Chapter Text
It looked different in the daylight.
All of it—the sprawling field, looking out of place with the background of skyscrapers. The grass, damp and well-kept from the groundskeepers. The headstones, half upright and starting to erode from time, the rest flat into the ground. Some spaces more recently altered, the ground muddy where the deceased had just been laid to rest.
He’d been here a billion times. He could—and had—found the little plot of land beneath the tree by starlight alone, when his phone had died and he didn’t have it to use as a flashlight. But this time, as Obi-Wan stood over his father’s grave, the sun glinted back at him off the slightly dusty marble.
He smiled.
“Dad,” he said. Almost dropped to his knees, then thought better of it, with the wet ground and his dress pants not the best combination. “Hi.”
His cello was slung over his back. He usually would set it down, let his rockstop settle into the ground and pull out his concert repertoire. Not today.
“Just passing through,” he said to the empty air. “It’s this afternoon, you know—everything’s set up outside the high school. Right by the corner with the fire hydrant—remember? We used to mess with it on hot summer days until the thing burst open, and water spewed down the side of the road. Until my shoes got swept up by the current one day, and me and Bant chased them until they fell down the drainage pipe…I thought you’d kill me…”
His voice trailed off—laughing softly at the memory.
“But anyway. I’m off there right after. But I had to stop and tell you…” For some reason, the words were hard to find. “Maul’s trial was yesterday. He was officially charged with your murder.” It still felt strange to say. But not so much now. “I’m sitting first chair again. With Satine. Everything’s…as it was. Well. Not everything.”
The words stuck in his throat. He hadn’t told anyone yet. Not Satine. Not Anakin. Not Cody.
He took a deep breath. And he told his father what he was going to do now.
The rest of the conversation went as usual—he told his father the repertoire for the performance later that afternoon, though this time he didn’t play it. He updated his father on Valorum’s return, on the ousting of the new Board of Directors and all of the new musicians who were in cooperation with Palpatine. Anakin’s trial, and subsequent acquittal of charges. He told his father everything, and, like he always had, Qui-Gon Jinn listened.
Except slowly, Obi-Wan noticed it.
He’d gotten used to the tightness in his chest by now. For years he’d come here and sat on his knees and talked to the air, and the guilt in his stomach had felt almost… good . Necessary. Like he deserved to feel the weight of what he’d done, deserved every ounce of his misery.
He didn’t know when it had happened. But somehow, that guilt had…well, not quite gone away. It never would. But it was lessened, now. He could sit here, and breathe easy, and think about the rest of his days without feeling as though he didn’t deserve to see them.
“So, then,” Obi-Wan said now. “I just wanted to come by and tell you that. That…I know I always said I was honoring your memory by, you know. Being the best. Climbing the ladder, never stopping. But…there are other ways. And I want to be what you were to me, to someone else. I can do that, I think. Or at least, I can try.”
He swallowed. Paused, as if giving Qui-Gon time to respond, then almost laughed to himself. It came out instead as a smile.
“Well,” he said. “I’d better go. I’m in charge of picking up the streamers for Luke and Leia’s birthday party, and if I don’t stop at the store before the concert, Anakin’ll murder me. Oops—that was tactless. But it won’t be good.”
He straightened, reaching for his cello. The air was cold, the sort of chill that only came in those late autumn days when frost was in the air, but Obi-Wan felt warm. He turned to go, aiming his face toward the sunlight before he stopped. Looked back.
“And Dad? You were right.”
You were right . Obi-Wan didn’t finish the rest out loud. And really, he could’ve been talking about any number of things. But in his mind, the phrase that was echoing over and over was this:
You’ll get better.
You’ll grow.
Obi-Wan put his cello on his back and started for the gates, his face toward the daylight.
━━━━━━━━
There were parts of his old neighborhood that felt frozen in time. The buildings certainly hadn’t been refurbished—many still looked on the brink of collapse, just as they had a decade ago. The potholes in the street hadn’t been filled, the sirens still wailed in the distance, the train rattled by on the rails. Coming back here, part of him still felt ten years old.
