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“Don’t be afraid.”
It was the first thing that Obi-Wan had said to him, so long ago on Kamino—his eyes an infinite inky-black abyss, only broken up by the stark blue-purple light of galaxies and nebulae that made up what might’ve been his irises; his cloak a pool of smoke-like shadows twisting around his form. The fluorescent lights had flickered, and the hair on the back of Cody’s neck had raised, and every primal instinct he had left in his bones screamed “danger,” and yet...
The Kaminoans had been, still were, afraid of him.
They shied away from his watchful eyes and flinched away from his touch, and Obi-Wan seemed to like it that way—his smiles always too-sharp and his words lilting with just the barest hint of a threat. He didn’t like the Kaminoans, and the Kaminoans definitely didn’t like him. So, in that pristine white landing bay with the flickering lights and a cold dread crawling up his spine, Cody had decided that he would not be afraid of Obi-Wan—because whatever monster could strike fear into the hearts of his waking nightmares was someone that he could trust.
He was not afraid.
“Don’t be afraid.”
It was what Obi-Wan had said to him, almost a year before, after Cody had gone to him with a long list of questions on a datapad and his mind whirling—both him and the rest of the battalion wondering exactly what Obi-Wan was and what he could do. His voice had been quiet, barely a whisper, and the darkness around them had almost seemed to shift nervously in time with his heartbeat. Guilt had clawed its way up Cody’s throat like bile, nauseating and burning and unforgiving.
He had placed a gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, paying no mind to the shadowy wisps of his cloak, and assured him that he wasn’t afraid. Not of him. Never of him. And something had solidified in the back of his mind, a promise– a refusal to ever be afraid of the man that he’d given his heart to. Because Obi-Wan protected them, and swept away their nightmares, and cared for others so deeply that Cody feared it would one day split him in two. And—Cody knew—Obi-Wan would’ve rather died than ever harm any of them.
He was not afraid.
“Don’t be afraid.”
It was what Obi-Wan had said to him almost two months ago, when his own nightmare had come back to haunt him in the form of a yellow-eyed Sith with metal legs and a coal-black heart set on revenge. This time it was a promise, not a plea. A promise of safety, of protection, of– I won’t let anything happen to you.
And Cody trusted him. Just like he trusted him with his life, and his secrets, and his brothers, and his heart—Cody trusted him when he said that he would protect them, because that’s what he had always done.
He was not afraid.
Cody walked through the dead-silent halls of the Negotiator, trying to keep his steps even and his mind empty. The silence was eerie, oppressive, choking—but, for once, it wasn’t caused by their General. Only by the stark, creeping fear that’d spread through the battalion like a plague, leaving them all on edge and anxious—most of them willingly keeping themselves confined to their barracks. Obi-Wan had kept his promise...but actions often had unintended consequences.
Cody ran the facts through his head as he walked, repeating them like a prayer to stop himself from thinking about everything else.
Maul had found them on one of their missions. They didn’t know how.
He’d attacked them and managed to take out an entire company of brothers before Obi-Wan made it to their position.
And when he did...
Cody took a deep breath and forced his fists to unclench, mind unwilling—refusing—to go back to the moment that Obi-Wan had– (screaming, wailing shadows blocking out the sun; a cold dread seeping its way into his bones; nightmares, and memories, and fears that weren’t his own — whirling together and playing out in front of him like some sick, horrifying holo) –rescued them. It wasn’t that Obi-Wan hadn’t used similar tactics before, but...
‘But nothing,’ he thought, clenching his jaw so tight that he thought it might break. Obi-Wan was their General, was his friend, he would never hurt them.
‘Or would he?’ A traitorous part of his mind whispered, and he furiously shoved that doubt to the back of his mind—hiding it under the supply requisition forms he knew he had to fill out, and the names of senators that he’d met maybe once, and the long list of rules in the regulation manuals that he’d forgotten somewhere between Shaak Ti’s permanent station on Kamino and General Windu’s two-hour long public dissertation on how the Kaminoans were fucking stupid if they thought the Order would ever let them lay a hand on another clone again– (but more eloquently worded, of course).
He was so caught up in his head that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, following nothing except old habits and intuition. It only dawned on him that he was walking towards Obi-Wan’s quarters when he felt the ever-familiar tendrils of fog curl around his legs and the too-bright lights above him began to flicker, intimidating and inviting all at once—making a shiver crawl down his spine.
