Archive of Our Own

Five times Cody was told to leave that man alone and one time he was not.

Jango Fett

They had been midway through ARC training when Cody was given his Jedi’s profile. A trainer had complained to both Prime and Seventeen that their whole batch was full of underperforming, insubordinate bastard men that were frankly more useful to the Republic as ambient nutrients for the next generation of tubies than soldiers.

“You lot are, by far, the worst squadron I have ever had the displeasure of training.” The trainer, Hssurrung, snarled to none of them in particular, waving his hand through the holomap to dispel the exercise. “How am I supposed to make soldiers out of you fucking ingrates?!”

Wolffe had promptly bit the man (he tasted sour according to Cody’s brother, who’d spent the rest of the night scrubbing at his tongue to rid himself of the taste of that Trandoshan bounty hunter who Prime had known once upon a time) and gotten them branded persona non grata – permanently. Hssurrung sent them to hit the showers and hang up their armor, grumbling about reporting them to the cloners.

Cody’s neck had started burning as he carefully undid every strap from his thigh plates. He’d met Gree’s eyes with what he hoped was a pleading expression. His brother took pity on him and peered over his shoulder.

Prime’s here. He mouthed with a shake of his head. Cody fought the urge to snap to attention.

It was Ponds alone that Fett addressed, pulling their squad leader aside to deliver the first dressing down. Fox glowered from a nearly disrespectful three feet away. None of them made out exactly what had been said, only that Fett’s tone had dipped into a timber they had dubbed his infamous “cadet discipline” voice. Giving credit where credit was due, Ponds hadn’t so much as twitched under the heavy scrutiny.

Prime made them break for lunch, then, banishing his ungrateful disappointments to the mess for their allotted ration bars and some strange, green-glowing protein shake that was intended to bulk them up quickly. It would have been a welcome reprieve from the Citadel course – dank ferrik, how Cody’s muscles ached from their prior attempt; he knew Fox had taken some bad hits back there too. Frankly all of them could have benefitted from a modicum of rest, nothing too crazy, since they were built for more treacherous conditions and Cody didn’t want his general to immediately think he was soft… or worse, incompetent.

Instead, Cody tucked himself beside Bly (even at rest, he couldn’t fight the urge to fall in step and march the rest of the way down the short corridor to the mess) when Prime’s rough growl echoed behind them.

“Half rations. Only winners deserve to eat.” The man’s arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall. Cody chanced a look back at Prime. Despite living surrounded by millions of men, brothers, who looked exactly like him, meeting Fett’s gaze was difficult. Open disdain and malice warred for control before settling on a deep-set malaise.

“Cody, c’mon. If we linger, that di’kut might change his mind.” Bly hissed into his ear, half-guiding and half-dragging Cody back into motion. They had to run just to catch up with the rest of their batch. By the time Cody settled in to eat, Gree and Ponds had already begun collecting empty dishes to neatly stack on the edge of their bench.

“Do you really think Prime would decommission us for this?” Bly began, breaking pieces off of his ration bar.

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” Fox shot back. His arms were crossed as he slumped forward, elbows digging into the plastoid surface of the table. “Do you mean how Gree fumbled on the push forward? Or maybe you mean how Ponds missed the jump? Oh, I know, you mean how Cody tried to spin-kick–”

“Fuck off, Fox.” Cody spat back, between rapid, famished bites of his vaguely bar shaped nutrient pack. It tasted like grit and failure and the existential dread of the decommissioning pod. “You know what he means.”

“No, Kote, I don’t. Some of us didn’t choke.” Fox gritted out. “I won’t apologize for being the only one of us that can get anything done.

There was a chorus of various insults from around the table. Ponds laid a hand on the back of Fox’s neck.

“Udesii, Fox’ika. No single person is responsible for the weight of our failure.” He shot an apologetic look Cody’s way, before reaching past Fox, releasing his neck on the way, to pat Bly’s shoulder. “No, Bly, Prime won’t decomm anyone. He wouldn’t have let the cloners waste calories on feeding us if that’s what was happening.”

It was true enough, Cody supposed. Resources were scarce enough sometimes with each new decanted batch of brothers. Cody clutched onto the thought like a lifeline, downing what little remained of his meal before the intercom blared to life.

“I need Beta squad to report to me immediately.” Prime’s voice crackled through the tinny speakers. “Get to stepping.”

