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The wound was beginning to fester. The general hadn’t so much as moaned in three hours no matter how hard his clones shook him. Their medic was dead, killed in the explosion. Or maybe in the resulting cave in. No one was quite sure. All they were certain of was that their general would die if they couldn’t dig themselves out and signal the Negotiator sometime soon.
None of them dared speak to their commander. In the weak light filtering in through the cracks in the rubble, they could see him. He was bare-chested, having hurriedly shucked his armor in order to get at the durable fabric of his under suit. The keenest eyed of them had seen the subtle shaking in his normally steady hands as they quickly tore through the fabric and used it to stem the river of blood running down their general’s back. The wound was long and deep, a bit of bone beginning to show and still sizzling in some places where the acid had not been properly cleaned away. Their commander was on his knees before his fallen general. It was a common joke among the brothers that Cody worshipped Obi-Wan. Seeing him now, on his knees, naked from the waist up, and head bowed as though in supplication to some god none of them had ever known, the gentle joke was truer than ever before.
The small enclosure was silent save for the harsh breathing of the clones as they struggled to free themselves from the cave in and the low rumble of Cody’s voice as he spoke to Obi-Wan’s unconscious form. His voice was hoarse. He’d been speaking ever since their general lapsed into unconsciousness three hours prior. He was relentless, keeping up a steady stream of talk, some of it mindless chatter, the rest of it so deep and incredibly personal that the laboring clones behind him forced themselves to forget the words as soon as they were spoken. There was a familiar feeling in the air, a presence that seemed to encompass everything and nothing, and it swirled around the clone commander and his general, seemed to originate from the commander and funnel into the general. Was it the Force? They didn’t know, didn’t want to know how their commander might have harnessed such a strange thing. But all of them were certain their commander’s voice was the only thing keeping their general alive.
A ragged, exhausted cheer erupted from cracked lips and parched throats. They broke through the rubble and could see their gunship patiently waiting for them in the clearing below. The hostile natives of the world had no interest in their technology and no know how to booby trap it. They ran to it, as happy and reckless as the children they still were, to find their pilot dead. They would grieve for him later, in the meantime another took his place and lifted off as gently and smoothly as possible. Even in their great haste to leave the planet, they would not dare jostle or harm their general in any way. Cody cradled Obi-Wan in his arms, his armor in pieces around him, the Jedi’s lightsaber safely stowed in one of his ammo pouches. He did not need to tell the pilot to hurry, his brothers felt every bit of his urgency.
Obi-Wan spent two weeks in a bacta tank. Anakin was beside himself with rage when Cody burst into the infirmary with Obi-Wan. He screamed at Cody for a half hour. How could the commander be so reckless? It was his fault Obi-Wan was hurt: if he hadn’t startled that group of hunting natives, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have felt the need to push him out of the way and get sliced by one of the native’s acidic tentacles. Cody took the berating without speaking, looking the tall Jedi in the eyes without even an eyelash twitching out of place. His voice was shot, but he gave his report to the Council easily. They thanked him, and he fell silent. He had not spoken since.
Every day, Cody would spend an hour staring at Obi-Wan’s floating form, willing him to hurry up and get better, but even them he would say nothing. Not even Rex could coax so much as a grunt from his older brother. His worry grew daily. Cody’s men went about their tasks quietly, not exactly afraid of their brother but greatly disturbed by his behavior. Cody seemed oblivious, his mind elsewhere.
Obi-Wan woke a week earlier than the ship healer estimated. The ship was sleeping, the collective uneasiness soothed by the warmth of slumber. He felt Anakin, a roiling mass of anxiety and anger, working on a modification for R2D2 in his room. Through his breathing mask, Obi-Wan smiled sleepily. His Padawan would never change. Slowly he became aware of a person in the room with him. The signature was familiar, so close and familiar that he’d had some difficulty distinguishing it from his own. Cody. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and peered through the murky tank, seeking out his commander. There, sitting on an empty med bed, was Cody. He was in his sleep clothes, his elbows resting on his legs and his chin resting on his balled up fists. His eyes were closed, but Obi-Wan knew he was awake. He shifted in the tank, stretching his body so that he took up nearly all of the space in the tank. He pushed at Cody’s mind with the Force. Cody’s eyes snapped open and immediately found his. Obi-Wan waved.
Cody slowly stood and approached the tank, his eyes never leaving his general’s. Obi-Wan felt Cody’s shifting emotions, felt the worry and fear, the love and anger. His face showed none of the turmoil beneath. Obi-Wan had always admired Cody’s poker face. He splayed a hand against the inside of the tank. He allowed himself to feel vulnerable, to channel all his emotions, the thankfulness that he was alive, the regret he felt for leaving Cody alone for so long, the love he felt, and surround Cody with them. The commander closed his eyes and sighed deeply, seemingly relaxing to the strange sensation.
There was a small smile on his face when he opened his eyes, and he placed his hand on the tank, covering Obi-Wan’s The Jedi felt the touch even through the glass. “Next time, leave the heroics to me, sir,” Cody said. Obi-Wan laughed.