Archive of Our Own ^beta

The great acts of love are done by those who are habitually performing small acts of kindness. -Victor Hugo

i.

CT-7849 (Books to his brothers, owing to his habit of disappearing for hours with holopads all through their training) is pretty sure that no one's going to call him shiny after today. It hadn't been a massacre, exactly—the General and the most experienced of his brothers had managed to prevent that, at least—but it had been bad enough. More of them are injured than not, and they've turned a shuttlebay into an impromptu medbay so that their medical staff can see to as many of the injured as possible, as quickly as possible. And, of course, there were more dead than any of them liked.

Books is among the least injured, and he's doing his best to help the medical staff and droids. None of Books's batch were meant to be anything more than ground units, but he's never not wanted to learn everything he can wrap his head around. Some of those stolen hours with holopads had been texts on field medicine, and… Well. He's had a lot of practice the last several hours.

What's been a surprise, to him, has been General Kenobi. He's not sure what he had expected from a Jedi Master, but he thinks it might have been someone more aloof and reserved. That's not what he sees from the General. He's been moving among the men, checking that every one of Books's injured brothers is as comfortable as he can be, and taking the time to talk with each of them like a friend.

He’s insatiably curious, but too busy to do any eavesdropping. At first, he thinks that maybe the General is friends with the injured men he stops to speak with, but he quickly realizes that it can’t be the case. The General is being methodical, moving from one stretcher to the next, kneeling when there’s a trooper on the ground. He can’t quite make sense of it, but there’s not time to really contemplate it.

Books grabs a new stack of bacta patches and turns to run back to the newest group of the injured–and runs smack into General Kenobi. He nearly loses his balance from the impact, but the General catches him by an elbow, visibly alarmed. “Are you all right?”

"I— Fine, sir, thank you. Just—" he holds up the bacta patches with a wry smile. "Not paying attention."

The General smiles–he has a kind smile, Books notices–and nods, taking a step back. “Ah. Well, I suppose we’re both guilty of that.”

"You've been a bit busy," Books points out. He nods toward the others. "That's a lot of check-ins."

General Kenobi glances over the shuttlebay full of wounded, and exhales, a shadow seeming to cross his face. “It’s the least I can do,” he says softly. He smiles ruefully. “Sadly, the healing arts are not my area of expertise.”

"Ah, well. You don't need to be an expert to slap a patch on someone. I should know." He splits his stack in half and hands one of them over to the General.

He smiles and nods, accepting the stack. “Thank you, Books. It is Books, isn’t it?”

Books blinks in surprise. "Uh—yes, sir."

The General pats his shoulder with a smile, holding up the patches. “Thank you for the supplies. I’ll let you get back to it.”

"Thank you, sir." He nods and ducks away, continuing his path toward the newest batch of injured. He glances back. The General has moved on to the next trooper and is bending over him with the bacta patches, speaking quietly.

It’s a few hours later before Books has the chance to stop and sit. More accurately, their CMO catches sight of him and orders him to sit down, but things have calmed down enough that he doesn’t bother arguing. He finds a spot against a wall where he can see most of the shuttlebay, and decides he might just close his eyes for a little while.

He might have dozed off, because the next thing he knows, he’s hearing soft voices nearby. He opens his eyes and turns his head to see General Kenobi kneeling next to a nearby trooper. The trooper lifts his hand, and the General takes it, holding it in both of his. Books knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he also doesn’t want to get up and move… and he’s curious.

“--you feeling, Trapper?” the General is asking, gently, as if he really wants to know.

"Right as rain, sir." The tone is wry, and… well. He wouldn't be feeling that well if he was on one of these stretchers, would he?

“You’re a terrible liar,” the General says, sounding almost fond. “I hope they at least have you on the good pain meds.”

Trapper scoffs. "Save 'em for someone who really needs them."

General Kenobi hums, shaking his head. “And here I was hoping they were planning to drug you to the gills. It’s the only chance I’ve got at beating you in dejarik.”

He lets out a short laugh, full of genuine humor. "I knew one day you'd try to cheat. Sorry, sir. You won't take me that easily."

“Clearly not.” The General’s voice is dry, but he’s smiling warmly. “Would you like some help sleeping, Trapper?”

Trapper gives him a weary smile. "I wouldn't say no to that."

He nods, still smiling, and reaches up with one hand to brush a palm over Trapper’s forehead. “Sleep well, my friend,” he says softly, closing his eyes and bowing his head. Trapper’s eyes slide shut, and Books watches as his body relaxes into the stretcher.

Someone nearby clears their throat, and Books glances over, immediately regretting it when he spots Commander Cody watching the General. He squeezes his eyes shut and pretends to be sleeping, hoping not to be caught watching.

"Sir." It's the Commander's voice. "You've been here for hours. You need to rest."

“I’m fine Cody, thank you.” Books can’t help himself; he squints one eye open, frowning. The General sounds a lot more tired than he had earlier.

"You're not." The Commander's voice is matter of fact in the contradiction. "You look like you're about to fall over."

“Flatterer,” he says dryly. Books watches him push himself to his feet, and privately agrees with the Commander. “I’m not hurt.” General Kenobi takes a step and almost seems to sway in place.

"Of course not," Commander Cody agrees blandly. "Just a little overextended. I'm sure the troopers will all rest a little easier knowing that you're taking care of yourself, too."

The General makes a ‘tsk’ sound with his teeth, shaking his head. “Low blow, Commander.”

"I'm not sure what you mean."

He grunts. “Of course not.” He walks over to the Commander and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Fine. You win this round, Cody. Walk with me?”

The Commander's voice is a little softer when he replies. "Of course, sir."

Books watches them walk away, weaving between stretchers and injured brothers. One of the medics kneels next to him and holds up a scanner, starting to check his vitals. Books tries to brush him off, muttering that he’s fine, and the medic frowns at him. He turns his head to see what Books is looking at and lets out a relieved sigh. “Oh good,” he mutters, turning back to Books. “The Commander’s got him.”

Books bats the scanner away again. "What was he doing? Does he always come around after a battle?"

“Yes.” The medic rolls his eyes and grabs Books’s hand so he can’t swat at the scanner again. “Unless he’s injured and thinks one of us is going to sedate him and tie him to a bed.”

Books is appalled at the thought—almost as much as he is curious. "Have you had to do that?"

He looks up from the scanner and must see the look on Books’s face, because he grins and laughs a little. “Don’t look so scandalized, shiny. We rarely ever have to actually get out the sedatives. The threats usually do the job.”

"'Rarely,'" he repeats. "Is not never."

That earns him another chuckle and a pat on the knee. “General Kenobi is a Jedi, remember? That doesn’t make him invincible, but… He can handle more than a typical human. Or even one of us. He doesn’t like being prioritized over the rest of us.”

Books grins wryly at him. "That's why we're here, isn't it? So other people can be the priority?"

“Ha ha,” he says dryly, reaching for Books’s arm to check the bandage. “Do you want the intel on the General, or not?”

"Of course I do." He lets the medic peel back the bandage, wincing slightly.

He hums and sets to work cleaning the wound. “He’s a good man,” he says, his tone a bit gentler. “The way he was today, out in front, leading the way? That’s the only way he does it. And he listens, especially to the Commander. Even asks for opinions.”

"Not what I expected," he admits.

He looks up and smiles at Books. “Yeah, that’s what most of us say. He’s not the only Jedi like that, but–he’s ours. You’ll see.”

"He cares." Books settles back against the wall again, thoughtful. "We should adopt him."

The medic bursts into bright laughter and grins. “Oh, kiddo. You’re gonna fit right in.” He nods over his shoulder in the direction the General and Commander Cody had gone. “If he’s not incapacitated or too exhausted, General Kenobi likes to check in on anyone injured. Every time.” He finishes rebandaging Books’s arm, sitting back on his heels. “He uses the Force, helps people sleep. Even helps them heal, somehow–don’t ask me how it works, none of us can figure it out. He calls it a healing trance. But he’ll wear himself out if we let him. I’d put money on someone calling Cody down here.”

He feels his eyebrows go up. "That's what he was doing? Going around to all those beds?"

He nods. “Mmhm. He doesn’t use the Force on everyone. There’s no way he’d be able to, with this many injured. But he still wants to at least see everyone.” He shrugs and smiles. “It’s easier to just let him.”

Books nods a little in return. "And then let the Commander drag him away when it's time?"

“Now you’re getting it.”

He laughs and waits for him to finish reapplying the bandage on his arm. "All right. Where do you need me now?"

The medic puts his hand on his shoulder and looks him square in the eye. “Right here. Resting. You were a big help, and we needed it, but now you get to be a patient. Got it?”

He holds up his arm. "I've been a patient. I'm ready to help again."

“First: we don’t need help now. Everyone’s been triaged and treated, at least as well as we can manage right now. Second: I was not kidding about using sedatives.”

That surprises another laugh out of him. "Fine. I want to help more, though. Next time."

“Mm.” He eyes Books thoughtfully. “We’ll see. Get some rest, shiny.”

"Yes, sir." He rests his head against the wall again, closing his eyes. He thinks he's going to like the 212th—not that he has a choice, really, but it's nice to be happy where you are, if you can.

Does exhaustion make you philosophical?

Maybe.

ii.

It takes a moment for Ahsoka to remember where she is when she wakes up. Her quarters on the Resolute aren’t that different than the ones she’s been given on the Negotiator, but they’re different enough. It’s not her bed or her room.