Only after they’d dutifully marched back into the training bay did Cody catch a glimpse of Alpha-17. He wasn’t necessarily disappointed to see his brother – newly returned from the frontlines of the war, almost always in worse shape than he left them in – but Seventeen was always a little harder on them than any of the natborn trainers.

Judging from the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow, Cody noted, this was going to be one of those times. It took every ounce of Cody’s training to avoid shrinking under his ori’vod’s assessment. His only consolation was that his other brothers, flanking either side of him in a neat row, seemed to shiver with the same anticipation.

“Now boys,” Jango started, letting the words hang on a sneer, one that suggested that their personhood was a pendulum, rapidly swinging away from sentience with every ticking second. It was a special kind of torment, designed specifically to taunt the most impatient of his brothers and bait them into stepping out of line.

Cody felt Wolffe stiffen to his right. To his left, Gree attempted to school his features, his mouth threatening to spill over into a full pout.

It was Seventeen who released the tension. “This is unacceptable.” As he spoke, the scars around his mouth jumped. “You di’kuts wouldn’t last five minutes on the field with how you’re performing now.”

It was a fair assessment, Cody admitted to himself, as much as it rankled against everything he was.

“Then where would we be? I put in all this time training you ingrates.” Jango edged in, beginning to pace along their ranks. “It’s a waste of my time, y’know, when I could be hunting.” Behind the bounty hunter (and well out of his line of sight), Cody watched Alpha-17 roll his eyes.

“More importantly, you di’kuts aren’t just solo operators.” Seventeen rumbled. “I picked you brats personally to lead your brothers and watch the dini’la jetiise.” He left the thought hanging, but Cody could see the “don’t tell me I made a mistake” as a neon sign, moon yellow and bright.

“Yes, sir.” Cody and his batchmates gritted out in unison. There was another beat that passed. Jango had finished his front line inspection, turning on his heel to pace behind them. Seventeen launched into a lecture about duty, about service, and about the importance of being on their best possible behavior for the Jedi.

This was a lecture they’d heard many times, in many different iterations. There was the version that encouraged Cody and his brothers to keep their heads down, to avoid extra trouble as long as they could, to return to Kamino in one piece. There was the abridged lecture he gave them from the deck of his first Venator, one that urged them to be cautious, level-headed soldiers because the Jedi certainly were not. Lately, though, just before he’d arrived to take over their training, Seventeen’s speech had taken a turn for the begrudgingly fond. He spoke about his jetii with an unguarded respect; he’d even been caught softening his insults for his general, according to some of the holofootage he’d sent back to Faie and his batchers.

It was this urgency – and frustration, Cody had clocked, watching the way Seventeen’s fists balled and clenched (but not too much. His range of motion was still nothing compared to what it once had been.) every time he talked about entrusting the Jedi to his trainees –

Meanwhile, Jango lingered over Cody’s shoulder. He said nothing but the weight of his breath over the errant hairs at the base of Cody’s neck almost forced him to break formation.

“Which is why Fett and I have decided to show you di’kuts who you’re really training for.” Seventeen concluded, tossing a datapad into Gree’s chest.

Fumbling, Gree managed to catch the ‘pad before it clattered to the floor. He studied the information with a quick sweep before pausing at the upper left corner. From the corner of his eye, Cody spotted the two Jedi whose holopics took up a good portion of the brief. They were both Mirialan, from a first glance, and one was young – almost the same age as a tubie, if Cody were honest with himself.

“Wha–” Gree looked up from the ‘pad to face Seventeen, eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “They bring their tubies to war?”

Seventeen shrugged. “They call ‘em padawans and yes, some of them will be your commanders. You’ll have to look out for them.”

Properly mollified, Gree passed the briefing back to Seventeen. There was an almost haunted look that remained, aging his brother a near decade at once.

They continued like this for several moments, with every pass of the ‘pad causing Cody’s insides to twist around themselves and his hands to tremble. Jango continued to pace uncomfortably behind them, making noises of disgust as each of his clones became dumbstruck by their intended, by their generals.

Cody was the penultimate one of his brothers to receive his assignment, narrowly seeming to beat out Fox in Seventeen’s priority list. When his ori’vod stopped in front of him, he leaned forward to whisper in Cody’s ear.

“Don’t fuck this up, Kote.” It was the closest thing to affection that he’d ever heard Seventeen express.

He took his time studying the man’s face — from his kind, ocean-deep eyes to the way his mouth quirked up as if he and the viewer were the only two in on some magnificent secret.

He was beautiful and Cody said as much, reverently tracing his gloved hand over the image, as if to burn it into his skin.

