Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Out of him and his batchmates, Proxy certainly hadn’t expected it to be him who got into trouble first.

Okay, well, he hadn’t expected Flak to get into trouble either. Lucky, on the other hand, was a walking disaster. As much as he loved his brother, he also knew he had two left feet on his best days, and it was a wonder he’d made it through basic training intact.

Then again, he was one of the best shots Proxy had ever seen.

They’d all been assigned to the 212th Attack Battalion and were newly on board the Negotiator. Proxy had heard there was some sort of standard welcome for each new transfer, but he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. All he knew was that he’d gotten separated from Flak and Lucky in the chaos of white-armoured brothers squashing through hallways, their armour so white it would’ve been blinding had he not just left Kamino and its stark white everything, and was now simply trying to make his way to the mess hall.

He’d memorised the layouts of Venator-class Star Destroyers a long time ago, of course, and had pored over the module again before his deployment, but he hadn’t expected the ship to be as big as it was. What he couldn’t wrap his head around was just how he’d managed to end up so far away from where he was supposed to be.

This was a Lucky-type stunt to pull.

“Trooper! Stop right there.”

The voice was rich with authority. Proxy had heard it before, of course, and knew exactly who it was who had just called out to him.

Marshal Commander Cody.

His commanding officer. Everyone’s commanding officer. Cody wasn’t just a squad leader or a regular commander: he was the shining example of an exemplary clone the trainers on Kamino held up to follow, he was the epitome of leadership, he had more authority and status than any brother could ever dream of, his mere presence demanded and inspired respect…

And he had just called out to him. Personally. There was no one else around he could possibly be speaking to.

Shab.

Proxy stopped in his tracks and pivoted on the spot, his heart in his mouth. He’d never spoken to Cody before, but he knew the man expected the very best from his troops. He’d broken some regulation he didn’t know about, evidently, and now he was going to pay for it. Maybe new transfers weren’t allowed to wander the halls of their Star Destroyers alone – he was in the wrong place, he had to be. Or maybe he’d scuffed his armour.

Oh well. If he was going to be in trouble, he might as well look as good as he could in front of his commander.

He clicked his heels together as smartly as he could and snapped off a perfect salute. “Yes, sir?”

He only hoped that Cody hadn’t heard the tremor in his voice.

The commander approached him then, long strides carrying him with a strange, terrifying grace down the hallway. None of the brothers Proxy knew moved like that. He stood stock still, rooted to the spot, as Cody stopped in front of him, wondering what punishment he was about to receive.

And suddenly Cody was removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm. He looked just like any other clone, of course, aside from the dramatic scar that curled around his left eye, and Proxy found himself wondering just why he’d expected something different.

“At ease, soldier. Take off your helmet,” Cody said at last, and Proxy rushed to obey, allowing his stance to loosen slightly as he yanked his helmet off with as much haste as he dared. He shoved it under his left arm, mirroring the man who stood in front of him, and lifted his chin with as much bravado as he could muster.

Don’t be scared. Don’t let him know he intimidates you. You’ve done nothing wrong. You can explain!

“What’s your name?”

“Cee-Tee eighty-four sixty-four, sir,” Proxy said, holding Cody’s steady gaze as best as he could.

“Your actual name,” the commander said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “We don’t go by numbers here.”

“Oh,” he swallowed, mentally kicking himself. Way to go. “It’s Proxy, sir.”

Cody chuckled and nodded, a small but definite smile playing across his lips. “Well, Proxy,” he began, “I need your help with a little something.”

“I’m not in trouble, then?” Proxy blurted, too shocked to contain himself.

“Oh, no,” Cody frowned. “I just need your help, that’s all, and you seem like the perfect man for the job.”

“Oh.” Proxy breathed out a relieved sigh. “Well – yes, sir. Of course. Anything you need, I’ll get it done.”

“Excellent,” Cody said. He stepped forward and hooked his free arm around Proxy’s shoulder, bending abruptly close. When he spoke, his voice was lowered in a conspiratorial whisper. “I have some credits here that I need you to take to the officers’ mess for me.”

Proxy looked at him, surprised. Ferrying credits around was quite possibly the last thing he would ever have expected to be asked to do. From this unexpectedly close angle, he could see every detail of the scar that distinguished Cody’s physical features so obviously. He was lucky that he hadn’t lost his eye. “I didn’t think I was allowed in there, sir.”

“’Course you are,” Cody grinned. “As I was saying, go to the mess and find Bookie. He’ll be sitting at a table by the door. He’s got bright blue hair and a datapad. You’d have to be blind to miss him.”

“I’m not blind, sir.”

“Good man.” Cody thumped him on the shoulder and pulled back, reaching into his belt, where he pressed a bundle of credits into Proxy’s hand. It was more money than he’d ever seen in his life – not that he’d ever had a reason to see or handle any in the first place, of course. “What I need you to do is to place a bet with him. Bookie runs all the 212th’s betting pools, you see.”

Proxy was starting to realise that he’d very much overestimated how strict and serious deployment was going to be. He supposed it’d be an entirely different story on the battlefield – he’d heard the horror stories, naturally, and had a feeling that actual combat would be far worse than anything he could imagine. The scoring and damage he could see decorating Cody’s armour seemed suddenly a little too real, as did that big scar. But brothers would be brothers, it seemed, able to get up to mischief and have fun even when the freedom of the galaxy was at stake.

Apparently, even Cody wasn’t immune to having a bit of fun, even if said fun was at Proxy’s expense.

“Betting pools,” he said cautiously. Cody nodded at him, his eyes narrowed almost gleefully. Don’t stare at the scar. Don’t stare at the scar. “I – yes, sir. What am I betting on?”

“You’re going to tell Bookie that the general – that’s General Kenobi, of course – will be late to the bridge tomorrow by, let’s say…” Cody pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Three hours.”

