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23 standard hours.
Cody’s least favourite thing to be doing after an already long day of being awake is flimsiwork. The words start to blur together after a while, becoming something closer to aurebesh soup than comprehensible things that he should be… you know. Comprehending. Signing off on.
Kriff.
“One patch, or two?” he murmurs to himself, tugging open the drawer next to his desk, reaching for the stim patches that Hex absolutely does not know he has - and can never be allowed to know, or Cody will never see another sunrise.
“Stick to one, and see how you feel after that,” Obi-Wan muses from the other end of the desk, where Cody had entirely forgotten he was sitting, legs crossed in the uncomfortable chair he’s been provided, elbows on the table, chin resting in his hands as he reads through the latest Council briefing. “Don’t overdose on stims right from the start, then you’ll be too stimulated to do anything and you won’t be able to sleep.”
“Is that personal experience, sir?” Cody asks. “Or just sage advice?”
Obi-Wan groans and stretches, his back popping several times in quick succession. “If I can be the wise old man on your journey to enlightenment,” he chuckles lowly, “I’m happy to help.”
“That didn’t quite answer the question, sir,” Cody replies, shaking the box at Obi-Wan in a question of his own and tucking it back where Hex will never find it at the shake of the general’s head. “Was it personal experience?”
Obi-Wan looks at him coyly, grinning like the tooka from that one old kid’s story, teeth on full display. “Learn from my mistakes, darling. The hallucinations started for me around hour 71.”
There’s something about the light in his eyes that’s just on the thrilling side of offputting. “Sir… just how many hours did you go without sleep?”
“I lost count,” he replies simply, settling into his chair once more and pulling the datapad closer. “Qui-Gon was so mad.”
“I believe it,” Cody hums. He knows next to nothing about the man; they were only taught about the living jettise, while the jettise who marched ahead were to be studied on their own time. But the way Obi-Wan talks about him… perhaps it’s better Cody never knew him.
He looks back at his own flimsiwork, shuffling it back into a neat pile.
51,493 ration packs. Sure.
12,925 bacta patches. Why not.
640 styluses. Seems odd, but okay.
3,157 Pantoran no-bake cookies. Absolutely.
290–
Wait a fucking minute.
He double checks the submittal request on that one. What the fuck are they going to do with over three thousand cookies?
ARC-27-5555. Co-signed by ARC-5597. Of fucking course. And it’s on the 212th’s supply list so that Rex doesn’t see it… did they think they would get it through Cody’s list? Or did they just figure that they’re safer further away from whoever reads it?
“What’d you find?” Obi-Wan murmurs, pulling Cody out of planning the message he was going to draft to Rex when the general finally left his quarters.
Cody sighs, pulling back the neck of his blacks to finally apply the stim patch to the junction of his neck and shoulder. Force knows he needs it. “A couple rowdy ARCs who have no greater joy in life than bugging me.”
Obi-Wan glances up from the datapad again, looking at Cody through his lashes. “Oh?”
“Nothing special. Fives and Jesse pulling some pranks in the materials request list. Not sure how they keep getting away with shit like this…” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls lightly, waiting for the stim to kick in. “You should go to bed, General. I’ve got this under control.”
Obi-Wan props one eyebrow up and smirks just the faintest bit. “Noted, thank you.” He scrolls further on his datapad, too fast to be reading, shoulders sagging just a bit. “How much do you have left to do?”
Yes, Cody’s been sighing a lot; yes, he sighs again. It’s tough out here, okay? “I’m just under halfway through inventory request, then I have to review the maintenance logs, and I have to look through the arsenal, and—”
“Small gods, Cody. You should be the one going to bed.” Obi-Wan stands and collects the bits of him that he’s scattered around Cody’s quarters - datapad, flimsiwork, stylus, cloak, lightsaber belt complete with lightsaber still attached - despite Cody’s protesting.
“Sir, you can stay, really, I’ve only just applied the stim patch, I’m already going to be up for the next several hours, not to mention I need to be on bridge for morning inspection in four hours anyways, there’s no real sense in leaving now if you’re still going to be up—”
“Darling,” Obi-Wan interrupts his rambling, “even resting your mind for a bit without sleeping is better than trying to power through. Take a break, Cody. I’ll make it an order if I have to.” He wraps everything easily in his cloak and carries it in a little bundle around the desk so he’s standing next to Cody. “I believe I left tea here with the idea that I would use it the next time I was working in your quarters. It helps to give clarity to the mind and reorient the thoughts. Do me a favour and drink some, will you?”
Cody rubs at his eye. Kriff, he could use a nap. “Yessir,” he replies dutifully, “is that an order, too?”
Obi-Wan laughs, the sound melodic and clear. Screw the tea, Cody could reorient his thoughts with just that sound.
And then the general brings a gentle hand to Cody’s jaw, tilting his chin up, and presses his lips to Cody’s forehead.
Cody’s pretty sure there are sparks shooting out of his eyes, like a faulty B-1 Battle Droid. He’s short circuiting for sure. Those lips are so soft and warm, hand callused in exactly the places that Cody thought it would be, fingertips on just the pleasant side of demanding against Cody’s jawline—
“Good night, my friend,” Obi-Wan all but whispers, and then he’s gone, leaving only the faintest traces of aromatic spices in his wake.