Jango’s mouth quirked downward; he’d been bemused by the general fuss of his clones over his typical prey, though it quickly faded in the face of their dedication. “You cut that osik out, 2224. He is your superior.”

Cody apologised, snapping to attention and dropping the data pad to the floor, though some insincerity must’ve shone through because Fett glowered at him even harder.

“Since Kote wants to be an insubordinate little shit, sounds like you’re all running laps.” Jango snarked, snapping his fingers towards the track. A chorus of groans came from his batchmates, but their grumbling eventually gave way to the steady, rhythmic pounding of their boots.

Cody still thought his jetii was beautiful.

Rex

It was two years into the war when Cody broke down and told his baby brother about his crush. In his defence, it hadn’t been intentional. Umbara had been… trying, to say the least – beyond difficult, it was hellish and haunted Cody’s dreams and frankly his waking hours too – and he’d needed a shoulder to cry on. Rex just so happened to be the first one of his brothers who asked if he wanted to get a drink once The Negotiator had docked at Coruscant for shore leave.

He’d been doing so well too, shoving down that unhelpful fluttering in his stomach every time Obi-Wa– General Kenobi smiled in his direction (or said his name. Or called him a “good man” with that accent. 0r–). Barely any of the 212th had caught on, aside from Ghost Company, but Cody chalked that up to the fact that they were assholes and lived to torment him.

He couldn’t have fought the wince that thought provoked. Ghost wasn’t joking around anymore, not since burying Boil. None of them were. This was part of his problem, in truth. As much as he cherished his ever-growing feelings for his general, Cody lamented that it took fighting a war for them to have met. How could he plan his future, his favorite what if, when he had to watch that dream get torn away from the galaxy at large every day? He railed and raged over how every victory, every loss took away his brothers and, by extension, their futures.

General Kenobi grieved them too. Only a few hours prior to Rex’s invitation, Cody’s general had sought him out to offer condolences in person. Together, they’d said the remembrances and Kenobi had even delivered gallons of grey paint with which to commemorate every fallen warrior.

(“I felt their light go out.” Kenobi had started, brows furrowed and shoulders sagging. “Each and every one of them deserved better. Cody, my dear, I am so sorry we were not there to aid them.”

“Thank you, sir.” Cody whispered in reply, not trusting his voice at any other volume. They were in Kenobi’s office, still steaming cups of caf lying untouched between them, as transfer forms piled up around them.

Kenobi reached forward into no man’s land, his hand settling onto Cody’s forearm. Cody would have painted the resulting handprint – all condensation from what he knew would be the pleasant warmth of Obi-Wan’s touch meeting the ever-frigid plastoid – onto his vambrance without hesitation, if it were at all appropriate.

“I will do everything in my power to ensure this never happens again. Please understand. Your brothers are not disposable. You are not disposable.” Baby blues met wide eyed browns; silence reigned between them before Obi-Wan demurely dropped Cody’s gaze, returning to his otherwise abandoned flimsiwork, as if he hadn’t just well and truly gutted Cody. If he wasn’t certain before, Cody was certainly too busy pledging heart and soul to Obi-Wan to ever fall for anyone else again.)

As he settled into their small, corner booth at 79’s, Rex clasped him on the shoulder. “Alright there, Codes? You look like shit.”

From anyone else it would have been insulting. Cody prided himself on appearances, determined to never let his disheveled failings come back on Obi-Wan. However, even in the dim lamplight, tucked as far back as humanly possible from the regs, Rex’s face seemed to carry matching wrinkles, his hair was sprouting the same premature greys, and his voice caught and wavered on every rounded syllable, as if they were waves pounding against the walls of Tipoca City.

“I could say the same to you, Rex’ika. General Skywalker let you leave the medbay like that?!” He couldn’t keep the note of derision out of his tone. There were times when Cody wished desperately that the 501st weren’t under the one Jedi with a reckless streak several clicks wide and with a death wish to match.

Rex merely snorted in reply, taping Cody’s breastplate. It was significantly worse for wear as of late, pockmarked with the evidence of his continued survival. “I’m not gonna play this game with you, vod. We all know that’s your general talking more than you. You’re also not getting out of this.”

Cody took a sip of his whiskey, grimacing at the burn and the vaguely kerosine-esque taste. It was the cheapest one he’d seen and the first easily recognizable drink on the never-ending wall of bottles; it was Obi-Wan’s preferred drink for forgetting, a task that lately they’d taken up far too often.