Getting mixed up with the marshal commander himself was bad enough, but roping their Jedi general into things was far, far worse. He’d heard so much about Jedi, and the last thing he wanted to do was get on the wrong side of one. Kenobi especially was of legendary status: every clone knew that it was him who had come to Kamino looking for them, and his partnership with Cody was the gold standard all the trainers held them to.

Why was Cody not placing the bet himself? Was Kenobi even more intimidating than the commander?

“Right.” Proxy choked down his anxiety as best as he could. This was his chance to make a good impression: he had to be brave. Flak and Lucky would never believe him whenever he managed to actually tell them about his experience. “Three hours.”

“That’s right, vod.”

“Okay,” he stuttered. “Uh, am I placing the bet in your name?”

“Of course not,” Cody said silkily. “Yours will do just fine. Is that alright with you?”

Despite the casual, disarming words and the even calmer tone of Cody’s voice, Proxy had a funny feeling that he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He forced himself to smile, his heart pounding so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if Cody could hear it. “Fine with me, sir.”

“Good,” Cody said. He patted Proxy on the arm and stepped away, turning his helmet over in his hands. “Get it done as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir,” Proxy said as Cody fitted his helmet back over his head. “Of course.”

“I’ll find you later on,” the commander said. “Oh, and welcome to the 212th, Proxy.” He tipped two fingers to his helmet in a quick salute. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

By the time Proxy had found the words to reply, Cody was gone. He watched him stride away with that same captivating grace as before: long, easy steps, perfectly in balance and moving as if the armour he wore weighed nothing at all. He’d always been aware that the commander was particularly renowned for his skill in combat, but seeing him move now added a whole new level to his understanding. Lurking underneath Cody’s easy confidence was a warrior through and through – someone who wasn’t to be taken lightly under any circumstance, someone whose mere physical presence was enough to make others stop and stare.

If one day he commanded even some of the respect that Cody did, he’d be happy.

Today, however, was not that day. He’d been given a job to do, and he was going to get it done as if his life depended on it.

He tightened his grip around the credits in his hand, sighing, and replaced his own bucket on his head. He hadn’t been off Kamino for a single rotation and he’d already been sought out to do a favour. At least Cody hadn’t known who he was, though – it seemed he’d been picked on out of convenience, not because he was known for helping people out of sticky situations. 

This particular situation was a little riskier than the things he usually did for his brothers back home. Proxy had gone from standing in for wayward brothers and making up excuses for absences to trainers to being roped into the marshal commander’s business through and through, not to mention the general’s business. He didn’t know if Kenobi knew about the betting, but he knew there had to be a reason why Cody wasn’t placing the bet himself, and especially why he was getting a brand new transfer to place said bet. 

Maybe Cody knew that the further Proxy was from the general’s attention, the safer things would be for everyone involved.

He was starting to have serious doubts about Kenobi’s reputation of being kind and approachable.

Heaving another sigh, he racked his brain for the memory of where the officers’ mess was and set off at a hasty walk seconds later. Thankfully, it wasn’t far from the general mess hall: if he remembered correctly, there was even a door that connected the two rooms together, allowing the officers to keep a watchful eye on everyone else. 

The mess was a big room, far bigger than he’d imagined based on the schematics of the ship. It was filled with clones clustered together in different groups, some in shiny white armour, some in 212th orange and some in cloth uniform. He figured everyone was sitting together in batch groups: that was generally how things played out on Kamino. You stuck with those you knew and trusted. Everyone was a brother, but no one understood you the way your batchmates did.

He knew that members of the command batches were split up and spread all over the galaxy, and wondered how they managed without their closest brothers there to support them. That, he knew, was probably the starkest difference between a regular trooper and those who led them: if you were bred to lead, you ended up a lot more alone. Cody, he knew, was one such clone, elite among the elite.

Who did he lean on when he needed someone? Did he suffer in silence? Did he call his batchmates in the middle of the night cycle and pour out his sorrows to them then? Had he made other friends?

Had he made a friend of Kenobi?

Picking his way through the hall and weaving his way around tables, Proxy tried not to appear too conspicuous. He kept an eye on the door to the officers’ mess as he walked: two clones had walked out of it since he’d entered the mess, but as far as he could tell, no one was watching. Everyone was minding their own business and eating their rations.

Perfect.

Upon finally reaching the officers’ mess, Proxy took a moment to compose himself outside the door. He reminded himself that yes, he was allowed inside – Cody had said so. Of course you are. Those had been his exact words.

“Of course I am,” he muttered to himself. He could do this.

He walked forward before he could change his mind, squeezing his anxiety away in the grip he still had on the credits as the door hissed open to admit him. He should probably have tucked them into his belt, but he was afraid he’d lose them somehow, and he certainly didn’t have any of his own to replace any that could potentially go missing.

Shoulders back, head up, even strides.

Proxy had never been more grateful for his helmet in his life. His face was burning and his neck felt hot, and he could feel prickles of sweat beading on his forehead. A few curious glances were thrown his way as he made his way into the room, but they only lingered for a brief moment before sweeping away.

Evidently, he was a lot less interesting than the evening meal, thank the stars.

And oh – there he was. Just like Cody had said, a clone with a shock of bright blue hair sat at a table close to the door, poring over the datapad in front of him as he distractedly shovelled food into his mouth.

Part of him still expected to be intercepted and asked to leave, but no one lifted a finger to stop him as he made a beeline for the clone. Standing in front of him, he fought the urge to rock back anxiously on his heels. Flak had told him what felt like a million times not to do it, and he could practically hear him now: stand still, Proxy, there’s no use in fidgeting so endlessly, so kriffing pull yourself together. No one judges you more than you judge yourself.

Easier said than done.

“Bookie...?” he ventured.

“That’s me,” the clone said through a mouthful of food. He looked up at Proxy, blue curls springing free from where he’d had them tucked behind his ears – stars, he’d never seen such long hair on a brother before. Bookie swept his much-longer-than-regulation-length hair out of his eyes, tucking them back behind his ears in what was evidently a very practiced gesture. His gaze was expectant. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh,” Proxy began. “I…”

“Spit it out,” Bookie said. He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have all day and neither do you. Get to it.”

