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Red is the color of the veins that run through the river rock Master Qui-Gon pressed into the palm of Obi-Wan’s hand.
Red is the color of blood; the blood of so many including his own, staining the tiny lines of the palm.
Red is the color of valleys, the color of fire on a cold night, the color of bitter fruit hanging in clusters on blue-leaved willows.
It is also the color of Obi-Wan’s hair, somehow. He looks in the mirror now and sees a face once surrounded by blond. His whole life he remembers being called a blond—a dark blond, straw-colored, or, memorably, ‘sink water.’
But now, the face in the mirror is framed by misfortune. He runs a hand through the hair on his head and purses his lips. Silver lines pull through his fingers at his temples. Master Qui-Gon once told him a tale about a man who kept stories in his hair. For every story he heard and kept, another strand would turn white until there were no strands left to keep stories in.
Obi-Wan, then fourteen years old, had looked up into his master’s face and noticed just how gray the man had become in their single year together. Fear struck through him like a blade of ice.
He might have started crying. Master Qui-Gon might have startled and stooped down, frantically waving Obi-Wan in closer to him so that he could assess what the hell had just happened. Touching Obi-Wan’s cheeks, cupping wide hands over his ears to block out the phantom sounds of blaster fire and bombs that for once, were not the source of the outburst.
Master tried hard in his own ways.
Telling stories about stories. Stories about hair.
Obi-Wan will never forget the horror of realizing as a fourteen year-old that his master would die before him. He was right to be grief-stricken then. The crèchemasters always claimed that he had a gift of prescience.
He drags his hand across his face one more time.
An acrid scent comes off onto his hand.
It’s burnt.
Uneven and crisp and black in some places, frizzled in others. It clumps together in the front and on the side as if melted together.
There is only one thing for it, and Obi-Wan sighs as he opens the drawer in his refresher.
Master was right; hair is nothing but a vehicle for stories, and all stories eventually come to an end.
It’s awkward as fuck to sit in the hallway outside of the jedi quarters, surrounded on all sides by members of the 212th who, left to their own devices, would rip Jesse apart limb by limb, but someone’s got to do it, so Kix is willing to fall on the sword.
He’s happy to squat here, staring ARC Trooper Waxer dead in the face while the guy widens one eye, then the other in a threatening cycle.
He doesn’t do anything though, because General Skywalker is squatted down right at Jesse’s other side between him and Rex.
“He’s lived through worse,” General Skywalker says.
“Like torture,” Commander Tano helpfully adds.
Commander Cody blinks slowly at her across the thin aisle left between the two units the way a tooka blinks at a beetle.
“Quinlan dyed his hair black once when I was sixteen,” the General says. “He lived through that.”
The 212th shifts. Captain Gregor leans over to whisper into Commander Cody’s ear. Commander Cody narrows his eyes and begins typing on the pad he’s got set on his knees.
“You don’t have to take notes,” General Skywalker says.
CO Cody looks up. Captain Gregor whispers into his ear some more.
CO Cody resumes typing.
“Really,” the General says. “It was an accident.”
“Incident, sir,” CO Cody corrects.
“Okay, but was it really?”
CO Cody’s dark eyes bore holes through the General’s winning smile. He doesn’t look down while he continues typing, no doubt writing Jesse up for assaulting a senior officer.
“C’mon, Cody. It was just a mistake. I’m sure you’ve made mistakes, haven’t we all?” General Skywalker asks.
CO Cody’s lip twitches in disgust at the very thought. Captain Gregor takes the pad as it is handed to him. Rex jumps to his feet and starts spewing platitudes before General Skywalker understands that he’s about to get his ass whooped in front of two separate units.
“He doesn’t know shit, vod,” Rex says urgently in pidgin. “He doesn’t know shit. Can’t kill a fool, they’re blasterproof, remember?”
He’s managed to get both soothing hands on the front of CO Cody’s armor, pleading uselessly. Half of the 212th members present have already risen with their commander, and Kix intends to stay right where he is, thanks. He sure as shit knows better than to remind CO Bareknuckles of his humanity. If these people are going to kill him here and now, he wants it to be quick.
“He’s jedi, he’s jedi,” Rex insists while General Skywalker and Commander Tano make confused faces at each other.
“He’s on my last nerve,” CO Cody says in a tone that one might mistake as one of complete and total calm.
“As he should be,” Rex says, “But he doesn’t know any better. Please. I’ll handle it.”
“Rex?” General Skywalker finally asks.
Rex snarls so hard his nose wrinkles for barely a half of a second before he’s back to laying the puppy eyes on thick. CO Cody is a stone fucking wall in the face of them.
“Please?” Rex tries one more time. “Let me?”
CO Cody backs down. The 212th goes with him. Slowly, they sink back into their earlier waiting positions. CO Cody holds his hand out for his datapad.
Rex dips his head several times—the bravest brown-noser of them all—and drops into a squat next to General Skywalker. Everyone around him and Commander Tano averts their eyes to give this awkward conversation a semblance of privacy.
“Listen,” Rex whispers urgently, “You don’t talk like that to Cody.”
“Wh—”
“No. Shut up. We’re equals now, remember? Your people said that. Equals in peace and war, now and in future. And you don’t talk like that to Cody,” Rex hisses. “No one talks like that to Cody, he’s the guy keeping this godsforsaken battalion from turning inside out and eating itself alive. And I know he looks pretty friendly and all, but the only thing that has kept him from ripping out the spine of every officer who has handed down orders for the last three years is the collective understanding among the rest of us sorry fucks that he knows what he’s doing and it’s our job to shut up about it until he asks for our damn opinion. Okay?”