Cody’s general was a kind man, though, and usually slid what he claimed were the better drinks (fruity ones, violently pink cocktails with tiny umbrellas, rails filled with phosphorescent cherries) over to Cody for approval. Those nights, Cody would nurse whatever odd concoction his general had decided would improve his experience for the remainder of the evening, drawing out the experience just in case he never got another chance to examine a normal outing with such care ever again. They were cherished memories, he reflected and swirled the contents of his cup experimentally.

(He’d never understood why it was such a popular approach to this bitter-harsh-cloying drink. When Cody asked, emboldened as their bond grew, his general had only smiled that dangerous, mischievous smirk before downing his glass in one swallow. By that point, Cody was too distracted by the working of his throat and the insistent throbbing against his codpiece to notice how easily his jetii could wipe his mind empty without even trying.)

Cody found himself more inclined to reach for these familiar things in his general’s absence – a more common occurrence as the Jedi spread themselves too thin. They were all spread out, scattered to the far reaches of the galaxy to die for people who still denounced them as child-stealers and relics of a bygone era.

Rex maneuvered his body to block Cody’s view, the glass distorting his brother and making him appear to be hovering just beyond the rim of his drink. “Codes,” he prompted. “Clearly something is bothering you. Don’t–”

The music in 79’s faded to a dull, groaning halt. Cody squinted in the steadying dim, nascent light, automatically swivelling to the entrance as a redheaded, robed figure entered the bar. His heart pounded out a harsh marching tune, his whole body stiffening to lean forward just enough to try and catch the eye of the new arrival that could only be— a brother, clad in his dress greys, using his jacket as a makeshift coat. Cody’s brother’s hair, upon further inspection, was not the same (soft, glossy) burnished copper that his general sported.

Through sheer force of will, Cody forced himself to school his features and try to veil the disappointment he felt threatening to spill out of his chest and onto the table before him, oh gods, he had it bad – what did it say about him, Marshall Commander of the GAR, that all he wanted as comfort is the warm smile of his general? He felt the low whine worm its way out of his chest, catching just behind his teeth in a sharp hiss.

Rex’s eyes followed Cody’s frantic jerking forward, alighting on the newest arrival. Sighing heavily, Rex brought a hand up to palm over his face. “Brother, vod, Kote.”

Cody gave a fuzzy-edged hum of acknowledgement, still unable (and, if he were honest, unwilling) to break his line of sight, his anchor to the narrowly potential – and yet entirely unexpected – arrival of General Kenobi.

His brother’s face flickered with disappointment before casting a mournful look at his own pale beer, knocking back the glass, and guzzling the offending liquid. Once he had finished his own drink, Rex palmed Cody’s glass away from his useless homosexual of a brother and killed that drink too.

Cody barely so much as flinched. His eyes were blank and unfocused, forcing him to shake his head one, twice, before returning his gaze to the table. Several generations of vod had carved their initials and those of their loved ones overtop of one another, turning the table into an uneven plane of hidden desires. He mumbled out streams of nonsense to himself, only half remembering his brother’s presence.

“Can’t fucking believe… only known him a year or so.” He groaned, tangling his still-gloved fingers in his longer curls. Yet another task he’d have to handle, with or without his general. Without looking up, Cody raised his voice, only loud enough for Rex to hear. “I’m not drunk enough for this, Rex’ika.”

There was a hint of warble in Cody’s voice, trembling with almost two year’s worth of unshed tears. Something within the hesitance, the barest twitch of his lower lip made Rex recoil. Shock etched itself into the grooves of his younger brother’s face; Cody fought the urge to end the night here and return to The Negotiator. He felt the vice tighten in his chest, choking him up, forcing Cody to swallow the bitter pill of his misplaced, unwanted, undeserved affection.

He almost missed the feather-light brush of Rex’s hand over the back of his neck, settling in a firm clasp to draw him close. Cody’s brother wasn’t looking at him though, twisting his torso to shout at a serving droid from across the bar. “Oi, can I get a couple shots of ‘skee over here? My brother needs to drown his sorrows.”

“Rex, no, I should just go–” Cody went to extricate himself from Rex’s arm, sliding down the booth bench before he reached for his uniform jacket.

“No, ori’vod, stay. Stay and let loose. We haven’t had time for ourselves since… well, I think back on Kamino. Clearly something is bothering you–” He halted abruptly to nod at the serving droid who was carelessly stacking twin lines of precariously filled shots in front of the two clones. 24 overflowing shot glasses decorated their previously empty table; the ‘skee within them glittered under the now pulsing blacklights mounted around them.