***
Cody’s cheeks burn as he makes the tea and briefly sets aside work in an effort to clear his mind or whatever. He stares at the cup balefully as it steeps, reading the back of the bag reproachfully when he’s not trying to explode the mug with his mind.
Broaden your senses, the bag boasts. Revive your body. Heal your soul. Cleanse your palette. Oh, sure. Now they’re just making shit up.
Peppermint tea sourced sustainably from Alderaan. Well, if anything Obi-Wan’s told Cody about Bail is to be believed, maybe that at least is true…?
At this point, Cody has more faith in Bail Organa than he does this tea. He stops trying to explode the cup with his mind, and instead takes a sip of this banthashit tea. Well… banthashit tea that tastes a little bit like how Obi-Wan smells.
The only clarity of mind Cody receives is how badly he needs to feel Obi-Wan do that thing again, where he pressed his soft lips to Cody’s skin. His thoughts are still in hyperspace until he needs to leave for morning inspection.
Reorient his thoughts, his ass.
30 standard hours
“Good morning, Commander,” the general murmurs, slipping into place adjacent to Cody mere seconds before the holocall is scheduled to begin. “Did you sleep?”
“No, sir,” Cody replies quietly from within the confines of his helmet. “Too much to do.”
Obi-Wan shoots him a small frown. “I’m sorry.”
Well the memory of your lips certainly didn’t help, he narrowly avoids saying as Generals Windu, Secura, and Koon blink into existence.
It’s a good thing he didn’t say it. Each general is standing with their commander close behind, and Cody would never have lived that down.
“General Kenobi,” Windu says. Force, he sounds tired. “The Council has decided on an assignment in response to recent Separatist threats from the Techno Union. The Negotiator is the closest Venator to the planet in question. We need you to go in and irreparably dismantle the base.”
“Any specifics on how we achieve this?” Obi-Wan asks, one hand on his chin.
“None. Do as you see fit.”
Perfect. Got it. Has the twi’lek next to Wolffe always been there? And why does she look so stunningly similar to the twi’lek next to Bly? And why are there two twi’leks next to Bly, doesn’t he only have one?
A message appears in the corner of his HUD.
CC-5052: Codes ur staring
Cody, arms clasped behind his back, types out his own message.
CC-2224: how long have you had two twi’leks
CC-2224: and when did Wolfie get one
This must have been in the group chat instead of a direct message.
CC-3636: pls stop calling me Wolfie
CC-3636: shipped in last week
CC-3636: Plo’s new ad
CC-2224: awww you have another vod’ika
CC-3636: stku
CC-411: Can we please focus.
CC-5052: u shld meet ad’ika!!!
CC-5052: so sweet istf
CC-411: That doesn’t feel like focusing.
CC-1010: what the hap is fuckening rn
At Fox’s message, the chat goes silent. Had it just been his batch on the holocall, Cody thoroughly believes there would have been raucous laughter echoing through the room as they all share the mental image of Fox, no doubt falling asleep at his desk only to startle awake to the sound of rapid pinging. However, in front of each commander stands his general….
Oddly, it’s Ponds that breaks first, shoulders visibly shaking on the call. He’s undoubtedly muted his helmet - which Cody’s convinced is the best function on the damn thing - and Windu is the only one who can’t see it, which makes him the luckiest son of a gundark out there.
However, it’s all downhill from there. Cody would like to point out that he lasted the longest out of all of them, but inevitably laughter takes him, too.
“Cody,” Obi-Wan murmurs low enough so that the holocall doesn’t pick it up, “you wouldn’t happen to know what ailment seems to have just struck all of our commanders, would you?”
He straightens his back, carefully removes as many traces of laughter from his voice as he can, and takes himself off mute. “Sleep deprivation, I would have to guess. Sir.”
And that, oddly, makes Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense up, in the same way that Cody’s had, in the same way that Ponds’ and Wolffe’s and Bly’s all had. “We’ll get started on that, Master Windu,” he says with some strain in his voice, and after a terse and somewhat confused nod from the Grand Master, he cuts the transmission.
Obi-Wan’s laugh once the transmission cuts is everything. “You were all hit by sleep deprivation at once?”
On a whim, Cody removes his bucket to see the general’s eyes better, blue on endless blue. “Just a guess, sir,” he grins back, tucking his bucket under his arm. “Sleep deprivation and long hours. And the irresistible urge to poke fun at a brother.”
Obi-Wan holds a hand over his mouth, still laughing. The bags under his eyes are not inconsequential, and still he can find cause to laugh. Maybe this life is not so atrocious after all. “I am sorry about that,” he says, meeting Cody’s gaze, amusement mostly - though not entirely - traded for tenderness. “It feels like the commanders are taking the heaviest hits.”
“Not at all, General,” Cody replies, like the good commander he is. “I could go on for days.”
“Mm, take care that you don’t, my dear. That sort of thing does take a toll on you in a surprisingly short amount of time.”
The air between them shifts suddenly, no longer filled with laughter but rather with a strange energy that Cody can’t quite place. The stars stream past them in hyperspace, on approach to their next destination. Whorls of white light bounce against Obi-Wan’s eyes, almost making Cody feel like he’s at hyperspace within hyperspace, falling forever into eternity, Force only knows where he’ll end up.