Plus, she never sleeps very well when she knows Anakin is out there, probably getting into trouble without her there to help him get back out of it.

She tries to go back to sleep, but after an hour of tossing and turning, she gives up. There’s always someone awake on a starship, no matter what time it is, and if the 212th is anything like the 501st, she’s sure there are card games happening somewhere.

She heads toward the mess, which is where the troopers are most likely to be spending their down time, and when she gets there she does see a few small groups playing the expected card games. The larger group, though…

"...What are you doing?"

Obi-Wan and a few of the men sitting with him look up at her, and he smiles, genuinely happy to see her–she can feel it. “Hello, Ahsoka. We’re knitting. Care to join us?”

She gives him a bemused smile and moves to sit with them. "Knitting? Why?"

“Why not?” one of the troopers says, squinting at whatever he’s working on.

She shrugs a little. "No reason, I guess. What are you making?"

Obi-Wan holds up what he’s making so she can see it. “Some of us are making blankets. Boil is working on a scarf. I think Wooley is making a sock.” He pauses and looks at the trooper who spoke before and says, “Books seems to be making a giant knot.”

Books sighs and drops the tangle of yarn. "I don't seem to be getting the hang of it, sir. I think I might need to see casting on again."

Some of the men laugh and rib him, but Obi-Wan just smiles and nods. He winks at Ahsoka, setting his partial blanket to the side. “Of course,” he says mildly. “Cody, remind me how many times it took for Waxer to learn how to cast on?”

"Hey!" Waxer laughs. "Why are you bringing me into this?"

Cody hums, knitting needles working as he appears to think. "I'd say almost a dozen, sir. And Waxer? You know what you did."

That only makes him laugh harder. "Yes, sir," he grins.

Ahsoka can’t help but giggle herself, some of the tension starting to ease from her shoulders. She watches Obi-Wan find a spare set of needles and begin “casting on,” which just looks like making a lot of loops to her, while some of the men watch closely. “So why are you all knitting, though? In the middle of the night.”

"Why are you wandering around in the middle of the night?" Boil shrugs. "It passes the time, and if you're lucky, you get a nice, warm scarf out of it."

"Or blanket," Wooley chimes in, squinting at his sock. "I like the blankets."

Ahsoka tilts her head to look at his sock too, squinting. “Blankets are nice. …Are you sure that’s going to be a sock?”

“Socks are very advanced,” Obi-Wan tells her. He looks over at her with a soft smile. “When I was a Padawan–not much older than you–my master taught me to knit. I had trouble sleeping and sitting still for a while. It helped.” He tilts his head and adds wryly, teasing, “Anakin never had any interest in learning. Strange.”

It's hard to imagine Anakin ever being this still voluntarily, and she smiles back, leaning in to get a closer look at Waxer’s work. "What are you making?"

He smiles and holds up his project for her. “Eventually? A blanket.” There’s a ripple of soft laughter at that, and his smile shifts to a grin. “Not all of us are as fast as the General.”

She glances toward Obi-Wan. "...How long does it take you to make a blanket?"

He hums, but keeps his eyes on his work, even though she gets the impression that he doesn’t actually have to look to see what he’s doing. “It depends,” he replies. “But I have been doing this a very long time, remember.”

"How quickly are the blankets the men keep stealing from the infirmary replaced?" Cody asks mildly.

Obi-Wan looks up at that, frowning at the side of Cody’s head. Ahsoka laughs to herself, recognizing that look from the many times she’d seen it directed at Anakin. “Maybe I have a stockpile hidden somewhere that you aren’t aware of.”

Cody hums a little. "Anything is possible, sir."

“There’s a stockpile in the infirmary at this point,” Books points out, looking up from his needles. It does at least look like he has a row or two going, this time. “But that’s not going to last long.”

"I can see why you need more hands, then." Ahsoka smiles. "Can you show me?"

Obi-Wan looks at her, and she’s not sure how to feel about how surprised and pleased he is. “You really want to learn?”

"You said it helped you sleep, right? And be still?" She gives him a sidelong grin. "Don't tell me you've never wanted to staple my feet to the floor."

“Well, you said it, not me,” he says with a small laugh. “But I suppose it’s a bit like meditation.” He offers her a pair of knitting needles and gestures at the pile of yarn on the table.

“Gives you something to do,” Boil says, a little quiet. “Keeps your hands and your mind busy.”

She thinks about that—about the kinds of things that they might want to keep their minds busy from—and nods a little, picking out a soft purple from the pile of yarn. The needles feel awkward in her hands, and she tries to remember the loops Obi-Wan had used before when "casting on."

“Here,” he says softly, reaching over to help reposition her hands. He guides her through the process, explaining what she’s doing and why. He tells her to start with something smaller, like a scarf, because it won’t take as long to finish and she won’t get discouraged. This makes the men laugh and begin sharing stories of their first projects. Obi-Wan smiles, but keeps his attention on her, helping her through her first row or two, letting her do the work but there in case she needs him.

She's surprised by how quickly the time passes. Troopers filter in and out of the group, based on their own schedules, and Ahsoka is starting to get the impression that there's always at least a small group here. Eventually, even she starts to feel drowsy. She sets the needles down so she doesn't start making mistakes, and instead just watches the others. Most of them are working on squares like hers, though there are a few bigger projects among them. One seems to be sewing together a blanket made up of a few different scarves. "How long have you been doing this?"

A few of them exchange glances, looking thoughtful. Bones, one of the medics, looks over at Obi-Wan with a frown. “...Since the beginning, I think. At least, the General’s been making blankets for medbay since then.”

“Well,” he says, in the tone Ahsoka knows means he doesn’t like the attention on him, “You always need more blankets there. The ones they give us are hardly adequate.” She knows that’s true. The standard issue blankets for the GAR are all scratchy and thin, but the ones in the infirmaries are even thinner and never last through as many washings as they need to go through.

A trooper she doesn’t know comes into the mess hall and heads straight for their table. Obi-Wan sees him coming and sighs, shoulders dropping. He begins folding up his blanket, and is setting it on the table when the trooper reaches them and leans in to speak quietly to him and Cody. He sighs and pushes himself to his feet. “Duty calls,” he says wryly. He stops to lean over and press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, murmuring, “Try to get some sleep, Padawan.”

“I will,” she promises, smiling after him.

There’s some quiet murmuring among the men as he leaves, but to her surprise, no one makes any moves to stop what they’re doing or to leave. Curious, she reaches for Obi-Wan’s blanket-in-progress and runs her fingers over it. It’s a lot softer than it looks, and heavier. She imagines wrapping up in it, and wonders if all of the blankets feel like this.

“Helluva lot better than the standard issue, huh?” Waxer asks, leaning into her shoulder briefly.

She nods. "He must have made so many of them if they're stocked in the infirmary. How does he have time to do anything else?"

Cody snorts softly. "He doesn't sleep."

She’s not the only one who laughs at that, but she does wonder how much truth there is to it. “I thought he said he learned to knit to help with the not sleeping.”

“Oh, it helps,” one of the troopers she doesn’t know very well says, dryly. “No one ever said it helps you to sleep.”

"Just gives you something to do while you're not sleeping." Books frowns down at his work. "Kriff it, I think I dropped another stitch. What's the trick to picking it back up again?"

Cody leans over to show him, glancing briefly at Ahsoka. "Notice how he didn't say he actually got more sleep after learning. Just that he learned it to help."

Wooley makes a thoughtful noise. "Makes you wonder if he's always been like that, or if it's just since he became den mother to a bunch of regs."

Ahsoka thinks about that, trying to imagine Obi-Wan as a child or Padawan, and can’t quite manage it. She frowns, recalling what he’d said earlier. She hadn’t really thought much of it then, probably because this war has been her only experience as a Padawan. She knows Anakin’s years were very different because he’s said as much. She plays with an edge of the blanket Obi-Wan’s working on and says softly, “…He said he learned when he was my age.”

"Learned to knit, sure," Wooley agrees easily. "Learned to stay up all hours and make blankets for infirmaries? I don't know about that."

"He probably started with scarves too," Cody says dryly, settling back in his seat again.

She smiles to herself, silently appreciating that either they’re not wondering what she is—namely what might have happened to Obi-Wan at her age to make him unable to sleep at night—or that they’re purposefully distracting from it. “Do people really steal the blankets?”

Cody huffs out a quiet laugh. "You know what the standard issue blankets are like. Coming out of the infirmary, are you going to want one of those? Or one of the nice ones that the General made?"

"Says the Marshall Commander who's walked out with at least three," Bones mutters under his breath, smirking.

Ahsoka smiles, enjoying the sound of the men laughing. Books grins over at Bones and said, “Yeah, but how many do you have stashed in your office?”

“I liked you better when you were shiny and scared of me.”

Books just grins wider. "You're the one that signed off on my transfer to medical."

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “When you were shiny and scared of me. And don’t act like you don’t have any General blankets.”

“General blankets?” Ahsoka repeats, grinning. She can’t wait to tell Anakin about this. “Does he know you call them that?”

"Yes," Cody says. "Though he thinks it's silly and says they aren't anything special."

That causes a round of groaning, head shaking and grumbling around them. It makes Ahsoka weirdly pleased, and a little proud. “Of course he does,” she agrees. She wonders if maybe she can manage to sneak one out with her when she goes back to her own ship.

