Chapter Text
London air hung around his head like a dense mist, seeping in through his nose, his mouth, his pores, permeating every inch of him as he walked down Baker Street at evening. The street was crowded, sidewalks bursting at the seams with the many stripes of humanity that called this area home. Hansom cabs trundled down the road, bumping over cobblestones and mud, horses snorting and whinnying as they went. Cody Fett reached up and adjusted the edge of his bowler hat, ducking his head low, eyes fixed on the ground just in front of his feet, walking with a hunched air meant to deter others. He wasn’t strictly in the mood for human interaction, today. Hadn’t been in the mood for a while, if he was honest with himself.
Not since Reichenbach.
Not since Obi-Wan fell.
His heart lurched in his chest at that thought, so Cody shoved it harshly away, focusing instead on the shouts of the late edition paperboys, men hailing cabs, the ring of wheels on the bricks and the glint of the setting sun from the corner of his eyes. Anything to keep the wet, mossy boulders of the falls, the fading sounds of a shout, the piercing horror as he looked over the top into the spray and couldn’t see Obi-Wan—couldn't see anything but harshly raging water—anything to keep those images out of his head. They haunted his dreams enough that seeing them in his waking hours was utterly intolerable.
Instead, he turned his mind to the new problem of the murder that had been in the papers. Ferus Olin, the kind son of an earl that lived a street over from them, was murdered two nights past under strange circumstances that Cody knew Obi-Wan would have been keen on. But Obi-Wan wasn’t there. Obi-Wan was dead. So, it fell to him to try and find the poor boy justice in his partner’s stead. A task that Cody wasn’t sure he could manage, but by God, was he going to try.
Fueled by that thought, he turned the corner, carefully checking up and down the street for traffic before darting across, heedless of the way the mud tried to cling to his heels and the hems of his slacks. A damp, molding smell wafted up to his nose and he dropped his mouth open a little, trying to breathe around the stench. Expression screwing up in distaste at the smell, Cody glanced down the alley to his right, noting the shifted grating of an opened sewer drain. Huffing, he moved past quickly, clearing the next intersection and then turning finally onto Park Lane.
It was easy to spot out his destination, even if he hadn’t been there several times before. Gathered around the front steps of the house was a gaggle of onlookers, all of them huddled into groups, talking amongst themselves and pointing occasionally up at the scene of the crime. Cody let a small sigh blow past his lips, halting some distance away to watch without being part of the crowd itself. He’d been hoping it would have been less crowded two days later. Clearly, that hope had been in vain.
“Cody! Hey, Cody!”
Cody’s head jerked up, eyes scanning the streets for the source of the call. It did not take him long to spot the stringy form of Anakin Skywalker darting towards him, a worried cast to his grubby face. He was young, perhaps sixteen at the oldest and Obi-Wan's most trusted source of information on the streets of London as the erstwhile leader of a group the boys jokingly called the Baker Street Irregulars. Anakin was not one for panic, or worry, or fear. Cody half thought he didn’t even feel those emotions, so to see the boy running up to him with worry in his eyes gave the former sailor pause.
“Anakin, what is it?” Cody turned to face him, reaching out to grab at a bony elbow and gently guide the boy out of the way of the foot traffic. “What’s happened?”
“Ferus Olin’s dead,” Anakin blurted out, eyes shifting furtively, not settling on any one thing.
“I know,” Cody said carefully, his concern ratcheting up higher by the moment. “But that’s not what has you spooked. What happened?”
“I, uh, well, listen it’s-it’s uh,” Anakin interrupted himself, shifting from foot to foot, fingers practically writhing next to his thighs. “Damn, this is harder than I thought.”
“What is it?” Cody leaned in closer, careful to keep his voice low.
“Ferus and Mr. Jinn were helping me out,” Anakin said quickly, the words tumbling one over the other in his haste to get them out. “And it was my fault he was at that card game, and I feel really bad about it, and I never would have asked if he was going to be murdered, and Cody I am so, so sorry, I-”
“-Anakin, easy,” Cody interrupted, putting both hands on the boy’s shoulders, so sharply reminded of his own younger brother Boba in that moment it was uncanny. “It’s not your fault Mr. Olin was murdered. It’s not. You didn’t stab him, and it is not your fault his kindness put him in front of a sword.”
“But I asked him for-”
“Did you run him through?”
“Well, no-”
“Then it wasn’t your fault,” Cody nodded his head, letting go of Anakin’s shoulders and stepping back with an air of finality about him.
Anakin sagged, his face crumpling for a moment before his usual devil-may-care grin was pasted back on. “Yeah, you know, you’re right,” he scoffed, shrugging, gesturing with his hands. “What am I even upset about, anyway?”
“Anakin-”
“-no, no, you’re right,” Anakin waved off Cody’s wincing protest. “More important things to do. Like figuring out who killed him,” he sighed and scrubbed at the back of his head, dislodging the messy tangle of his blonde hair. “Gonna be harder to do that without Mister Kenobi, though.”
“Yeah,” Cody said flatly, his face going very carefully blank. “It is.”
“Aw, Cody, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think, I just—damn,” Anakin blew out a long breath, giving Cody a very apologetic look, right toe of his shoe dragging absently along the ground.
“It’s fine,” Cody said around a thick swallow, the lump in his throat feeling like it was going to strangle him.
“It’s not,” Anakin let out another sigh, his blue eyes bright and earnest. “I miss him, too. And sometimes I miss him so much I forget that he’s not even here and I think he’s still alive, and then I remember and I-”
“Let’s—let’s just go have a look around,” Cody stopped the flow of words spewing from Anakin’s mouth again, dragging his hand over his own, feeling the bristles of his mustache tug along his skin as he did. “Let’s look around and see if we can help Mr. Olin, aye?”
