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Coruscant feels different.
The atmosphere is significantly lighter as friends and families walk the streets with energy in their steps instead of fear in their eyes. Behemoth broadcasting screens suspended over the skyways show newscasters reporting on the war cleanup progress, instead of propaganda speeches from Chancellor Palpatine. The war posters that used to cover any open surface are plastered over by messages for restaurant specials or activities in a nearby main square.
No longer does Rex receive poorly-veiled glances of suspicion or hatred as he walks the streets of the upper level. No longer are clones the unwilling symbol of a war everyone is tired of fighting—at least, they aren’t most of the time. There’s a long way to go before his brothers are actually free of all the burdens the war set on their shoulders. But there’s progress in the fact that he can walk down a crowded avenue with his former Commanding Officer with minimal notice.
The civilian clothes probably help, he muses, as most civvies couldn’t recognize a clone out of armor until there were five lined up in front of them. His armor is currently lying in a neat pile in his apartment, though he continues to carry one of his deecees at his hip. Ahsoka’s twin lightsaber hilts are concealed in double holsters belted to her blue jumpsuit. He isn’t sure why she feels the need to hide them. Though still not a Jedi, Ahsoka had been appointed Interim General of the 501st as they trekked across the galaxy, wrapping up the last skirmishes of the Clone Wars.
In the last two weeks, the remaining vestiges of the war seemed to draw their final breath. All of the major Separatists holdouts were taken down, and Dooku was finally, finally, found and captured by Skywalker and Kenobi just five days ago. With only cleanup left, the 501st was given a month of leave on Coruscant, though General Kenobi told them he expected that leave to be permanent.
Permanent.
The word feels unfamiliar in Rex’s thoughts. Nothing in his short life had ever been permanent; not his assignments, not the brothers by his side, and certainly not the idea of peace. As the war dragged on, he’d become more and more certain he wouldn’t live to see the end of it.
Apparently, the galaxy enjoys proving him wrong.
Rex is still not sure who he is without a battlefield in front of him and fellow soldiers at his back. He still has the soldiers, though. Some things never change.
Other things do.
“Meiloorun cake,” Ahsoka muses, engrossed in the datapad she holds in front of her as they walk at a leisurely pace.
He glances down at the list on the brightly-lit screen. “That’s a lot of ingredients.”
“You should see Padme’s recipe for caf cake. I don’t know how she finds it all.” Ahsoka chuckles lightly. “Besides, she said she’s got most of the ingredients already. We just need meiloorun, baking soda, and vinegar.”
They round the corner of the next street, and only years of training keep Rex’s footsteps from faltering. The market before them is enormous, and contains more fresh produce than Rex has ever seen in his life, in every possible color of the spectrum. A pair of soldiers clad in the familiar red and white of the Coruscant Guard flank the entrance, and for a moment Rex feels a pang of guilt that he’s on leave while the Guard has been working to the bone.
The clones that had been stationed on Coruscant, especially the Guard, had suffered the most at the hands of Palpatine. Fox still has gaps in his memory, hours or even days that are simply empty. They aren’t sure if that was the chips, or some Sith mind trick.
But the brothers here are making conversation, easily switching between greeting civilians and joking around with one another. One of them gives a discreet salute as he and Ahsoka pass through the gateway, and Rex nods back.
Once through, Rex pulls out a map of the space and holds it between himself and Ahsoka. “Meiloorun should be to the left, then a straight shot down the second walkway,” he says, already turning left. A split second later he realizes Ahsoka isn’t following. “Kid–”
Her back is turned to him, neck craned slightly upward to read the sign not even fifty feet to their right.
He groans when he steps up beside her. “Our plan just went out the window, didn’t it?”
“You should be used to it by now, Rexter,” she teases. “Come on. You’re going to love it.” With that, Ahsoka loops her arm through his and all but drags him towards the nearby stand, banner rippling in the breeze: “CHOCOLATE! LOW PRICE, HIGH QUALITY!”