The conversation shifts around her as the troopers come and go. Wooley and Books finally pack up their knitting, and are replaced by others who take out their own projects, and the topic shifts to their most recent action. She'd heard about it at the time, but it's interesting to get a different perspective on the thing. One of them launches into a story that feels so 'yes, and?' that she starts to wonder how much of it is true, but his description is vivid enough that she imagines being there among her brothers, ready to face the droid army, and…

She’s not sure how much time passes before she feels herself being moved by gentle hands. Dimly, she registers Obi-Wan’s voice–“I have her, thank you, Cody”–and lets herself relax again. The next thing she knows, Ahsoka is being settled into her bed. She struggles to wake up at least enough to open her eyes, blinking blearily up at Obi-Wan, who is smoothing a blanket out over her. He smiles when he notices her watching him, and taps a finger to the tip of her nose. “Go back to sleep, young lady.”

She lets her eyes close again and pulls the blanket in closer around her. "This is nice. I see why they're so special."

He breathes out a soft laugh. “Not you, too. They’re just blankets.”

"Nice blankets," she insists, already losing the battle against sleep. She yawns and tucks it under her chin. "I'm keeping this one."

“Good, because it’s yours,” he tells her, sounding fond. She feels him lean in and his beard brushes her forehead as he kisses the top of her head. “Sleep well, Ahsoka.”

"Mm. You too, or I'm telling Cody on you." She hears him laugh as he straightens again, and she means it, but she's asleep before he makes it to the door.

iii.

“No, Mace.”

The look on Mace Windu’s is fairly priceless, and Obi-Wan only wishes he could appreciate it. Or record it for the future. “Obi-Wan, this is not a request.”

“Is it an order from the Council?” he asks, purposefully keeping his tone mild and reasonable.

Mace sighs and passes a hand over his face. “...The senate,” he says grudgingly. “The Chancellor has specifically requested the 212th–”

“There are several battalions closer than ours, who can get there much faster. If it’s an urgent situation, what sense is there in waiting for us to arrive?”

Mace lifts his hands in a rare display of exasperation, shaking his head. “I know,” he says, sounding tired and worn; Obi-Wan understands, intimately. “But–”

“We cannot leave for at least a week.”

Mace stares at him, surprised into silence for a long moment. “Obi-Wan.”

He lifts his hands to forestall whatever arguments or reprimands Mace has in mind, shrugging helplessly. “The Negotiator was damaged upon arrival–you know that, it’s in our initial reports. I won’t rush repairs when we’re being asked to potentially enter combat.”

Mace narrows his eyes at him. “I thought the repairs were ahead of schedule.”

“They are. The original estimate was three weeks or more.” This is all true. At least according to the reports he submitted once the fighting was over, and they’d managed to deliver their supplies to the colonists. He still has questions; this was supposed to be an “easy” mission, to deliver relief and medical supplies to a Republic colony close to Separatist space, but when they’d emerged from hyperspace, a fleet had been waiting for them. Obi-Wan still counts themselves fortunate that the Separatists hadn’t managed to invade the planet before they arrived, but it still unsettles him that they had been there at all.

Mace was rubbing at his temples, grimacing. “...One week, Obi-Wan. I can buy you that much time. But your next orders…”

“I know,” he says quietly, allowing Mace to trail off and not say aloud what they both know. The Senate will be displeased, and if the 212th isn’t given orders for direct, heavy combat in deep Separatist space next, well. He’ll be pleasantly surprised.

They end their conversation shortly after, and Obi-Wan allows himself a few moments to let his emotions flow and release them to the Force, mostly because he doesn’t want the men to see his frustration. He’s managed to get them another week. It’s going to have to be enough.

There's a soft chime at the door, indicating that something a little more local is in need of his attention, and he feels himself smile a little as Cody comes in with a pair of steaming mugs. He hands one to Obi-Wan, then takes a drink from his own. "We're on track to be finished unloading supplies within the next few hours, and I've set a constant, rotating watch for our most vulnerable locations. We shouldn't have any more surprises."

“Wouldn’t that be a nice change of pace?” he asks dryly, absently sipping at his own drink. He’s expecting caf, so he’s pleasantly surprised when he tastes tea instead. He looks at Cody, smiling gratefully at him. “Tea?”

"Mm," he agrees. "You don't need to be awake for days on end anymore. I thought it might be a nice change."

“It’s very nice,” he agrees, laughing softly. “Unless you plan to start trying to slip sleep aids in it to make me catch up on said sleep. That is not a suggestion.”

"What a clever idea, sir, thank you."

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and leans back against the table. He knows that Cody would never do anything like that, no matter what he says. “I just spoke with Mace.” He would like to put this conversation off a little, but Cody knows him too well and will ask anyway. “We have a week to finish repairs.”

Cody frowns. "A real week, or the kind of week that actually only means a few days? Should I call the boys back to the ship?"

“No,” he says, a little more sternly than he probably should have. Cody certainly doesn’t deserve his temper. He hesitates and decides he may as well tell Cody the full story. “The Senate will likely try to have us deployed sooner, but I’ve told Mace we need the time to finish repairs. …Possibly I told him that we were ahead of schedule–which we are. It is just also possible that the initial estimates for repairs were for three weeks.”

Cody huffs out a quiet laugh. "Well, we've been lucky that the locals wanted to help. It's made things go much more smoothly than it might otherwise have done. We can be underway sooner if it's necessary, though."

Obi-Wan reaches out to rest a hand on Cody’s shoulder. “We can,” he agrees. “But we won’t, unless something emergent comes up.” He offers a bit of a smile, lowering his voice to point out gently, “The men–and you–we–have had our last three shore leaves cancelled at the last moment. They can spare us a few days, Cody.”

He feels Cody's shoulder relax a little under his hand. "All right, sir. It would be a shame to waste all that time I spent on duty rosters, anyway."

He squeezes his shoulder, chuckling. “It would indeed. Now, I think I’d like to get some fresh air, what do you think?”

Cody nods his agreement, setting down his mug. "I'm told the beach is nice."

“Cody.” Obi-Wan sets his own mug down, shaking his head. “Are you telling me you haven’t been down there yet?”

"Duty rosters," he reminds him, raising an eyebrow. "I've been busy."

“Well,” he says, making a decision and taking Cody by the elbow to lead him out of the room. “As of now, you are officially off-duty, how does that sound?”

Cody laughs again. "Does that mean you're off duty too, sir? Who does that leave in charge? Not Bones, I hope."

“Technically, we’re all lucky Bones hasn’t fully appreciated the power he has as Chief Medical Officer. He can order us both around, Commander.”

Cody eyes him warily. "Don't tell him that, sir. You thought you had to worry about me drugging your tea."

“Despite what all of you may think, I am not actually without any sense of self-preservation,” Obi-Wan points out, squinting as they step into the sunlight. “I’m sure Books has figured it out, but he’s also smart enough to keep it to himself.”

"Knew I liked that one."

They make their way down the path that leads from the ship to the shore, and Obi-Wan truly could not imagine a better place to have to land to make their repairs. The planet is temperate, the vegetation plentiful, and the locals friendly. Most of them would plan shore leave in a place like this anyway, and consider themselves very lucky. When they round the last corner, they're greeted by the sight of… surely that can't be the entire crew, spread out over the beach?

It seems that at least half of them are in the water, shoving and splashing each other, body-surfing the waves to shore, racing each other or, in a few cases, just floating. The men on the shore appear to have dragged blankets and towels from the ship, which many of them are sitting or lying on. Most of them have not only abandoned their armor, but their blacks as well, stripped down to their underwear or just wearing the pants–though, yes, he sees that some have foregone clothing altogether.

There are groups of men playing games and tackling each other in the sand, others digging holes or burying one another. Some build castles and cities in the sand, and groan when the waves get too close and wash away their work. He spots several men just standing by the water’s edge, watching and occasionally shouting at the men in the waves.

“Cody,” he asks slowly, taking in the view before him. “What were those duty rosters you were working on?”

"Lifeguarding," he replies easily. "I certainly don't trust them not to do something stupid out there, do you?"

Obi-Wan lets out a surprised laugh, a real laugh, the kind that makes him toss his head back. He has to wipe at his eyes when he manages to pull himself back together, and it occurs to him that he can’t quite remember the last time he’s laughed like this. He grins over at Cody. “We are all very lucky to have you, you know.”

"Then you expect to do something stupid, too?" he asks, raising an eyebrow over barely concealed humor. "I should have set more lifeguards."

Obi-Wan shrugs, and begins walking the rest of the path down to the beach, sure that Cody will follow him. “Now Cody, I thought you always expect me to do something stupid.”

Cody sighs heavily as he falls into step with Obi-Wan. "I truly do, sir."

When they hit the sand and are spotted, they are inundated with troopers who want to pull them in one direction or another, inviting them to join in on the festivities. Obi-Wan knows the invitations are sincere–he would know that even if he couldn’t feel it through the Force–but he still doesn’t want to intrude. The entire point of this time he’s bought them is for the men to have a chance to unwind; they don’t need to be worrying about their General on their down time.

He smiles and waves, and makes apologies, waving off invitations, but encourages Cody to go with his brothers. He’s happy enough to just walk the beach, observing the fun and smiling when he finds yet another man asleep in the sun. At some point he and Cody are separated, and he slips through the crowds, finding himself a sun-warmed rock to sit on where he can see most of the beach and enjoy watching and feeling the men relax and have fun, for a change. He removes his boots so he can dig his toes into the sand. The sun beats down on him, and he concedes to it by shedding a few layers, removing his tabards and outer tunic.

