I.
Obi-Wan doesn't know what wakes him. He believes it's the shifting of the blonde beauty in his arms, and lightning storm occurring outside - New Mandalorians are known for their love of window decorations and stained glass, and that's how Satine's apartment on Coruscant is decorated.
How she convinced an apartment owner to renovate to such an extreme was beyond him.
But then again - she probably owned the apartment building.
Shaking his head, Obi-Wan gently untangles himself and steps out of bed. The air is cool on his skin, a welcome distraction from the nightmares from the previous night.
"What is the Force telling me?" Obi-Wan murmurs, staring out at the Coruscanti skyline. He watches the speeders and shuttles fly by, their passengers completely unawares of the turmoil inside of him.
Tucking his hand behind his back, he studies a familiar apartment building in the distance. He wonders about Anakin, how much of a strain the young man was under, what sort of secrets that must be kept in a dual life.
But here I am, doing the same thing, Obi-Wan realizes when he glances over to a snoring Duchess wrapped in blankets. Trying to make this work.
He remembers the years before the Trade Federation blockade, where he spent every leave on Mandalore.
Where they fought and bickered and apologized long enough to fuck.
But neither of them were fumbling youths now. They'd both moved on - ha! - had relationships, loved and lost, found their pleasures outside of each other. They'd grown, matured, been thrown trials, raised children to somewhat functioning maturity.
He shook his head, and wanders into the kitchenette. Satine had dismissed the guards the previous night, narrowing her eyes until they left. Only a probe into the Force made him aware that the guards were just outside the apartment, ready to protect their Duchess at a moment's notice.
Protect their Duchess from the likes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.
He brews water for tea - caf for Satine - because that's what couples did right? She comes in while the kettle is screeching, blearily-eyed and muttering, "That's why I like instant. There's none of that awful sound."
"Well aren't you a delight," he counters, pouring the water into mugs, over their respective packets of tea and caf.
Satine hops up on the table, rubbing at her eyes and not bothering to adjust her - his - tunic when it dips a bit too low on her chest and reveals a bit too much of her legs. Not that he really minds, either. "When do you have to be at the Temple?"
II.
If there's one thing he's learned, it's that a giggling Bant should be feared.
A giggling Bant armed with a holoprojector, Quinlan and Garen should have taught him to run away to Hoth.
Oh dear Force.
But he's Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he sets his tray down at the cafeteria table, only mildly suspicious when they click it off and continue to sputter.
"Obi-Wan," Garen Muln greets, rising from his seat and offering an embrace. "How's the front treating you?"
"Awful," Obi-Wan laughs, pulling his old friend close. "I've never liked Temple food more than I do now."
"Hate leads to the Dark Side," Quinlan says solemnly, though his serious expression lasts for half-a-click before he starts laughing. That gains a few looks, but most ignore the rambunctious group. Meals with friends are hard-pressed these days.
Obi-Wan lets out his own laugh, and takes a seat. "Quinlan - is Aayla feeling okay? I heard she was admitted to the Healing Halls?"
Quinlan swallows his noodles - which are actually live, slippery fish wriggling between his chopsticks - and flashes a small smile. "She was. One of the padawan's caught a nasty flu strain and is passing it to everyone in the Halls. Master Fisto hasn't left her side."
Obi-Wan nods, taking a drink from his Jawa juice. "You quarantined the Padawan, Bant?"
"Probably too late."
"Wonderful. I could be infected now and not notice. Start sneezing while giving orders. Infect a whole platoon in their sleep - Garen, why are you laughing?"
Garen shakes his head, trying to steady his breathing. "No reason?"
Obi-Wan sets down his chopsticks and narrows his eyes at the three giggling Jedi before him. "Does it have anything to do with the holoprojector you were staring at?"
"No?" Bant offers weakly, while Quinlan nods in affirmation.
"What does sleeping having anything to do with...kriff," he mutters when Quinlan drops the flimsi-paper on the table. A picture of Duchess Satine and himself stares back at him - a rather raunchy picture, in reality. Obi-Wan is sitting on her apartment terrace chair, kissing Satine while she straddles him. The public may not know it's raunchy - the camera can't witness other things that were happening below the many layers of fabric.
The title reads cleverly: "Secrets of the Negotiator Exposed?"
"Damn it," Obi-Wan mutters, putting his head in his hands. "Please tell me that's the only photo?"
"Well…" Garen pulls out his portable datapad and does a quick search. "There's a picture of you two dancing at that gala a few weeks ago. Leaving the gala together. Oh, here's one of you leaving her apartment on Coruscant - actually, there are several. Someone snapped a picture of you guys on Sundari...making out. In a garden. And a library as twenty-year...and maybe - can you two keep your hands off of each other?"
"Thank the Force there's not a Kenobi-Kryze running around the Galaxy," Bant mutters with a shutter. "The sass on that one."
"Oh, but that hair would revival Master Qui-Gon's," Quinlan murmurs.
