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Every day, Obi-Wan gets up and thinks this will be the one that kills him.
He blinks awake, more than a little out of it. There’s a blaring reminder in the corner of his datapad. Two alarms are going off. Right. The weapons requisition form is due at noon. He blinks, opens it up, and promptly remembers why he’d put it off.
He could scream. “Cody,” he says instead, calling out to the void. “Do we have more of those stim tabs?” Imaginary Cody does not respond.
His chest hurts. But it’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Force, he imagines dying.
He imagines Cody telling Anakin. “Your master? The sith-slayer? He died ‘cause he took too many stims. Yeah, it was crazy.”
He imagines his funeral. It’d be an embarrassing showing, really. Not too many left to mourn him, now. He can’t have his funeral be an empty affair. Really, it’d just be humiliating.
What would happen, he thinks, staring at the fucking flimsiwork, if he just made things up. Number of damaged blasters? Eight hundred fifty four sounds right, right? Does requesting twelve hundred seem plausible?
He groans, runs a hand over his face.
He’ll do it right. Of course he will. War runs on bureaucracy and he is built for little more than war.
He sighs, stands. His ears ring. That’s fine. This happens sometimes. He just needs some sugar in his caf to bring his blood sugar up and everything is fine. His steps down the hall are carefully steady.
There’s new troopers today, he notes absentmindedly. Shiny and fresh from training. Organically grown and picked up to replace the dead. Like a farmer’s market, only instead of tomatoes it’s unmarked graves and loss and instead of fuzzy green mold it’s maggots and rotting corpses. He blinks the image away slowly.
He swears quietly as his comm unit beeps with another reminder. The new kids—-and they really are kids—-look up in shock. General Kenobi swearing?!? A Jedi!? He stifles a smile at their wide eyed expressions. Ah well. Kids had to learn about the real world one day.
He knows he looks stable. He’s very good at keeping his back straight and his stance just wide enough to keep his balance. Composed, as a Jedi should be. And very, very good at brushing past impulsions. Not like Anakin. And definitely not the kind of Jedi who swears casually.
Alas. One step at a time, he tells himself, one foot in front of the other. Drink some caf, add some sugar, then finish the form. It doesn’t matter what he wants. Things need to get done. He will finish it because he must. And that is usually that.
Only, today, there’s an itch in the back of his head that he can’t quite get rid of. He wants to do something stupid. Something permanent. Something he should’ve done years ago. He takes a moment to breathe and think. Don’t be stupid, Kenobi, he tells himself. And then, it isn’t stupid if you have a plan, is it?
He shivers as he seriously considers it. It really would be so easy.
(step one: commit to the plan. print and send notes.)
He has a note written. Has had one written for years now, since he was thirteen, about to step off Coruscant onto Bandomeer. He didn’t want to leave the world without saying goodbye. He’s revised it over the years as he’s matured, added and deleted the dead. It’s neater now. More apologetic and more stable. After all, he isn’t a child anymore. He has Anakin to think about now.
He pulls it up, skims it. Yes, he thinks, this should be fine. He schedules it to send hours later. It won’t be his problem by then.
(step two: select a method.)
He walks down the hallway, briskly, steps suddenly certain. There’s new troopers today, he recalls. Shiny and fresh from training, and not likely to question an order. “You,” he says, fingers pointing at a particularly nervous shiny.
“Yes, sir?” They snap to attention. They’re so young. So painfully young. Obi-Wan almost feels bad. This should be quick.
(step two: obtain the method)
He smiles gently at them, movements carefully steady. “May I borrow your blaster?”
“My-my blaster, sir?” The trooper shifts, slightly uncomfortable. “Why- what for?”
“Ah, Jedi business, I’m afraid. Top secret, need to know only.” There - dangle the threat of secrecy and war in front of a new trooper and watch them melt.
“I- I don’t think I should give this to you, sir. It’s against regulation.”
Huh. This one has a spine, he muses blandly. Unfortunately, that doesn’t quite work with his current plans of dying. He hates to pull rank. But. Needs must. His voice goes cold and he steps cleanly forward, closer to the trooper. “It’s also against regulation to disobey a superior,” he says, his gaze hard.
The trooper stares guilelessly up at Obi-Wan. “As far as I recall, you never gave an order for anything.”
Obi-Wan freezes. And then he laughs. It’s tinged with an edge of hysteria. Force be damned.
“Are- are you alright, sir?”
“Yes, yes” Obi-Wan pulls himself together. “Well. No. Yes.” A long pause, as he thinks. Then, “don’t give me your blaster.”
“Understood, sir.” The trooper’s voice is earnest, polite and unfazed.
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “What do you understand?”
The shiny blinks. “That- I shouldn’t give you my blaster? Sir?”
Obi-Wan almost laughs. This one is so very precious. “You’re so perfect,” he says instead.
“Sir?”
“Ah. Disregard me. I ramble in my old age.”
“You’re hardly old, General,” the shiny argues, loyally. Obi-Wan does appreciate it. A little.
“Close to death, then. Aren’t we all?”
“Sir?”
Obi-Wan ignores him. “It’s a war. We’ll all die soon.”
“Sir?”
“Forget my request. It was…a hasty judgment.”
“Sir?”
Obi-Wan ignores the trooper, turns, walks back to his quarters and tries not to think about how easily he could’ve put a gun to his head. Force, he hopes Cody doesn’t find out. He pulls out his comm, deletes the scheduled message. Like it never even happened.
--
But it’s Cody’s ship as much as it is Obi-Wan’s and of course Cody finds out. Hours later, Obi-Wan can hear Cody pacing outside his quarters and he knows . Obi-Wan sighs. Of course Cody found out. Cody always finds out. Eyes on the back of his head, that one. He opens the door. “You’ll wear a hole in the ship, my dear,” he says mildly.
Cody looks up. For a moment, his gaze is fiery desperation, before it slips back into cool steel. “General.”
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Please. Cody.”
Cody tilts his head. “Obi-Wan,” he acquiesces. He holds out a tray. “I brought food. I presumed you hadn’t eaten yet.”
Obi-Wan blinks. “You ah-” he pauses, “you presumed correctly.” He pauses, then continues, as if explaining. “Weapons acquisition form was due at noon. There was little time for dining.” He laughs lightly. “Death by bureaucracy. Force. What a way to go.”
Cody does not smile. If anything, his tone grows flatter. “General.”
Obi-Wan raises a brow at the formal address. “Commander,” he responds evenly.
“You asked one of the kids for a blaster today.”
Obi-Wan’s smiles placidly. “I did.”
“Why? You told the kid ‘Jedi Business’ which I know for a fact is a karking lie- ”
“It was Jedi business of a sort,” Obi-Wan says, still neutral. He is The Negotiator and, really, Cody should know better than to ask vague questions like this.
“Of what sort?”
“Unfortunately, discretion is paramount.” Obi-Wan isn’t even technically lying. He hasn’t lied since this conversation began. Everything is true from a certain point of view.
“General,” Cody hisses.
“Commander,” Obi-Wan responds again, still smiling, “if there’s nothing else, I did want to enjoy the meal you’ve so thoughtfully brought for me. I really do appreciate it. I’ve hardly had time to eat today.”
Cody sighs a little. “General,” he pauses, before continuing. “I wanted to ensure that you were aware that my comm unit is always on.”
Obi-Wan’s smile falters. He blinks, nods. “Of course.” He runs a hand over his face as Cody leaves the room. Force help him. Him, and meddling commanders.