“I was told you’re the person to talk to about making bets,” Proxy said cautiously.

“Sure am.” Bookie grinned up at him and leaned back where he sat. “What’s your name, vod?”

“Proxy.”

“Well then, Proxy, what pool would you like to bet on today?”

“Uh,” Proxy stuttered. Just how much betting went on behind the scenes? He grimaced. “The one about the general being late to the bridge tomorrow morning?”

Bookie laughed. “Oh, yes. That’s the one where we’re all wondering how long it’ll be before Kenobi realises Cody’s fucking him with the specific intention of making him sleep a bit more.”

“What?” Proxy gulped. He had to be hearing things. There was no way, no kriffing way –

“You’re very new here, aren’t you?” Bookie smirked. “Cody and Kenobi are the 212th’s worst kept secret. They’re disgustingly in love and just as terrible at hiding it. You’ll soon see it for yourself, it’s impossible to miss. The way they look at each other? Unbelievable.” He shook his head, but there was a genuine smile in his eyes. Fondness, even. “There was a pool that lasted for months where we were all betting on when and how they’d finally get together.”

Proxy thought about Cody’s disarming smile and his friendly words, both of which had intimidated him far more than he should’ve let them. He’d never have guessed that the commander had any sort of feelings for Kenobi, let alone that the general returned them. And now that he knew the truth, he was even more confused.

Why would Cody bet on his own love life?

“Oh,” he said, trying his best not to seem too taken aback. Maybe once he saw Kenobi for himself, things would make a bit more sense. Maybe he’d overestimated how scary the general was after all. “How, uh – how did it turn out?”

Bookie leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “It happened in a cave. They and some of Ghost Company got snowed in while planetside, and that was their breaking point. The credits I had to fork out afterwards, I tell you! On mission, within earshot of others, with Ghost… the list goes on. Nearly the whole battalion was in on it.”

“Do Cody and the general know about the betting?”

“Kenobi doesn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cody did, he’s got his eye on everything, but he hasn’t said anything. He certainly knows about the pools that don’t include him and Kenobi, so maybe we’re in the clear.” Bookie grinned. “Anyway, how much are you betting?”

Proxy set the credit chips on the table and pushed them towards Bookie. “Just these.”

“And your bet is?” Bookie tapped something on his datapad, eyes raking over the credits bundled on the table.

“Uh. That the general will be three hours late. Tomorrow.”

“Three hours late. Okay.” Bookie scooped the credits up and weighed them in his hand, then tucked them into his belt. He made a quick entry into his datapad before looking back up. “Come see me again tomorrow. I imagine you’ll hear if Kenobi’s late or not anyway, news travels fast around here. We don’t always bet on it, but he’s been early for weeks now and once every so often Cody puts his foot down. Or rather, his dick.” He winked at Proxy, who flushed crimson under his bucket.

“Right,” he mumbled, wanting to sink into the floor and disappear. Stars, he wished he was back with Flak and Lucky on Kamino, back when life was simple. “Thank you, Bookie. I’ll see you later.”

“See you, kid,” Bookie said. “Oh, and one more thing – don’t you breathe a word about Cody and Kenobi to anyone outside the 212th, okay? Especially to the 501st. Those boys are real gossips.”

“Not a word,” Proxy promised. It wasn’t as if anyone would believe him anyway. He knew there was no way his batchmates would think he was being serious about anything that had just happened.

“Good. It’s a battalion secret, and we look after our Cody as best we can.” Bookie’s gaze grew distant, but then he was pulling his tray of food back in front of him. He loaded his fork. Shrugged. “He’s really something. You’ll understand when you meet him.”

“I’m sure,” Proxy said. Cody was certainly something, alright – he was terrifying, and he also happened to be the sole reason that Proxy was standing here right now making this dangerous bet.

Proxy watched as Bookie shoved his fork back into his mouth. Clearly, the conversation was over. Grateful, he backed away and made for the door as fast as he could, his face burning and his mind buzzing.

He was in far deeper osik than he’d ever thought possible.

He knew that Kenobi would be three hours late tomorrow. Cody would make sure of it. He could remember the expression on the commander’s face as he’d said it with ease: that brief flicker of thoughtful indecision, and then the steadiness of resolve as he’d made his mind up. Now that he knew the truth, everything made sense.

It should be easy. He’d lied his way smoothly through so many sticky situations before and stood in for so many brothers, and placing a bet on behalf of someone else was downright simple in comparison. Tomorrow he would collect his winnings, and then that someone would seek him out.

Except this someone wasn’t just any brother, he was the kriffing marshal commander, and he’d inadvertently managed to rope Proxy into his complicated love life, one that went against one of the biggest regulations out there.

No romantic entanglement with superior officers. And, even worse, this superior officer just so happened to be a Jedi. Their general. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

What’s more, the entire battalion supported Cody. Bookie had been very clear, and his loyalty had seemed to be genuine. Cody was evidently well liked, even if he was incredibly intimidating.

Or maybe that was just Proxy overthinking things again.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He caught a brief glimpse of Cody one more time, down at the end of a long hallway. There was a man walking with him that he didn’t recognise, but he moved with a similar grace, seeming to float over the ground even more than Cody did – like a warrior, deadly and beautiful in an extraordinarily specific way that Proxy couldn't quite describe.

That had to be Kenobi.

Just like he’d predicted, Flak and Lucky didn’t believe a word of what he told them when he finally got them alone as they settled down for the night cycle. Flak asked him if he’d hit his head and if he needed to see a medic, and Lucky very kindly told him that it was okay that he’d gotten lost and that he didn’t need to make up a story to justify his misadventures.

“You’ll see,” Proxy muttered. As much as he dreaded what could go wrong, part of him hoped that his brothers would see him with Cody, or perhaps even with credits from Bookie. If he could prove it, he’d be satisfied.

