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“Can you stay the night?”
A crack splits through the commander’s heart, mirroring the one in his general’s voice. A million thoughts run through Cody’s head: the reports he has to finish before going to bed, making sure all his men are properly corralled in their tents for the night, he hasn’t eaten anything in a full rotation, the blaster burn on his arm that’s starting to ache—
His mind comes to a snapping quiet when he looks down at his general, at the pain in his half-lidded eyes. With how stoic this Jedi usually is, Cody knows it must be bad for Obi-Wan to be showing even that much feeling.
“Of course, sir,” he replies, the words coming out before he’s even realized what he’s saying. “Of course I will stay.” Purposeful, this time. Obi-Wan’s eyes close fully, his face relaxing.
Cody doesn’t even know how this is going to be physically possible: the medical tent is tiny, just the cot holding his general and the small stacks of medical supplies. They’ve made do in much worse in this war, though.
One of the men pokes his head into the tent. “Commander, sir, the—”
“Get me a bedroll, trooper,” Cody says, cutting into whatever it was, sure that it’s a question or problem that would force him away from the general right now. He doesn’t even bother looking up to see which of his men it is.
His brother immediately leaves with a quiet “yes, sir”.
Cody sighs and lowers himself onto the ground, starting on loosening his armor and thanking the stars this is at least a grassy area, definitely not the worst place he’s spent a night. He’s just finished stacking his armor in a neat pile behind him when the tent flaps open again, the familiar face of Waxer poking in.
“Here’s this,” he holds up a bedroll, “and thought you might need some food, sir.” A fistful of ration bars.
The gratitude must show on Cody’s face because Waxer smiles. “Glad I could help, sir.” He tilts his head at Obi-Wan as he hands the goods to Cody. “The general’s still doing alright then?”
Cody nods unenthusiastically. “Yeah he just needs time, I think. I can’t remember the last time he’s had a break. Even for him…” He breaks off, taking a breath, pulling his eyes from Obi-Wan to Waxer. “This all takes a toll.”
“Don’t I know it. Sir.”
Cody sets the ration bars in the corner and lays out the bedroll parallel to the cot, careful to keep the surface dirt-free.
“Thank you, vod. Get some rest. We’ll be fine for tonight.”
Waxer gives a quick salute before ducking back out of the tent, leaving the two in the quiet. Cody starts unwrapping a bar, sitting on his knees with a shoulder pressed against his general’s cot, so he can keep an eye on the rise and fall of his bandage-wrapped chest. Luckily, Obi-Wan will certainly recover, he’s a strong man; they just don’t have the best medical supplies out here and Obi-Wan is so exhausted, Cody can see it in his eyes and his posture every day, no matter how much the general tries to hide it. And although it was just a blaster bolt, a few centimeters further to the left, and—
No. No use dwelling on the what-could-have. Focus on the real, the actual, the what-did.
To ground himself, he focuses his attention on Obi-Wan’s face, the way his mouth flutters slightly with each exhale, eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the sweep of auburn hair over his forehead. Before he can stop himself, Cody stretches forward to brush the errant hair away from the general’s face. Its so fine, so soft; with his own hair short, Cody isn’t at all used to the feeling of longer hair. He vaguely wonders how Obi-Wan has managed to keep it so healthy and soft in the midst of this war, but right now it just feels so nice to run his hand through, lightly twisting strands through his fingers, marveling at such a novel texture.
Cody doesn’t know how long he’s resting his head Obi-Wan’s forearm, didn’t even notice himself start. His gut reaction is to jerk his head away, but the general’s skin is warm and he’s asleep, he won’t notice, and come to think of it, Cody is quite sleepy too, and his head is so heavy, the general’s arm is so comfy…
— — —
“Cody?”
“Sir?” the commander replies on autopilot, voice thick with sleep, struggling to open his eyes. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and a beat later to register the pain in his knees, neck, and side.
Something moves underneath Cody’s head; he realizes with a bolt of panic that he’s still using his injured general’s forearm as a pillow. Wrenching himself up, ignoring the screeches in his joints and his arm wound, he stands to attention, hoping against hope that the general somehow didn’t realize the way Cody slept.
There’s an inquisitive, yet playful look on Obi-Wan’s face. He lifts his arm, stretching his fingers out in exaggerated movement. Kriff.
“Feeling any better, sir?” Cody asks in forced monotone, trying his hardest not to let his embarrassment color his face.
“Much, actually,” Obi-Wan replies lightly, “Maybe due to my care yesterday. Thank you for staying.”
He meets Cody’s gaze, his eyes sparkling.
Cody clears his throat, shifts his feet. “Just doing my duty, sir.” He’s so absorbed by the eye contact that he doesn’t notice Obi-Wan’s hand reaching out, can’t move himself in time before his own hand is enveloped.
“You did more than your duty, you know that.” The general’s tone is…warm. Grateful. A little bit — dare he say — nervous?
Cody lets himself lightly squeeze Obi-Wan’s hand. A corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth turns up.
“The medics always tells us that it helps the healing to have your vod’e nearby.” He pauses. Almost as if being compelled, Cody kneels back down next to the cot. Continues quieter. “Or someone who cares, at least.”
“And how lucky I am to have you at my side, Cody.”
“Any time, sir.”