There are other men on the bridge, but they’re all dutifully paying attention to their posts, which makes it easier for Cody to take one step closer, just barely into his general’s personal space.
“Sir,” he practically whispers, “about last night—”
“Not now,” Obi-Wan replies gently, and closes the distance with a step of his own. He’s smiling as he braces himself against Cody’s chest plate and presses up onto his toes just a bit, and his lips caress against Cody’s temple.
It’s the softest touch he’s ever felt, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as his unoccupied hand finds the general’s waist. It’s ephemeral, can’t ever be anything but ephemeral, and most likely mere seconds before Obi-Wan pulls back, but to Cody, it stretches on as infinitely as the stars do.
“We have a bit of planning to do, and then a squad to find,” Obi-Wan muses, his breath hot against Cody’s hairline. His heels find the durasteel floor again, and Cody’s hand slides reluctantly away from his waist. “My quarters, half an hour?”
“Yessir,” Cody breathes, and Obi-Wan slips away, the sensation of his lips on Cody’s sensitive skin still burning its way through his brain.
Force kriffing dammit. Maybe he should try more of that tea.
39 standard hours
“Commander,” one of the kids pants, trotting up to him. His armour looks like it’s painted with shrapnel exploding from one central point; this must be Nao. “When did you say you wanted that bomb by, sir?”
Cody takes a deep breath. His body feels… weird. Something is wrong with him, physically. He’s in less than prime condition. “Not for at least another hour yet, trooper,” he replies, trying to keep his voice low. “We need to actually get into the place first, remember.” He raises an eyebrow even though he knows the kid can’t see it; it’s habit, at this point, probably a bad one he picked up from the general. “Let me guess: you’ve already started tinkering with something.”
“Well it never hurt anyone to be prepared,” Nao says, shrugging. “It’ll be quicker and easier if I’ve got the components ready to go by the time we need them.”
“Not a tubie anymore, are you,” one of the others says, clapping a hand on Nao’s shoulder. It’s Quasar, Cody’s pretty sure. “Still a shiny, though.” He snaps into a salute directed at Cody, who waves it off. “Sir.”
They’re members of a group that calls themselves the Bomb Squad, though Cody’s unsure if any of them besides Nao actually have much experience with bombs. He understands, to a very slight extent; finding a name can be hard, especially for a whole squad. (Cody, on the other hand, was given his name and was never so lucky to be part of a squad beyond the commander batch.) “Yeah, Quasar?”
“The structural integrity seems to be weakest near the central support, around the ceiling of the first floor,” he says, pulling up a holomap to point to three distinct locations. “I recommend we take it here, here, and here. It should be enough torque to pull the main body away from the support; gravity will do the rest.”
“Done your research, have you,” Cody replies, looking over the placement locations. It all tracks, right down to where the debris field from the fallen tower will land.
“That is my job, sir.”
Nao, already fiddling with something, rolls his whole head.
“Start making the charges,” Cody orders. “We’ll head out shortly; get done what you can, before then.”
“Yes, sir,” they both reply, and trot off in the direction of the rest of the squad.
Gods. His eyes are burning with how long he’s been awake. He takes off his bucket to swipe a hand across them and breathe some unventilated air. It helps a little; there’s still the underlying urge to keel over and sleep, but, he thinks as he applies two stim patches over where his blacks cut off, that’s something he can fight. It shouldn’t be too long before they’re done here, and he can catch at least a quick nap on the Venator before they’ve arrived at their next location.
Maybe Obi-Wan will even let him use his bed, larger and way more comfortable. Not that Cody would know about the comfort level, he’s just guessing. It is an educated guess, though; the general’s bed is definitely bigger, it would stand to reason that it’s more comfortable. The warmth of his cabin sounds so inviting right now, the sweet aroma of herbs, the intimate comfort of the desk…
And then the patches start kicking in, and he shakes those thoughts off - literally, a full body shudder running through him.
“Cody?” Obi-Wan asks, trudging up to him just as he’s about to put his bucket back on. “Darling, are you alright?”
Cody shoots him a knowing smirk. “I could use a nap, sir,” he replies, “but beyond that, yeah, I’m fine. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back on the Negotiator.”
“I’m assuming Quasar told you about the plan, then?”
“Three locations, three charges. Shame we don’t have enough people for three teams of three, though. That would seem fortuitous.”
Obi-Wan smiles, looking over at the Bomb Squad. “Probably we should send Dorn and Aurek with someone more experienced - Quasar or Nao would be my vote. And given Nao’s… reactive potential, I would recommend Quasar.”
“Leaving Argon with Nao,” Cody nods. “Makes sense.”
“The unflappable lieutenant,” Obi-Wan muses. “Should be a fine team. Oh, and then us as the last team, in case that wasn’t clear.”
Cody barely holds back a laugh. “I think I caught on.”
Obi-Wan’s smile broadens, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of his eyes. “We seem to make a decent team, you and I. Sometimes it feels like you can practically read my mind.”
And then he does that thing again, where he steps in close, into Cody’s personal space, and looks up into his eyes. Stars, he’s beautiful - endless, in both time and space. Cody could fall forever into those eyes.