When he sees Cody again, he's shed his armor, boots, and shirt. There's sand dusting his hair and pants, like he'd gotten in some kind of fight with it after having gone swimming, and he's laughing at something one of his brothers is telling him. He glances toward Obi-Wan and smiles, then claps the trooper on the shoulder before heading in his direction. "I thought you'd fallen asleep," he says once he's close enough.

Obi-Wan smiles in return, warm and content in a way he hasn’t felt in far too long. He loves to see Cody like this–smiling, laughing, relaxed. He loves seeing them all like this, but especially Cody. His commander has always had a tendency to shoulder far more weight and responsibility than he already has to. “I admit that I’ve considered it.”

"It does seem to be a popular pastime," Cody agrees, glancing around them at the many clones dozing on blankets. "Water's nice, though. Boil's organizing a race."

“Of course he is,” he says fondly. “Planning to join in?”

"They need a referee." He arches an expectant eyebrow.

“For a swim race?”

"It's a bit 'no holds barred,' sir." Cody gives him a wry grin. "I told you they couldn't be trusted."

“A bit,” he repeats, shaking his head in amusement. He pushes himself to his feet and stretches, making a face. It’s possible that he’s been sitting in one position for longer than strictly wise. He waves a hand at Cody, indicating that he should lead the way. “And you can’t play referee because…?”

"Apparently, I'm biased," he says mildly. "Someone figured out that Waxer's my favorite."

“Someone being Boil, I assume.”

"Mm," he agrees, smiling. "In any case, I've been disqualified. You were deemed an acceptable replacement."

“Acceptable,” he huffs, pretending to be offended. “You should hardly be disqualified. Waxer’s your second. Of course he’s your favorite.”

"They seemed to think it gave him an unfair advantage. None of them believe me when I say that Rex is my real favorite, and he's not even here." Cody shrugs, slowing to a stop at the water's edge. "It's all right, though."

“They just don’t see Rex often enough.” Obi-Wan smiles and nudges him with an elbow. He lowers his voice so only Cody can hear him. “Since you can’t referee, you should join in. Put them all in their place.”

"I wouldn't want to embarrass them, sir." He pauses. "Or myself. I spend a lot of time at a desk these days."

“Oh, yes,” he says sarcastically, nodding. “So much time at a desk. Never any time for training or sparring. You’re an absolute mess on the battlefield, my dear Commander.”

"Pity there aren't more hours in a day to keep up with such things," Cody agrees with a shrug. "I'm sure I can trust you to keep my secret."

Before he has a chance to reply, Boil splashes his way toward them. "You're not going to be able to judge from all the way out here," he laughs. "We're going to need you a lot closer than this."

Amused, Obi-Wan looks past him to the group of men gathered a few meters from the shore. “You’re all taking this very seriously,” he says, wading into the water with Cody.

"Of course," Boil agrees, grinning back at him. "How else do we figure out who's the best if we don't have a serious competition?"

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The water is cold and he wonders how many of them have gone numb by now, but they clearly don’t care. As they approach, he can feel their excitement and giddiness, and sees them whispering and shoving each other. He stops and narrows his eyes at Boil. “...What are you up to?”

"Nothing, sir." His voice is innocent, even as some of the others start chuckling. "It's just that we saw you baking on your rock out there and thought you might need to cool off." That's all the warning he gets before Cody, of all of them, tackles him from the side into the water.

When he surfaces, sputtering, he shoves his hair out of his face and whirls to find Cody, splashing at him. “Betrayed! By my own Commander!”

Cody grins back at him, amused and unrepentant. "It was for your own good. You were getting sunburned."

“I hardly think this is the way to prevent sunbu–” Obi-Wan finds himself jumped on from behind and shoved under water once more.

The ensuing water fight is ferocious, but full of laughter, and by the time they've worn themselves out, most of them are half-drowned and completely out of breath. He staggers back to the shore and flops backward onto the sand. He hears Cody settle onto the beach next to him and glances over. He still looks entirely too smug.

Obi-Wan lifts a hand and points at him. “That was–your idea. Wasn’t it?”

"I have no idea what you mean."

He lets his head flop back in the sand, draping an arm over his eyes to block the sun. He uses his other arm to reach over and shove weakly at Cody. “You know exactly what I mean. That mutiny you just staged.”

"Yes, well. The men and I aren't the only ones who've had our leaves cancelled three times in a row. They were worried you weren't taking advantage of our unexpected shore leave."

“He wasn’t,” comes Boil’s voice. Obi-Wan uncovers his eyes in time to watch him drop to the ground on his other side, grinning hugely. Waxer is on his heels and flops down on top of Boil, making him grunt. Several of the others are following them out of the water, and begin falling to the sand around them, still laughing and shoving and catching their breath.

Obi-Wan lets his arm fall back over his eyes again, and smiles, listening to them talk around him. He lets himself just lie there and take in the moment, feeling the sun beat down on them, hearing the waves breaking nearby, enjoying the feelings of satisfaction and happiness that his men are releasing into the Force around him. Cody’s not wrong; he so rarely is. It’s probable that he’s needed this break as much as they have.

He feels Cody's elbow connect lightly with his ribs, and he turns to look at him. Cody's eyebrow is raised and there's a knowing expression on his face. "Don't think we haven't noticed that we 'still need more time for repairs' on the nicest planet we've visited in months."

He smiles at him and says mildly, “Pure coincidence, Commander. We’re fortunate this planet is as nice as it is. We could have been attacked in orbit around Dagobah.”

"That slimy mudball?" Cody shudders. "I doubt we would have been able to lift off again. We'd have been stuck there forever."

He knocks the side of his fist against Cody’s, chuckling. “Well. I suppose that certainly would have given us a longer break, at least.”

"I'd rather a short break here than a long break there."

He hums his agreement, watching the way the sun creates an aura around Cody’s profile, feeling relaxed and content and like he could fall asleep right here in the sand, surrounded by his men. “Yes. Me too.”

iv.

Cody's neck and shoulders are stiff, and his eyes feel gritty from exhaustion, but he thinks he's finally—finally—got next month's duty rosters set. It's not usually this difficult, but they've had more losses than usual, and there are more gaps to fill than he'd like. They're due for another batch of shinies, but that will come with its own set of problems as they get acclimated to the 212th. There's always an adjustment period.

He sets aside the finished rosters and pulls the next holopad toward him. It's the most recent communication in his ongoing argument with the Senate about what they need for supplies. He wants his men to have what they need; the Senate wants to keep costs down. It's an exercise in diplomacy every time he has to respond to one of these messages, and he's somehow managed not to call them all a bunch of kriffing idiots for thinking they can fight a galactic war on a budget.

As predicted, they want to give him about half of what he has listed, and he's going to have to explain that yes, they really do need all those bacta patches and socks. And he's going to have to do it politely. He scowls a little as he opens his reply.

Next to him, Obi-Wan groans and stretches, setting aside his own holopad. “I think it’s time for some tea,” he says grimly, pushing himself to his feet with another low groan. They’ve been sitting and staring at screens for far too long. “Tea, Cody? Or…” He pauses, looking at the pile of work still sitting on the table. “Is it a night for caf?”

"It's a night for a stim patch," he mutters, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders to try to loosen them. "Caf would be good, thank you."

Obi-Wan makes an amused noise and claps a hand on Cody’s shoulder as he heads for the kitchenette. “Unfortunately, Bones confiscated the last of our stash. Caf and tea will have to do for now.”

"I guess I'll have to add them to this requisition, then. Maybe if they argue with me about the stim patches, they'll stop arguing about the bacta patches." He sighs and settles back in his chair to watch while Obi-Wan moves around the kitchenette.

“Force,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Bacta patches this time? Maybe we would need less if we weren’t constantly being sent after Grievous.”

Cody grunts his agreement. He's not going to bore Obi-Wan with the suggestions from certain senators that they're being careless with their supplies and should ration better, or from others that they're already paying for replacements anyway… He shakes his head a little, clearing it. None of that's going to help him come up with a cogent response. "Could be worse. They could be sending General Skywalker after him."

Obi-Wan groans and scrubs a hand over his face, bringing Cody his mug. “You’re right, of course.” He forces a smirk and asks, “Do you suppose they need more or less bacta patches in the 501st, hm?”

Cody considers the combined influences of General Skywalker, Commander Tano, and Rex, and feels himself start to despair for them. "More. Many, many more."

It makes Obi-Wan laugh, so he considers that a win. He comes back with his own tea, settling back into his chair at the table with a heavy sigh. He’s favoring his left leg slightly–not enough for most people to notice, but Cody is looking for it. Obi-Wan makes a slight face when he sips at his tea, which must mean that he’s out of what he likes and is stuck with whatever’s left. “All right. Maybe we need a plan of attack for this.”

He hums. "Sure. You take interpersonal complaints. I'll take maintenance reports."

“All right,” he agrees. He glances at Cody and smiles wryly. “...After I finish my tea.”

"You'll need it to get through all of that," Cody says, glad that he won't have to. The maintenance reports will take just as long to slog through, but at least he won't have to worry about the tractor beam's feelings about being housed next to the deflector.

“Yes,” he agrees grimly, with a sigh. Cody thinks he seems more tired than usual, but he’s not surprised. He returns his attention to the reply he had barely started, and it’s not long before Obi-Wan is reaching for a pad of his own.