“Aye,” Anakin nodded, stepping away and turning quickly on his heels, heading for the front stoop of the little house, neatly weaving his way through the crowds like they were not even there.
Cody was reminded of why Obi-Wan had always praised his little band of Irregulars, and his faith had always paid off. Cody hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed this time. Anakin had always come through, and perhaps, between the two of them, they could at least partially fill the gaping hole that Obi-Wan had left. His own mind had the temerity to scoff back at him, his disbelief rising like the tide, and Cody held in a sigh. No, he didn’t hold that much hope, either.
Following in Anakin’s wake was much more difficult than Cody had expected, but before long they were up the steps and facing the first real challenge to entry. The bobbie guarding the door. Anakin scuttled behind Cody, using his greater adult bulk to hide from the semi-attentive eyes of the man on watch. Said policeman spotted Cody first, raising a speculative brow and shifting to stand up a little bit straighter.
“This house is off-limits to the public, sir. Please move along.”
“Ah, aye, I know that,” Cody said, internally berating himself for his lack of eloquence. Wincing, he started again, scratching at the skin behind his right ear and adjusting the edge of his hat. “It’s just, I thought, being as I assisted the late Ob-Mister Kenobi on many a police case, that you might be able to let me through.”
“And who’re you?” The constable asked, leaning back on his right heel, upper lip curling just a bit, a glitter stealing into his hazel eyes that Cody did not like.
“Who am—me?” Cody put a hand to his chest, that old annoyance of being constantly dismissed in favor of Obi-Wan rearing its ugly head for all of half a second before he stifled it. “I am Cody Fett. His biographer.”
“His ‘biographer’?” the bobbie huffed a laugh. “Heh, alright. Why don’t you move along just like the rest of them, huh? You got no business here, sir.”
Cody’s jaw clenched and he could feel Anakin shift behind him, tensing for a fight. “I think you’ll find I do have business here. If nothing else, Ferus Olin was a friend of mine and I’d like to see to his estate.”
“His family is seeing to that,” the constable leaned forward, real irritation starting to build up as a red flush beneath his skin. “And somethin’ tells me, you aren’t. Move. Along.”
“Fine,” Cody bit out, anger robbing him of his good sense. “Fine! Have it your way! This murder can just go unsolved, and a good man and his family will never have justice,” he jabbed a finger under the bobbie’s nose. “And it’ll be your fault.”
“Cody!” Anakin popped out of hiding, a restraining hand on Cody’s outstretched arm, a worry glowing in his eyes again. He leaned close, keeping his voice a murmur. “Let’s go. He won’t let us. Let’s go, c’mon.”
“Fine,” Cody growled, and yanking his arm from Anakin’s light grip, whirled and stomped back down the steps, barely cognizant of the fact that the crowd had parted for him like the sea.
All but one unfortunate soul who was pacing the sidewalk and muttering to himself. A slouched old thing, he had a tall hat pulled low over his brows, bottle-thick glasses on his hooked nose, a white, unkempt set of sideburns that protruded wildly from the side of his head, an equally unkempt whiskery beard, and a heavy, dusty stack of ancient tomes cradled in rail thin arms. He was far too busy inspecting the titles of his volumes to notice Cody’s rapid departure from Olin’s front stoop, and as such, did not move himself out of the way.
Like two trains running along the same track, they collided.
“Oh, bollocks!” Cody yelped out, hands flailing, trying to catch the books as they spilled from the old man’s arms. “Excuse me, pardon, I am so sorry, sir, I wasn’t-”
“-watchin’?” the old man snapped out, glaring at him from behind smeary, fogged glasses. He stooped down low, snatching up the books from the floor, then in an amazing feat of agility for one so old, stood up and yanked the remaining two from Cody’s lax hands. “Of course, you wasn’t watching where you was goin’! Ragin’ mad from that house like a bull in a shop! You need glasses like mine to see anythin’.”
“Excuse me,” Cody scowled, all sense of apology or charity evaporating like water on a summer day, “I apologized, sir.”
“Fat lot of good that did, eh?” the old man muttered, petting along the spine of one of his books like it was a cat. “These are priceless objects!”
“I’m sure,” Cody said dryly, eyes darting to the spine of the tome that had been caressed. The Mating Habits of Bees, the title read. All the anger fled from him at that, memories of Obi-Wan’s ceaseless fascination with bees jumping to the front of his mind. The lump from before was back in his throat, and stepping away, he cleared it and swallowed. “Ah, you know, you’re right, sir. Thousand apologies again, and should you need replacement or repair, please see Missus Che at two-one-two Baker Street. She knows how to find me,” he dipped his head in acknowledgement, nearly scuttling away from the old man who was watching him with oddly gleaming eyes. “Good day, sir.”
When Cody turned and scanned the street, Anakin was nowhere to be found, and when he looked back from the corner, neither was the old man. Brow furrowed, Cody let his dark eyes linger on the street before heaving a sigh and walking away. The sun was almost set, half the sky a dark, orangish purple, and the other a deep navy black. Thick air still moved and swirled, the factories and chimneys across the city pumping out a ceaseless stream of smoke and soot that made the stars smear and twinkle.
Noises and smells had begun to die down, the bakeries, butchers, cobblers and others closing their stores for the night, on their way home to their families and the people that had missed them during the day. Discomfort lanced through his chest again, setting the tips of his fingers tingling. The one person who would have missed him during the day was gone. Dead. Killed by the man they had been chasing, the criminal that had been behind so much of their work. Both of them had perished in the struggle, the struggle Cody hadn’t managed to make it to.
