission’s over, and then you can fall apart tomorrow.
“He’s fine, your General can take care of himself against a few measly pirates,” Rex offers.
Cody grinds his teeth but loosens his white-knuckles grip on the steering controls. “Not my General anymore,” he grumbles, then sighs, “of course, he’s probably sunning himself on the beach right now, the bastard.”
Rex laughs, “Yeah, that would be just like him.”
===
Former General Kenobi is indeed sunning himself on the beach in a ridiculous beach chair made of woven palm fronds and woody vines, when the two white-armored figures show up, holding their blasters at the ready. But he’s the only one there, sipping a colorful orange and blue drink, sunglasses over his eyes and face shaded by the shadow of the sole palm tree on this stretch of beach.
He raises a lazy hand when he sees them, and Cody can’t help but feel a burst of relief. Rex lets out a laugh that is only half humor, half exasperation, that says Jedi, what can you do .
The relief is quickly turned to alarm when Cody gets closer and sees the state of his dress. It isn’t that he’s wearing anything strange, just the standard Jedi uniform, stripped down to the basic undertunics in the heat, but the collar is open wide, showing the sparse copper hair there, and the skin that peeks out from beneath is sun-soaked pink over space pale. And covered in little bruises, like he’s been mauled by a large cephalopod. Cody has seen such bruises on vode who haven’t been secretive about their liaisons with the locals or in some cases each other, and he’s definitely seen similar in General Skywalker after certain political parties where he and a certain senator disappear for suspiciously long periods.
“Cody? And Rex?” Kenobi says, no small amount of surprise in his voice, but no distress thankfully, “I didn’t think they’d send you out for a simple pickup.”
Cody schools his expression, “Ohnaka was a bit vague on the whole situation,” he says, “there were, uh, implications. Threats.”
What Ohnaka actually said was something along the lines of ‘You’d better come soon or there will be nothing left’, and Cody's mind immediately jumped to the many times he's been confronted with similar situations during the war, and he did not wait long enough to consider the less menacing interpretations. Now that he thinks about it, the pirate had seemed a bit too exuberant to be completely sober. But that is a thin line when it comes to Ohnaka.
Kenobi rolls his eyes. “Hondo and his crew left a few hours ago,” he says, “he may be a pirate but he’s all bark and no bite.”
“That looks like plenty of bite to me,” Cody says, the snipiness in his tone surprising even himself. He finds that he is glaring at the--bite marks on his general’s collarbone like he can erase them with vehemence alone. “Sir,” he adds belatedly.
Beside him, Rex makes a choking noise like he’s swallows a frog. Kenobi follows Cody’s gaze and glances down, and flushes before carefully pulling his collar back up to cover the marks.
He looks apologetic, “Well,” he says, “as fun as this vacation is, I hope I haven’t drawn you away from anything important.”
Cody frowns, because this is the most important thing they could be doing. “No, sir,” he says, “just paperwork for the new shinies—we call them recruits now—arriving from Kamino and setting up an employment rotation program for the vode.” There is so much paperwork. He thought the war had been too full of bureaucracy, but it wasn’t until after that he realized they’d been taking shortcuts back then.
“Ah,” Kenobi smiles, “I’m glad you have set that up. The vode deserve the chance to broaden their horizons. And you? Have you decided on a path?”
Cody shrugs, he’s been buried under the paperwork, because there’s always another complaint to address, and the vode deserve to have their voices heard. Even Rex has gone through a six-month cycle in Education of all things (he’d loved the part where he got to teach the younglings new things like swear words and how to shoot a blaster, hated all the rest, and concluded that there was no way in Sith hells he’d ever be a teacher unless it was for something fun like infiltration. Cody’s already considering him for an instructor’s position in the Judicial Academy). He supposes he would like to do something other than paperwork for a change.
Kenobi frowns, “You should think more of yourself,” he says, “Don’t burn yourself out for others.”
Cody snorts, “As if you’re one to talk, sir. I haven’t seen you in person in months, and I hear you’re taking all the missions you can get your hands on.”
Obi-Wan waves a hand, “I’m no longer your commanding officer, Cody. Obi-Wan will do.”
“Of course. Obi-Wan,” Cody says. It feels strange in his mouth, but the good kind of strange, like biting into a fruit he’s never had before and tasting the sweetness on his tongue.
“Cody,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile, wide and genuine, and Cody suddenly feels a shiver.
There’s something about the way Obi-Wan sitting, loose-limbed and relaxed, in a way Cody hasn’t seen before. As if whatever string of tension that’s held him so taut in all the time Cody has known him has snapped. It makes Cody want to do—something. He isn’t sure, but the longing is sudden and sharp as a broken bone.
And then a flock of gulls fly over, screeching and diving for some unseen shoal of silverfish, and his General--Obi-Wan--flinches. The flinch would be unnoticeable to anyone else, a subtle twitch of the shoulders, but Cody has spent too much time watching the man come off the adrenaline highs of the battlefield. Then, he raises a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture. And that, in conjunction with the way he’s obviously squinting behind the sunglasses, and the damning evidence in the glass his hand, leads Cody to a single conclusion.
“Obi-Wan,” he says, “are you hungover?”
“Why would you think that?” Obi-Wan says.
Cody raises an eyebrow while keeping the rest of his face stone-still. It’s a look that he uses on shinies--sorry, recruits--when they try to convince him their flimsy excuses are actual reasons for being late.
“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan concedes, “I did overdo it a bit. Did you know the locals on Scarif ferment the palm sap in bantha stomachs to make their alcohol? It’s absolutely vile, but quite potent.”
Rex makes another choking noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and Cody sighs. “Are you telling me, sir--Obi-Wan, that you got drunk with the pirates that kidnapped you and held you hostage? And they drunkenly placed a call to--what, invite us to join the festivities?”
Obi-Wan frowns, “That does sound like Hondo, though I must confess my recollection after the fifth local drink is a bit fuzzy. There was a lot of singing. And other activities.” He smiles, “it was actually quite enjoyable.”
Cody suppresses the urge to scream. It’s a habit he has perfected down to an art during the war, so all he does is take a deep breath in through his nose.
Rex really sounds like he’s dying, and Cody considers helping him along, just a bit. Obi-Wan, for his part, really looks sorry. “I really didn’t intend for you to worry.” he says, dejected, and that is not a look Cody can resist for long.
Then he tries to take another sip of the drink, the bastard, so Cody lifts the glass from his hand, ignoring the weak protest and replaces it with his own canteen, filled with water. Obi-Wan makes a face, but drinks it anyways under Cody’s quelling gaze.
“As fascinating as that sounds, we should probably get you back to Coruscant before Skywalker implodes with anxiety, or the Council sends more reinforcements after us,” Cody says, extending a hand.
Obi-Wan’s expression might have been a pout on a lesser man, but he takes Cody’s hand and lets himself be levered to his feet. He dusts the sand off his tunics, and straightens them best he can. “Yes,” he says, “we wouldn’t want that.”
Rex has recovered at last, and though his face is flushed with the howls of laughter he’s holding in with prodigious willpower, he manages to choke out, “I hope you had a fun vacation, sir!”