But then there were the parts of it that had changed—and the parts of him. The corner store where his father used to work was closed now, as was the bar where his father so often disappeared. He hadn’t passed his and Qui-Gon’s old apartment, but he knew it wouldn’t look exactly the same. Someone else’s name on the box, someone else’s belongings in the upstairs window. And then there was Obi-Wan himself—grown, and more certain. For once, the past actually felt like a lifetime ago.
He took a cab out there, watching through the window as the old familiar landscape went by. And then all at once, he saw it—the cab was slowing down, and the high school appeared on the horizon, and the park outside was filled with chairs, and people, and music.
Obi-Wan wasn’t late—he was actually, really really early for call time. But there were so many people already milling about the performance space that he almost didn’t believe his watch. Obi-Wan paid the driver, climbed out of the cab, and pulled his cello case over his shoulder, staring in disbelief.
“Hey, Obi-Wan!”
He turned toward the voice, the car roaring off down the street behind him. Someone was walking across the high school parking lot, waving—Anakin. Obi-Wan realized he was staring for so long, he almost forgot to wave back.
“Anakin,” he said. “What are all these people—I thought we were going to meet for setup at two, it's only twelve-thirty…”
They were within arms-length now, and Anakin pulled him roughly into a handshake turned hug. Obi-Wan stared at him in bewilderment.
“We thought we’d get a headstart. You’ve worked so hard already—hey, did you get the streamers? We’re gonna pickup the cake on the way home, even though Padmé thinks the twins don’t need a cake they can’t even eat…”
“Well, the cake’s for us, obviously. Anyway, Anakin—is everything going okay without me? This was…well, I have the seating chart and the contact information and…”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re in charge, we know. Everything’s fine. Come on, walk with me. So I got a half vanilla, half chocolate cake because we don’t actually know what Luke and Leia’s favorites will be…”
“You should’ve gone all chocolate.”
“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize it was your birthday party—”
They walked briskly across the parking lot, to the arrangement of chairs. The other players were bustling about, doing the jobs that Obi-Wan had already planned to assign them, and some waved as he approached. Anakin handed him a walky-talky—apparently Padmé was inside the high school, orchestrating the transfer of music stands and chairs to the outdoor performance space. Cody and Satine were around here somewhere too, and Anakin rang them to let them know he’d arrived.
“Obi-Wan!” Cody immediately replied through the walky-talky. “We have a code red!”
Obi-Wan fumbled with the buttons to answer. “A—what? Anakin, you said everything was fine—”
The other line was filled with static, then the distant sound of something unexpected—laughter. And curse words.
Satine’s reply finally cracked back: “Cody dropped the concert programs and they all blew away in the wind.”
Obi-Wan huffed. Smiled, in spite of himself. “Do you need reinforcements, Commander?” He heard them laughing on the other end, too hard to reply.
In the year since Palpatine’s death, sometimes Obi-Wan could hardly believe his life now.
He was almost to the doors of the high school when he saw one of them blow past—the concert programs Cody had allegedly dropped. Obi-Wan knelt to the pavement and rescued it from beneath the back dumpster, the paper rippling in the wind.
Community Music Project
Concert in Partnership with the Kenobi Foundation for Young Musicians
Obi-Wan shook his head. It was a dream, a dream, a dream.
He found Cody and Satine in the storage closet of the high school’s band room. They were pulling out more chairs and music stands for the students and the orchestra members to use, while others came to carry them all outside. As Obi-Wan approached, it looked like they were arguing—but the words weren’t sharp, just playful. He smiled.
“Need a hand?”
“Obi-Wan!” Satine swung her head out of the closet door, grinning. “Finally—I need someone else on my side here. Would you tell this man that we have enough music stands?”
“I swear I counted, Satine, we still need a dozen more—”
“Fine, then carry a dozen more out there, but don’t ask for my help when you have to carry a dozen back in.”
Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. “There are 120 players, so we need 60 stands. Plus 5 more for the aux percussion, so 65. How many have you got so far?”
Satine reddened, and Cody smiled. “See? You forgot about aux percussion. Knew it.”
He laughed when she shoved him, and disappeared back into the storage closet, but not before giving Obi-Wan a winning smile. It warmed him from the inside out.
Obi-Wan didn’t realize he was still staring at the spot where Cody had disappeared until Satine waved a hand in front of his face.