They work in comfortable silence for a while. It’s one of things he’s always appreciated most about his General. He’s never understood how Rex manages to work with Skywalker, until he found out that they very rarely sit and do their work together the way he and Obi-Wan do.

He’s lost track of time when Obi-Wan sets a pad down on the table with a soft click. “Cody,” he says slowly. “Is there a reason you’ve left me off this roster?”

"Which one?" He glances toward the pad, bracing himself to have to rearrange not one, but all of the rosters, because things are just that tight right now. Then he sees which one it is, and lets himself relax. "Oh. You're never on that one."

“I’ve noticed,” he says dryly. “Why not?”

Cody frowns at him. "It's roundup duty." That should be the end of it, but Obi-Wan is still looking at him like he thinks more explanation is forthcoming, so he sets aside the list of nonessential repairs he's prioritizing. "No one wants roundup duty."

“No. But everyone does roundup duty.”

He's not wrong, but. "It's not like taking your turn in the laundry." They all have laundry shifts, and while the results are variable, no one is ever out of clean clothes. Mostly clean clothes.

Tolerably clean clothes.

“Of course it’s not,” Obi-Wan says, a little sharply. He seems to realize that as soon as he’s said it, because he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I’d like to help.”

"You already help," Cody points out. "All the time. You don't have to help with this, too."

He drops his hand and levels a tired look at Cody. “I want to.”

Cody looks back at him. "You don't want to. We just covered that. No one wants to."

He huffs out a breath and shifts his gaze to the far wall. “First of all, part of the task involves determining who is still living. I want to do that. And I can tell—I can feel them out. If it can make a difference for even one man, then it’s more than worth it.”

"You feel it when they don't make it, too," Cody points out, frowning.

It’s a long while before Obi-Wan answers; long enough that Cody wonders if he shouldn’t have said it, or at least not so bluntly. But he does respond, sounding tired. “I do, yes. But I can’t let myself feel it, not really. Not in the middle of battle.” He presses his mouth shut in a thin line. “They’re your brothers. None of you should have to do it, but we know that’s not an option.”

It's not. Something needs to be done with all of the fallen clone soldiers—living and dead—and there are precious few outside the vode who care enough to give them the respect they deserve, so that's who it falls to. There's nothing pleasant about the hours of searching for survivors and digging graves, though there are plenty of gallows-type jokes about wanting this one's boots or that one's utility belt, but they do it. It's the last care that the fallen will ever receive. Even many of the survivors only last long enough to get back to medical, where they become organ donors for those with a better chance of surviving. "Right, but…"

“But,” Obi-Wan agrees, sounding tired and defeated in the way he never shows anyone but Cody, and maybe Skywalker. He looks and makes eye contact with him. “Please, Cody.”

He sighs. There isn't actually a reason not to add Obi-Wan to the roster aside from his own desire to—what? Shield him from the effects of combat? Ridiculous. He leads them into combat. Cody picks up the pad Obi-Wan had set aside and starts adjusting the schedule. "All right, sir." He can put Obi-Wan on the shifts he's on himself, where there are already fewer men who'd be uncomfortable digging graves with their COs.

He hears Obi-Wan release a slow, relieved breath next to him, and then feels his hand grip his wrist. “Thank you, Cody.”

He makes a noise under his breath and glances up, turning his hand under Obi-Wan's to grip it in return. "Thank me after you throw out your back digging and carrying."

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m not that old yet,” he protests, lifting their hands to press a kiss to Cody’s knuckles.

Warmth spreads outward from his chest, and he tightens his fingers around Obi-Wan's, setting the pad aside. It's not really that much work to fit him into the already established roster, and he can finish it later. "Keep telling yourself that," he says, smiling a little.

Obi-Wan presses his face against their hands, one corner of his mouth quirking in a suppressed smile. “It’s the grey hair, isn’t it? That’s entirely Anakin’s fault.”

"Of course." He likes the way his General looks, grey hairs and all, but he has no issues with teasing him. A little. "That must be it."

Obi-Wan huffs out a small laugh, expression turning soft and fond. He squeezes Cody’s hand again before setting it down. He sighs at the pile of work on the table in front of them. “The only reason I’m going to throw my back out is because it is going to atrophy from sitting here doing this,” he mutters grouchily.

Cody laughs and stretches his own back. They've made a significant dent in the pile, but it is getting late. He was tired when he finished the duty rosters, and that was hours ago. "It might be time to stop for the night," he sighs. He hates to leave so much undone, but there's something to be said for coming at it in the morning with fresh eyes.

Obi-Wan makes a face, and Cody knows he’s thinking the same thing, even as he glares at the pile of holopads as if they’re about to turn into droids and start shooting at them. “You’re probably right,” he says after a moment. “Wouldn’t do to reply to the wrong message because my eyes are crossing.”

"Or tell the Senate what kriffing idiots they are," Cody agrees, relieved that Obi-Wan is on the same page as he is. He pushes away from the desk. "We'll have more patience with this tomorrow."

Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow at him, skeptical. “...Will we, though?”

He thinks about that. "Well. We can't have less. At least—I can't."

“No, me either.” He chuckles and pushes himself to his feet as well, grimacing and stretching, pressing a hand to his left side. “Ow.”

Cody stands and moves to tuck himself under Obi-Wan's arm so that he doesn't have to put any more stress than necessary on his injuries. "You should let me check that."

Obi-Wan sighs, but leans on him and lets himself be led over to sit on the bed. “Can we skip the part where I protest and try to convince you I’m fine? Because I’m not sure I have the energy for it. But for the record–I am fine.”

"Of course you are," Cody agrees mildly. "Let's see it anyway."

He huffs and gives Cody an irritable look, but lets him help remove the ridiculous number of layers of clothing he wears. He catches Cody’s hand and tugs him to sit on the bed next to him. “When you report to Bones, please tell him there was minimal protesting.”

"It's bad enough for me to report to Bones, then?" He turns Obi-Wan's hand in his and traces fingertips over his palm. "You should take better care of yourself."

A shiver runs through him, and he leans into Cody’s side. “I just assume he always wants you to report on me,” he says lightly before letting out a slow breath. Quieter and more solemnly, he says, “It’s really not so bad, for an encounter with Grievous.” Which isn’t saying much. “Took a hit to my bad knee. Cracked a rib or two, got a bit bruised. That’s all.”

A hit to the bad knee doesn't sound good, and neither do the ribs, but he can concede that they've both had worse. "What Bones wants to know and what Bones gets to know are two very different things."

Obi-Wan chuckles and turns his head to look at him. “Ah, my dear.” He leans in to touch their temples together. “Your loyalty knows no bounds, does it?”

"Try and hide something more serious, and you'll find out," he says, smiling a little. "You're just lucky the treatment for all of that is rest."

“I think I’d rather not chance it.” He pulls away just far enough to sit up and look at him, closing his fingers over Cody’s. Softly, he asks, “Will you stay, tonight?”

He'd have to be a much stronger man than he is to say no to that. "I'll stay." He leans in again, touching their foreheads together. "Someone has to make sure you rest, rather than trying to get ahead of me on our paperwork."

Obi-Wan presses into him and breathes out a laugh. “If it’s a race, my dear, you will always win. Especially if you keep leaving the interpersonal complaints to me.” He can hear the smile in his voice, and the quiet affection when he adds quietly, “Thank you.”

"You don't get accused of playing favorites among your brothers." He squeezes Obi-Wan's hand and gets to his feet so he can shed his armor and kick off his boots, then kneels to help Obi-Wan with his. "I'll deal with maintenance reports and supply requisitions every day if I don't have to mediate disputes over who put his elbow into his brother's space."

“I suppose I am uniquely qualified for that, having raised Anakin through his teenage years.”

Cody huffs out a quiet laugh and sets Obi-Wan's boots next to his. "That's why I leave it to the expert."

Obi-Wan smiles and pushes the blankets aside, reaching for Cody. “Come here.”

He lets Obi-Wan pull him up onto the bed, then stretches out beside him. "Careful of those ribs," he says, shifting so that Obi-Wan can rest against him on his good side.

Obi-Wan shifts around until he’s comfortable, pulling the blankets up over them, and twists to look back at Cody fondly. “Sleep well, Cody,” he says, leaning back to kiss him.

"I will." He puts his arm around Obi-Wan, tucking him closer against him. It's not always practical, but he always sleeps best like this, just the two of them curled up together away from the rest of the galaxy. He pushes his nose into Obi-Wan's hair. "Cyar'ika."

v.

Anakin stalks through the strangely empty halls of the Negotiator, growing more agitated and confused as he goes. The shuttlebay was weirdly quiet when they landed, like they were operating on a skeleton crew, but it doesn’t make sense. He glances behind him at Ahsoka and Rex. “Where is everybody?”

Ahsoka frowns. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong… Everyone's calm—happy, even."

"Maybe we should check the mess?" Rex suggests. Anakin looks at him in surprise, but he shrugs. "Commander Tano said after her last visit that there's always someone there, sir."

Anakin shrugs, checking his comm again–still no messages from Obi-Wan. “Yeah, I guess we may as well. Obi-Wan’s still ignoring me.” He shoots a grin at Ahsoka. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”

"Or maybe he didn't find your joke very funny, Master," she offers, giving him a sweet smile before catching up with Rex again. "I wonder if Waxer finished his blanket."