It was a very big if, but Proxy was determined. One way or another, he’d prove himself to both Cody and his brothers. He could be relied on. He always followed through with his promises. He didn’t lie – unless he was helping his brothers out, of course. He was solid, loyal, and dependable.

And he always would be.

Chapter Text

The next morning’s briefing started later than expected.

When Cody finally took his place in front of the group of new transfers, Proxy squashed a reflexive wave of anxiety at the sight of him, although he was sure the commander wouldn’t recognise him in the group. They each wore identical white armour, so shiny that they almost gleamed. It was a stark contrast to the wear on Cody and every other more seasoned clone’s armour, serving as yet another reminder that they were here because they were replacing lost troopers. Lost brothers.

And when the same man he’d glimpsed the day before strode out and joined them in the middle of the briefing, clad in simple, flowing robes, he knew instinctively that he’d been right about who he was even before Cody introduced him.

“This is High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said. “He’s the ultimate voice of authority around here. If he says jump, I expect you to ask how high, then execute to the best of your ability. You are all now part of the finest battalion in the GAR, and we run a very tight ship.” He paused, sharp eyes scanning the clones in front of him. For a moment, Proxy had the uncomfortable feeling that Cody was looking right at him. “I will tolerate no sloppiness. I’m here for you all as you settle in – I’ll seek you all out individually over the next few days – and I hope you come to see me as not someone to be intimidated by, but someone who has your back both on and off the battlefield. The only difference between you and me is our rank.”

Proxy knew that wasn’t true by a very long shot, as did everyone else around him, but he appreciated it just the same. His respect for Cody was starting to grow rapidly, and he was starting to understand why Bookie had spoken of him so highly.

“Thank you, Cody,” Kenobi said. “It’s nice to meet you all.” He smiled out at the group, and Proxy realised in a flash just how badly he’d misjudged the Jedi. This was a gentle man at heart, completely different from anyone he’d met before. He was a warrior, certainly, and a leader, but there was a kindness about him and the way he carried himself that instantly confirmed all the rumours about what a good person he was.

Kenobi didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating as Cody.

“If you have any questions,” Kenobi was saying, “any of the officers can help you out. And if the matter is particularly urgent, Cody and I will be happy to support you. I don’t want you to feel like I’m unapproachable.” He paused, and Proxy watched as his eyes flitted briefly to Cody, who gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “I’m human just like you. Yes, I’m a Jedi, but that doesn’t exclude me from getting tired or hungry, or feeling emotion or pain that all of you do. We’re in this fight together, and we fight for freedom and for peace.”

“We’re a team.” Cody took over the moment Kenobi stopped talking, the transition seamless. “Get to know the men around you. Kamino has trained you well, and your task for the moment is to use the time you’ve got to build trust and rapport with existing members of the 212th. Listen and learn from their experience, and know that we’re all very glad to have you on board.” He straightened, sweeping his shoulders back and drawing himself up to his full height. Proxy instinctively stood to attention, as did the others around him. “Am I understood, rookies?”

Proxy’s yes, sir joined the chorus of voices around him. Cody nodded approvingly, then snapped off a perfect salute, one which everyone reflexively replicated. Next to him, Kenobi inclined his head in a small bow.

Cody dismissed them moments later. Proxy couldn’t help but stare for a little longer at the general as everyone around him turned to leave: he seemed so perfectly unassuming standing still, so calm – nothing like the tense, coiled energy of so many of the trainers back on Kamino, engaged in quiet conversation with the man who stood faithfully and attentively at his side. Cody’s body language seemed a lot softer and gentler than it had the day before, nothing like what Proxy had experienced with him.

He was beginning to see why everyone knew there was something going on between them.

But then Flak was grabbing his arm, muttering something about being starving and how he had two nonsensical brothers he needed to babysit, and Proxy found himself dragged away towards the mess. Once there, he left his batchmates bickering at a table and made his way up to the officers’ mess, figuring that by now Bookie would know that Kenobi had been late.

Bookie was sitting in exactly the same spot he had been when Proxy had last seen him, his datapad still in front of him. When he saw Proxy, he shook his head slowly and gave him a disbelieving grin as he waved him over. “Well. If it isn’t the luckiest rookie I’ve ever met,” he said, and chuckled. “Hey, kid. You heard the news, I gather?”

“Hi, Bookie,” Proxy said. “And yeah, I did. I just got out of a briefing with the general. It ran late, so I thought I’d better come see you.”

“Sit down, sit down,” Bookie said jovially, and gestured to the seat opposite him. “I need to get your credits together. It was quite a big pool, and you – well.” He shook his head again. “You were the only one who guessed it. Bang on! He was three hours late! Can you believe it?”

“Not really,” Proxy said. He slid into the seat, watching as Bookie’s blue curls fell into his eyes as he ducked his head down towards his belt. “It was just a lucky guess.”

“Should’ve called yourself Lucky,” Bookie said. He placed a bag on the table and slid it over to Proxy. “Here’s your credits. D’you want to make another bet or would you rather keep your luck intact for now? I’ve got a nice little pool going on when the next time Skywalker and the 501st ask us for help will be. And there’s another on whether Waxer or Boil will take out more clankers next time we engage the seppies. The competition is fierce when it comes to those two.”

“Maybe some other time. I’m still getting to know everyone.” Proxy grabbed the bag and hefted it experimentally in his hand. It was small, but he could feel how dense it was. Cody had made quite a profit on his bet. He grinned, suddenly feeling very light as confidence surged. Surely the most difficult part of the operation had to be over by now. “One of my batchmates is called Lucky, actually.”

“How about that?” Bookie leaned back where he sat. “Names are funny things, I tell you. If he’s anywhere near as lucky as you, he’ll have well and truly earned his.”

“He’s working on it,” Proxy said. He flipped open the largest storage compartment on his belt and stuffed the bag into it. It fit, but only just. “Thanks for this, Bookie.”