This explanation deserves a standing ovation, but they’re all very busy pretending not to notice it happening out of a sense of respect, decency, and indulgence for these jedi who often think that just because they know some vod, they know The Vode.
“O-kay?” General Skywalker whispers. “You mean I offended him?”
Rex drags a hand down his face. Captain Gregor, full of grace, leans over to point at something on the Commander’s pad so as to keep him from hearing this nonsense spoken outloud.
“Yes, Anakin, you offended him,” Rex says. “So apologize and say you won’t do it again.”
“No. I’m not wrong.”
“General.”
“He can suck it. I’m not wrong. Hey, Commander? Just because you and Obi-Wan have got some kind of thing goin’ on doesn’t mean you can go talking over his lineage. You got that?”
Rex tried. Man, Rex tried so hard. Jesse and Fives pat his shoulders as he tries to dig fingers into his eyes.
Kix glances up and sees that CO Cody’s expression has gone from placid to narrow in every definition of the word.
He shoves his pad into Gregor’s gut and stands once more. That’s the rest of the 212th’s cue to stand with him.
And that just so happens to be the 501st’s cue to wrench themselves out of the sinking dread and face the consequences of their man’s actions. Kix stands and misses the comfort of the floor already. He keeps his face lowered in shame.
He peeks up only to see CO Cody suck in half of his lower lip. He lets it go to lift his chin. He’s not as tall as General Skywalker, but he knows how to make himself dangerous enough that even the General seems to have second thoughts before Cody’s even said anything.
“You annoy me, General,” CO Cody finally says.
There is a silence as sharp as broken glass. Rex might be sobbing.
“Wow,” General Skywalker says, “You hate me that much, huh? How long have you been waiting to say it?”
Man, don’t ask questions. Just don’t ask them. Nothing good comes from asking questions.
“If I may, sir?” CO Cody asks.
The General folds his arms over his chest and cocks a hip.
“May as well get it all out into the open,” he says. “Go on. You know you don’t need my permission.”
Gods, man. A kinder way to die would be to just lay down and ask for it. There’s no need to pick the music.
CO Cody purses his lips and slowly begins to nod in a way that speaks to an opening floodgate.
“I do not hate you,” he says at length, “That would require me to consider you an equal. Sir.”
Kix covers his head.
“Excuse me?” the General asks. “I’m not your equal then?”
“No, sir,” CO Cody says crisply. “You behave like a child, you see. I, meanwhile, am the unfortunate manager of thirty-six thousand men, one of which is your former master.”
“So you’re the one managing this war, then? Is that what you’re saying?”
“It comforts me that you have the ability to comprehend spoken language, sir.”
“Wow. Okay. Well, if that’s how you’re going to be, then fine. But you should know that you aren’t running this army, Commander. Obi-Wan is. And between us, I know him better than you can ever hope to. So if it helps you sleep at night, fine. Talk big. But if you’ve got some kind of superiority complex over me or any of the other jedi, know that it extends to him and maybe consider getting off that high horse before you fall and get trampled by it.”
Captain Gregor grasps for CO Cody’s shoulder.
“It’s not worth it,” he murmurs to Cody, loud enough for others to hear.
CO Cody lowers his chin.
“This is not over,” he tells the general.
“Yeah, sure.”
And finally, finally the hiss of a door sounds. Kix has never been more grateful for General Kenobi in his life. He turns with relief in the center of his tongue, but it evaporates like sugar.
The person standing in the doorway of General Kenobi’s quarters is not General Kenobi.
“Woah,” Commander Tano says. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you, padawan,” the stranger says in exactly General Kenobi’s voice with his same accent, but with lips.
Visible lips. And moles. Visible moles.
“General,” CO Cody says. He salutes and the rest of his men follow his lead.
“At ease, Cody,” The impersonator sighs. “Is it that bad?”
“No sir,” CO Cody says without missing a beat. “It is nice to see you are refreshed, sir.”
General Skywalker curls his lips at him.
“Obi-Wan,” he starts.
“Refreshed is one way to put it,” General Kenobi (????) says. “Yes, Anakin?”
General Skywalker falters under the attention of his former-master. General Kenobi’s face is smooth now, and his lips turn down slightly at their corners in a manner that makes him look exhausted.
He has a deep dimple in his chin. Who knew?
“It’s nothing,” General Skywalker says.
CO Cody holds his gaze with a quirked brow. The General glowers.
“Nothing?” General Kenobi asks. “What’re you all doing here?”
“Awaiting your return, sir,” CO Cody says.
“It’s a fire hazard, Cody. In this hallway? I’m disappointed,” Kenobi says.
CO Cody inclines his head as if to say ‘and you’re very welcome.’ Kenobi studies him for a moment before the exhausted corners of his lips lift slightly.
“Well, get on with it,” he says. “How do I look? Be honest, Cody.”
“Like shit, sir,” CO Cody says from the chest.
“Handsome shit?” Kenobi asks.
“As a mule’s ass.”
Kenobi beams. CO Cody surveys him with nonchalance.
“Do you need guidance returning to the bridge, General?” he asks.
“Oh yes, I am helpless, dear. Downtrodden and traumatized. Please escort me.”
CO Cody nods and holds out his arm. General Kenobi threads his under it and allows CO Cody to take a few steps before turning back to take in General Anakin’s silent fuming.
“Anakin,” he says after a beat, “Please refrain from insulting my commander. I enjoy the privilege of status he allows me to feel every fortnight.”
The last nail slams into the coffin.
“If you are good, I’ll let you feel it tonight,” CO Cody says smoothly.
“Oh, dearest, you are too kind,” Kenobi croons. “Shall we clear the schedule?”
“Not on your life.”