“And sometimes I wonder,” Obi-Wan whispers, “whether you might actually be able to know what I’m thinking.”
Cody stands there, breathless. It’s all he can do to blink. “Sir?” he prompts quietly after a moment of silence.
“But then again,” the general murmurs, that oh-so-familiar smirk playing at his lips, “maybe we’ll never know.” One hand winds around Cody’s waist, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to Cody’s cheek.
Cody’s certain that his face is fluorescing red with the emotions he can’t say out loud. The ones along the lines of I actually really liked that, sir, and, would you actually mind doing that again, or perhaps, one more time but a little further to the side, I think you missed your mark, sir, as my lips are still unkissed.
Obi-Wan’s chrono beeps, and Cody scrambles to slam his bucket back on his head before the general can call the Bomb Squad over. After triple checking that he’s on mute, he makes the most ungodly keening sound inside his helmet, thankful that the sound can’t escape without his permission (and thankful also for hours as a cadet spent standing in front of a mirror practicing cussing out certain Alphas while standing at parade rest, just to see if he could get away with it).
“Right then, we’re moving out!” Obi-Wan says, watching the lieutenant file past followed by the twins, Quasar and Nao bringing up the rear.
Cody catches Nao by the shoulder as he trudges past. “You’re gonna have those things ready on time?”
“Oh, absolutely. Not an issue,” Nao replies, not bothering to look up. He remembers himself, but only does a half hearted salute, which Cody will absolutely let him get away with as his other hand is still full of explosives. “Sir.”
“Okay, kid. Don't blow your hands off.”
“As if! Sir.”
Cody rolls his eyes in the safety of his bucket and resolutely ignores the laughter-filled smile that Obi-Wan gives him. “Should be simple, right?” he muses to the Jedi as Nao catches up to the others. “Quick, silent… with a little luck, we should be in and out. Right?”
Obi-Wan shrugs and shakes his head slowly. “I suppose we’ll know soon enough.”
***
Apparently, luck doesn’t mean shit when it runs out.
Something went wrong. Their timing, the detonators, something. The first bomb went off without a hitch, the second less than a minute behind the first, as scheduled. But the third - the one that Cody and Obi-Wan had meticulously set so that by the time the structure started tearing itself apart they would be well out of harm’s way - decided not to go off, for whatever reason.
By the time they realise it, the Techno Union is already more than aware of their presence, two bombs having severely damaged the main tower in an entirely unsubtle way. But without the third, the entire mission would be not only a failure, but a catastrophic one.
Obi-Wan, being the noble bastard that he is, doubles back. Cody, just as stupid as his general, follows suit.
“General!” Cody calls over the sounds of distressed metal attempting to rend itself apart, trying to get Obi-Wan to change his mind, to leave Cody to it. “You’re more useful than I am, the Republic needs you alive!”
“They need you, Cody! Your men, your brothers!”
“They’re your men just as much, sir!”
Obi-Wan shoots him what could only be described as a look, sweeping his robes behind him and kneeling down in front of their bomb to try and figure out what went wrong with it. Cody skids in next to him, shoving Obi-Wan’s hands to the side in his haste to take over.
“Cody, will you let me—”
“All due respect, sir, get the fuck out of here,” Cody cuts in, because no he will not. His breathing is steady as his hands work, reconnecting a wire that had gotten knocked loose. “And let Nao know that it’s not his fault, that everything was executed to perfection.”
“Cody.”
“Sir, the 212th can only handle one self-sacrificing bastard of a CO, and it’s not going to be you. Not today, at least.” He begins working on sealing the bomb back up, carefully threading pieces together that he had so quickly taken apart. “Take the boys and get out of here, Obi-Wan.”
He feels more than sees the look that crosses the Jedi’s face, knows exactly which one he’s getting. This is a dumb idea, Obi-Wan practically beams directly into Cody’s brain. This will kill you. Yeah, Cody’s seen the look before.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Cody comforts him, ripping his bucket off to brusquely wipe the sweat from his brow, “there are about a million more of me. You can ask for one just like me, if it would make you feel better.”
He only falters when he feels warm, chapped lips press against the corner of his mouth. On instinct, Cody relinquishes his hold on the bomb and turns to gently cup Obi-Wan’s face, tilting his jaw ever so slightly so that their lips finally slot together. Time slows to a stop around him as his breaths usher in the stale sweat of the battlefield, as he commits the measured movement of their lips to memory and restrains the insistent urge to press for more, keenly aware of how tight on time they are.
The only sweet and proper thing that Cody knows anymore is the taste of Obi-Wan on his lips when they finally part, what could be hours or merely a second later. His eyes finally flit open to meet those deep wells of blue again, and he smiles carefully.
Somehow, it’s just fitting that his last act as a living man is fraternisation with his general.
“Go,” Cody says, his voice hoarse. He pushes insistently at Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “Go.”
Obi-Wan manages another look before he finally comes to his senses and hurries down the corridor, much to Cody’s relief. He’s hardly finished putting the bomb back together and resetting the detonator for ten seconds when he hears the general’s voice from his wrist.
“You’d better be right behind me, Cody,” he says, breathless and crackling with static. “Say you’re right behind me.”
“Right behind you, sir,” Cody replies, smiling faintly. His commanding officer can be so demanding. He grabs his helmet and bolts for the door, cramming it onto his head as he goes.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.