“Anytime, kid.” Bookie flashed him a wide grin. “Don’t spend it all too fast. Save it for shore leave, get yourself a proper drink or something.”

“I will,” he replied, standing hurriedly. The credits felt incriminatingly heavy at his side, and he suddenly wanted to get rid of them as fast as possible. “Thanks again.”

Flak and Lucky were still bickering by the time he took a seat opposite them and set his tray down in front of him.

“– you’re the clumsiest person I know, but how do you manage to do that in your sleep?” Flak was laughing, his tray of food forgotten. “This is a new low even for you.”

“Do what?” Proxy asked, frowning.

“Ah, Proxy. Look at Lucky. Look at him and tell me you believe him when he says he did this in his sleep.” Flak reached for his brother and yanked his hand away from his face. “Show Proxy, utreekov. See what he thinks.”

Lucky turned reluctantly to Proxy and gave him a pleading look. He was sporting a dramatic new black eye, with the bruising going as far as spotting over his right cheekbone. “I fell out of the bunk,” he said plaintively. “Gave myself a bit of a bruise. It doesn’t hurt. Please tell him to stop laughing at me.”

“Doesn’t hurt?” Flak swiped playfully at him and Lucky hastily ducked out of the way, his elbow rising defensively. “You’re full of osik, or’dinii, that’s gotta be painful. Who was it who punched you? I’ll teach them a lesson.”

“It does look like you got punched,” Proxy said. “But – and hear me out, Flak, hang on – this wouldn’t be the first time he’s fallen out of bed and hurt himself. Remember how he split his lip open last year?”

“That was embarrassing.” Lucky brushed his fingers self-consciously over the scar above his top lip. “Two people have already asked me how I got my scar, and we’ve barely even been here a full cycle. They deflate big time when I tell them I got it falling out of bed.”

“I don’t blame them. It’s pretty kriffing funny,” Flak snickered, and Proxy did his best to hide his laughter behind a mouthful of food as Lucky rolled his eyes and leaned inconspicuously on his hand once again, covering the bruise with his fingers.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m the luckiest guy around, I know,” he snorted.

Flak burst out laughing at that, and Lucky’s pout relaxed into an easy grin seconds later. Proxy couldn’t help but laugh along with them, his mind finally off the stress of everything to do with the bet. It was nice to finally sit down and relax with his brothers – no matter how snarky Flak was or how misfortunate Lucky was, they were what mattered most to him.

He didn’t notice that their laughter had trailed off until it was too late.

Two pairs of eyes lifted to something – or someone – behind him, and Proxy froze as he felt not one, but two people slide onto the bench either side of him. One of them slung his arm around his shoulders while the other ruffled his hair, their legs pressed solidly against his. There was no chance of escape.

He was trapped.

“We heard you won the betting pool, shiny,” the clone to his right said after a painfully long silence in which Proxy had time to think about all his poor life choices – specifically, everything that had to do with the credits hidden in his belt. He gulped, turning his head ever so slightly towards the clone who had spoken, and winced as he recognised the shaved head and distinctive brown goatee that belonged to Lieutenant Waxer. There was an osik-eating grin on his face, his expression a far cry from the serious man who had stood off to the side of the room during the induction just an hour earlier.

“How’d a fresh cadet like you manage to get all your intel so accurate? You’ve barely been here a full cycle,” the other clone said – Boil, it had to be Boil. Waxer and Boil, the two who had that competition about shooting clankers going. Boil squeezed the back of Proxy’s neck, who gulped again, fighting the instinctive urge to throw his head defensively back.

He was in real trouble now. He probably wouldn’t be surviving this encounter. Forget Cody – he’d at least tried to be friendly. Waxer and Boil, however, were something else entirely.

He didn’t know much about them, but he knew they were both experienced troopers and extremely popular among the 212th – they were in Ghost Company, too, which he was starting to understand were the 212th’s most elite platoon. These were two men he didn’t want to be on the wrong side of, and here he was feeling like a small prey animal, caught and pinned between two large and inescapable predators.

“I, uh. I guessed?”

“I can always smell when a shiny lies to me,” Waxer said. His grin grew almost impossibly wide. “C’mon, now. The truth. Proxy, isn’t it?”

“I – yes, sir. Proxy.”

“Interesting name, that,” Boil leaned one elbow casually on the table and twisted his upper body properly towards him, eyes narrow. “How’d you get it?”

“It’s not what you think,” Proxy gulped, now feeling even more trapped. He shot a frantic look at his batchmates, who were sitting frozen in place and not offering any sort of support in the slightest. Lucky’s eyebrow was twitching and Flak’s jaw was so tight that he could almost hear his brother’s teeth grinding together, but neither of them made a move to come to his defence. “I’m just helpful, that’s all. You know.”

A half-truth was better than an outright lie, surely.

“I don’t know, actually,” Waxer said coolly. He pursed his lips, and Proxy knew his attempt to fool him had fallen drastically short. This was not a man who could be conned easily. At all. “I think your lucky win was a bit too lucky to be true,” he went on. “I think – and Boil here does too – that you got a tip.”

“A tip?” Proxy contorted his expression into his best I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about and I-would-never face. “No, sir, of course not – it was just a lucky guess, I swear.”

“Real suspicious, you are,” Boil drawled. He nodded at Flak and Lucky. “You two have a very slippery friend in this one. Better keep an eye on him.”

“He’s our batchmate,” Lucky bravely volunteered, sounding just as perky as always, “and he hasn’t done anything wrong, sir. He’s new, he doesn’t know anything.”

Lucky had just become Proxy’s favourite brother. If he made it through the next torturous few minutes, or however long it took for Waxer and Boil to have their fun, he’d make sure to tell him of his new status.

“He’s new! Exactly.” Boil patted Proxy’s knee. “He shouldn’t know about any betting that’s going on, let alone about the pool he won. I’ve never heard of any rookie jumping into any betting on their first day. Have you, Waxer?”