He'd failed in his one job, his one mission; to keep Obi-Wan safe. Perhaps, the detective hadn’t known that Cody’s intense regard and concern for his safety was Cody’s real purpose in staying around, or knowing him, perhaps he did but was too polite to mention it. Regardless, Cody’s navy pension was enough to keep him sustained, but it certainly hadn’t provided excitement or companionship. Obi-Wan had. A chance meeting with an old friend had changed the trajectory of his life, and even now, six months after Obi-Wan's death, with the pain of loss burning hot in his chest, Cody wasn’t sure he would give it up.
Life with Obi-Wan was infinitely better than life without him.
Before he’d even realized it, Cody’s feet had carried him to his own front door, and with a heavy heart, he let himself inside. It was a short trip up the familiar stairs, his key in his hand and through the latch, shuffling into the empty, dimly lit rooms that had been his home for the last three years. Keys set on a low table, Cody moved to the kitchen, pointedly not looking at the wing-backed chair that Obi-Wan usually sat in. He also ignored the shelf with a dazzling array of tea tins, the bare skull on the mantle, the three bullet holes in the wall, the chemistry set in the corner, and the bookshelf that was entirely devoted to files and research that Obi-Wan had accumulated throughout the years.
Even months after, there was still an invisible, gaping hole that sat in the middle of these rooms, sucking the energy and life out of everything it touched. He still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to make it go away, or how long it would take to heal. He’d lost men in the navy, good friends, comrades—even people he didn’t know—but none of those losses compared to this, to the raging monster that had taken up residence in his chest with Obi-Wan's death.
Mrs. Che, bless her, had left dinner on the table, and by the temperature, it hadn’t been there long. Determined to not think about the fact that the chair across from him was empty, Cody undid the bottom two buttons of his blazer and sat, lifting the lid over the plate and setting it gently aside. A light tendril of steam issued from the simple dinner of roast, potatoes and a green vegetable. He was sure it tasted fabulous—he remembered that all of Mrs. Che’s meals did—but like most things lately, it was bland, tasteless, the motions of eating it perfunctory.
Obi-Wan's absence from across the table robbed the flavor from his dinner—robbed the flavor from his life. Heaving a sigh, Cody reached for the morning edition of the paper, the source of all his crime-related intelligence now that he was no longer actively investigating them. Ferus Olin’s murder was still on the front page, the details of it frustrating and astounding in equal measure. According to Scotland Yard, Mr. Olin had been stabbed, run through with a blade, and judging by the wound, it had been a sword and not a variety of knife.
That, in and of itself, was rare in this modern age, but what had Inspector Fox and his men so stumped was the fact that there were no signs of forced entry into Olin’s rooms. No one had scaled the wall, jimmied a lock, broken open a window, or left footprints in the garden. There was no sign of anyone having been there at all and were it not for the fact that Olin had clearly fought back inside the rooms themselves, the entire matter would have been ruled a suicide. As it was, while there was no evidence outside of Olin’s lodgings, there was certainly evidence inside them.
Evidence that Cody had desperately wanted to get his eyes on earlier but had been ruthlessly denied. While the population of London—and the whole of Scotland Yard—knew of Obi-Wan Kenobi, they were less familiar with the steady shadow always one step behind him. Cody, most days, was content with this—preferred it, even. But on days like today it rubbed uncomfortably along his spine. Just because he was not as smart or capable as Obi-Wan did not mean he had nothing at all to offer. His familiarity with things of this nature would have been a valuable asset. He was surprised Inspector Fox hadn’t already been by, truth be told, but he supposed that mystery might reveal itself as well, in time.
Folding the paper and setting it down neatly next to his plate, Cody let his mind drift back to the events of the day. He’d spent the bulk of it down at the docks assisting the harbor master, a pastime he’d picked up when staring blankly at the walls had begun to drive him slowly mad. Kenobi would frown on it, tell him he was wasting his talents, but Cody couldn’t bring himself to care. He was needed there, if only for his ability to strategically manage ships and men, and it gave him an occupation, mundane as it was.
Anakin though, Anakin had seemed...not himself. Concern bubbled up into his chest at the thought of the teen. He’d been worried. Anakin was never worried, or if he was, he never let it show like he had today. Pushing up from the table, Cody resolved to go back out and look for him later, to make sure the boy was okay. He and Obi-Wan hadn’t been in a position themselves to take him in, but they’d tried their best to provide for Anakin over the years and Cody felt responsible for him, felt a drive to keep that up even more so now that Obi-Wan was gone.
Thoughts swirling restlessly in his head, Cody settled himself in his customary chair by the fire, picked up the book he’d been trying to read for the last few nights, and resigned himself to silence. Silence that was not going to end anytime soon.
~*~
-was sticky, misty water pluming up from below, the roar of the falls crashing through his ears, howling like a storm at sea. He scrambled up the rocks, cursing the worn treads on the bottoms of his shoes as he slipped and skidded across damp, mossy rocks. His fingers were cold, the ends near frozen, the harsh spring wind blowing in at the elevation enough to stain his cheeks and nose a bright red. His breath billowed out as he panted, eyes fixed up at the very apex of the falls, determination fueling his every step as he clambered hand over foot up the rocky side.
He’d abandoned the path, rightly sensing that it would take too long, that he wouldn't make it in time and Obi-Wan would perish, be killed by the professor’s associates he’d chased up the mountain. He had to keep going, had to keep pressing, or those large, hulking beasts would kill Obi-Wan in revenge after he’d done away with their master.
He needed to hurry, needed to get to the top, Obi-Wan needed him, it was his job to protect him and--
“No!” the shout ripped from his throat, the shadow of a body lost into the thunderous stream of water, another shout of triumph carried along the breeze. “Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!”