Obi-Wan doesn't comment, though he thinks to himself, Kryze-Kenobi. Korkie uses Kryze first.
III.
Obi-Wan doesn't mind transparency in a government. It promotes politicians to remain kind and benefactoral towards their people, and encourages good relations between all classes, and laws that would benefit everyone.
He does mind, however, the Republic sending in Holonet reporters into a kriffing battlefield.
He grinds his teeth together when the Chancellor suggests, stomping down the urge to yell, "Are you bloody mad? That's one more life we have to monitor, one more mouth to feed, one more, one more, one more…"
Anakin is all for it. Senator Amidala too. Even Mace wants to do it.
Master Yoda is a bit skeptical - he wants to preserve the Jedi and the Clones privacy, but he knows the public's trust of the Jedi is wearing thin, and something must be done.
Instead of sending a reporter with every army, they decide on putting one in The Third Systems Army. With Obi-Wan and Cody. For two months.
Obi-Wan feels bad for the bright-eyed, wanderlusting reporter Coruscanti Central sends on their mission to Felucia. He watched the Twi'lekki eagerly film everything, from take-off procedure to meals in the mess hall, knowing it would only get worse.
The legions below him are spread thin over several dozen parsecs, and he decides to cut the 501st in half - Anakin's team will drop out of hyperspace and into a battle, using just enough firepower to draw the Separatist attention from Ahsoka's team, which will land on-planet with much needed humanitarian supplies.
He waits on the bridge to parsecs away, anxiously waiting for news on the 501st, the 506th, and the 333rd. The computers flicker simultaneously, showing the results and messages from all the dozens of legions he is in charge of. Cody is beside him, helmet tucked under his arm, studying the analytics flashing on the screen.
"340th abstained some heavy losses," Obi-Wan comments.
"Think we should put shinies in or rearrange some troops?"
He shrugs, half-ignoring the reporter chattering to a clone taking down stats. "I'd really like to take wounded clones and create a division for them. For humanitarian efforts. It worked for General Eerin."
"Position them where? Coruscant?"
Obi-Wan smirks at the scoff, knowing full well his commander's disdain for the planet. He senses the reporter a few steps closer than before, and murmurs, "Your question, my friend?"
"Could you by any chance highlight your relationship with Duchess Satine?"
"Could you by any chance highlight why people are so intrigued by it?' Obi-Wan asks, raising an eyebrow. He won't hide the fact that he and Satine are together - by Force, it seems utterly ridiculous too - and folds his arms and gives a small smile. "We are adults. We can our own choices, regardless of public opinion."
"But the Jedi and Mandalore-"
"Are peaceful, at the moment. We should focus on the positives, not the gossip."
IV.
"Would it be too much if we sold a picture of us swimming? I hear Naboo has some lovely beaches."
Obi-Wan laughs breathlessly, still exhausted from their activities only a moment before. "Too much? Master Windu might give me the silent treatment for an entire month."
Satine grins, laying her head on his chest and listening to his hammering heart. He puts an arm around her, fingers tracing the small of her glistening back. "Excellent. I'll ask Padmé for some recommendations."
"Oh I'm sure she has some," Obi-Wan mutters, and rolls his eyes when she pokes his side. "Still can't believe you talked me into this."
"Selling pictures of us to tabloids? I believe that was your idea, my dear."
"Hardly."
"What's your favorite?"
"Mmm?"
Satine laces their fingers together, feeling the buzz of sex begin to fade, replaced by the lull of sleep. "Favorite picture of us?"
Obi-Wan stares up at the ceiling, thinking for a long while. He thinks she is asleep when he finally murmurs, "Korkie's first birthday. When your handmaidens took a photo of the three of us covered in frosting."
"Mmm...that's a nice one." Satine pulls herself closer, humming when he pulls the blankets over them. "I like the one at the gala. Where we're dancing, and Korkie and Ahsoka are with Padmé and Anakin in the background."
V.
Ahsoka comes to base at night, hearing that a Mandalorian ship had been gunned down in their airspace and several crew members had been salvaged from the reck. Once she had spoken to Mon Mothma, she made her way to the med bay, curious if she could find any old friends.
Unlikely, she thinks grimly, but nevertheless she goes and speaks to a few people whom were awake. Many knew who she was, and she welcomed the small talk. It was a nice distraction from the hopelessness and death that always surrounded the Resistance fighters.
"Ahsoka? Ahsoka Tano?"
Ahsoka turns around at the entrance of the med bay, confusion on her face for a moment. She doesn't recognize the young man on the cot, not until a probe in the Force reveals his identity. "Korkie?!"
She certainly hadn't expected someone from her youth to be grinning at her on an Rebel Alliance cot, leg wrapped up in bandages.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, crossing the room and bending down to embrace him. "I thought you were on Mandalore leading the Kryze clan."
Korkie grins at her in the dim light, his blue eyes twinkling in a way that always reminded her of a certain Master from Stew-Jon. "I should be. My aunt Bo had me fly some med supplies to the Resistance. We may or may not have been gunned down by Imperial Forces while leaving airspace."