Armed with their now-chocolate cake ingredients, Rex sets the datapad of new instructions on Senator Amidala’s kitchen counter. He’s never baked a thing in his life, much less a cake. The closest he’d come was when an enthusiastic Fives and Hardcase had convinced Torrent Company to pool their credits and buy a cake for Ahsoka’s lifeday. They’d surprised her with a small celebration in the mess hall of the Resolute, the two troopers in question proudly presenting an elated Ahsoka with blue and white iced cake.
The memory is as bittersweet as the chocolate he’d taken a bite out of on their way back.
Ahsoka comes over to lean against the counter beside him, expression pensive. He realizes his mental shields are down and scrambles to haul them back up.
“That was still one of the best days I’ve ever had, you know,” she says.
It’s not that he minds Ahsoka knowing what he’s thinking, but he wishes she did not have to feel his grief whenever he sinks into memories. Something about finding that chip in his head had connected them through the Force, in a way that makes his emotional feedback stronger than before. And it goes both ways, now. If he focuses, he can feel a soft wave of nostalgia that isn’t his own.
Rex clears his throat. “I know. The way your face lit up when Fives and Hardcase brought out that cake?” He chuckles. “Never would have known that you’re a carnivore.”
Ahsoka laughs along with him. “Hey, sugar tastes great to pretty much any species,” she responds. “Which is why” —she twists around to the bags they’d brought from the market— “we’re going to make this cake better than anything Anakin and Obi-Wan can dream of.”
That makes him bark a laugh. Straightening, he helps her gather their ingredients out of the bags and the kitchen cabinets. Ahsoka’s shields are half-down, letting him feel her warm amusement as they measure out dry ingredients into a bowl.
Fives and Hardcase are still carried somewhere in his chest, but that memory grows to be less bitter and more sweet. And at some point Ahsoka’s amusement becomes overshadowed by his own, when she goes to mix the batter and creates a plume of white that sticks to her face and clothes.
Ahsoka makes a noise of disgust, batting at her clothes while Rex can only laugh helplessly. She glares at him half-heartedly. “You’re not even trying to look sorry for me,” she accuses, giving up on removing the powder from her clothes and instead chasing Rex around the kitchen in an attempt to smear flour into his hair.
“Hey! I just cut my hair!”
“It’s basically the same color anyway!”
Rex is too busy fending off his Interim General to notice the sound of the apartment door sliding open, but the clack of heels against the tiled floor is enough to get both his and Ahsoka’s attention. He spins around in horror.
Senator Amidala is standing across from the kitchen, lips twitching in a poor attempt to hide her smile.
“Senator!” Rex says, turning away from Ahsoka to offer a salute. “We apologize–”
“No need, Rex,” she interrupts, eyes twinkling. “And I thought I told you to call me Padme.”
“Er–Padme, ma’am,” Rex says sheepishly.
“Hi, Padme!” Ahsoka chimes in. She sounds chipper, but Rex can hear the undercurrent of embarrassment in her voice. “We’re really sorry about the mess, but we’ll clean it up as soon as we’re finished with the cake.”
“Ahsoka, I promise that Anakin makes much more of a mess than anything I see here,” Padme teases. “It’s a miracle he hasn’t burned down this apartment. If the worst mishap you have is mixing flour too fast, I’ll count it as a victory.” She smirks at them, an expression Rex has never seen from her before. “I’m not supposed to say anything about Anakin and Obi-Wan’s attempt, but maybe you can still smell the burning in the air.”
Rex shakes his head. “Of course they did.”
Padme waves a hand at them. “I’ll be in my room if you need help.” She walks away amidst Ahsoka’s snickers.
Rex sets his head in his hands as soon as she turns the corner of the hallway. “I’m never getting invited back here.”
“Rex, they have twin babies. This mess is nothing compared to that.” She pats the top of his head with more force than necessary, spilling flour into his hair.
He just sighs in defeat.
“Melt chocolate in a double boiler, and leave until cooled,” Ahsoka reads aloud, forehead markings creasing. “What in the Sith hells is a double boiler?”
Rex shakes his head, still carefully mixing baking soda into the dry ingredient mixture. Ahsoka’s made fun of him twice already for his caution, but he just bought these clothes. “This is why,” he says, emphasizing each word “we should have made the meiloorun cake.”