Cody stared at the deep wine-dark liquid, tracking the way the tawny sugar cubes crumbled to coat the bottom. “What is this?” He breathed out at last, willing enough to play along.

“Shots, Kote. Don’t tell me you and General Kenobi haven’t knocked back a few to cope with General Skywalker.” Rex grinned – a wicked, devious thing – before dividing their glasses into parallel lines of 12 – twelve 501st clad soldiers just waiting for Cody’s 212th gold to mow through them. It stretched against his war-worn wrinkles and the faint horror still clinging to him from what came after.

Cody fought the urge to scream. He didn’t have the right to, not after spending his deployment beside his general, nowhere near the storm of destruction brewing with General Krell. (He’d never considered that Jedi could be traitors before. It sent ice picks up and down his spine and milodons crawling beneath his skin.) If this was how Rex wanted to cope with Umbara, then by the Ka’ra this would be how they did it.

Still, standards must be upheld. He shot his darkest, most professional glare at Rex instead. It was guaranteed to fall flat because Cody had lacked the true authority to admonish his little brother ever Skywalker’s gods forsaken captain had learned Seventeen assigned Cody to Kenobi specifically because they shared the same type of neurotic competency kink.

Rex nudged one of the glasses even closer to Cody’s hand. “Let go, Codes. You’re off duty. No marshal commandering until oh eight hundred.”

He found his fingers curling around it almost on autopilot. In his hands, the murky shot looked less like one of his murdered brothers and more like beckoning oblivion. Preemptively steeling himself against the taste, Cody cocked his head back and let the sour-burning-sweetness slide down, down his throat and nestle pleasantly in his gut.

He felt Rex collapse against his side as the younger man neatly dispatched his own shot, a half-second glint of the bottom of the glass catching his weaker eye. With the barest hint of the navy liquid clinging to the sides of the glass, the glint shone with the same sea-grey-blue kaleidoscopic sparkle that shone in General Kenobi’s impossibly soft gaze. It made the war survivable, at least for Cody. Against his will, Cody felt his usual heartstick stabbing threaten to make him spew across the table.

His brother grimaced at his expression, shaking his head. “That bad still, huh? We’ll keep going until you feel better.”

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no. Absolutely not.

Cody sagged back against the worn leather cushions, shaking his head. “There is nothing about this that is designed to make me feel any better. You are using me for your own sick personal gain; I will not get written up for you.” He warned. Yet, even as he condemned Rex’s intentions, somehow he ended up with the second shot in his hand.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Rex gave a lazy two finger salute in reply. The effect was altogether ruined by his equally lazy grin. “So you’re gonna tell me what’s been eating you, right?”

The second shot burned going down just as much as the first. It lit Cody from within, excavating his secrets and forcing them to float to the tip of his tongue. “It’s so stupid. I don’t even know why it’s bothering me.” He started, this time expecting the glass that was furtively pressed against his waiting palm.

“Go ahead, you can tell me.” Rex soothed. Together they took the third shot — sporting twin grimaces at the steadily souring taste.

Cody took a deep breath, determined to put on his brave face and set his brother’s mind at ease. In for two, out for four – just like the general taught him. Yes, Cody could absolutely do this.

“I don’t know…” Despite clenching his fists to avoid this exact outcome, Cody felt himself gesture wildly between them. “This whole situation is taxing.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Ignore me. This is just the cost of war.”

“If you weren’t there yet, you should have said so!” Rex hit him with two more shots. Cody gratefully accepted them. They took the additional drinks in unison now, pounding them back so quickly that the only taste they registered was the heat snaking its way down.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“How about now?” Rex asked, fixing him with an intense stare. 16 overturned shot glasses lay between them, with Cody killing the 17th with a groan.

Cody made a show of checking in with himself. Raising his hands to tap at his forehead, heart, stomach, and thighs, he took a moment to just be. His stomach protested less, now that he’d started drowning the dread and butterflies alike in booze. His mind was pleasantly clouded over, veiling the horror that still prowled just outside his newfound drunken bulwark. (Is this what Kenobi experienced when he meditated? Cody could get used to this calm. No wonder his jetii got cranky when the mission demanded he skip it.)

“‘M f’ne.” He slurred, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Jus’ fine. ‘S just bright in here, ‘s all.”