“Jump, I’ll catch you!” Obi-Wan calls. Cody can just make him out at the end of the hall - in the middle of which is a gaping hole in the floor, nothing but sky below.
Six. Five. Four.
“Not close enough yet,” Cody pants. “Just a—”
And for all of the work that Cody had done on the charge, it goes off early, the blast of it following Cody down the hall and throwing him into the side of the building. There’s the sensation of falling accompanied by what could possibly be panicked shouts of his general, and then an almighty crash of durasteel rending itself apart on the ground. His ears ring for a moment longer than he wishes they would, and when he tries to push himself to his feet, something hinders his movement, crushing him to the floor.
There must have been a little luck left, because there’s no real reason Cody should be alive, all things considered.
“—dy, Cody, Commander Cody, come in!” is the first thing he registers hearing. He shakes his head to clear it and immediately wishes he hadn’t, the burning environment swirling around him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here,” he grunts, moving his arm closer to himself. At least he has full mobility. “Still alive. Woohoo.”
“Cody, you—”
He’s pretty sure what comes next is a series of curses in other languages, given the ones in Mando’a that he knows. “You address your Grand Master with that mouth, sir?” he laughs.
First order of business: get this stupid debris that’s pinning him down off. Which would, admittedly, be a lot easier with jetti osik, but hopefully Obi-Wan and the kids are far away by now.
“Oh, fuck you, Cody,” Obi-Wan replies. “Where are you? I’ll come find you.”
“Detecting organic matter in this direction, sir! Looks like one life form. It’s unmoving… unsure if it’s alive or not.”
Kriff. Fuck. That sounds like a B-1.
“Alive or no, organic matter always has a purpose, droid. Imagine if you—” the sound cuts out for a moment before returning, “—were actually able to think.”
“Hey!”
“Obi-Wan, listen to me,” Cody whispers into his comms. “You take those troopers and you get the hell out of here. Do you understand me? I am a lost cause. Do not - under any circumstances - come back for me!”
“Cody?”
Cody bites down on his tongue, tasting iron before speaking again. What’s one more act of fraternisation?
“I love you.”
And in one swift motion, he removes his comms and smashes them with a piece of debris so that Obi-Wan can’t get himself into any more Forcedamned situations.
A battle droid rounds the corner of the wreckage. “Look, sir! A clone!”
Cody draws his blaster and puts a bolt between its unseeing eyes.
The Skakoan behind the droid applauds as they round the corner as well, and Cody almost gets another shot out before about twenty B-2 units follow close behind, all with their own blasters levelled at Cody.
Ah, kriff.
“A very good shot, clone,” the Skakoan says. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to put your little blaster away now.”
How worth it is it, to keep going? Maybe he could learn of their plans before he breaks out. Because he’s totally going to do that. He tosses his blaster on the ground with a sigh, out of his reach.
“Well done.” Their tone is something that Cody would really be better off without, if he’s being entirely honest. “You’ll find that cooperation is rewarded, clone.”
“You’re actually taking— mmph!” One of the droids kicks him in the side of the head as soon as he starts talking.
“Insubordination, on the other hand, is punished.”
Fuck, Cody thinks to himself as the super battle droids pull debris off of him and drag him bodily behind them, over sharp metal and downed wires and broken glass that reflects pinpricks of light.
He really wishes he had gotten a nap.
52 standard hours… potentially
A needle filled with clear liquid approaches while Cody is helpless to do anything but watch. He’s still surprised that they managed to rig this interrogation droid together in such a way that it doesn’t really look like a little ball of death, but leave it to the Techno Union to find a way to make interrogation look kinda cute.
“CC-2224,” he pants for the millionth time. “Cody. Commander. 212th Attack Battalion and 7th Sky Corps, Third Systems Army.”
Or maybe that’s the sleep deprivation talking.
This is the third round of interrogation where he’s given them nothing but his name and rank; he knows what this liquid does, by now. His eyes are so heavy, but he can’t sleep. His body is so lethargic, but he can’t rest. He can lay unmoving in one spot, but he’s painfully aware of each second ticking past.
Cody would never have come up with this as a torture method, but it sure is working. He’s not sure how much more he can take.
“Well, clone,” one of them is saying as the needle comes ever closer, “you’ve been entirely unsatisfactory so far. We could start taking things to the next level, but who’s to say if you’d survive, and we would prefer you living. The consciousness is something we are as of yet unable to replicate.”
Cody doesn’t grace that with a reply.
“Nothing, Commander?” the Skakoan muses, though he sounds rather hopeful that Cody will in fact say nothing, and the interrogation droid will proceed as planned. “Nothing at all?”
Oh, fuck it.
“Fine, wait, wait!” Cody calls. The droid backs off, despite the displeased noise from his torturer. “I’m… there’s still so much to lose, but I guess….”
“Go on.”
“My favourite colour. Is blue.”
The Skakoan sighs in disappointment, but there’s a definite undercurrent of glee. “Another several hours in solitude for you then, CC-2224.”
“Not like the blue of a holocall, though.” Cody drops his head back against the durasteel headrest and grins at the thought of frustrating his captors. At some point, his body will give out. He just needs to remain mentally strong until then. “The blue of the clear sky, the blue of the stormy sea, the icy blue that you only hear about and you think they have to be joking, until you see it for the first time.” The blue of a certain Jedi’s eyes.