She only raises an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t see you complaining when you were eating that chocolate bar.”
He huffs indignantly.
Rex stares dubiously at the deep brown batter in the electric mixer bowl. “Is this what it’s supposed to look like?”
Ahsoka scrolls through the recipe. “They only have pictures of the finished cake. So I have no idea.”
He grabs a spoon from a nearby drawer and swirls it through the batter before taking a taste. It’s…not bad, necessarily. Just strange.
Laughing at his confusion, Ahsoka says, “I think it’s supposed to taste a little weird.” She takes two sliding steps to stand beside him, snatching the spoon from his hand to eat the remaining batter. “Huh. I kind of like it.”
She goes to dip the spoon back into the bowl, and Rex swats her hand away. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Hey. Rex,” Ahsoka whisper-shouts, with a glance toward the hallway Padme had disappeared into.
Rex looks up from his datapad. “What is it?”
Ahsoka pushes herself off the kitchen counter and walks over to the couch, collapsing neatly next to Rex. Sliding her own datapad on top of Rex’s in his hands, she taps the screen with a blue-painted fingernail. “It says here that this cake was often made to celebrate the winter holidays on Naboo.”
Rex hums thoughtfully, scrolling through the small paragraph contained at the end of the recipe. “Also says they usually decorated their homes during that time.” He looks to his right to see a familiar glint in Ahsoka’s eye, and can’t help but grin. “Well, it’s almost winter, I suppose. Could give the Senator a bit of a head start.”
Ahsoka knocks her shoulder against his. “You read my mind.”
He chuckles knowingly. “Alright, before we do that.” He checks the chrono. “We’ve got…actually, just twenty more seconds on the cake. It’s your lucky day.”
Ahsoka rolls her eyes good-naturedly, pushing herself off the couch. “Master Kenobi doesn’t believe in luck,” she tosses over her shoulder.
“I don’t know what else you’d call that third Ryloth mission,” Rex shoots back. “Seems pretty lucky to me that we didn’t end up eaten by a–”
His chrono timer goes off, cutting off the end of his sentence. Ahsoka points at him accusingly. “We swore we weren’t going to talk about that!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, fighting a smile with his hands up in surrender.
He gets up from the couch with a quiet grunt and strides over to the oven. Ahsoka’s crouched on the floor, staring into the still-closed oven door. “I can’t actually see anything.” She outstretches one of her hands. “Oven mitt.”
He obliges, grabbing a green one off the counter to fit over her hand. He takes the toothpicks he’d set next to the mitts, too. If it comes out clean, it’s ready. They’ve done their research, which is why Rex will be able to hold their baking win over Skywalker’s head for weeks.
Ahsoka opens the oven and removes the cake pan with a careful hand, holding it out to Rex. He slides the toothpick into the center and quickly removes it. A couple crumbs, but the HoloNet had said that was fine, too. “Perfect.”
Ahsoka lets out a sound of triumph, and lowers the cake pan onto the counter. Rex shuts the oven behind her and switches it off.
“I’m never letting Anakin forget this, if we win,” Ahsoka says smugly, echoing Rex’s thoughts. “How do you think their cake ended up?”
Rex snorts. “Those two? Ten credits they don’t even have a cake to show.”
Coughing forcefully, Anakin jerks open the balcony doors in an attempt to disperse the clouds of black smoke emanating from the oven. Obi-Wan comes to stand beside him, still hacking up his lungs.
“Well,” Obi-Wan says between coughs, “that could have gone better.”
FOUR HOURS EARLIER
Anakin waves a flippant hand toward Obi-Wan. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” he says easily. “Rex and Ahsoka have never made a cake in their lives.”
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “And you have?”
“Yeah, once. It was my friend’s birthday, back, uh…” he cuts off. “A long time ago.” He avoids Obi-Wan’s eyes.
Obi-Wan waits quietly.
Since the end of the war, his Padawan has faced more than his fair share of demons. The fall of Sidious had made it all too clear just how much Obi-Wan had failed Anakin from childhood to now. His brother had been systematically manipulated by a Sith Lord since he was nine years old, and Obi-Wan had never seen a thing.