The table’s embrace grounded him; it begged him to rest his chin on the cool, wooden surface, if he pleased. It was an invitation Cody desperately wanted to accept, if not for—

“No th’nk ya, sir… need to get back to Th’ Negotiat… Negotieator…” He hiccuped. “G’neral Kenobi needs me. ‘E’s so patient and pretty. Need to hold ‘em.”

“No.” Rex barked out, alarmingly sober again. The timber of his voice made several other patrons swivel in their seats to peer curiously in their direction. It made Cody’s skin prickle; he almost said as much, but Rex’s face was an impassive mask of calm that made him think twice. “You cannot be in love with High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Cody fought back a growl. “The fuck you mean no?”

“Manda, Codes, I thought you were just having a breakdown. You can’t be serious.” Rex retorted. “Of all the jetiise, of all the moments– you want Kenobi?!”

His ears roared at the sound of his brother’s critique. What was wrong with Kenobi? He was strong, handsome, spirited, and, to Cody’s immense pleasure, a little bit of a bastard. All of Ghost Company loved him; if he were honest, Cody felt strongly that the rest of the 212th felt exactly the same. Kenobi treated them like real people, with thoughts and feelings and desires. Every day they spent together only reinforced Cody’s decision that his general was perhaps the greatest thing to ever happen to him. He wanted to pull the man into an embrace and never let go. He wanted to die for him. He wanted his men to abduct their general just so he’d rest for once, to let them take the watch. These thoughts and more raged within, a hair’s breadth from breaking the dam holding back the sheer depths of his affection. He opened his mouth to say as much, only to realize that he’d already launched his thoughts into the conversation like an electropulse grenade.

To his credit, Rex waited, arms crossed over his chest and his brows furrowed, as Cody finished his rant. Despite his patience though, from Cody’s perspective, it looked like his brother was preparing to contradict him. Rex worried his bottom lip as he processed the deluge of yearning, a quirk he’d picked up as a cadet and retained even despite the trainers’ attempts to beat it out of him. They sat there in silence for several minutes; the bartenders had begun to play music, looping one song over the speakers over and over.

(Some of these vows I’ve made to be broken. Some of these lines were meant to be blurred.)

“I don’t want to lose you, vod.” Rex said at last, the barest hint of a sigh billowing out alongside his admission.

Cody tried to protest, reaching to lay a heavy hand on his baby brother’s shoulder. Rex shrugged him off, turning in his seat to meet Cody’s eyes.

“No, I’m serious.” He groaned. “You know what the regs say; we’re not supposed to have any feelings at all aside from loyalty to the Republic. You have to stay away from him. I know the general is a kind man, but, Kote, if word gets out, that’s your ass on the line. No one else’s. And I doubt the famed Negotiator could talk the Kaminiise out of grinding you down into paste. We belong to them.”

That last statement was what did him in, ultimately. Cody saw the wet tears streaming down Rex’s face and jumped into big brother mode. Crushing the other man into a fierce hug, he nodded in agreement.

“I know, Rex’ika. You’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it.”

“I love you, Codes. I want you to survive the war.”

“Love you too, even though you’re a pain in my ass.” Cody murmured in reply. It was disheartening, admittedly, to know that his closest (and favorite, not that he’d ever speak the words aloud) brother disapproved of Cody’s crush. It would have been different, though, if Rex’s points had been against General Kenobi himself, rather than the reality of their position. What was a little power imbalance between friends? Cody rose higher and higher in command every campaign, it seemed, for his competence. He had little doubt that he’d be of rank with General Kenobi before they knew it.

So for now, he could tamp down on it. If it would set his brother at ease, Cody could feign losing interest. Rex was wrong about one thing though. Cody did not belong to the Kaminiise, not anymore. He hadn’t, in truth, for some time.

Cody belonged to General Kenobi from the moment he’d seen the man’s eyes crinkle in a smile to greet him. He likely always would.

Anakin

Cody kept a spreadsheet for the rest of the war. Dutifully organised, it laid out in painstaking detail a counter for how many times he and his general almost died. By the time they’d left atmo around Cato Nemodia, Cody’s count was up to 35 and General Kenobi’s sat at an unpleasant 62 times. At least half of those additional ticks were times that Kenobi decided — of his own free will, or rather, “the will of the Force,” as he was fond of quipping — Cody’s life was more important than advancing the mission without him.

