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“So, tell me, Cody. When did you realise you were… you know, in loooove with Obi-Wan?”
Cody could, technically, get away with Skywalker’s murder. He’s quite sure General Windu would help him hide the body, no questions asked, and provide him with a durasteel-strong alibi. He’d probably be able to rope at least five other Jedi into it, if Cody bothered to ask properly and fill out the flimsiwork.
But then Obi-Wan would be sad, and Cody cannot have that.
Putting away his murderous intents with a deep sigh, the man gives Skywalker a long, suffering stare.
“We were in his quarters–”
“Oh, Force, Cody I do not want to hear about the despicable things you do to my Master–”
Then again, Obi-Wan would eventually get over his ex-Padawan’s death. He would only be sad for a short while. Wasn’t he always talking about ‘letting go’ of grief?
Bad Cody. No murdering Jedi.
“That is not what I was about to say, sir.” He’s positive he’s going to need dental surgery with how hard he’s gritting his teeth. Helix will have his head. “We were… filing reports in his quarters. Flimsiwork about the battle, bacta requests, Council-mandated documents that needed to be filled out, that sort of thing.”
“How… thrilling.”
“Yes, well, in our line of work, ‘thrilling’ usually means ‘deadly’, so forgive me for not jumping in excitement at that.”
“Sorry, Cody. You were saying?”
“Well, we were working at the table, he was sitting in front of me, and he took a sip of tea. That’s when I knew.”
Skywalker looks as if Cody has just grown five extra heads shaped like General Yoda. It takes all of his Kaminoan training to avoid bursting out in laughter. As infuriating as the man can be, he makes for excellent entertainment when he’s so obviously stumped.
“Tea.” The General repeats slowly, blinking at him. He’s either in shock, or utter disbelief. “You… you fell in love with Obi-Wan. When he was drinking… tea?”
Cody shrugged. “You asked, sir.”
“So how does it work? Will you jump my bones if I have a cup of caf in front of you? Should I tell the troopers to avoid drinking when you walk by?”
It’s almost mesmerising, how one so strong can simultaneously be so incredibly kriffing idiotic. Cody is impressed, and a tad horrified.
“I did not fall in love with him because he was drinking tea. I realised I loved him when he was drinking tea. There’s a difference.”
Perhaps it is a too-subtle work of academic wonder because Skywalker looks as lost as a bantha in space.
“He was very relaxed, for once in his kriffing di’kut life. We were just sitting there in silence. I’ve only seen him that comfortable when he’s meditating at the Temple and I… I just realised I wanted to make sure he was that happy for the rest of our lives. I realised I wanted nothing more than to get to grow old next to him, and that’s how I knew.”
Skywalker looks, if possible, even more stunned. His eyes have a strange shine to them and– is he about to cry?
Cody will commit mutiny if he’s forced to soothe a sobbing Skywalker.
“Sir, I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but… are you alright?”
He is spared an answer when the Jedi takes one last watery look at him, and promptly throws his arms (arm?) around him, hugging him tightly enough to make his ribs crack. Helix might just dunk him in the bacta tank and be done with it, at this point.
“S-Sir?” Cody manages to choke out, enhanced lung capacity reaching its limits.
“I’m s-so, so happy!” Skywalker cries—sobs, more like—into the Commander’s shoulder. Cody counts to ten, breathes deeply, and reminds himself of all the reports he’ll have to write if he does end up murdering a Jedi Knight.
“You’re getting snot all over my armour because you’re… happy.” He repeats slowly, body entirely rigid in the man’s hold. He does not get paid enough for this—does not get paid at all, which by itself should take care of all his qualms about killing, maiming and generally neutralising the Skywalker threat.
“Very happy!” The Jedi corrects him.
Ah, well. If he’s very happy, that certainly changes things. Cody wants to scream.
“You’re very happy, alright. Will you let go of me, now?”
“N-No! You’re family!” Does Skywalker simply… latch onto his family members until they suffocate? Perhaps he’s a species of humanoid with Usnolian python genes?
“I’m sure you do not squeeze the life out of General Kenobi, sir.”
“No, but I used to! When I was younger. And he never complained, by the way.” Then, he adds: “I don’t think he got hugged a lot before I came to the Temple.”
“I would not define this as hugging, sir.”
And it is not hugging. It’s closer to an advanced suffocation technique—maybe the Sith should employ the Skywalker Hug as a replacement for their Force choking. Maybe the Sith should just employ Skywalker entirely, that way Cody could be rid of him.