He scrambled forwards, throwing out a hand, trying to grab for the body tumbling end over end into the falls, needing to do something, anything, utterly powerless as a very familiar walking stick tumbled down after and, oh why was he always dropping it--
Gasping, Cody lurched awake, falling out of his chair into an inelegant sprawl on the sitting room floor, upper body braced on his palms and chest heaving for breath. Sweat dripped down from his temples, his hands were clammy, his shirts sticking to him in increasingly uncomfortable ways, and Cody just kneeled there on the rug and breathed. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it between his ears and feel it in the lump in his throat.
A scream tried to force its way from his chest and Cody clamped his mouth shut tight, shaking with the effort of keeping it at bay. He would not. He would not! It had been a solid two weeks since he’d startled poor Mrs. Che out of bed with his hollering, and he wasn’t about to break the streak now. After what seemed like an eternity, the urge passed and Cody pushed upright, leaning back on his haunches and staring blankly at the smoldering coals in the fireplace.
There was no wisdom to be had in their weakly glowing depths, so he turned his head, looking to the corner of the room only for his blood to freeze solid in his veins.
“Buggering fuck!” Cody flailed, scrabbling for his service pistol that was still in the inner pocket of his blazer.
A man was standing in the shadowed corner of the sitting room, a garish red and black mask sealed over his face and a long, nastily curved sword held tightly in his grip, the whole ensemble brought together by the dark, voluminous cloak that he wore over even darker clothing. Cody leveled the business end of his revolver right at his chest and the man didn’t flinch. Shoving to his feet, Cody kept the weapon level, his gaze locked on this new element that had just appeared in his sitting room.
“Who are you?” he bit out, a tendril of suspicion curling in his gut.
Silence. Hazel orbs glittered from the eyes of the mask.
Cody’s fingers adjusted around the contoured grip of his revolver, his skin bone dry. “Why did you murder Ferus Olin?”
A bare hint of a smirk through the slit over the mouth, the tilting of the head.
Cody’s jaw clamped and his racing heart slowed, a deadly focus overcoming him, the nightmare that had woke him entirely forgotten. “Do as I say, or I’ll shoot you. You’re going to step out from that corner towards the door, and then we’re going to go out to the street and summon the constables.”
The specter in his sitting room just chuckled and raised his sword, the metal flashing in the orange light from the fading coals of the fire.
Cody blew out a breath. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
Darting like a streak, the interloper flung himself to the side just as Cody pulled the trigger, the bullet sailing past his head to imbed itself into the wall behind. Cody swore, readjusting his aim in the space of a blink and firing two more times, missing by a hairsbreadth each shot. Suddenly, the man was upon him, sword raised up and Cody ducked low, the air whistling above his head with the ring of steel and the rush of displaced volume. Fist snapping out, he nailed his assailant in the gut, then pivoted, smashing an elbow into the man’s jaw and sending him reeling.
Snarl on his lips, Cody pushed his advantage, charging after the masked murderer and catching him around the waist, throwing both of them through a squat end table with the rapport of snapping timber. Thudding, they hit the wooden planks of the floor and Cody’s hand shot up, wrapping around the wrist that controlled the sword, his revolver lost in the scuffle. Muscle that felt like corded steel greeted his fingers, and Cody had the first impression that he might be out of his depth.
Kicking out, the masked invader caught him in the ribs and sent him sprawling across the sitting room, managing to get to shaky feet and stalk towards the downed former navy man. But Cody had fought many an opponent, and had often sparred with Kenobi himself, a master tactician and duelist. Bracing up on his left elbow, Cody gave his lower body clearance from the ground and neatly swept the sword wielding maniac’s legs out from under him, dropping him to the floor with a clatter.
Clang-clang!
The sword jumped from the invader’s fingers and Cody lunged for it, sprawling over the small, compact man’s body and seizing upon the hilt. His fingers just barely tickled the edges of the hilt, but it was enough to call it to his palm and firm up his grip. Rage bellowed out from the masked man’s lips, and in a feat of superhuman strength, he braced his hands on Cody’s shoulders and managed to pin the larger man underneath him with masterful skill.
But Cody had the sword.
And he was not shy about using it.
Rearing back, he stabbed the front section of the curved blade right into the masked invader’s left thigh, scoring through the fabric of his trousers and landing on tender, dark skin. Blood welled up in the dim light from the fading fire, the red almost black in the shadowed room. Shouting in pain, Ferus Olin’s murderer swung hard with his right hand, catching Cody harshly across the face and causing stars to erupt in his vision.
Ears ringing, Cody did not go down quietly, stabbing out again with the sword, clipping some part of his opponent’s flesh if the howl of pain was any indication, and threw all his strength into his hips, bucking his lighter assailant off and landing atop him in an ungainly sprawl. A mad flurry of limbs ensued, each of them reaching for any kind of purchase, for a place to inflict pain, for a weapon, anything to win the desperate struggle that had erupted in the sitting room of 212B Baker Street.
The click of a hammer froze Cody to the spot, shoulder blades digging into the floor at his back, the flare of his hips rubbing uncomfortably on the wood, and his purloined sword held in a white knuckled grip. He barely dared to breathe; the muzzle of his own revolver leveled dead center of his face.
“It would be sweet, sweet revenge to kill you here,” the man purred, leaning in close, his putrid breath wafting up to Cody’s nose. “It would surely break Kenobi just as he has broken me.”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead,” Cody said flatly. “You’re a little late.”
Paradoxically, the man threw his head back and laughed, though his aim with the gun did not waver. His hazel eyes gleamed from behind the garish mask over his face. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know! How fitting!” he cackled again. “You will die ignorant of the truth.”
“The truth of what?”