“Hello?” she said. “You with us? I asked if this feels surreal to you. But obviously, it does.”
“I—yes,” he answered, refocusing his eyes on her. “Yes. Surreal. I was…just glad to be back with the orchestra. To have Valorum back, and all. I never imagined…well, it’s better than I ever could have imagined.”
Satine’s smug grin went soft. “I know. And you deserve to be proud. You’ve worked so hard for this. Put your heart into it.”
He shook his head, embarrassed. “It’s just…” He stammered, unsure how to say what he meant. “Well, I’m glad we’re here. And—well, thank you.”
She looked amused. “For what? Getting out the wrong number of music stands?”
“I—no. Well, no thanks for that,” he said, smiling again. “But I meant…I know you’ve never wanted to sit second chair to me. And you do deserve better—like you told me once. You had your own dreams. And I know you still do.” He exhaled. “But…I’m glad you’re here. That you came back.”
The words felt flimsy. He’d only embarrassed them both—they didn’t talk like that anymore. Maybe ever. They’d always been more comfortable as rivals than lovers anyway. She looked down, and he did too, but couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered back up to her.
And that’s when he noticed the sadness there.
“Obi-Wan…I’ve been meaning to tell you…” she started to say, but he stopped her.
“Wait. I need to tell you this first.”
He ran a hand through his hair. Expected it to shake, but it didn’t. He was steady. Sure.
And Obi-Wan said, “I’m leaving the orchestra.”
Satine’s face, always so guarded and calm, went slack. “What?”
“I wanted to tell you first,” he said. “Because…the principal spot will be open for audition. And…I know I can’t stop Valorum from opening it to anyone. But I do think—no, I know—it should go to you.”
“Obi-Wan—”
“And you’ll earn it, because you’ve always deserved it, Satine. You have your own dreams. Your own purpose. So go for them. I’d never ask you anything more than that.”
Her face was unreadable—the strangest mix of bewilderment and sadness and joy and confusion and maybe, though he wasn’t sure—love. All around them, chairs and music stands were carried away and voices rang and laughter echoed from nearby rooms. But all Obi-Wan knew was this—her. In their own bubble of stillness, and quiet.
Until she said, “Obi-Wan,” and his heart dropped. “I’m leaving, too.”
He gripped the doorway to the closet to steady himself, but then a few percussionists were coming through with the high school timpani, and they were being hustled out of the way and into the hallway beyond. Satine walked a few paces down the hall, which was dark—the only light coming from the windows further down, and the room from which they’d come. He followed her.
Obi-Wan only had it in him to ask one word. “Where?”
Satine turned back to him now. Her face held the strangest mix of apology and joy. “California,” she said softly. “There was an open position…”
“Principal?” he asked.
She did smile now—like she couldn’t help it. “Maestro.”
And then Obi-Wan couldn’t help it either. He was smiling and then he was hugging her, without ever remembering the movement forward. And he was happy for her—true, unabashed happiness because she deserved this. She always had.
When he pulled back, he found her closer to tears than he’d maybe ever seen her. But she didn’t cry. She sniffed once, smiled at him again. And then exhaled.
“And what about you?” she said. “Why are you leaving?”
Oh. Obi-Wan had almost forgotten that he’d started to tell her. He straightened his tie, suddenly coming back to himself, aware of the flush of his cheeks. And told the truth.
“There’s a faculty position open at Curtis,” he said. “I applied and…well, I haven’t been offered anything yet. But I think I’ve decided that even if I don’t get it, I’m still going to do it—teach, I mean. Start my own music studio. It just feels like…”
He struggled to find the words to finish. But Satine was smiling at him. “Like it’s time?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It is.”
And she thought back to the person he was last year, working tirelessly in the orchestra, practicing for perfection, concert program after program after program. He thought about what it felt like to fall into bed each night alone and wonder if there was a purpose to it all, this grind, this life of perfection and bottomless grief. And then he remembered what he’d said to Ahsoka then, when she’d told him she sometimes played her cello in the streets, even when they were empty: don’t lose that. The need to play for yourself.
He’d lost that—he’d lost it a long time ago.
But seeing that light in someone else…through someone else’s light, he’d found it again.