The needle presses fire into his veins. He bites down on his tongue to keep from making any noise, a warm metallic taste bursting through his mouth.
The trip back to his cell is short and blissfully sweet. He fully expects the impact on the cold, hard ground sending tremors through his body. He fully expects the immediate shaking as his body tries to expel whatever this substance is, the dry heaving as his stomach has nothing in it. He fully expects the burning sensation as his eyes try to adjust to the impenetrable darkness and can’t, leaving him utterly alone in the middle of the floor.
What he doesn’t expect is for General Kenobi to be sitting there.
“Cody,” he murmurs, opening his arms in invitation. “C’mere, darling.”
“Sir?” Cody pants, chest heaving, pulling the collar of his blacks that he was mercifully left with away from his neck so it feels a little less like he’s being choked. “How did you… how are you…?”
“Unimportant,” Obi-Wan murmurs. Somehow, in this darkness where Cody can’t see his own hand, Obi-Wan sits in front of him like he’s in a spotlight. Blue eyes, auburn hair, freckles that dot along the bridge of his nose and into his beard, creases at the corners of his eyes from perpetually finding reason to smile. “What matters is that you’re still alive, yes?”
“I don’t know for how much longer,” Cody gasps, crawling over. There are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes; he so desperately doesn’t want them to fall, but he’s not sure how long he can hold them back. “If I die here, sir—”
“You’re not going to die here, Cody,” Obi-Wan says, and as soon as Cody is close enough, pulls him into a hug. “You are strong and brave, and you will outlast their plans for you.”
“Sir, I— I can’t,” Cody replies, allowing himself to simply be held for the first time in recallable memory.
“You can, and you will,” Obi-Wan murmurs. His arms wrapped around Cody feel like a blanket, shielding him from the environment of the cell and the fears in his chest. “I’m with you, Cody. I’m coming to get you, darling. Don’t you dare go dying on me now.”
Cody drops his head into the comfort of familiar robes, trying to breathe deeply as Obi-Wan rests his head atop Cody’s. “I have something I want to tell you, sir,” he murmurs into the fabric. “Since it’s just us. Could get us court martialed at the very least.”
“Darling…” Warm lips press against the side of Cody’s neck. He tenses up, and then relaxes into it, allowing the sensation to take him, half delirious with it.
“Sir,” he breathes. “Obi-Wan.”
Those lips - that warmth - returns again, and again, and again, until he settles over Cody’s pulse point, feeling the wild rhythm beneath his careful touch. “There you are,” Obi-Wan whispers against Cody’s sensitive skin. “So alive. Stay alive for me, Cody.”
The familiar scent disappears, followed by the warmth, and the touch, until Cody’s left alone, hugging himself in the middle of an empty cell.
Stay alive.
“Yes, sir,” Cody whispers into the blackness.
Who’s really to say at this point
“Kriff, how long has this man been awake?” Hex asks, just barely shy of snarling.
It’s really weird, but Cody thinks they might have the same face. The man’s easily identifiable as Hexanes, renowned medic of the 212th, infamous throughout their ranks for being able to dekit a man in under thirty seconds - or to actually get General Kenobi to willingly subject himself to a physical exam, depending on who you ask - but he’s having some trouble figuring out why they could possibly have the same face. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You haven’t been here before. What are you doin’ here?”
“Saving your punk ass, sir,” Hex replies coolly, drawing a needle from his hip pack and filling it with a clear liquid from a vial.
“No,” Cody murmurs. “No.” There’s no way this is Hex. This is another hallucination; Hex wouldn’t try to keep him awake for longer. Hex would understand that Cody wants to sleep, and would let Cody go to sleep. “Don’t wanna,” he says, trying to squirm away. His breathing picks up, the panic setting in. He cannot let the needle enter his body - he would rather die at this point.
And then—
And then.
And then there’s someone who’s not Hex, resting a hand on his shoulder and bringing his head up to rest on soft fabric, rather than the cold expanse of the durasteel floor. Cody could stare into those eyes all day, blue on blue, endless seas of rolling waves, incomprehensibly vast clear morning skies, flecks of amber hidden deep within like… like something, Cody’s run out of poetic things to say.
He feels bone-achingly familiar, and yet— “You don’t have my face,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Are you supposed to?”
The man laughs, soft creases pushing up the corners of those eyes. Oh, there’s grey in his hair. Cody doesn’t have any grey in his hair. This man’s doing a piss poor job playing into the hallucinations. “No, darling,” he says, and his voice is so pretty, a soft lilting accent on the second word, barely pronouncing one of the letters, and— did he just call Cody darling?
Cody frowns. “I feel like I know you.”
“You should do,” the man murmurs, carding gentle fingers through his hair. “Though from my understanding, the past few days have been a bit of a blur.”
“Days?”
“Yes, Cody.” The man says his name carefully, almost reverently. It’s… strange. “You’ve been awake for several days at this point. Hex is trying to give you something to help you sleep.”
Something itches at the back of Cody’s mind. “You remind me of someone,” he can hear himself saying, looking into those deep eyes. “I don’t know if you might know him. His name is Obi-Wan.”