He could stop.
He could leave.
There was no doubt in his mind that Obi-Wan had sensed his approach, that he knew he was there, but if he left he knew that Obi-Wan would never mention it. Never bring it up. Never hold it against him. Never even consider it.
So why did the thought of leaving seem like a far worse ordeal than simply continuing forward and facing him?
(Maybe because he knew that, if he didn’t check on the General, then one of his brothers would have to—and they were scared enough as it was)
(...or maybe because he also knew that, if he left, it would only confirm Obi-Wan’s own fears—that Cody was scared of him)
...
This time he continued forward consciously, forcing himself into a steady pace even though every step felt like another nail into the metaphorical coffin he was building in his own mind—one that likely didn’t even exist, but that terrified him anyway.
In almost no time at all, he made it all the way down the hall, stopping directly in front of Obi-Wan’s quarters.
He knocked before he could second guess himself.
Before, it had never taken Obi-Wan longer than a few moments to respond—now, the silence seemed to stretch on for hours. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t exactly blame Obi-Wan for hesitating, not after everyone’s behavior planetside– (brothers cowering in his presence, flinching away from his gaze, unable to hide their horror, their fear) –but that did nothing to ease the nervous rolling of his stomach.
When Obi-Wan finally responded– (a clipped “come in,” rather than his usual cheerful greeting) –Cody stepped into the room, and was immediately caught off guard by the sheer...darkness of it. Not darkness like an abyss, darkness like a shadow...like hiding, like not wanting to be seen...and once the door shut behind him, he was swallowed up by it completely—unable to see anything, even when the HUD on his helmet switched to night vision. Although that was likely by design.
“Don’t be afraid.”
The words were spoken so quietly that Cody almost missed them, and with such– (sadness, fear, resignation) –that he had a hard time connecting them back to Obi-Wan. His Obi-Wan. The Obi-Wan that stared down Sith and senators alike with a determination that left them shaking, the Obi-Wan who had looked Tarkin in the eye and told him that they were either leaving the Citadel with all of Ghost company in tow or not at all, the Obi-Wan who’d faced his worst nightmares time and time again to keep them all safe.
He slowly, carefully, took off his helmet—figuring that he was walking in blind either way—and attempted to squint through the darkness, finding that about as helpful as his night vision had been. At least until the darkness lightened a bit, and Cody finally managed to make out some of his surroundings, and...Obi-Wan. Tucked into the corner of his room, on his bed, wrapped so thoroughly in his cloak that only his eyes broke through the smoke—red-rimmed and...so hurt.
“Don’t be afraid...please,” Obi-Wan whispered again, and Cody felt his heart shatter. Whatever fear he’d felt crawling through the cracks in his armor suddenly dissipated, and in its place formed a striking clarity—making him feel like the biggest fucking asshole in the galaxy.
Obi-Wan was only trying to protect them. To keep them safe.
And they were all treating him like a fucking monster for it.
Cody was treating him like a monster for it. Fear was one hell of a blinder, but if anyone should’ve understood, it was him, and he...
...
Cody slowly, carefully, took a step towards Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan pressed further into the wall.
He stopped.
“Don’t,” Obi-Wan said, voice still near-silent, “just...don’t. It’s not...it’s not a good idea.”
(“Not safe,” Cody heard)
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said, trying to put as much certainty and honesty as he could into the words, praying that Obi-Wan could sense it, “I promise, just...”
He hesitantly took another step forward, and then another when Obi-Wan didn’t flinch back—dark, bottomless eyes following him as he walked all the way to the edge of the bed and sat down, careful not to jostle it too much.
This was...admittedly unfamiliar territory for Cody. He wasn’t used to comforting people, let alone comforting someone who technically outranked him, who he’d been pining over for the better part of 3 years, who he’d been pointedly avoiding for the last few hours. Not to mention that, despite how long they’d known each other, he had no idea how to comfort Obi-Wan in particular. It just...hadn’t come up.
After Umbara he’d locked himself away in his quarters, refusing to come out unless it was for a meeting or a battle, and even then he seemed to be barely holding himself together, as if any little thing could break him all over again—and he did the same after the Citadel...and after Saleucami...and after Felucia.