“Definitely not,” Waxer said. He tightened his arm around Proxy’s shoulders and leaned a little closer, then lowered his voice. “I have a theory. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, sir.” He’d be hearing it no matter what he said. Better to get it over with as soon as possible than to draw it out.

“I think our dear Cody – our commander, you know the one –”

“Orange visor,” Boil supplied helpfully. “Big antenna on his shoulder. Has the sun painted on his armour. Spends a lot of time with Kenobi.”

“I’ve seen him, sir.”

“Excellent,” Waxer smirked. He leaned closer still. “I think Cody handed you some credits yesterday. In fact, I think he sought you out, gave you credits, and told you exactly what to bet on. Am I on the right track?”

How? How does he know? Is Cody testing me?

“No, sir.” Proxy’s voice sounded funny, even to him. He swallowed around the lump of pure anxiety in his throat, hoping that Waxer and Boil wouldn’t pick up on his panic. He could feel the unwelcome prickling heat of stress-induced tears threatening to fill his eyes, and cast his gaze down at a suddenly very interesting spot on the table. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. If he was very, very lucky, maybe he’d get away with this. “I guessed. I overheard people talking about it during the evening meal yesterday and thought I should have a go. To, uh, to settle in a bit easier.”

“It’s true.” Flak. “He told us all about it. Tried to convince us to bet too, but we’re not into that sort of thing.”

“Is that so?” Boil’s grip on his knee loosened, and Proxy knew that his brother’s unexpected support had turned the tide for him. He squeezed his eyes briefly shut and swallowed again, hoping beyond hope that no one could see his eyes glistening any more than they should.

“Yes, sir,” Flak said, all steady confidence, and Proxy shot him a grateful look as he felt his batchmate nudge him gently under the table with the tip of his boot. “He was very annoying about it, actually. Lucky and I were just trying to eat our meal in peace, but there was Proxy going on about betting and socialising and networking. I was kriffing tired last night. Do you think I wanted to hear any of it?”

“I got excited,” Proxy mumbled. “Sorry. I don’t mean to annoy anyone.” The disgruntled look on Flak’s face was convincingly genuine, with his eyebrows creased and his eyes narrowed accusingly in Proxy’s direction. His brother was far too good at making up osik on the spot when he needed to, but the steady pressure of his boot against his foot was an equally steady comfort.

He owed both Lucky and Flak big time for this. Standing up to and lying to officers was no small thing, especially when they all wanted to make a good impression. Lucky, of course, was met with smiles and open arms wherever he went, what with his boundless positivity and limitless enthusiasm, but Flak had always found it a little more difficult to make friends.

And what with Waxer and Boil being such staple members of the 212th, Proxy appreciated his brothers’ willingness to come to his aid far more than he knew how to say.

“We’re all annoying sometimes,” Lucky piped up, flashing Waxer and Boil his most winning smile. He reached across the table and patted Proxy’s hand reassuringly. “Proxy’s really nice. He was just very enthusiastic last night, that’s all –”

“Wait. Osik, shiny,” Waxer interrupted, leaning forward, “how the fuck did you – have you been in a fight?”

“Uh.” Lucky’s eyes widened as he realised he’d inadvertently revealed his black eye, and Flak tried and failed to suppress a snicker. He went to cover it again, but Waxer shook his head warningly and he folded his hands on the table in resignation. “Uh, no. I haven’t.”

“How’d it happen?” Boil frowned, turning away from Proxy to better scrutinise Lucky. “I’ve seen less dramatic black eyes following a healthy punch from a clanker.”

“Fell-out-of-bed,” Lucky rushed out, and coughed delicately. He rubbed at his nose, flushing.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” Waxer said. “You what? Speak up, rookie. I’m a bit deaf.”

“I fell out of bed, sir.” Lucky pursed his lips and lifted his chin in proud defiance. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m just – just a bit clumsy at times. But I can still fight just fine! Trust me. I’m a really, really good shot.”

“You –” Boil shook his head incredulously. “You fell out of bed. And gave yourself a black eye.”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“Rookies these days, I swear,” Waxer muttered. He rose to his feet, staring down at them in quiet disbelief as Boil, too, got to his feet. “You’re all somehow even shinier than your armour, and that’s so shiny it hasn’t got a single scratch on it.”

“We do our best, sir,” Flak said dryly. “Shall I go put a scratch in my armour, then?”

Proxy sat in a genuinely horrified silence as everyone around them at surrounding tables went very suddenly quiet. He couldn’t believe the nerve – the audacity – Flak was bold, he always had been, but this was straight out insanity –

Waxer started to laugh first. It started as a low chuckle, but rapidly grew into a full belly laugh as Boil, too, joined him. Around them, everyone started to breathe again, and Proxy huffed out a relieved sigh.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the lieutenant gasped at last, wiping tears from his eyes. “You cheeky little shabuir. I like you.” He grinned, and Proxy jumped violently when he thumped him good-naturedly on the arm, taken by surprise. “You three are alright. We’ll see you around.”

“Catch you in another bet, Proxy,” Boil winked and stepped away from the table, his helmet tucked neatly under his arm. “Thanks for the laugh. Oh, and Lucky, go see Helix about that eye if you need to.”

A stunned silence remained as they finally walked away, but Proxy could finally, finally breathe again. He balled his hands into tight fists, exhaled slowly, and looked up at Flak, who was grinning smugly. “I seriously can’t believe you got away with that.”

“Neither can I,” Flak said. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Proxy said. “Thank you both so much. I don’t know how to repay you, honestly. I thought I was a goner.”

“We didn’t believe you yesterday,” Lucky shrugged. “Consider it our apology.”

Proxy couldn’t suppress his smile. “Thanks, Lucky. I’ve got the credits right now, actually, just here in my belt. Should be getting rid of them soon.” 

However, the credits remained in his belt for a lot longer than he’d anticipated. He ran drills with them rattling inside their bag, and as the hours passed felt as if they were growing increasingly heavier. 