Cold metal fitted under the jut of Cody’s chin as the man leaned in close, their foreheads almost touching. At this distance, Cody could barely make out the individual flecks of color in his eyes, see the hue of his skin and feel the warmth radiating off him, along with a strange, sticky-sweet smell. The man just laughed again, a dry, humorless thing.
“Perhaps, perhaps the real twist of the knife would be to break your faith in him just as you die. Yes! You might go to your death hating him. Oh! What a fitting end that would be.”
“Nothing you could say would accomplish that,” Cody spat, utterly sure in the truth of his words.
“Oh?” the man leaned back, superiority in every line of him. “Smug, aren’t you?”
“You’re one to talk,” Cody swallowed, eyes darting from the barrel of the gun aimed at his forehead and the hidden face of the man brandishing it.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi is a cheat, a fraud, a liar!” he snarled, upper body suddenly right into Cody’s face again, his elbow of the arm holding the gun jutting out from his torso. He laughed, and through the broken chin of the mask, Cody could see his ugly sneer. “And, he is alive!”
“What?” Cody breathed out, a desperate, ragged hope blooming awfully in his chest.
The man’s eyes began to jump and wiggle, confusion that his words had not had the intended effect taking over him. “No! No! You aren’t supposed to hope! He betrayed you! Used you!”
“I don’t care,” Cody whispered, wonder overtaking him. “He’s not dead.”
Yelling out in stifled rage, the man reared back with the gun, slamming the chamber and the barrel harshly against the side of Cody’s head.
Two things happened at once, after.
The door to the rooms burst open in a spray of splinters and the slam of wood.
Cody brought the sword up on instinct and dragged it down the side of the man’s face, tearing skin and severing the bottom half of the mask from the rest.
“Get off of him!” a painfully familiar voice hollered out.
Air whooshing back into his lungs, the weight that had been on Cody’s chest was suddenly gone, the source tossed bodily into the kitchen, shattering the old, rickety dining room table like it was made of twigs. Rolling to unsteady feet, Cody staggered after his attacker just as the second man scrambled after him as well. Bouncing harshly off one another, they collided at the shoulder, but somehow managed to stay upright, pounding after the dramatic swirl of a black cloak as the intruder jumped out the open kitchen window, flinging himself from the second story with nary a care.
Cody reached the sill first, hands slamming into it, palm with the sword in it smarting from the pressure. Hurtling up beside him was a man Cody thought he would never see again outside of his dreams. Auburn hair, striking blue eyes, beautifully symmetrical features and a well-kept beard greeted his gaze, paradoxically paired with rumpled, unkempt clothing and a truly hideous frock coat. Cody felt like his heart stopped, like he was seeing a vision, like the man that had come to kill him had succeeded and this was the last glimpse of heaven he was going to have before he died.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was braced next to him in the kitchen, fire in his eyes as he glared at the shadow retreating down the street.
“Blast!” Obi-Wan swore, shoving away from the window and angrily knocking his usual chair across the floor with a scraping noise. “Damn that man! I have been chasing him for months! For months!”
“You’re here,” Cody mumbled, dropping the sword to the floor with a loud, jarring clang. He reached out, his hand grabbing Obi-Wan’s bicep so hard he knew it had to hurt, but he didn’t care. “You’re here.”
“Oh, Cody,” Obi-Wan’s face softened, care and regard overtaking the blazing anger in his expression, and he reached out, grabbing his biographer’s elbows and holding tight. “I am. I’m here, my dear Cody. And I am so sorry for the deception, I-”
Cody didn’t let him finish, snatching him up in a fierce hug, putting his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck and breathing in the scent of him, cataloguing the familiar warmth of his body, the curve of his shoulder blades, the rasp of his beard—all of it. “I don’t care. I don’t care. You’re here! Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.”
“I’m here, I’m right here,” Obi-Wan whispered into his hair, closing his eyes tightly and clinging to Cody with the same strength as Cody was to him. “Oh, I am so sorry. I had to, Cody. I didn’t want to, but I had to.”
Cody let out a wet sound that was an approximation of a chuckle and pushed back, resolutely ignoring the tears in his eyes. “Where did you get this awful coat? It smells.”
It was Obi-Wan’s turn to laugh, a suspicious sheen to his eyes and a catch in his voice. “I borrowed it from some unsuspecting laundry maids,” he smirked and tugged at the lapels. “I thought it quite nice, all things considered.”
“No, it really isn’t,” Cody shook his head, another laugh escaping from between his lips, his fingers smoothing over the fabric on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, clearly reluctant to let go.
Obi-Wan seemed just as content to stay within the reach of Cody’s arms, his hands on the former commander’s hips, the ghost of a smile teasing at the edges of his lips, and his blue eyes locked onto Cody’s brown ones. A hush fell over them, the only sound the whisper of the breeze as it blew in from the open window. Like he was being pulled by a tether, Cody found himself leaning towards his old flatmate, his head tilting at a very telling angle, intent in his motions if not on his mind, eyelids starting to flutter in anticipation. Kenobi, observant man that he was, stepped back half a step, dropping his hands and clearing his throat, eyes darting away from Cody’s face to the open front door as footsteps pounded down the hall.
Missus Vokara Che came barreling into the room, fire poker held aloft, and her dressing gown tied tightly across her body, a wild look in her eyes. “Mr. Fett! I heard some awful noises!”
Cody stepped away, hands dragging reluctantly from Obi-Wan's shoulders and made his way swiftly to the sitting room. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Che. There was—an incident.”
“An incident?” she shrieked. “I heard gunfire! And oh, my dear, you’re bleeding.”
