Nighttime on Coruscant

Nighttime on Coruscant was... different than other planets. With all its levels and all its trillions of sentients, it was a planet that never slept. There was always work to be done, speeders moving through the streets, business opening and shutting their doors, ships leaving the atmosphere and coming in. Somebody was always yelling, horns being honked, lights being shone into windows, people and droids and gods knew what else weaving through the street.

It was a miracle anyone ever did fall asleep on the planet - so much noise, so much energy pulsing everywhere.

It was a miracle the city-planet was even rotating at all.

But rotate it did, and with every day cycle there were those who worked and those who slept, and every night cycle there were those worked and those who slept.

However, we will focus on the surface level, where the elite and the privileged lived...most of whom never had to worry about when to pay the electric bill or when dinner was coming or the radiation levels reaching yet another level.

No, these people were often - unfortunately - blissfully unaware of the hardships of the people they claimed to have protected.

There was Ahsoka Tano, for instance, rubbing at her nose and grimacing. Her eyes burned and her head throbbed, and she was so utterly exhausted she felt like she could sleep right in her seat.

"I told you to take that second caf, 'Soka."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, dropping her stylus and leaning back in the hard seat of the Temple archives. "Yes Barriss - thank you for your sound advice."

"Must you be so sarcastic?" Barriss asked, raising her eyes from the datapad before her.

"Barriss - finals aren't for three days. I'm pretty sure we can get away with going to bed."

"I want to get a good grade -"

Ahsoka gestured at the tables around them. "The library is empty, Barriss." She stood and began to gather her materials. "I'm gonna leave before Madame Nu kicks us out - and besides, I heard the third floor café are selling chocolate crepes every night until finals are over - I'm gonna go get a stack."

We'll leave our ill-fated friends for now, and walk to the hangar - or use slide down the banisters, like our next handful of friends were prone to doing when they were padawans. The tight knit friends have recently experienced a dwindling in their numbers. Once five, now four, with three on planet and only two in the hangar.

The two - having not seen each other since the wretched war began - touchdown at the same time. They sense each other's Force Presences, and are scrambling down the ramps of the ships before the engines die.

"Bant!"

Bant Eerin - tired, sore, and haunted by the horrors of the battlefield - laughed, allowing herself to be tackled in a hug and swung around. "Quin!"

"I thought you were going to be gone for another two weeks!" Quinlan exclaimed while he set her down. He was dirty, dressed in clothes that definitely weren't Jedi issue, probably a remnant of whatever undercover mission he had been on.

"Negotiations finished - we did a rotation and my men were released." She grasped his biceps, smiling widely. "How are - goddesses, what happened to your dreads?"

"You mean where are they?" Quinlan gave a chuckle, the sound echoing in the hangar. "Come on - I'll take you out to dinner once we brief the Council?"

"Deal."

"Oh hey," Quinlan looped an arm around her shoulders while they walked, his smile wide. "Here about Obes?"

"Garen was telling me," Bant shook her head, "as long as he's happy."

I am sorry that we have to leave these lovelies, but gossiping is by no means nice in any circumstance - even if it is about good things. Besides - we'll find out the reason for their gossip in a moment.

But first we'll travel to the uppermost levels of the Senate Apartment Complex, where the household was still wide awake. There were always people moving about in the apartment - security, droids, handmaidens…

But this particular night, the mistress and her husband were in the kitchen, enjoying the rare moment of downtime. It's not like either of them would be sleeping - always too much work to do, files to submit -

"I can't believe you're not letting me help."

Anakin turned briefly from his spot at the stovetop - where a stir-fry of some kind was sizzling - to arch an eyebrow at his wife. "You burned pre-boxed macaroni - how can anyone do that?"

"I didn't realize you had to watch it!"

"My God," he muttered, shaking his head in mock annoyance. "Remind me to never let you feed our children."

"How can I learn to cook if you never let me?" Padmé rolled her eyes when he didn't answer - too busy checking the bread loaf in the oven - and leaned back in her seat. "Do you want me to do anything?"

"It's nearly done Mé," he glanced over and gave an impish grin, "you could set the plates."

Dormé - walking into the kitchen - gave a snicker. "She'll break them, sir."

"Can you stop ganging up on me?" Padmé muttered while she climbed into the counter and found the dishware. She gave a squeak when hands wrapped around her waist, and did her best not to drop what was in her hands.

"You're easy to tease, Angel." Anakin leaned his brow into the small of her back briefly before stretching around her and taking the dishes from her hands.

"Hey!"

Dormé shook her head at their antics, pouring herself some cold tea from the fridge.

It was going to be a long night in the Naberrie-Skywalker household, and I do apologise that we have to step away. But we will not go far - and yes, that one apartment building? With the stain glass and the soft lights? We'll visit there shortly.