But when he returned to his quarters that evening, having finished his meal before the others and in desperate need of time alone to unwind, he was shocked to be greeted by the sight of Cody leaning against the wall next to his bunk. 

“Sir!” he exclaimed, jumping hastily to attention as Cody’s sharp gaze settled instantly on him. “You found me.”

“I’m glad I caught you alone,” Cody said. He peeled himself away from the wall and approached Proxy, his lips pursed. “I heard Waxer and Boil gave you some trouble earlier.”

“Oh – no, sir, they weren’t a bother,” Proxy stammered, wondering just how Cody had heard about what had happened. He supposed that as the commander of the 212th, it was his duty to know about everything that went on behind his back. “It was just a bit of fun. Everything’s okay.”

“I’ll speak to them.” 

“You don’t have to, sir,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I didn’t tell them anything, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Cody said approvingly, and Proxy recognised the warmth in his voice with a swell of pride. “I understand I put you in a bit of a difficult situation,” he went on. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

“I’m good at helping,” Proxy said brightly, basking in the glow of Cody’s approval with slowly growing confidence. “That’s what I did back on Kamino. I helped brothers out as much as I could – it’s how I got my name.”

“That makes sense,” Cody said slowly. He cocked his head to the side, his gaze suddenly thoughtful. “Seeing as that’s the case, and considering the good job you did, would you mind if I found you next time I’d like to bet?”

“Of course not, sir,” Proxy swallowed hard. Just when he’d thought he’d escaped. At least Cody was suitably impressed. “Happy to help anytime, just say the word.”

“I will,” the commander said, and gave him the smallest of smiles. Despite its diminutive size, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners told Proxy it was genuine. “Now, about my credits. Do you have them?”

“Yes, sir,” Proxy said quickly. He reached to his belt, pulled the bag out from it, and offered it to Cody. The other man took it and hefted it experimentally in his gloved hand. 

“Quite a haul,” he commented, and gave Proxy a wry smile. “I underestimated the interest in that pool, apparently.”

Proxy stared at him, wondering if Cody knew the true extent of the 212th’s interest in his love life. “I guess,” he said. “Bookie said lots of people bet.”

“I know what they’re betting on,” Cody said at last, his words heavy with meaning. He shrugged. “I like to keep them on their toes, but they can’t know I’m rigging the bets that involve me. That’s why I went through you. If you’re uncomfortable now that you know the truth – because I know Bookie will have told you everything – say so now, and I won’t ask you again.”

“I meant what I said before, sir,” Proxy said quietly. “Just say the word and I’ll be ready and waiting.”

Cody’s smile was much broader this time. “Thank you,” he repeated, reaching for Proxy and patting him on the shoulder. It was an oddly affectionate gesture, and Proxy suddenly felt a whole lot better about running Cody’s betting errands. His belt was light again, matching the growing warmth in his heart. No one had ever shown such approval towards him before – sure, brothers were always grateful when he stood in for them and helped them out, but Cody’s appreciation felt different. Maybe it was because Cody was such a prominent, important figure, and his recognition meant just that little bit more.

“I will speak to Waxer and Boil,” Cody added. “You might be okay with it, but I’m not. No one is getting harassed on my watch, especially on my behalf.”

“They didn’t mean any harm,” Proxy said hastily, frowning. He didn’t want anyone to get in trouble because of him. Waxer and Boil had been grinning throughout his ordeal with them, and even though he’d been more than a little freaked out until the attention had shifted off him, he had known they weren’t being malicious. “They laughed the whole time.”

“I mean it,” Cody said. His tone was laced with determined finality, and Proxy hastily swallowed his reflexive urge to continue to defend Waxer and Boil. He wasn’t brave enough to argue with a superior officer, not by a long shot.

“Thank you.” Remembering he was still wearing his helmet, Proxy reached quickly to remove it, feeling suddenly overdressed under the weight of Cody’s warm gaze, and gave him an awkward smile that he hoped didn’t come across as some weird contortion of his face. “And by the way, uh. Bookie said you and the general – that, uh, you –”

Cody’s eyebrows arched. “That we what?”

Proxy gulped. “That you’re – that the 212th all know about you and him, but they keep the secret because, well. Because you’re you. And I just wanted to say that, uh. That I’m starting to understand why. Sir.”

He supposed that in some other universe, that might’ve come across in an even slightly normal way.

“Well,” Cody said at last, “I appreciate it. I hope I can live up to your expectations.” He smiled slightly, and in his eyes Proxy saw the achingly familiar care that he’d seen in Flak and Lucky’s faces every day of his life.

Yeah. He definitely understood why people held Cody in such high regard now.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you.” Cody’s hand was on his shoulder once again, its weight reassuring. “The 212th is honoured to have you. Normally, fresh transfers don’t, uh, find out so soon about…” He coughed. “About the general and I. I appreciate your discretion.”

“Of course, sir,” Proxy said. He still couldn’t quite believe that the full battalion supported Cody like they did, but acceptance was starting to set in. And besides, like what he’d just said to the commander, he was beginning to understand why Cody inspired such loyalty. 

He had a sneaking feeling that Kenobi was well liked too. That Cody and Kenobi were both genuinely good men, and that all the rumours about their leadership and skill in everything they faced were true. 

“One more thing,” Cody said. “I’d like our arrangement to be kept between us. I know your batchmates know, but don’t tell anyone else. Understand?”

“Sorry about that,” Proxy winced. Of course Cody had figured out he’d told Flak and Lucky. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good.” Glancing down at the bag of credits he still held, Cody chuckled quietly to himself. “It really wouldn’t do for the men to discover I occasionally rig the bets. I think Bookie would probably have my head if he found out.”

Proxy was in the middle of trying to imagine what such a confrontation would look like when Cody shrugged nonchalantly and finally stuffed the bag into his belt. He flipped him two credit chips as he stepped towards the door.