Then again, the idea of a Skywalker who is not even trying to control his overgrown toddler tantrums sends shivers down his spine, so maybe not.
“Point is, you’re marrying Obi-Wan, so you’re practically my brother now–” A number of alarms started blaring in Cody’s head, his brain coming to a stuttering halt. He’s doing what now? And Skywalker considers him his what now?
He needs so much caf to unpack this conversation.
“Sir,” he tries to say, finally pushing the man away to breathe. “Sir, I’m not– I’m not marrying the General.”
Mainly because no amount of love for Obi-Wan could make up for Skywalker seeing him as a brother. His cyare would understand.
The Knight looks at him for a moment, confused. Then his eyes darken, and he can distinctly make out a throbbing vein on his temple.
“I’m sorry, Commander. What did you just say?”
“That I and the General are not getting married?”
“I see,” and who would have thought that Skywalker could be quite terrifying when he spoke and behaved like a normal person? “So you think Obi-Wan is not marriage material? He’s not good enough for the likes of you? Or did you just intend on using him and then discarding him like– like–”
His face has obtained the most fascinating shade of red, bordering on vermilion. Cody is suddenly aware that he’s a dead man.
“What is so fundamentally unmarriable about my Master, then? You think you can just deflower him and then not make an honourable man out of him? Treat him like a low-class–”
Cody does not want to hear the end of that sentence.
Actually, Cody would have much preferred to avoid hearing any part of any sentence Skywalker has ever said, especially the ones he’s just had the misfortune of listening to.
“Sir!” He interrupts him loudly, a furious blush on his face—Force bless his dark complexion. “I do not– I’m not– I didn’t– Deflowering what? ”
Of all the things Cody had been expecting from his day, learning that Skywalker held the same ideas about relationships as General Yoda’s grandmother was not one of them. Maybe he's dead, and this is his personal hell. It would make sense: he hasn’t been a particularly virtuous man. Maybe he deserves an eternity of Skywalker giving him The Talk.
“Deflowering my Master!”
“Doing what to whom, now?” A new voice pipes up and oh, it’s precisely the one person Cody hoped it would not be.
“General Kenobi.” He greets him with a pained groan. “Just the man.”
Obi-Wan’s voice is pure ice, his polite smile terrifying. He looks like the famed Negotiator, and Cody would very much like for the floor to open up beneath him and swallow him up before he can listen to the rest of this conversation.
“Master!” Skywalker cries. “The Commander said he would not marry you! I’m trying to make him see sense– I have no problems with the joining of bodies and souls out of wedlock, but if this… concupiscent man refuses to take responsibilities for his actions I will–”
“You will be silent, Anakin. I beg of you, just– shut up for five minutes.” Obi-Wan sighs, looking ten years older all of a sudden.
Cody stares at him.
“Alright. Alright, I suppose we are doing this.” The General rubs his eyes with a pained expression. “Commander, General, follow me.”
He leads them into an empty briefing room, sits them down at the table, and promptly begins to pace the room.
“Very well. So, first things first: Anakin, me and Cody are not getting married.”
“But–”
“No. We can’t get married, and we won’t get married– at least for the time being.”
“Master!”
“Cody is a clone, Anakin.” Obi-Wan finally says, taking a seat as well. “He can’t get married, and even if he could… I’m still his superior officer. I do not want to know how the Senate would even react to that.”
Anakin looks down at the table, ashamed. Cody could weep with joy at the embarrassed expression on the Knight’s face.
“Second thing: if I ever hear you discussing my private life in such a public place, the rounds of katas I used to give you as a Padawan will look like a quiet stroll in the Temple gardens. Understood?”
Cody has no idea what he’s talking about, but as long as it makes Skywalker pale in terror, he agrees wholeheartedly.
“Third thing: I implore you to take one of the Sex-Ed classes at the Temple when we land on Coruscant. You refused to do it as a Padawan, now Padmé is pregnant, and you’re talking about deflowering and ‘joining of bodies and souls’ and wedlocks. Either go to those lectures, or I’ll have Windu and Yoda give you The Talk. Do not force my hand, Padawan.”
Somehow, that must be even scarier than the katas, because Skywalker is almost on the verge of tears.
“And finally,” Obi-Wan’s eyes now set on Cody, who had somewhat hoped he would be able to escape without being referred to. “I also want to grow old next to you. I’ll be yours for as long as you’ll have me, my love.”
Oh.
Well, would you look at that.
Now it’s Cody ’s turn to burst into tears.
Skywalker will never let him hear the end of it.