“I am?” Cody said to himself, left hand coming up to slap on his cheek, finding a congealed, sticky wetness along with a truly massive swelling. “Ow!” he hissed, dropping his hand and looking at the blood on his fingertips. “I suppose I am. Sorry, Mrs. Che.”
“Hullo, Mrs. Che,” Obi-Wan chose that moment to step out into view, impish look in his eyes. “Good evening, madam. My apologies for the commotion.”
Gasping, she dropped the fire poker with a clatter, her hands shooting up to her mouth, eyes wide and practically glowing in the dim light from the coals in the hearth. “Upon my word! You’re dead!”
“Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Obi-Wan dipped into a shallow bow, a smirk tugging at his lips. When he straightened, he spoke. “Though, I must say, it’s good to see you again, Mrs. Che. You’re looking well, despite the night’s excitement.”
“Oh, my lord, you’re real,” she breathed out, still too overcome to take her hands away from her face. Suddenly, she scowled, a fury so great radiating from her that Obi-Wan actually shrunk back. “You utter scoundrel! How dare you make us think—make poor Mr. Fett think—that you were dead when you were not! How dare you, Mr. Kenobi!”
Obi-Wan's eyes went round, shock blasting through him so powerfully he lost his words. Cody stepped in, putting himself neatly between Kenobi and Mrs. Che, his hands held out in the classic gesture of peacemaking.
“It’s alright, Mrs. Che, I’m fine,” he said hastily. “I’m sure he had a very good reason.”
She scowled, hands on her hips now, one brow arched. “I’m sure,” her attention turned to Cody. “And you! Go sit down and let me get my bag.”
Cody winced, a denial on his lips, not wanting to inconvenience this wonderful woman any more than he already had. “Mrs. Che, you don’t need to go through that trouble, it’s just a-”
“-do not say a scratch,” she glared at him, wagging a finger in warning. “I was a nurse for twenty years before I became your landlady and I know when a wound needs seeing to,” she pointed to Cody’s favorite chair. “Sit.”
Cody stifled his sigh and sat, valiantly ignoring Obi-Wan's smug smirking from across the room. “Yes, Mrs. Che.”
“Good man,” she nodded and blew from the room as quickly as she’d entered it.
Cody looked up, eyes once again finding Obi-Wan, noticing the man hovering awkwardly by the fireplace and stifled another sigh. “Well, if you’re going to stand there, you might as well put a log on the fire.”
Obi-Wan jolted into action like Cody had shocked him, hurriedly reaching for the stack of logs that still sat by the fire, opening the grate and laying one swiftly across it, using Mrs. Che’s discarded fire poker to encourage the flames back to life. He was putting his full faculties into the task, something Cody knew he certainly didn’t need to do, but was as an excuse to avoid whatever difficult conversation his keen intellect perceived was on the horizon. This time, Cody did sigh.
“Seems stoked back to life to me, Kenobi,” he took care to keep his voice level. “Why don’t you leave it alone and come sit.”
Gently, Obi-Wan leaned the poker against the brick, shifting to face Cody, still in a crouch, his face glowing on one side from the fire. Cody had the wild thought that he looked like an angel, backlit in flame, long limbs and sinewy body only partially hidden by the truly hideous frock coat he’d stolen from who knew where. Longing bolted through his body on the heels of that idea, and Cody swallowed thickly, mentally reprimanding himself for his own poor timing. Kenobi, for all his ardent friendship, did not share his feelings, and now was not the time for them to be naked on his face.
“Cody...” Obi-Wan said slowly, looking away for a moment before pushing to his feet and treading hesitantly over to his chair. Reverently, his fingers trailed along the upholstery of the arm, an uncommon wistfulness stealing across his face. “You left it here.”
“Of course, I did,” Cody blurted out, unable to keep the words behind his teeth. “I kept all your things just as you left them. Didn’t shift a single one—well, aside from some of your records. I thumbed through those when Inspector Fox asked me for help on occasion.”
A genuine smile stole across Kenobi’s lips, and that seemed to be the signal he needed, because he dropped himself into his chair in his usual way and grinned at Cody, right leg crossed over left and hands on the armrests, chest leaned back into the seat, a look of contentment on his features. He let his fingers trail over the upholstery again, wonder stealing its way into his eyes before his expression returned to its usual blank attentiveness.
“Well,” Kenobi said, looking up from his perusal of the chair. “I suppose you want to know why I did it.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Cody replied neutrally.
“I imagine it has, yes,” Obi-Wan drew out the beginning, clearly dreading it but not wanting to appear that he was.
“Well?” Cody prompted after a moment of silence. “Why did you allow your closest friend to believe you dead, Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan glanced up and locked eyes with him, sudden and intense. “To save his life.”
“I thought it might be that,” Cody let out a weary sigh, leaning forward, elbows on his thighs and right hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “Obi-Wan-”
“-no,” Obi-Wan cut him off swiftly. “There is no argument you can make that would induce me to admit that I made a mistake. I did not,” he paused, wincing a little in apology. “Although, I very much regret the clear distress it caused you, and I would never wish such a thing on you again.”
“Why was it necessary to save my life?” Cody felt proud of himself that his voice was even and strong.
“Because Professor Palpatine had a man with a gun to your head—a gun to all your heads,” Obi-Wan ground out, anger causing a flush high on his cheeks and his hands to clench into fists on the arms of the chair. “And if I did not comply with his demands, you would have been killed before you’d even realized the threat existed. There was nothing I could have done, aside from what I did.”
“I would have gone with you,” Cody said plaintively, allowing himself a moment of weakness. “I should have gone with you.”
“Oh, Cody,” Obi-Wan crumpled before his eyes, leaning forward in his own seat, entreaty in his gaze. “I couldn’t ask that of you, I-”
“-you wouldn’t have to ask,” Cody interrupted, dark eyes boring into Obi-Wan's light ones. “I would have volunteered.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Which is why I did not ask. It was too much.”