Satine was looking at him hard—smiling a bittersweet smile—when a music stand banged against the band room door and startled them both. Cody was leaning in the doorway, peeking his head around the side.
“Hey, Obi-Wan—this whole operation was your idea! Are you gonna help, or just hide in the hall with the music stand dictator?”
“Excuse me—” Satine said with mock insult, and Obi-Wan laughed. They watched Cody reenter the band room, immediately run into a tuba player, and curse before starting away.
Obi-Wan didn’t wipe the puppy dog look off his face soon enough. Satine was already rolling her eyes.
“He’s insufferable, that one,” she said. “I’ve always thought so.”
Obi-Wan huffed. “You find anyone with a backbone insufferable.”
“No, he’s worse. Which makes him perfect for you.”
Obi-Wan didn’t even have the energy to look affronted. “Satine…”
“Come on, Obi-Wan. Don’t give me the same old excuses you’ve been parroting. You like him. He obviously likes you. So what exactly is the problem? Other than the fact that you seem to keep forgetting one crucial thing.”
“And what is that?”
She smiled. And the smugness was gone. “That you’re allowed to be happy.”
He huffed. But he couldn’t explain exactly why those words made his eyes go hot and blurry, and he had to look away as he admitted:
“You know…I do love you.”
Satine smiled. “I know.”
“And you’re a dear friend to me.”
“I know that, too.”
“And I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said. “I hope you can forgive me.”
She looked sad, but not confused. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
For once, the words came easy: the truth. For better, for worse, the truth.
“That we never got the timing right.”
“Maybe we did,” she said. “Maybe this was our timing—how it had to be. After all, you know it better than anything.”
“Know what?”
She smiled, sadly. “That it’s better to have known love and grief together, than to meet neither one.”
He nodded—couldn’t do anything more than that. And before he could think of answering her, there was a crash of cymbals from the next room, and laughter, and they saw Cody move past pushing a piano on its wheels.
Satine started back into the room, toward the light that flooded the hall.
And for the last time, Obi-Wan followed her.
━━━━━━━━
For a performer, Obi-Wan got oddly nervous with a microphone in his face.
It was finally time—the chairs were set, the orchestra seated and bows ready, the audience waiting. Valorum stood before them, but hovered at the side of the conductor stand now. Because for once, all eyes weren’t on the conductor. They were on him. Obi-Wan.
He’d planned something to say. Written it down, on the paper that now hovered in his hand. Valorum had asked him to—insisted on it, actually, since this was all Obi-Wan’s idea. And after the role Obi-Wan had played in restoring the orchestra to its prosperity, Valorum said, it was the least he could do. He stood now, eyes flickering up to the audience then back down to the script. Distantly, he was aware of the cameras on him too, both phones and journalists looking for a soundbite. He just had to start: Welcome to the first annual Community Music Project…
But instead, he hesitated. Looked back to the stage, which was filled with the faces of his colleagues, professional musicians. But also…
He found the cello section. Ahsoka smiled back at him, from the seat between his and Satine’s.
There was Cal Kestis with the bassists.
Caleb Dume beside Anakin in the trumpet section, Barriss Offee with the violas beside Luminara Unduli.
Children. Among the orchestra, ready to play with them. The next generation, the future he couldn’t believe how glad he was to see, these newest beats in tomorrow’s symphony.
They were in the audience, too, dozens of them. Scores, hundreds. Their faces looking up at him, expectantly, waiting for him to say something that would change everything. Because isn’t that what you’re waiting for, when you’re young like that? Someone to change everything. To look at you, and see you.
So Obi-Wan folded the pieces of paper in his hand, and stuck it in his pocket.
He faced the crowd.
“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said. “And I am one of you.”
They played the classics: The Swan by Saint-Saëns, Bach’s Prelude in G. But there was jazz too, much to Anakin’s joy, and so In the Mood and Caravan made an appearance, and Moonlight Serenade. Cody sounded suave on jazz piano, and moved in a way he hadn’t seen before, the chords smooth and light. And Anakin wailed his horn so fully that Obi-Wan felt the rattle in his chest. Beside him, Ahsoka watched in awe as Satine played her solo—and even Obi-Wan, who had heard it a billion times, felt chills.