He’d been a fool.
Obi-Wan is so lost in his own thoughts he doesn’t notice that Anakin comes back to reality and sees his former Master caught in memory and regret
“Hey. Obi-Wan.” He sighs. “I…made a cake with my mom, once. Vanilla. It wasn’t even very good, because we didn’t actually have vanilla. But my friend was smiling so wide, and I knew that I’d helped make that thing that was helping him, and making him happy, and…” he trails off again, but he has Obi-Wan’s full attention. “I don’t know. I always think of that as the moment that got me wanting to build things.” He laughs awkwardly, rubbing a hand against the back of his head. It’s a habit many of them have adopted from their troopers, and makes Obi-Wan crack a smile. “Strange, I know, but it’s true.”
Anakin is trying so hard , Obi-Wan knows, to face those shadows from his past. Not just for himself, but for his wife, his children. For Obi-Wan, too. It’s only right that Obi-Wan himself should attempt the same.
“Not strange at all,” he finally says, clapping his hand against Anakin’s shoulder. They share a knowing glance. “Now, I believe we have a cake to make.”
“Anakin, the recipe uses measuring cups for a reason–”
“I am!”
“You’re supposed to level off the tops when you scoop the flour!”
“Oh.” Anakin looks doubtfully at the mix of powders he’s already dumped into the bowl. “It’s fine. I’ll just underfill the next cup.”
Obi-Wan groans in exasperation.
“It says mix until just combined, Obi-Wan.”
“There’s still lumps in the batter! Let it go for a minute longer.”
“Weren’t you the one who was just telling me to follow the instructions exactly?”
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “You’re just being impatient. We don’t want lumps in our cake.”
Anakin sighs. “Fine. I’ll get the cake pan.” He reaches into one of the lower cabinets, shuffling around various kitchenware with not a few crashes before producing the cake tin. “Batter look done yet?”
Obi-Wan turns off the mixer and looks into the bowl. “Yes, I’d say so.”
“Finally,” Anakin grouses, unlatching the bowl from the mixer. “Now we just stick it in the oven.” He dumps the cake batter into the pan, and scrapes out whatever sticks to the bowl with a spoon. “Easy. Open the oven, will you?”
Obi-Wan obliges, and Anakin slides the cake pan onto the top rack. “Pretty good teamwork, Master Kenobi. No kitchen fires or anything,” Anakin teases.
“No fires yet,” Obi-Wan emphasizes. “Don’t let your confidence blind you.”
Anakin groans, lumbering over to the couch to lay across it. “Don’t turn baking into a teaching opportunity.”
Obi-Wan chuckles, lifting Anakin’s legs so he can sink into the couch beside him. “Old habits.”
Anakin plasters a pillow over his face. “Wake me up when the timer’s done. The twins are killing me this week. Leia woke up four times last night.”
“I will.” He pats Anakin’s ankle in sympathy. “But I’ll have you remember who babysat two days ago when neither of the twins would go down for a nap.”
Anakin’s leg twitches and Obi-Wan realizes he’s laughing. “Okay, maybe we both need a rest.”
Obi-Wan leans his head back against the couch. “Perhaps.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Obi-Wan blinks groggily, shifting his position on the couch and cracking his neck. His chrono is going off.
There’s a strange smell in the air, an acrid stinging in his nose.
His chrono is going off.
“Shab!” He curses, clambering off the couch with much less grace than he would have liked. “Anakin! The cake!”
Anakin mumbles something unintelligible, gesturing uselessly with one of his arms. Obi-Wan leaves him on the couch and runs to the oven. Immediately upon opening the oven door, foul-smelling smoke rushes out to greet him, and he gags. “Anakin!”
“Would you quit yelling—oh.” Anakin vaults off the couch and rushes toward him. “Our cake!”
Obi-Wan pulls the cake pan out of the oven, and it is indeed the root of all the smoke. He breathes it in, a mistake, and begins to cough. Anakin joins in soon after.
“I’ll open the windows,” Obi-Wan forces out, eyes watering. How such a small cake pan has produced enough smoke to fill the kitchen, he has no idea.