“Do you not trust me?” Cody’s jaw set and he scowled, sitting up straighter, spine stiffening with anger. “Is that why you left me behind?”
“What? No!” Obi-Wan reared back in shock. “Of course, I trust you. You are my most trusted companion. I trust you, Cody.”
“But you left me.”
“I did not want to!” Obi-Wan snapped, losing control of his temper. “There was not a day that went by that I was not tempted to contact you, but I couldn’t! I wouldn’t.”
“But it was fine to leave me here in my own misery?”
“No!”
“Well, you did!”
“I know!”
“Ahem!”
The sharp clearing of a throat from the doorway caused both of them to turn in their seats, wide and shining eyes landing on the now dressed form of Vokara Che, her black nurse’s bag in her right hand and a knowing look on her face. “Is this a bad time, gentlemen?”
“Yes-”
“-no,” Cody bit out over Obi-Wan, ignoring the annoyed glare directed at the side of his head. “Please, come in, Mrs. Che. I despise the thought of keeping you up any later than I already have tonight.”
“Enough of that now, Mr. Fett,” she tutted, putting her bag down on the circular table between he and Obi-Wan's chairs, the other one still smashed to pieces on the floor. Opening the top, she fished out some clean water and linens, dabbing them wet and then applying them to the impressive bruise blooming across Cody’s cheek where the man had struck him. “Well, at least he didn’t open your old scar. Small mercies, I suppose.”
Cody’s lips twisted up wryly. “Can’t hardly get any more disfigured than I already am, Mrs. Che.”
“Nonsense,” she leaned back and gave him a stern look. “You are not disfigured. That scar is very dashing.”
Cody blushed from the base of his neck to the roots of his hair. “Oh, erm, thank you?”
“Oh, hush you. I am far too old for such games,” she patted his unharmed cheek with her free hand, a devious gleam in her eyes. “Let me dote upon my boys, won’t you?”
Cody choked, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Uh, aye?”
“You would think the pair of you never had a mother who loved you,” she grumbled to herself, wiping the last traces of blood from Cody’s face before dropping the linen into her bag and latching it closed. “Now, I am sure you are both eager to return to the discussion that I interrupted,” she turned, fixing a glare at Obi-Wan. “And, Mr. Kenobi, I expect that door to be repaired by the end of the day tomorrow.”
He huffed a short laugh and nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Che.”
She eyed them both sternly for a moment before gathering up her skirts and her bag and sweeping from the room for the second time that night.
In her wake, a silence settled.
Cody shifted in his seat, resisting the temptation to prod at the side of his head, the catch of torn skin and the heavy tightness of swelling a potent cocktail for distraction. Obi-Wan didn’t fare much better than he did, his gaze bouncing around the sitting room, cataloguing every little thing like it was the first time he was seeing it. Cody’s heart yanked in his chest at that thought, realizing that it might as well have been the first time Obi-Wan looked at these rooms, as he was sure to have expected things to change upon his death. But Cody had been telling the truth. He’d changed nothing at all, had disturbed nothing, treating 212B Baker Street like it was some kind of memorial to Obi-Wan Kenobi’s life after his death.
“I am sorry, Cody,” Obi-Wan, amazingly, was the one that broke first, his fingers stilling from their twitching and his bright, azure blue eyes landing right on Cody’s earthy brown ones. “Truly,” he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “But I do not regret it.”
“No,” Cody rubbed a tired hand over his face. “You wouldn’t, would you? It’s always the ends that justify the means, with you. I should be used to that by now, shouldn’t I?”
Obi-Wan's face shuttered, eyes going blank and his usual bland congeniality taking over like a knight donning his helmet. “Yes, I suppose you should.”
“Oh, come on,” Cody rolled his eyes, right palm braced on his thigh, left hand jabbing through the air. “You don’t get to be defensive. You’re the one that lied!”
“I have explained my reasons. If they are so unsatisfactory to you, then I can depart,” Obi-Wan’s bland expression transformed into an entirely flat one and he pushed to his feet, tugging ineffectually on the frock coat like that might fix its disheveled state somehow.
“The hell you will!” Cody leapt to his feet, inserting himself neatly between Obi-Wan and the broken front door. “I am not letting you out of my sight until the day I die, and perhaps not even then. No force on heaven or earth would compel me.”
“You mourned me greatly, didn’t you?” Obi-Wan’s flat affect transformed like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, his eyes lightening, lips parting, brows tugging up towards the top of his head as realization dawned.
“Yes,” Cody said simply, knowing the utter futility of denying it. “I did.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes closed, features screwing up as if he was in pain, sucking a breath past his teeth. When he opened them, they were filled to the brim with a tangible regret. “I should have brought you with me. It was utter foolishness to leave you here.”
“Aye,” Cody’s voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed convulsively, fighting to keep his stoicism with every ounce of his will. “It was.”
Obi-Wan let out a soft noise, but he didn’t respond with words, instead reaching out his arms and drawing Cody into the third hug of their acquaintance. Cody fell into him willingly, his shorter height putting him at the perfect spot to rest his face back into Obi-Wan’s neck, his own arms coming around to hold onto his friend tightly. It was a hard-fought battle with the tears stinging at the back of his eyelids, but he was determined not to make even more of a fool of himself. It was a plain-faced miracle that Obi-Wan was even indulging his blatant emotionality to begin with, and he wasn’t going to bring the experience to a close sooner than he had to.