"You were part of that crew?" Ahsoka asks with a small chuckle. She sits on the bed, noticing a hand-held holoprojector on the nightstand.
"Flying's for droids," Korkie huffs, rubbing at the coppery beard on his chin.
Master Kenobi used to say that, Ahsoka thinks, glancing at the holoprojector again and realizing whom the people were. "What happened to your leg?"
"Chemical burns and a nasty break in my femur. They applied some bacta and bone-knitters, but it might be into the tank tomorrow."
They chat for awhile, trying to catch up on twenty years of events. Neither of them bring out the last time they saw each other, on the Siege of Mandalore. He speaks of his adventures in the Outer Rim, the progress Bo-Katan has made on Mandalore, how the pacifist and the warrior are learning to blend together.
She speaks some of her adventures, but many of them are painful, involving long-dead friends or...less savory events. She doesn't really speak of her continuing hunt for remaining Jedi, or her liaisons with Hondo and Maz. Most is better left unsaid, and Korkie does not pry.
"Korkie," she asks when the conversation has dwindles down to nothing. "Might I ask whose picture that is?"
Korkie smiles, reaching out a hand. The holoprojector flies into it - she's not sure if she's surprised or not - and refocuses the picture. "My parents. Caught them curled up in the Sundari Palace Library."
Ahsoka swallows hard, looking at a very familiar ginger-haired Jedi and Mandalorian Duchess reading a datapad, a blanket covering them. "How - when-"
"They kept my parentage pretty quiet. Never did marry. My full name is Klaudius Kryze-Kenobi."
"They sure loved alliteration."
She feels a flash of envy and resentment. Her masters had broken the Code while preaching it. But the Code doesn't matter anymore. Look at Hera. But she realizes she's not angry at Obi-Wan or Anakin - she is jealous, because all she has of her masters are formal holo pictures. "Can I... Can I have a copy?"
"Sure. Don't have the same comlink frequency by any chance?"
Ahsoka has to laugh. "Nope."
VI.
"The Mon-Calamarian's need humanitarian aid, not troops! Our medics can defend themselves - we do not need troops there when we are spread so thin across the galaxy!"
Bail Organa silently agrees with Prince Korkie, though he folds his arms over his chest and says nothing. Aid they can afford to spare - troops they cannot.
Admiral Nantz rolls his eyes, leaning his hands on the table and sneering. "Why should I be surprised that a Kryze does not want to send troops?"
"Kryze-Kenobi, sir. I suggest you get it right if you wish to insult me."
The room freezes. Everyone from the days of the Old Republic knows those names, and several of the newer ones viewed them as ideals. They take in the narrow build, the blazing fury in the eyes, the bleached hair and ginger beard, the unmistakable biting wit.
That explains so much, Bail muses, studying the eerily calm young man. He remembered how fond his Jedi friend was of Korkie, how much he loved to bicker with Duchess Satine, how aggressively he fought to be present at the Siege of Mandalore.
He wonders what Obi-Wan thinks of Korkie, if he's proud of the young man.
The silence of the briefing room is broken by Captain Rex standing. He stares at Korkie for a long, hard minute before walking out of the room. They hear footsteps, then the sound of a wall being punched.
"Well," Mon Mothma murmurs. "All in favor of sending aid and no troops to Mon Calamari?"
VII.
There's little to do on Tatooine when the chores have been done and the sun goes down. The textile machine has broken once again, and instead of trying to fix it, he works on pulling the needle out. His tunic has another tear in it, and he'd rather sew it by hand.
He finally succeeds, and settles down with a cup of tea when his comlink chirps. He frowns, wondering who it could possibly be.
There's no message and no frequency attached - only pictures.
Tears fall down his cheeks while he studies each one. Korkie's birthdays until he was sixteen. Pictures of the three of them. Pictures taken from tabloids. One of Ahsoka and Anakin laughing. Several of Satine and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Even a picture of his Jedi friends, Quinlan and Bant and Siri and Garen and Obi-Wan, their padawans grinning at the camera while the adults share a drink.
He sighs, heading to the bedroom and pulling out a worn wooden box. Beside it are journals and tools, instructions on Jedi teachings and lightsaber techniques.
For Luke.
But this is for him, and he copies the pictures from the comlink to a holoprojector. Beside the projector is a small woven bag, and he knows it will only bring him pain to open it.
But he does, shaking out the contents in his grizzled hand.
Two rings, shining even in the dim light. The word, Cyar'ika Riddur are etched into each ring. There's a lock of hair too, and the lightsaber of a young man that was terrorizing the Galaxy.
Obi-Wan sighs, and closes the lid on the past.
His tea is getting cold.
Author's Note: a little something I've been working on. I am quite proud of this. Little one-shots, more canon-verse than my usual stuff. I hope you guys like it. I have some other scenes I want to include if this is well-received.
Much love.
ii Digestive Reader ii