“For doing such a good job. You deserve it.”

Shocked, Proxy mumbled his thanks as he turned the chips over in his hand. This was the last thing he’d expected: Cody’s approval had been compensation enough. He’d made a friend – sort of – who had been genuinely kind to him despite all the fear and anxiety that had dominated his thoughts when they’d first met.

And okay, maybe Cody himself had been more than a little intimidating during that first encounter. His fear hadn’t been entirely unfounded.

Pausing at the door, Cody turned back towards him and threw him a casual salute. Just as the commander opened his mouth to speak, however, the door hissed open, admitting Flak and a giggling Lucky. Upon seeing who was standing in their way, the pair stopped in their tracks. 

Or at least Flak did. 

Lucky wasn’t so fortunate. He stumbled right into Cody as if he hadn’t seen him, who whirled to face him with almost inhuman speed and flung his hands out, catching him and steadying him before Lucky could bounce off him and tumble to the floor – as he no doubt would’ve if Cody hadn’t intervened. Lucky was, well, lucky like that.

The silence that followed was even more terrifying than the one that had dominated the mess when Flak had talked back to Waxer and Boil. Proxy waited with bated breath, watching as Lucky – unflappable, cheerful Lucky – seemed to wilt under the weight of Cody’s stare. Cody himself appeared to be twice his height; impossibly tall and broad as he fixed Lucky with a look that Proxy suspected would’ve had him on the verge of panic had he been in his brother’s position.

But then the commander spoke, and Proxy relaxed almost immediately when he recognised the kindness in his voice – not that Lucky seemed to notice, of course. He stood as if rooted to the spot, his hands curled into nervous fists at his sides.

“Watch where you’re going, kid.”

“Sorry, sir,” Lucky stammered, uncharacteristically subdued. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” Cody said. “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t look before you leap,” he added – and there it was, a gentle scolding that Proxy still couldn’t quite believe could come out of someone like Cody’s mouth.

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lucky, sir.” Lucky pulled his bucket off, tucked it under his arm, and snapped to attention. He lifted his chin bravely, his jaw set. Proxy didn’t miss the panicked look his brother shot his way as Cody nodded in recognition.

“At ease, Lucky,” he said. “I’ve heard a little about you. And you must be Flak.”

“That’s me, sir.” There was no dry cheek in Flak’s voice, not this time. Waxer and Boil’s scare factor paled in comparison to Cody’s.

“And I’m Cody,” the commander said easily, even though his introduction was entirely unnecessary. Proxy didn’t think any brother in the GAR wouldn’t know exactly who Cody was if they were asked to identify him. Even disregarding his instantly recognisable armour and distinctive scar, Cody was a legend in his own right, and had been for quite some time now. Back on Kamino, he was a shining beacon of example: the clone everyone aspired to live up to. “I was just speaking to Proxy here. How are you two settling in so far?”

“As good as can be expected, sir,” Flak said. Following Lucky’s example, he removed his helmet and shoved it neatly under his arm as he continued to talk. Unlike Lucky, he’d managed to maintain a calm outlook. “I don’t think any of us have any complaints. I certainly don’t.”

“That’s good to hear.” Cody turned back to Lucky, who was still standing rigidly still. He leaned closer, and Proxy heard the incredulous frown in his voice immediately. “But first, a question. Have you been in a fight?”

Ah. The bruise. The spectacularly unlucky bruise which had already drawn so much unwanted attention. It was even darker than it had been earlier, now mottling a significant part of Lucky’s face with several dramatic shades of pink and purple. It was astonishing Cody hadn’t commented on it the second he saw it.

“No, sir.”

“Explain.”

“I fell out of bed overnight.” Unlike what happened with Waxer and Boil, Lucky didn’t rush through his explanation this time around. “I can be a little clumsy, sir.”

“It looks very painful,” Cody said at last. “Swollen, too. You should get Helix, our CMO, to check it out. He may give you something to help with the pain. Could be something worse than just a bruise.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Lucky said quickly. He was starting to relax, his shoulders loosening as he grasped for and found his returning confidence. Cody hadn’t told him off. Hadn’t pressed him for details. Hadn’t expressed his disapproval at Lucky’s clumsiness. “I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”

“As long as you’re not clumsy on the battlefield.” Cody studied Lucky closely. “That’s what matters.”

“Lucky’s the best shot in our squad,” Proxy piped up, unable to resist coming to Lucky’s defence. He stepped forward to stand at his brother’s side, turning so he could see Cody’s face. “He almost never misses. And Flak will never let you down. He has the coolest head out of all of us.”

“I look forward to working alongside you all, then,” Cody said easily. “Perhaps I’ll even catch you for a spar sometime soon.” Sharp eyes slid between all three of them, the commander scrutinising Lucky and Flak closely before his gaze returned to Proxy. He nodded, clearly satisfied, and Proxy tried not to let his excitement at Cody’s approval and recognition show too much on his face. “Welcome to the 212th, gentlemen.”

Proxy saluted, suddenly proud, and out of the corner of his eyes saw Flak and Lucky follow suit. He could get used to this – to the wider camaraderie of the 212th, to working with a battalion which was so tightly knit, to being under the leadership of a brilliant marshal commander who was so surprisingly kind and who genuinely cared about his men.

That didn’t discount how Cody had scared him so badly the day when they’d first met, but now he understood, he knew the man a little better, and he knew he could trust him. Cody had his back, even if he put on an intimidating face. 

He fingered the credits still in his hand as Cody bade them farewell, replacing his bucket as he left their quarters. Lucky sagged in relief the moment the door hissed shut behind him and Flak let out a long sigh that echoed Lucky’s sentiment, but Proxy couldn’t help himself: he smiled, thrilled to be helpful and of use, to have this little secret and shared understanding with Cody – and, most of all, to be valued . This, he decided, might even be fun. He’d make the most of it that he could.

Maybe, just maybe, fighting the war would be somewhat bearable after all.