Of course, Obi-Wan could only tolerate it for so long, and Cody felt his body start to tense, and taking his cue, let go and stepped back, making a show of tugging at his waistcoat and shirt. He cleared his throat, taking the weight of the encounter onto himself, as he always did. Obi-Wan, for all his genius, had a strange fragility when it came to others expressing care for him. When they had first met, Cody had promised to change that, and had only managed to succeed with regards to himself. Obi-Wan still refused to trust anyone else.
“Well, I-I rather think, given the late hour, that we both ought to retire for the night, don’t you, Cody?” Obi-Wan started into motion, waving his hand towards the two closed doors that were their separate bedrooms.
“What, you don’t want to tell me how you did it? How you climbed out of that waterfall with your life but Professor Palpatine didn’t? Or who that masked maniac was that just tried to kill me?” Cody grinned, an impish delight in his eyes. “That’s not like you, Kenobi. You like to show off.”
“Correction,” Obi-Wan waved his index finger in the air, drifting back towards his chair. “I like to show off for you.”
Cody blinked, brought up short by that naked declaration. When Obi-Wan gave him a raised brow look, he jolted into motion and pitched himself back into his own chair. “Oh, erm, right. Yes,” he cleared his throat and motion with his right hand, trying to regain his equilibrium. “Well, get on with it, then. Show off.”
“Yes, quite right,” Obi-Wan smirked, crossing his right leg over his left again, leaning back into his chair, folding his left arm over his chest and balancing his opposite elbow on it. His customary position. “Let us get this familiar ritual started, shall we?”
Cody felt like his every prayer had been answered all at once, and leaned back into his own seat smiling uncontrollably from ear to ear. “Yes, let’s.”
“I think I’ll answer this chronologically, shall I?”
“As you will, Mr. Kenobi.”
“Ah, thank you for your indulgence, Mr. Fett.”
“Well?”
“Ah, yes,” Obi-Wan cleared his throat, and smirk tucked into his beard, hand waving idly through the air, began to tell his tale. “Well, as to the first mystery, I didn’t have to claw my way out of the falls due to the simple fact that I was never in them.”
“What?” Cody squawked, eyes going round, and then narrowed. “But the walking stick! I found it at the bottom of the river.”
“Yes, a very painful sacrifice,” Obi-Wan actually looked like he regretted that. “I almost couldn’t let go of it, but I knew I would need to in order to convince you the body you saw fall was me. I’m glad to hear you recovered it.”
“Of course, I did,” Cody huffed a quiet laugh. “That was mine from my service in the navy. And it was a gift to you. I wouldn’t have left something like that in the river.”
“No, indeed not,” Obi-Wan smiled back at him, that same uncommon fondness from before back in his eyes. He shifted in his seat, getting comfortable and restarting his tale. “In any case, Professor Palpatine and I matched fists atop the falls, and he came out the loser. After that, I spotted his right-hand man some distance up the cliff, a Darth Maul, and I knew that I had but a split second to make my decision. He did not have a good view of me, and I realized in that moment that if I threw down that walking stick and swung myself over the ledge, that he and you would think we’d both perished.
“Miraculously, it worked, and he left none the wiser vowing revenge, and you—you…” Obi-Wan trailed off, fingers knotting guiltily in his lap. “You combed Reichenbach Falls for hours afterwards, looking for me, the letter I left clutched in your grip.”
“He knew you were alive when he attacked me tonight,” Cody chose to ignore Obi-Wan’s last statement for the moment. “How did that come about if he thought you’d died?”
Obi-Wan looked a bit chagrined, running a hand over his beard. “Well, for the simple fact that I tried to kill him two months after and missed. But, by then, Palpatine’s gunmen had abandoned their post. All save one—Maul. And you are correct, he was the one that attacked you tonight, and as I am sure you have now inferred, killed Mr. Olin.”
“I did figure that out when I spotted the sword he’d brought,” Cody perked up, eyes casting over to the dining room. “Which reminds me, I left it in the dining room,” he pushed up from his seat and strode over, eyes scanning the floor for the curved blade, only to frown in confusion. It wasn’t there. The sword was gone. “Obi-Wan, you saw the sword in my hand when you burst in, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Obi-Wan stood up now, curiosity taking over him as he moved to join his friend. His brows rounded a little on his forehead. “Fascinating. It’s gone.”
“That’s impossible,” Cody took a turn around their small dining table, peering into every corner of the little area before he turned back to Kenobi with wide eyes. “I know I had it,” he looked down at his left hand, rubbing the bruise from smashing the hilt into his palm. “There’s still a bruise from where I smashed it against the sill. I had it and I dropped it when I saw you.”
“Now that is quite the mystery,” Obi-Wan crouched down, fingertips running lightly across the floor and the edge of the kitchen windowsill. “The only explanation I can divine is that you tossed it out the window. Either that, or someone stole inside and recovered it whilst we were distracted.”
“It hit the floor,” Cody said confidently. “I remember the sound it made,” he put a hand to his hip and ran the other over his mustache. “I can see the dining table from my seat, how on earth could someone possibly-”
“-objects do not disappear into thin air,” Obi-Wan interrupted, pushing to stand up and face Cody. “And I agree. You dropped it here.”
“We need to find this man,” Cody put both hands on his hips now, eyes staring out the window at the dark of Baker Street.
“Indeed,” Obi-Wan blew out, then reaching up, clapped Cody on the shoulder companionably. “But not tonight. A good night’s rest might provide some clarity in the morning.”
Cody heaved a sigh, nodding and suddenly feeling his fitful sleeping habits rush to catch up with him. “You’re right. I’m exhausted. We’ll continue this in the morning,” he smiled at Obi-Wan. “Goodnight, my friend. It’s good to have you back.”
“Goodnight, my dear Cody,” Obi-Wan smiled back. “It’s good to be back.”