“I do know him,” the man replies, eyes crinkling kindly at the corners again. “Cody, I’m—”
“Hex isn’t giving me something to sleep,” Cody interrupts him, brows furrowing. Whatever. The odds that this man is a hallucination as well are astonishingly high at this point. Stupid brain can’t even give him the right Obi-Wan, who would obviously have started making out with him by now. “He’s going to keep me awake for longer, and then they’re going to bring me back to the other room and strap me into the thing again and ask me for more information with the promise of sleep hanging in front of me. But I haven’t told them anything, because I’m a good soldier, and good soldiers follow orders, and the most basic order in trooper training was don’t tell the enemy anything that could compromise your battalion. But they won’t let me sleep until I do. It’s a Catch… whatever. Let’s call it a Catch 2224.”
The man’s eyebrows crease together. Cody reaches up to smooth them out with his thumb.
“Dying of sleep deprivation is a fucking stupid way to go,” Cody muses, stroking over the man’s brows, gazing up into those familiar eyes. “Kinda wish I could see Obi-Wan again. Let him know it’s not his fault.”
The fingers in his hair tighten momentarily. Those blue eyes glass over with tears. “Isn’t it, though?”
“No!” Cody shakes his head emphatically; remiss as he is to disturb the gentle ministrations, he needs to get his point across. “No, not even a little. I don’t think anyone’s at fault. It’s a matter of coincidence, circumstance, and perpetual bad luck.” He chuckles darkly. “See, I never even got to tell him I love him, not to his face. I should have held him close, whispered it against his lips, and then kissed any trace of it away. And instead I’m here…. What kind of shit luck luck I’ve got.”
The underlying level of noise disappears, save for a hitched breath. He could hear a needle drop. And he’s pretty sure he does, and then more shuffling through a bag.
“Little poke,” Hex murmurs in warning after a moment, breaking the gentle silence. He holds Cody’s arm still and injects the needle; Cody doesn’t even feel it. Whatever. If he dies, then he dies, at this point.
He does really wish he had gotten to see Obi-Wan once more, though. If there’s anything he wishes he could do before he bites it, it’s finally tell this secret that he’s been holding on to for so long, long enough to eat at him from the inside.
“This is an anesthetic, Commander. You should be out pretty soon.”
“You can tell me the truth, Hex,” Cody sighs dramatically. “You don’t care about me, and you never have. You’re not even real. The real you cares about me, and would have berated me for not sleeping with your first action.”
“Sir—”
“It’s fine,” Cody sighs, closing his eyes and wishing against everything that his body could let him just kriffing sleep. Eternally is fine. “I understand, your eventual goal is to kill me. You need information first.”
“Commander—”
“It’s fine, I’ll tell you both something, since you’re undoubtedly going to disappear soon and then I imagine I’ll die shortly after, leaving nobody to remember,” Cody pants. The exertion is getting to him. “I’ve been in love with General Kenobi since the first time he laughed at one of Waxer’s stupid jokes, which was about three minutes after we met him. It wasn’t even a pity laugh… he was actually laughing. It was the stupidest laugh. He snorted. It was adorable. And he has the prettiest smile, and eyes like starlight, and a soul so kind that it could stop the war, if only the galaxy would let him.”
The man holding Cody makes a wounded noise, thumbs brushing through his hair. Fuck, it feels really nice.
“You can kill me now,” Cody whispers. When he blinks his eyes open again - will the horrors never cease, honestly - he meets those blue, blue eyes again.
“You’re going to live, cyare.”
Oh. Cody knows that word. Warmth begins to spread across the tips of his ears at the utterance of it. His hallucinations are getting out of hand.
“You’re going to live. We’re getting you out of here.”
The gentle touch disappears, and he’s met once more with the cold durasteel floor. He knew it. These hallucinations are becoming more cruel, now, leaving him aching - empty and alone - for those blue eyes, that auburn hair, those delicate fingers.
And then the earth vanishes from beneath him. Only, this isn’t like the other times he’s been dragged out of the cell, where his half-lucid body was tugged by the arms backwards— well, he’s pretty sure it was backwards. Who’s to say, at this point?
This is something calmer, less sinister. It’s like he’s floating. He’s picked up entirely and placed onto a table, much softer than the one he was strapped to for the interrogations. There’s— is that a pillow under his head? The Seppies never gave him anything like that. Cody doesn’t know if the Techno Union even knows what pillows are. Do they even sleep? Does the grind ever truly stop for them?
“Comfortable?” The man’s voice is shaky; it’s almost like he’s trying to cover it up, but in doing so, he’s inadvertently making it more evident.
“Where are you taking me,” Cody pants in reply. He doesn’t have enough energy to make it a question.
Warm, callused hands find his cold-bordering-numb fingers, and then Cody watches from under half-lidded eyes as the familiar man presses his chapped lips to Cody’s knuckles. He strokes gently over the spot - now blossoming with warmth - with his thumbs. “Home,” he chokes out.
Cody can feel himself start to fade, blissful darkness creeping into the edges of his vision.
“We’re taking you home.”
Home. That sounds lovely. Maybe Cody will get to see Obi-Wan again, after all. Hopefully he hasn’t marched ahead in the time that Cody’s been away.