With every entry, Cody felt his resolve crumble into microscopic pieces, the kind that junked up the vents around the engines and made them overheat. Call it FOMO, call it possessiveness – whatever you settled on, it was an apt comparison, he’d decided, after feeling the way his cheeks flared to life with heat every time he considered the future. With each passing day, the depth of his crush on General Kenobi only worsened. He wanted to build a life with the man, not just work together to destroy the lives of others. Their hands were both calloused in ways that made Cody certain they could construct beautiful things together. Their future, specifically, as one in every way possible, irreparably and inextricably bound for the rest of their lives.

He hadn’t wanted to hold back his affections forever, no matter how bad of an idea Rex still insisted it was. And every near death experience only served to provoke deep-set urges to sequester Cody’s general away and bar the door behind them. (He had considered doing so at least three times alone on this mission. Cody’s absolute fucking maniac of a general never passed out long enough for Cody to throw him over his shoulder and call it a day. The bastard.) Despite internally resolving to wait until the end of the war, when they could talk about it properly, Cody itched to get it over with. He wanted to grasp General Kenobi’s hand in public just because he could.

And so, standing on the bridge of The Negotiator, inputting the campaign’s results into his top-secret spreadsheet that served as a secondary medical record for Cody’s general (labeled as inconspicuously as possible, masquerading as the latrine rota), Cody resolved to take the next step: obtaining General Skywalker’s blessing.

In theory, it was an easy enough goal. The 501st pulled up to relieve them on the surface at the top of the hour; during the changeover, General Kenobi predictably ushered them both to debrief with his former padawan. Cody waited patiently during the briefing, mindful of his brothers’ eyes on him. As one of the highest ranking vod they were ever likely to meet, Cody alone shouldered his self-imposed responsibility of putting his best foot forward at all times.

Waiting until the Jedi broke from their huddle – where Cody’s general had been gesturing wildly between himself and General Skywalker only moments before and was now doing his best impression of a storm cloud, what with the way his robes billowed around Kenobi as he left General Skywalker to his own devices – Cody strode forward to stop just in front of his general’s ad. His jaw ached from the way he’d clenched it, grinding his sensitive teeth against one another. Just a moment longer, he swore, and there would be shards of enamel filling his mouth.

Bile coated his tongue, flooding his mouth with saliva. The air within his bucket was too warm and too heavy, settling in Cody’s lungs with all the subtlety of a bantha calf. Even so, Cody forced himself to speak. His vocoder crackled to life and he winced as his hesitant breaths echoed into the otherwise silent bridge. “General Skywalker, sir. Permission to speak in private, sir?”

“Can it wait?” General Skywalker grumbled out, jabbing at his datapad with slightly more force than necessary. The scrape of metal against glass accompanied the gesture. “Obi-Wan kind of just tore my whole plan to shreds.”

Cody shifted his weight forward, a minute twitch of his knees that typically went unnoticed amongst natborn observers. Rex, however, snapped his eyes to Cody immediately. His brother’s accusing expression, hovering just over Skywalker’s shoulder, dogged him relentlessly. He took another breath to center himself.

“That’s just it, sir. It’s about my- General Kenobi.” Under the helmet, Cody’s cheeks blazed. He hoped, no, prayed silently that no one picked up on his potential slip. (Judging by Rex’s deepening scowl, Cody had no such luck. His prayers almost never worked. He was beginning to think The Force made him atheist on purpose, as if knowing General Kenobi’s faith was strong enough for two.)

General Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, turned his full attention to Cody’s query. He unceremoniously thrust the offending datapad at Rex and studied Cody intently; his thunderous blue stare crackled with electricity and the air around General Skywalker intensified, compressing and popping as the scent of ozone trickled through every assembled trooper’s filters. His stare was searching, tracing the lines of Cody’s bucket as if the impassive plastoid might have answers.

“What about Obi-Wan? Cody, is there something wrong?” Anakin asked.

Cody had heard less unspoken threat in Separatist battle cries.

“It’s nothing serious, sir, I promise. Nothing is wrong with General Kenobi.” Cody reassured, bringing his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. At least, nothing else aside from his usual med exam dodging, Cody mentally tacked on. In this case, he assumed, it would only serve to distract Anakin.

As it stood, Anakin only relaxed the set of his shoulders at Cody’s reassurance. The rest of his body remained as tightly coiled as ever; Cody hated the way Anakin Skywalker forced everyone around him to shoulder the burden of his anxiety, especially when the topic turned to his old master.

“Sounds like it can wait, then.” Rex cut in, covering his wrist comm. “Sir, Admiral Yularen is requesting that we head planetside now. Besides, Kote should probably be getting ready to ship out.”