“You haven’t finished your scarf,” Anakin grumbles. As soon as he does, he feels bad. There’s nothing wrong with Ahsoka liking to knit, or having a blanket made by Obi-Wan. Anakin certainly had several, growing up. …He just didn’t know Obi-Wan still did that stuff, nevermind that he was teaching his troops.

“Hard to find time to knit when you’re in combat,” Rex calls back mildly.

"And I'm still a beginner," Ahsoka adds, clearly unbothered by his comment. "I feel like I have to relearn every time I pick it up."

And it’s not like she has anyone who can help her when that happens. Anakin picks up his pace, scowling to himself. He can help her with a lot of things–her lightsaber forms, strategy, how to use the Force to protect herself and her men in battle… But he can’t show her the older, more traditional things the Jedi used to do, before the war. Things like knitting and sewing–oh, he can patch a hole or fix a cloak if he has to, but he never had the patience to do it as well as Obi-Wan or others he grew up with. He never needed to know how to do any of it. Even learning to cook seemed pointless, until they were stuck in a siege and running out of rations.

Give him a starfighter or a droid to take apart any day.

Anakin turns a corner and stops dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Ahsoka isn’t paying attention and runs right into him. She peeks around him and lets out a whistle. “...Must be meal time.”

"For everyone?" he asks in disbelief. It's not really everyone—there is a crew working—but he can see now why the halls had been so deserted. Everyone not on a necessary duty must be here.

"Oh, excellent." Rex grins. "I heard about this."

“About what?” Anakin asks, looking over at him, frowning.

"Dinner," he says cheerfully, stepping into the mess hall. "Shipwide. With real food, not rations."

“What, really?” Ahsoka asks, shoving past Anakin to follow him. “Why don’t we do this?”

They both look to Anakin, who has no idea how to answer that. He didn’t think that was a thing they could do. Where did the food even come from? But looking around, he can see that everyone absolutely has actual food in front of them. It looks like dinner at the Temple more than anything else. “What the kriff.”

"You're telling me," Ahsoka grumbles. "I can't believe I miss vegetables. And that looks like real bread. Waxer!"

One of the men glances over and grins at her. "Commander!" he says, clearly happy to see her. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to see Obi-Wan, but now that we are, I want what you're having! Where's the food?"

Waxer laughs. "With the General—in the kitchen." He jerks his chin toward a door. "They're making up tiffin boxes for the men who are still on duty. They'll set you up, and then you can come back out here and catch us up on the news."

“Yes,” she exclaims, throwing a fist pump in her excitement. She gives Rex a shove toward the kitchen door and then looks back to Waxer. “Oh! How’s the blanket coming?”

"Slow," he says with a grin. "But I think I'm about halfway through. Get your dinner, kid."

She grins, walking backwards. “Sounds like my scarf,” she quips, and tips him a silly salute when he laughs. Anakin can’t help smiling when she turns around and puts her hands on Rex’s back, pushing him through the crowded hall all the way to the kitchen entrance.

Anakin smiles, waves and nods at the troopers he knows, especially when they call out greetings, but he doesn’t stop to chat. He’s not long behind Rex and Ahsoka, but by the time he enters the kitchen, Rex is already on the other side of the room, harassing the cooks and Cody… Is he wearing oven mitts? Anakin wonders, but he’s distracted by Ahsoka, who already has three dinner rolls in one hand and has her other arm around Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan is standing at one of the giant stoves, laughing at something she’s said. He looks happy, and Anakin realizes that it’s been way too long since he’s seen Obi-Wan happy. It’s also been forever since he’s seen Obi-Wan cook, and he’s suddenly reminded of when he was a Padawan. Whenever they weren’t away on a mission, Obi-Wan had made a point of cooking in the evenings, even though the refectories were right there.

Obi-Wan spots him before he can think too much on that, and smiles widely. “Anakin! I hope you’re hungry.”

"I guess," he says, snagging one of the rolls Ahsoka is holding. She makes an indignant noise, and he grins and takes a bite from it. "Will you tell Ahsoka that I'm not being unreasonable when I tell her she needs to spend at least a half hour a day meditating?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at him and looks down at Ahsoka, who is still tucked under his arm. “Only half an hour? Didn’t I have you doing an hour a day, Anakin?”

"At least," he grumbles, taking another bite. It's been forever since he's had Obi-Wan's cooking. He forgot how good it is. "See?" He raises a pointed eyebrow at Ahsoka.

She huffs and turns big eyes on Obi-Wan. Anakin can’t help a quiet scoff–there’s no way those eyes are going to do anything for her cause. “It just seems like a lot of time to be spending on myself when there’s so much else to do.”

"Ahsoka," Anakin says, folding his arms across his chest. "A half hour a day is barely enough. You need that time."

“Anakin is right,” Obi-Wan says, and something in his voice makes Anakin look up, in time to see that he’s smiling slightly at him. He looks down at Ahsoka and his expression turns serious again. “The more difficult things are, the more meditation helps. You always feel better after, don’t you?”

She makes a face. "Yes? I guess? But then I feel bad that I wasn't doing more to help out."

“You are helping,” Obi-Wan tells her gently. “When you meditate, you’re centering yourself and giving yourself a chance to strengthen your connection to the Force. You may be a Commander, but you’re also still a Padawan. Sometimes you have to take care of yourself before you can help anyone else.”

"What was that, sir?" Anakin sees Cody turning toward them as Rex snags a spoon from his hand. "Did you just say 'you have to take care of yourself before you can help anyone else?'"

Anakin grins, watching the exasperated look on Obi-Wan’s face and enjoying the fact that it’s not aimed at him for once. “Yes, Cody, I did.”

"You?" he asks again. "May I quote you on that, sir?"

“No,” he says flatly, and Ahsoka laughs. He pokes the tip of her nose. “That is a do as I say and not as I do lesson, Ahsoka. I daresay you’re familiar with those.”

"Maybe a little." She gives Anakin a sidelong grin.

He gives her a pointed look in return. "And even I take the time to meditate."

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll stop complaining. It’s really not fair for the both of you to gang up on me, though.”

"Why not? You and Rex do it to me all the time," Anakin teases. He's won this round, though, so he lets it drop. He turns to Obi-Wan instead. "How often do you do this?" He motions to the busy kitchen.

Obi-Wan makes a face, giving Ahsoka a light squeeze before releasing her and turning to fill bowls for them. “Not as often as we’d like,” he says. “Every few months? Provided we have the down time. And the food.”

Anakin just shakes his head a little, trying not to feel like this is another way he's falling short. At least this, he knows, is unusual—even among other Jedi—or he would have heard about it sooner. Ahsoka takes the bowl Obi-Wan gives her and inhales deeply, smiling. Then she tucks a few more dinner rolls into her pockets and brushes her knuckles lightly against Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I'm gonna take this out there—I promised Waxer gossip."

He nods at her, smiling. “Go on, then. Just don’t believe anything he says about me.”

"What makes you think we'll be talking about you?" She grins at him before ducking back out into the mess hall.

Anakin watches her go, shaking his head fondly. He moves to lean against the counter beside Obi-Wan, tearing at the roll in his hands. “You know you just guaranteed that they’re going to talk about you, right?”

"I'm sure they'll quickly move on to more interesting topics," he says, setting Anakin's bowl next to him. "It hasn't been nearly as exciting around here as it's been for the two of you."

“Ugh.” Anakin pulls a face. “I don’t mind the action, but did it have to be a desert?” He feels like he can still feel the sand scraping his skin raw. He reaches for his bowl and registers, for the first time, what’s in it–nerf stew. He can’t help grinning widely at Obi-Wan. “Hey! You made Rich People Food!”

Obi-Wan smiles fondly at him. "Yes, Anakin. I made stew. It's a good meal for when you're trying to serve this many." He nods toward the mess hall. "And there's plenty, so feel free to have more if you're still hungry after that."

"Please have more," Cody says, setting a tray of rolls on a counter nearby. "I think he made enough for our boys and yours."

“I did not,” Obi-Wan says dryly, but Anakin looks over the kitchen and thinks maybe Cody’s not too far off the mark.

“I’m happy to take the leftovers off your hands,” he offers, snagging a hot roll.

"Better not," Rex says, leaning against the counter with him. "We'll have a rash of men asking for a transfer to the 212th. Speaking of which—requesting an official transfer to the 212th, sir."

Anakin elbows him–foolishly, given the armor–because he has a mouthful of stew and bread. It’s even better than he remembers. He has the strangest feeling like he could close his eyes and open them again to find himself back in their old quarters at the Temple, sitting at their table and complaining to Obi-Wan about his homework. He swallows and shakes his head. “Denied, traitor. Besides, if anyone’s requesting a transfer, it’s me.”

Cody shakes his head. "Sorry, sir. We're full up on Jedi. The three of you are too much trouble to deal with on a regular basis." He grins at Rex. "And I have enough little brothers to worry about already."

Rex picks up a roll and throws it at Cody’s head. Anakin grins, asking, “Who said anything about the three of us? Ahsoka can handle the 501st.”

"No good," he says, shaking his head again as he tears the roll in half. "I'd rather have Tano. She has at least twice the sense you do."

Anakin gives him a wounded look and turns to Obi-Wan. “Did you hear that? Slander and lies!”

Obi-Wan looks at him thoughtfully, tilting his head. “...Well…”

"Hey!" He laughs. "You know you're part of this trio that's too much trouble, right?"