His eyelids become too heavy to hold open, and he more than willingly shuts them, sleep whisking him away for the first time in far too long.
***
His first breath upon coming to consciousness is sweet, calm, and relatively unpained. The air is refreshingly cool - rather than oppressively cold - against his lungs, and there’s a nice weight wrapped comfortingly around him.
It wasn’t a hallucination, then. It wasn’t his body trying to trick him into dealing with a shitty situation. It really was Hex, next to him, and the man that held him, ran fingers through his hair…
Oh, sithspit.
His eyes fly open. He hears his heart rate spike on the monitor next to him; he hears it rushing in his ears, too.
The man. Auburn hair, blue eyes. A beard that frames his soft features, freckles disappearing into it. That’s—
“Easy there, my dear,” Obi-Wan says, resting a hand atop Cody’s. “You’ve had quite the run of it.”
“You don’t say,” Cody wheezes. His throat is like sand, gritty and scraping along where it shouldn’t be. “How long was I…”
“Awake?” Obi-Wan smiles wryly. “Over four days, at the hands and… er, needles of the Techno Union. Much longer, and Hex thinks your heart would have given out.” He brushes his thumb gently across the back of Cody’s hand. Kriff, that feels nice.
Cody turns his hand over so Obi-Wan’s thumb rests in his palm, instead. “It sounds like there’s a conjunction there, sir.”
“Attentive as always, my dear,” Obi-Wan sighs. “And, we’re fairly certain you were experiencing hallucinations when we found you.”
“Well, I figured that part out, at least.”
“Did you,” Obi-Wan hums. He’s resolutely not looking Cody in the eye, instead watching where his fingertips are playing with Cody’s. “How much do you remember?”
“Enough.” Cody clears his throat, looks askance. “There was one hallucination earlier on where you told me to stay alive. And there was. Um. The last part. Where you were actually real.”
“Both of them were real,” Obi-Wan breathes. “I reached out into the Force on the first night and you answered me.”
“Sir…” Cody drifts off, unsure of what to say in response to that. Better to face the bantha in the room head on. “I said something… that. Um. Could have… adverse effects on, um. Could affect us, negatively. Both of us. To be fair, the first time I said it, I thought I was going to die before I would ever see you again.”
“Cody.”
“And I didn’t recognise you at all, sir, and I’d like to apologise if I made you at all uncomfortable in front of Hex, it won’t happen again—”
A gentle, warm hand on his cheek stops him in his tracks. It’s rough in places, but perfectly soft in others, and as Obi-Wan’s thumb brushes along his cheekbone he tries not to think about how this is exactly like how he thought it might feel. (He’s unsuccessful.) Those brown flecks in his eyes catch his attention, almost like Obi-Wan’s freckles simply continue through his irises, unbound by any barriers. It’s simultaneously adorable and gut-wrenchingly beautiful, and Cody has the sense that if he stares too long he’ll eventually burn up.
“Cody,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and he’s smiling gently now, “my dearest Cody, can I kiss you as you deserve?”
Cody can’t even say anything, can only nod. His eyes slip shut as chapped lips meet his own. The hand on his cheek burns, there’s so much heat to him, and Cody willingly marches towards immolation without a single doubt holding him back.
It’s… calm. For all of the desire that Cody’s been feeling for him, Obi-Wan kisses him very tenderly. Like Cody’s something precious, something to be cherished. Obi-Wan is insistent, yes, but he goes about it in such a way that Cody knows it’s nothing that he can’t back away from - not that he’s very likely to do that.
Obi-Wan applies the same amount of dedication to kissing that he does to his morning meditation and his lightsaber training. Kriff, even his flimsiwork. And especially keeping his men safe on the battlefield. He pours himself into it like he’s pouring hot water over his tea leaves, like he wants to steep in it for a while. Cody can feel wave after wave of calm energy juxtaposed over a current of urgency washing off of the general. It’s all so much; he takes a stuttered gasp against Obi-Wan’s mouth, and realises his mistake too late.
Obi-Wan captures Cody’s bottom lip between his own, and for a moment Cody thinks he’s being stranded to pant desperately against his general’s mouth. But Obi-Wan is a merciful man, and allows Cody as much air as he needs. When he finds Obi-Wan’s eyes again, they’re blown black with want, and his chest heaves gently with the exertion of staying away.
Well. It is nice to know the feelings are reciprocated.
“Hi,” he whispers. He immediately regrets it. What kind of dumb—
“Hi,” Obi-Wan replies, grinning from ear to ear. He kisses Cody once more, on the nose this time. It’s such a unique sensation that Cody begins to feel like he’s floating, eyes sliding shut again to preserve the moment.
He’s twitching to grab Obi-Wan again, to haul him onto the bed, to hold him close and not let go until he’s had his fill. But he’s already taken initiative one time too many in this regard; he’d much rather fall in with Obi-Wan’s step than try to beat out his own rhythm to march to.
His heart beats out its own rhythm, though, and isn’t afraid to make itself known, beeping steadily over the monitor, and really rather quickly. A blinking red light accompanies it.
Hex sighs the sigh of the long-suffering from somewhere else in the medbay. “I can’t discharge him yet, so I’m going to need you to hold yourself together, General.”
And Obi-Wan laughs, the sound clear as day.