But first we'll head down a level, into an area that held bars and barracks and a few million men with the same face...but all with vastly different personalities and morals. This place - called 79's - catered to these men at all hours. It held so many secrets in its walls, so many stories that would make the general populace - some of whom did frequent the bar - recoil in horror.

We'll filter past the racous laughter and the dozen games of darts and arm wrestling to a quiet, darkened corner of the bar.

There, at a table that had seen better days, sat Marshal Commander Cody of the 3rd Systems Army. He didn't frequent this place much - either he had too much flimsiwork to complete, or was deployed elsewhere. You do have to take into account that he outranked his brothers by a vast amount - sometimes by fifteen or so ranks - and often felt uncomfortable sitting among them.

But tonight he had let his remaining batch mate, who probably had more individuality then most of their brothers (probably because of General Skywalker) drag him out.

Cody was quiet, sipping at his beer and listening to whatever hair brained scheme General Skywalker had done now. It was hilarious, watching his brother eventually scowl and glare at him.

"Why aren't you reacting? Skywalker jumped out of an exploding ship - you -"

"It's nothing compared to the shit I've seen General Kenobi do vod."

"I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" Cody set down his beer and leaned forward. "Where do you think Skywalker got it from Rex?"

Rex leaned back, giving a gesture. "Alright - tell me some stories about General Swooshy-Hair."

Okay okay, I've hunted about this man long enough. We'll head to the surface again - careful not to rent a speeder from the wrong person - and weave through the airspace once again. The Jedi Temple and the Senate Apartment Complex, heading towards that other, more modest apartment tower. It was modest by most elite standards, with gentle lights and soft lines and housing people who may have not necessarily been politicians.

The apartment we're looking for is on the 45th floor. The walls are blue and white, with splashes of purple and magenta here and there. It's largely impersonal, with clean lines and plush fabrics. There are few rooms - a living room crammed with bookshelves, a kitchen that has dishes in the sink, a table before a hallway.

Most people would fail to notice the brown cloak draped over a couch, the holopictures hidden on the bookshelves, the aged and childish drawings on the fridge.

They'll be focused on the soft, quiet voice coming from the master bedroom. The tone - kind, firm, with a strong Coruscanti accent - never wavers. It's a voice that many have swooned from, and one that can command a room or a battlefield with a single word.

But right now, it's warm and gentle, with a hint of laughter. It's owner is sitting on a windowseat, clad in only sleep pants and a loose tunic and holding a comlink.

"...long story short - I convinced my professor to change my grade from failing to relatively passing."

Obi-Wan chuckled, crowsfeet crinkling while he shook his head. "That's wonderful, Korkie."

"You certainly inherited your father's negotiating skills," a voice called from the 'fresher.

"He inherited your stubbornness, my dear!"

"Oh hush!"

The hologram of Korkie Kryze-Kenobi laughed at his parents antics.

Korkie...well, Obi-Wan had once been wracked with guilt by how he came to be. Not a mistake - never a mistake - but an unforeseen problem of his parents whirlwind romance on a mission to the Mandalore system, so many years ago.

But now...he had made his peace with it, and learned to live the dual life he had been thrown. A Jedi turned General, a master turned friend and grandmaster, a protector turned husband - and a father.

Always a father to Korkie. Never a stranger. Obi-Wan had made that very clear when his dear wife had told him. He would never be a stranger to his son, no matter what happened.

It was hard, yes - not always being there, fearing he would not come home - but coming home, often was the best thing that happened after so many weeks and months away fighting a war he wasn't quite sure was worth it.

Obi-Wan glanced over when his wife padded into the bedchamber and sat beside him on the windowseat. He switched the comlink to his other hand, wrapping his arm around her when she leaned against him. "Did you get those holodramas I sent you?"

"I did - I may have gone through a season of Darth Reevan's Apprentice already."

"Oh and he wonders why he failed his test."

"Mom."

"Tina dear, really now?" Obi-Wan shook his head at her placating gesture, and looked back at their son. "I'm glad you liked them - though I do not understand the attraction."

"For a dramatic person Ben you certainly have a distaste for on-screen drama."

"Excuse me - you must have me mistaken for yourself."

"Oh sure - Korkie, don't listen to your father. I hear he watched the entire series when it came out."

"Only because Anakin made me," he muttered, "only way he would stay quiet - maybe. If you were lucky."

Korkie snickered, looking incredibly proud of himself. "I'm not sorry you are living through it again Dad."

"You're so kind, both of you."

Satine smiled, tucking in closer to her husband. "Mm hmm - can't get away from us though."

"Thank goodness for that," Obi-Wan whispered, kissing her temple.

Author's note: So I've had this has been half-finished in my docs for awhile, but I just haven't finished it. It's a bit different than my usual style, but I kind of like that.

(As usual I'll fully edit this at a later date)

ii Digestive Reader ii