“Only when the two of you are around,” he replies blandly.

Anakin makes a face at him and turns back to his stew. "I don't know. I've heard about some of the things you get up to when we're not around, and I'm pretty sure that thing on Anangar was all you."

Obi-Wan scoffs, finally setting aside the ladle and turning to face him. “Now, Anakin. That was at least fifty percent Cody’s doing.”

"No, sir," Cody says, with a look of such studied innocence that Anakin doesn't believe him for a second. "I would never use such an irresponsible amount of explosives. That was entirely your fault."

“Yes.” Obi-Wan’s tone is as dry as it can get, and Anakin exchanges a grin with Rex. “Because of the two of us, I’m so well known for my love of explosives.”

"I'm glad we agree, sir," Cody says serenely.

Obi-Wan grunts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, take Rex and go eat with your brothers, would you?”

"Yes, sir." Cody slings an arm around Rex's shoulders and steers him away. They each grab some food on their way through, and head out into the mess hall.

Anakin grabs another roll to use to finish off his bowl of stew, watching Obi-Wan return to dishing out stew for the crew on duty. “Why’d you decide to do all this?”

Obi-Wan glances over at him. "You may recall that I do actually enjoy this kind of thing, Anakin," he points out, smiling. "And there's something to be said for a meal that brings everyone together."

He thinks about that, thinks about all of those nights at home in their quarters, doing his homework or tinkering with droids while Obi-Wan cooked, how predictable and stable that part of their lives was back then. It never mattered what was happening or how late it was, or if they went to eat at Dex’s instead, they always ate that meal together. “...I don’t think I realized you liked cooking,” he admits, feeling a little guilty. He’s not sure why, and he’s not a fan.

Obi-Wan laughs. He reaches over and gently takes the empty bowl from Anakin’s hands, turning to refill it. “Well, you did generally find other things to do. Don’t think I didn’t know you were avoiding being asked to help.” But he’s clearly not mad, still smiling and winking at Anakin when he hands over the newly full bowl.

"I was very busy fixing those droids," he says, with a half smile back at him as he takes it. "...And I didn't have a lot of interest," he adds grudgingly. "Which I regret now, kriff, this is so much better than rations."

“It’s never too late to learn,” he offers, shooting Anakin a mischievous look. “You’re not that much older than I was when I started.”

Anakin huffs out a short laugh. "Maybe I'll take you up on that—when we have time again." He pushes his stew around the bowl, frowning thoughtfully. "I think Ahsoka's interested in this kind of stuff. Like the knitting? She really likes it, but she keeps getting stuck on her scarf."

“I’m surprised she’s had time to work on it.” Obi-Wan turns and leans against the counter next to Anakin. “She caught on very quickly.” He smiles a little sadly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Everything is so very different for her than it was for us,” he says softly. “I can only hope that will change someday.”

"Yeah." He sighs and glances over at Obi-Wan. "I was never good at that stuff, though. I can't show her."

Obi-Wan looks at him with a soft smile. “I’ll check in with her and see if I can help. And remind her that she can comm me any time.” He smirks and adds, “If I’m busy, I’m sure someone will be available to show her whatever she’s trying to do.”

Anakin feels some of the tight unhappiness he's felt at his inability to help Ahsoka with this part of her education start to fade, and he grins back. "How many of them have you taught? She said it seemed like there was always someone out there with knitting going."

Obi-Wan reaches behind him to grab one of the rolls, shaking his head in amusement. “Honestly? I’ve lost count. I’m fairly sure some of them have started teaching the others themselves, too. You would not believe the amount of yarn we go through. I caught some of them playing sabacc for blankets the other day.”

Anakin laughs in surprise. "You're kidding."

“No, those blankets are very popular around here. They keep vanishing from the infirmary.”

Huh. He gives Obi-Wan a sidelong look. "How do you keep up? Even you're not that fast."

He tilts his head in agreement, humming to himself. “I’m very good at multitasking,” he says airily. “...And it’s easy to do discreetly during Council meetings. Or briefings, on occasion. Or for bouts of insomnia. It’s also one of the few activities Bones will allow when one is stuck in the infirmary.”

"And you have help." It's Cody, back in the kitchen to—apparently—grab some more rolls. "A few of the lads are getting good enough to start making blankets to give away, and that's where the extras usually land."

“And I have help,” Obi-Wan agrees with a fond smile. “Which I’m grateful for, since the intention was for those blankets to stay in the infirmary…”

He grunts, continuing to pile rolls into a basket. "I think Bones said he was going to start keeping some work-in-progress blankets in the infirmary for the men who are inclined to be busy while they recover. Maybe they'll be able to keep those in the infirmary." He pauses. "Until they're finished, anyway."

Obi-Wan laughs. “Well, starting a blanket takes significantly less time than finishing one. I suppose if you’re stuck in a bed long enough to finish one, you may as well keep it.” He winks at Anakin, who knows exactly how much they both hate being stuck in those beds.

Cody makes a noise of agreement and picks up his basket. "Let us know when it's clean up time, okay?" He fixes Obi-Wan with a look. "Cooking crew isn't clean up crew." His words have the cadence of a well-worn argument.

He shakes his head, looking amused. “You’re impossible, Commander.”

"Just so long as I'm impossible to ignore," he says, turning to go again. "General Skywalker—don't let him start cleaning up. Sit on him, if you have to."

Anakin grins. "You got it, Commander."

Obi-Wan gives him a wounded look. “I’m being plotted against. In front of my face.”

Anakin shrugs. "Hey, you spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Maybe you should let someone take care of you, once in a while."

That seems to catch him off guard, surprising him; Anakin isn’t sure what surprises him, the sentiment or that he’s voicing it. “...Well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know about all of that.”

Cody pauses at the doorway out to the mess. "You're never going to hear me say this again, General Skywalker, so pay attention: you're right."

Anakin laughs, watching him go, then turns back to Obi-Wan. "Look, if Cody and I agree on something? We're right and you have to accept it."

He looks vaguely stunned and blinks back at him. “...What just happened?”

"You got overruled," Anakin says, feeling strangely gleeful. "Sorry."

“You are not sorry.”

"I'm not sorry," he agrees with a grin that feels like it's stretching his face. "I never get to be right."

“Now, Anakin, that’s not true. You were right…” He stops, looking thoughtful, lifting a hand to his chin. “...I’m sure there’s been at least one time.”

"Hey!" He elbows him. "I'm right sometimes!'

Obi-Wan laughs brightly, tossing his head back. “Yes, yes. I suppose it has to happen occasionally.” He elbows Anakin lightly and tilts his head toward the door. “Let’s go see what kind of trouble your padawan is stirring up, hm?”

Anakin nods and pushes away from the counter, setting his empty bowl aside. "Just don't believe what she says about me." He grins.

“Oh, I never do,” Obi-Wan reassures him, setting a hand on his shoulder. “I always assume it’s much worse than whatever she says.”

+1

Obi-Wan enters his quarters and as soon as the door slides shut behind him, he lets his shoulders slump and he leans back against the door, closing his eyes. He passes a hand over his face and sighs, exhausted and weary down to his very bones. He is grateful to be back on board his ship, to be with the 212th, to be away from Coruscant and the Temple and… Anakin, and Ahsoka. Maybe especially Anakin. He feels bruised and sore, not physically but in his very heart and soul. He knew, when he accepted the mission, what he was risking. Not just his life–that’s nothing new, after all–but something infinitely more precious to him: trust. Anakin’s, Ahsoka’s. His troops’. Cody’s.

He is infinitely grateful that the 212th has welcomed him back the way they have, with no blame or resentment that he can sense. It doesn’t completely assuage his own guilt, but he’s not sure if there’s anything that can. He needs to meditate. He needs to sleep. He needs to catch up on everything he’s missed while undercover and “dead,” and he isn’t even sure where to begin. At least the meetings and briefings are done.

Standing here leaning against the door isn’t getting anything accomplished, however, so Obi-Wan takes a breath to brace himself and pushes himself away, taking a step further into his room–and stopping abruptly, confused.

For a moment, he’s not entirely sure he’s in the right place, which is patently ridiculous. These are his quarters; they haven’t moved, his palm unlocked the door, he can feel the sense of home in the Force that has built up during his years here. His tea kettle is in the kitchenette where he left it, one of his robes hangs from a hook nearby, and there are stacks of datapads on his table. But that’s not all that’s on his table. He steps over and picks up a small, brown, knit object, turning it over in his hands, bewildered. It looks like… a porg? There are several pairs of clearly hand knit socks in various colors and patterns piled on the table as well, and at least three blankets lie draped over the back of his chair. A look at his bed shows several more blankets piled up, and he knows he didn’t make any of them.

"The porg was Books's idea," comes a voice from the doorway. He turns to see Cody smiling softly at him. "The rest came from…" He shakes his head. "Everyone, really. Careful with those socks. Not one pair was made by a single man, so the sizes are probably extremely variable."

Obi-Wan blinks at him, then looks at the socks again–this time noticing that Cody’s right, and there is not a matching pair among them. “I don’t… understand.”

"You're the one that taught them all how to knit," Cody says, moving toward him. "It can't be that much of a surprise to see they're using it."

He looks around him at it all again, still feeling off-balanced. “Well, yes. I mean, no. But–why is it all here?”

"Well," Cody scratches his neck thoughtfully. "I suppose they wanted you to know you were cared for. And missed."