And it was the strangest thing—usually, they played in dark concert halls for people with deep wallets and high expectations. They played in quiet concert halls for quiet people with deep wallets and high expectations. But these…they were children, and their families. In a park. Outside a school.
And they were not quiet at all.
The kids were cheering, and dancing, and riding on the shoulders of their families. The young ones were spinning in circles, the teenagers standing in groups but just as enraptured as the kids. They were playing for real people—people who would let the music move them, and respond. They danced, they sang, they called out. It surprised Obi-Wan. But it moved him, too.
It was as if he’d forgotten that music could be magic.
The magic was still about him now—even as Valorum lowered his baton, as the audience applauded, then started to disperse, even as he packed his music away and placed his cello back into its place. He helped pack the stage away in a daze, and then it was over, and he was standing in this neighborhood with his cello case, as he had been a million times before.
But this time was different. This time, he wasn’t alone.
“Hey, Anakin! What on earth are you doing?”
It was Padmé’s voice, and he turned to see her striding in his direction, shaking her head. On the other side of him, Anakin was standing up against the chain link fence, where a train rattled by on the tracks. And in his hand was—
“Is now really the time for the stupid tape recorder?” she said, though her face was warm. “We have to get home for Luke and Leia—”
Anakin waved her off, shushing her—as if her soft voice would ruin his recording of the infinitely loud, rattling rush of the train. When it was gone, he switched the tape off and grinned.
“Hey, I’d think you’d show a little more respect for the lovely piece of machinery that solved a murder. And kept your husband out of jail.”
“Ah, yes. And remind me who it was who almost landed my husband in jail in the first place?”
Anakin jaywalked across the street and met them on the sidewalk, sandwiching Obi-Wan between him and Padmé. Satine and Cody weren’t far behind, and he could hear their voices. They’d carpooled there—everyone except Obi-Wan—and they headed back toward the parking lot.
“Well, then,” Anakin said, smirking. “When I’m a famous jazz composer, and the whole world knows my name, I’ll be sure to remember who believed in me.”
“And we’ll be sure to remember what a dumbass you are.”
They all turned at the voice, just in time to watch Anakin give Ahsoka an affectionate shove. “There’s a reason I call you Snips, you know.”
“And there’s a reason I call you a dumbass.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Padmé, do you still need me to babysit on Saturday?”
“My children, or my husband?” she said, and Anakin threw up his hands in defeat. Ahsoka fell into step beside them, laughing, and Padmé nodded. “Just from five to nine. Late rehearsal. That still okay?” Ahsoka confirmed, and Padmé sighed. “Luke and Leia will certainly miss you when you’re off to college, Ahsoka. And so will we.”
“Some of us,” Anakin said.
“Hey!”
Across the parking lot, a car honked, and Plo Koon was leaning out the window. He nodded to Obi-Wan, who waved back.
“There’s my dad,” said Ahsoka. “Time to go. I’ll see you Thursday for cello lessons, Mr. K?”
Obi-Wan nodded. Felt Satine’s eyes on him, and her words: it’s time.
“I’ll see you then.”
As they walked back to the car, the orange sunset had already disappeared, making pink murals of the building walls and rivers of the streets. Cody was laughing at something Padmé had said, and his hand wrapped lightly around Obi-Wan’s. Satine was asking something about the birthday party, and marveling at a year of life for Luke and Leia. And Anakin…
Obi-Wan caught his eye. Quietly, he’d pulled out the tape recorder again. The green light blinking, as it took in the sounds of words and voices and passing cars, the distant music of street performers, questions and answers and laughter of people they loved. And he remembered how he’d laughed, a year ago, when he’d first met Anakin Skywalker. When he’d said you could build music.
Now, Obi-Wan wanted to laugh again. Because he knew, now, that he was wrong.
You can build music. From pieces of love and grief and history and broken things. You can build music from the things you’d rather bury, from the things you run from, the things you hide. You can build it from the best parts of yourself and the worst, from the choices you make and the people who choose to stay. You can build music.
And it can rebuild you.
Obi-Wan crossed a street drenched in the flicker of sunset and headlights, purple and blue, purple and blue, surrounded by his own makeshift symphony.
And for the first time, he didn’t look back.