After Kadavo Cody had tried, once, to visit him in the medbay, only to find him sobbing into General Koon’s robes—stark white medbay lights flickering erratically in time with his breaths—talking about everything that had happened, everything he’d witnessed, how scared he’d been, how Skywalker had to–
...
Cody had felt like an intruder, so he left.
Now, part of him selfishly wished he hadn’t, and another part of him wondered just how many times Obi-Wan had been in need of comfort and he just...hadn’t noticed. Obi-Wan was very good at hiding things like that, after all. The thought made something inside him crack and splinter, the guilt now building in his chest—cold and unforgiving. Obi-Wan seemed to sense that and, rather than let Cody stew in his own shame, he began to speak—voice still quiet, if not as shaky.
“I don’t know what to do. I’m...conflicted.”
The very idea that Obi-Wan, of all people, didn’t know what to do was almost laughable...but, then again, Cody seemed to be wrong about a lot of things these days.
So.
He swallowed back the mess of emotions that clogged his throat and asked–
“What are you conflicted about?”
“I...” Obi-Wan trailed off, seemingly trying to find the words. Cody knew the feeling, so he said nothing into the silence that enveloped them once again, giving him the time to sort out his thoughts.
...
“I don’t know what to do about the nightmares now,” he whispered, “I...I know that when I eat your nightmares it helps, but if I’m what’s causing your nightmares, am I– am I benefitting from the pain I’ve caused? Am I taking advantage of you? Of your brothers?”
It was then Cody noticed the blue-black oil dripping from his claws and onto the bedsheets, staining them with the dark liquid. He didn’t think Obi-Wan even noticed, eyes unseeing and locked on something far away.
Obi-Wan’s voice cracked as he continued, something in him coming apart at the seams, “I don’t– I don’t want– I would never–”
Cody’s heart ached and, before he could think better of it, he leaned forward and tangled their hands together—paying no mind to the small drops of blue-black oil that ran along the back of his, or the way Obi-Wan’s gaze snapped to him, startled and a bit fearful.
“I know you would never,” Cody said, “I know.”
Obi-Wan almost looked like he was going to pull away—all hesitation and worry and deep confliction—so Cody tightened his grip ever-so-slightly, trying to keep him there. With him. He didn’t want Obi-Wan to pull away this time, he wanted to help—he wanted Obi-Wan to let him help, just this once.
...
A moment passed.
...
Then another.
...
Another moment where Obi-Wan didn’t pull away and Cody relaxed his grip a bit, running a thumb over the back of Obi-Wan’s hand—attention catching, perhaps a little inappropriately, on the way that Obi-Wan’s breath caught at the motion.
It was...nice. Sitting there.
Alone.
Together.
Cody slowly, carefully, brought his head forward to rest against Obi-Wan’s in a kov’nyn , closing his eyes. For once allowing himself to enjoy this small indulgence. To be able to sit so close to Obi-Wan without the barrier of flimsiwork and rank and watchful eyes; to intertwine their hands without the weight of one of them supporting the other through an injury or the excuse of a chill; to press their heads together and pretend, just for a moment, that things were different.
Part of him wondered if Obi-Wan knew the significance of it, he seemed to know a lot about Mandalorian culture after all, but from the way his breath hitched and his grip tightened...he didn’t have to wonder for long. Obi-Wan knew.
Obi-Wan knew...
...but he wasn’t pulling away.
The thought made Cody’s heart race.
“I’m...I’m so sorry, for scaring all of you,” Obi-Wan whispered into the breath between them, “I didn’t mean to...I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.”
“We’re not...I’m not,” Cody whispered back, night-dark eyes locked onto Obi-Wan’s swirling abyss.
A pause. Silence.
...
“Promise?”
They were close now, so close that all it would take was a slight barely-there movement for their lips to touch—and Cody found it harder and harder to focus on Obi-Wan’s eyes, his own trailing down to his lips instead.
It would be so easy...
“I promise.”
And then, with a slight nudge from something unseen—something warm and friendly and light—Cody closed the distance between them, soft lips meeting slightly cracked. And it was...beyond words, in a way. It felt like flying but being grounded, like the warmth of a fire but the chill of the rain, like the risk of doing something new but the familiarity of old habits...
...it felt like home.
When they finally parted, blue-black ink staining Cody’s lips and his eyes blown wide, he couldn’t help but let out a breathless chuckle.
“See? Not afraid.”