Obi-Wan looks over at him sharply. “I–they’re for me?”

"In your quarters," Cody reminds him, raising his eyebrows. "Who else would they be for?"

He opens, then closes his mouth, and runs a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I thought the blankets–medbay?”

Cody shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure they worked on them in shifts to make sure they got done in time, but they're for you."

He thinks of that, and he can picture it, knitting projects being passed from brother to brother. He swallows past a sudden lump in his throat, and reaches out to run his fingers over the top blanket over his chair. He can feel the echoes of multiple Force signatures and emotions–primarily relief, worry, joy, love–and it takes his breath away for a moment. “...Oh.”

Cody reaches for his other hand and takes it in his own. "Like I said. They wanted you to know they cared."

He grips Cody’s hand in his, maybe a little tighter than he strictly needs to. It’s possible they’ll forgive him his deception, that maybe they already have forgiven him. It’s even possible that Anakin will forgive him, eventually. The question is when he’ll be able to forgive himself for what he’s put them all through, no matter how necessary the mission was. “I’m so sorry, Cody.”

Cody frowns a little and tugs him closer. "What? No. You don't have to be sorry."

He sighs, letting Cody pull him in. He reaches up, placing his hand along Cody’s jaw. “Oh yes, I do.”

"Not to me." Cody leans a little into his hand.

“Especially to you,” he counters, squeezing his hand.

Cody scoffs quietly. "Why?"

He can’t help a tiny, sad smile. Only Cody, really. “For putting you through… all of this.” For making him grieve, for the uncertainty they all must have felt and the worry about what might happen to them with an unknown new General. For the lies and the secrecy.

Cody leans toward him and presses their foreheads together. "It's not something you did to be cruel, Obi-Wan. We understand. I understand."

He exhales and feels some of the weight he’s been carrying lift. He shifts to wrap his arms around Cody and grab hold of his blacks by the fists. “Thank you for that.”

He feels Cody's arms slide around his waist. "Of course, all that understanding isn't going to keep you from the consequences. See if any of us let you out of our sight for the foreseeable future."

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him in a huff, and he pulls away only enough to duck his head and press his face into the crook of Cody’s neck, breathing him in. “Well. I suppose that’s only fair.”

"Glad you agree." Cody starts tracing his fingers lightly up and then down Obi-Wan's back. "How are you?"

Fine. Good. Okay now. Better. They’re all true, to an extent, but Cody knows him too well. He knows that Cody won’t take any of those answers at face value, and he might even play along, but… Obi-Wan finds that he’s tired of being stoic and strong. “Tired. Glad to be back.”

Cody rests his head against Obi-Wan's, letting out a quiet sigh. He can feel the anxiety and stress starting to bleed away from him. "I'm glad to have you back."

He holds tighter to Cody and gives himself a moment to just hold him and soak in the bright warmth of his Force presence. “I’ve missed you.” It feels like an understatement. He’s had longer missions, been away from Cody and the 212th for longer periods of time, but the time he spent undercover with the bounty hunters weighs on him differently.

"I know," Cody murmurs. He presses a kiss to Obi-Wan's hair. "I missed you too."

He leans into him, letting Cody bear his weight for just a few seconds, exhaling some of those heavy emotions, releasing a little more guilt and heartache into the Force. He hugs Cody tighter before pulling away, offering what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I read your reports about what happened while I was gone, but I do want to hear the real story from you.”

Cody's eyebrows are raised slightly, like the smile isn't quite as convincing as Obi-Wan had hoped, and he shakes his head a little. "The real story isn't that much different than the official reports. I just failed to mention how mad everyone was that we were on deployment during your funeral."

He can’t help grimacing. The funeral. Yet another thing he wishes he could have said no to. To make matters worse, he can’t help but think the same orders would have been given to his troops if he had actually died. “Ah. Yes.” He exhales again, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

"It's not your fault the Separatists decided to make a nuisance of themselves at the worst possible time," Cody says, tugging him a little closer again. "We got each other through it. Minimal casualties, and no losses."

Obi-Wan nods, relief washing through him again, and he doesn’t bother hiding that from Cody. “Thank the Force for that,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

Cody hums quietly, pleased, before pulling back again. "I know you're tired, but… We have something for you, if you're up for a little walk." He smiles a little at him. "You can bring one of the blankets if you want."

He raises an eyebrow at him, curious. “More? You didn’t have to do anything for me, you know.”

He shakes his head, looking—oddly—a little embarrassed. "It's not just me."

Obi-Wan smiles fondly and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Any of you,” he clarifies, but reaches behind him to pick up the topmost blanket.

Cody smiles back, relaxing again, and grabs another blanket from the chair. Obi-Wan is curious about the need for blankets, but he follows Cody out of his quarters and back into the corridor. They wind their way through familiar passageways, and Obi-Wan is almost distractingly grateful to be back in the home this ship has become. They stop at the doorway of one of the smaller cargo spaces. Obi-Wan gives Cody a bemused look, and he just smiles a little in return. "We thought you might… Well." He shakes his head, clearly giving up on words, and opens the door.

The small cargo bay no longer contains cargo; instead, it's become a small barracks. There are bunks lined along the walls, where there are a few men resting, but the majority of the space—the entire floor that isn't taken up by the bunks—is covered in mattresses and blankets. Nearly a dozen men are sprawled together on the large bed (half of them snoring), and Obi-Wan sees Boil lift his head to give him a tired grin. "Oh, good. You're here."

He turns to Cody, both eyebrows raised in silent question. He’s known about these communal sleeping spaces—of course he’s known—but they are one space he’s always tried to steer clear of, out of respect for the clones and what these spaces mean for them.

"We talked it over," he explains, moving a little further inside so the door can slide shut behind them. "We thought that—after everything—you might want to be with people who care about you. And," he grins a little. "There was too much arguing over who got to look after you, even after I pulled rank. This seemed like the fairest solution."

That surprises a huff of laughter out of Obi-Wan, and he shakes his head, overwhelmed. He has no idea how Cody–how all of them–could have known how completely and utterly alone he’s felt ever since the idea of sending him undercover came up in the Council meeting. The other Council members had known the truth all along, so for them, welcoming him back was a pat on the shoulder, a smile from across the room, a line in a memo, barely a pause in the relentless forward march of the war.

Others still aren’t ready to welcome him back, and he understands that. He does. Understanding doesn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear, though.

But this… Obi-Wan looks out over the room, taking in the sight of so many of his men in one space, listening to them and feeling the peace in the room. He has to swallow past a lump in his throat and clear his voice before trying to speak, reaching out to clap a hand on Cody’s shoulder and squeeze. “I… You’re sure?” He looks to Cody; he wants to be here, to stay here, but he won’t if there’s the slightest chance it will make any of the vode uncomfortable. “This is your space.”

"Yeah," Cody agrees. "It is. And we want you here. You heard me mention the fighting, right?"

"Just because you're the Marshal Commander doesn't mean you get to pull rank for everything," Boil grumbles, flopping back again. "And if you say anything about being the oldest, I'm throwing Waxer at you." Waxer slits his eyes open at the sound of his name and throws an elbow into Boil's side, making him wince.

“No throwing people, please,” a pile of blankets behind them mumbles. Obi-Wan recognizes him as Books right before he adds, “Medbay’s not full for once. Come sleep already, would you?”

Cody nudges Obi-Wan forward a little. "Come on. I know you're tired."

He doesn’t resist this time, letting Cody lead him over to the mattresses. He knows better than to try to pretend he isn’t tired, especially when Cody isn’t the only one present to argue with him. They remove their boots, and Obi-Wan lets Cody shove him over into the spot next to Boil, who is radiating some smug satisfaction in the Force–but he grabs the blanket out of Obi-Wan’s hands and shifts around to make sure he has a pillow under his head when he lies down. Obi-Wan is distracted by what he can feel from the clones, and Boil shakes the blanket out over him before settling back in beside him. The Force is bright and warm with sleepy contentment and a lot of deep relief. He can feel attention on him from everyone who is awake, but they all do seem to be glad he’s there–more relief from some of them, and joy, too. And from all of them, strong enough to take his breath and make him blink away tears, is love–for him.

Cody settles against his other side, crowding against him and throwing the blanket he'd grabbed from Obi-Wan's quarters over both of them. He presses his nose into the space behind Obi-Wan's ear. "I hope this isn't too much," he murmurs softly. "They all wanted to be here with you."

He leans back into him and swallows, shaking his head just a little. “No,” he whispers, finding Cody’s hand and lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Maybe it is a bit much, but not in a bad way. He knows how he feels about his troops. Feeling them return it so clearly is a gift. “Thank you.”

Cody breathes out a soft laugh against his neck. "You don't need to thank me. Any of us. We're just glad you're back. You're loved—and not just by me."

He huffs out a tired, slightly overwhelmed laugh. He can feel the truth of that, not just from Cody, but from the rest of the vode around them.

“He’s right, you know,” Boil murmurs with a yawn, leaning his head into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. From behind him, Waxer hums an agreement and stretches out the arm he’s thrown over Boil. He’s probably trying to pat Obi-Wan’s arm, but he winds up patting his hip instead–once, twice, then dropping his arm and leaving it there.

"Go to sleep," Cody says, putting his own arm around Obi-Wan's waist and pulling himself closer. "Let us take care of you this time."

Obi-Wan sleeps better that night than he has maybe for the entirety of the war.