He opens each window in the living room, letting a gentle, climate-controlled breeze wash into the room. Anakin yanks open the balcony doors and goes to stand outside, and Obi-Wan joins him. The smoke is still wreaking havoc on his lungs, with small consolation being that Anakin is in no better shape.
Once he recovers enough to breathe normally, he speaks. “Well, that could have gone better.”
“We cannot lose to Rex and Ahsoka,” Anakin complains. “Maybe the cake is fine?”
Obi-Wan looks pointedly at the smoke that is slowly clearing behind them.
“Okay, alright, maybe not. What if…” He looks out to the Coruscant skyline for a moment, before a razor-sharp grin comes over his face and he turns back to Obi-Wan. “I’ve got it.”
“Whatever idea you’ve conjured up this time had better not involve us cheating,” Obi-Wan says adamantly.
“Oh, come on, it’s not really cheating! Besides, would you rather bend the rules a bit or let Ahsoka hold this over your head for the rest of your life? And you know she’ll tell the entire 212th, too.”
Obi-Wan sighs heavily. Padawans. “Fine. What exactly is this plan of yours?”
"Hey, Snips—oh, wow, this place looks great!"
Anakin and Obi-Wan both do a slow turn to take it all in. Strung across the ceiling are streamers in blue and white and yellow, and plastered on the windows are images of snowflakes, each one impossibly unique. Beautiful, and most importantly not a hazard to the children that now call this apartment home.
"Did you two do this?" Obi-Wan asks Rex and Ahsoka.
She grins. "Our cake recipe said it was popular on Naboo during the winter holidays. So...why not?"
Anakin's eyes are shining as he continues to take it all in. “Padme is going to love it." He looks down at his former Padawan and Captain, rushing forward to crush them both into an embrace. Rex makes a noise of surprise, but quickly adjusts and claps Anakin on the back. Obi-Wan can hear Ahsoka laugh.
"I'm going to love what?"
The three of them break apart, and turn with Obi-Wan to see Padme emerging from the bedroom hallway to the fruits of Rex and Ahsoka's efforts. "Oh," she breathes.
In the light of the setting sun, the room truly is gorgeous.
Anakin smiles at her. "It was all those two," he says.
Rex looks sheepish, but Ahsoka is smiling brightly when Padme all but tackles the two of them into her embrace. "You guys didn't have to," she says, then leans in and says conspiratorially, "But I'm glad you did."
"Happy to help, ma'am," Rex says, clearing his throat. Ahsoka nudges his shoulder, grinning.
"Anyway!" Padme claps her hands together. "Sabe will be back with the twins soon, so let's see these cakes."
Ahsoka’s jaw drops as Anakin and Obi-Wan unveil their cake. “No way you made that,” she argues.
“Sorry, Snips,” Anakin says, smirking. “I’m a wizard in the kitchen.”
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes at that.
“I call cheating,” Ahsoka accuses.
“Come, now,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll admit I’m as surprised as you are, but I think we win.”
Ahsoka glares at them, and Rex crosses his arms. “I know for a fact that you can’t bake, General,” he says to Obi-Wan.
“Blast it, Cody,” Obi-Wan grumbles.
“And,” Rex continues. “I see the price tag on the bottom of the plate.”
“I KNEW IT!” Ahsoka lunges for the cake, but Anakin holds it out of reach.”
“That’s not true—“
“I can see the tag right there, of course—“
“It’s not from this!”
Anakin and Ahsoka battle over the cake, which Anakin swings every which way above Ahsoka’s head. She makes a desperate grab for it, and Anakin overcompensates, the cake slipping off the platter, Obi-Wan holding up a hand a moment too late—
The cake drops onto Obi-Wan’s head.
Anakin and Ahsoka freeze, staring at Obi-Wan in open-mouthed shock.
“Anakin.”
Anakin opens his mouth for a clever retort, but only laughter comes out. Ahsoka is openly cackling, Rex standing helplessly before her, and Padme starts to laugh.
“Not you, too,” Obi-Wan groans.
“Sorry, Obi-Wan,” she gets out. “But this means Rex owes me ten credits.”