As if sensing that Cody’s little brother was interfering, The Force had a good enough sense of humor for Cody’s own communicator to ring with General Kenobi’s personal line.

“Commander? Are you quite ready?” General Kenobi’s canned, tinny voice rattled over his helmet’s speakers. There was no hint of judgment, as usual, just a careful concern. Knowing his general, Cody’s mind leapt to the man assuming he left something out of the briefing and Cody was left to clean up his mess.

“Yes sir. Be there in five.”

“Good man. Kenobi out.” There was the requisite crackle of static as Cody’s general fumbled to hang up. Just before severing the connection, Cody heard Wooley and Waxer’s voices approaching General Kenobi, likely to coordinate their special mission – top secret, directly from the Council.

Despite the call having no holofeed, Cody schooled his features back into some semblance of professionalism. “Rex is right, sir.” He allowed, relenting at last. “This can wait.” Forever, in fact, if Rex had his way. And if not, it would be at the end of Cody’s very short life, if Skywalker didn’t prove amenable to his request.

(Manda, wasn’t that a horrifying thought? General Kenobi did very little without the approval of his padawan and grandpadawan. Bly called them codependent. Cody called it prudent family bonding.)

As he stalked back to the waiting transport, the last one bound for The Negotiator, Cody battled the sinking feeling in his gut that said he and General Skywalker wouldn’t be having this conversation for quite some time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cody ought to have put money on it. Their ‘top secret’ mission had turned out to be a bombing at the Temple. Force only knew why the 212th had to be there, though, given that the suspect turned out to be Commander Tano, at least at first.

Not that Cody was complaining. Rex needed him, especially after Ahsoka’s arrest– he never wanted to hear his brother sob like that ever again. (The sound still echoed in his ears, tugging at every single one of Cody’s heartstrings. Rex mourned his little sister with every molecule of his being.) It just so happened that General Kenobi needed someone to run interference while the other council members investigated. Two birds, one stone.

Still, as he stood vigil outside the council chambers beside his distraught baby brother, their armor gleaming in the too-tall, too-bright, too-wide halls of the Jedi Temple, Cody found himself reflecting on missed opportunities.

General Skywalker and the 501st were right behind them, in truth, arriving mere days after The Negotiator; their briefing had been joint and swift, all but railroading the investigation. Had they asked for his opinion, Cody would have said it stank from the beginning. However, he was not, in fact, asked, because it was ultimately Jedi business.

“As much better as I’d feel having you by my side for this, my dear, I’m afraid this is something the Council must handle on its own.” Kenobi murmured his apologies, leaning close to Cody’s bare face to whisper conspiratorially. “Besides, I think Captain Rex might need your stalwart spirit.”

“As you say, sir.” Cody offered a salute in reply. He tried not to let the hurt at being dismissed well up in his chest. He tried even harder not to lean closer and offer his ‘spirit’ to Obi-Wan alone.

Something must’ve shown on his face though (damn him for clipping his bucket to his belt earlier; Cody surely must’ve known better than to be bare faced around his tremendous flirt of a general), because General Kenobi’s eyes softened with what he hoped was affection.

“Although that may not be for the best. I may lose you to another Jedi if you go about unprotected with that stunning competency and sharp wit of yours.” Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder. “You’re a good man, my dear. I’ll see you later.”

Cody was man enough to admit that he watched unabashedly as Kenobi’s robes flapped down the hall.

Per his jetii’s request, Cody waited patiently as deliberations went back and forth. Several times, the Guard slipped into the council chambers; Cody tried in vain to catch Fox’s eye as he retrieved Ahsoka – bound in Force-suppressing shackles. His ori’vod let out a warning growl in response; Ahoska disappeared in a sea of red. Cody felt Rex choke back a sob to his left.

General Skywalker emerged from the chambers soon after, flanked by several of his men. Cody’s brothers nodded stiffly as they passed, pausing in front of Rex; their captain stared blankly ahead, unblinking.

“General Skywalker, sir?” Cody tested, stepping forward as if to bar the general’s path. Not enough to trigger the man’s hair temper, he hoped, but enough to get some sort of information.

“Not now, Cody. I know you said there was something with Obi-Wan, but Ahsoka needs to come first right now.” Deep, dark bags encircled Skywalker’s eyes. His hair matted against the sides of his face, caked in sour sweat. Cody could hazard an educated guess about the last time his general’s ad slept for more than 4 hours. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t in the last week, judging by the slump of Skywalker’s spine.

“Of course, but sir–” Cody tried again, gesturing to his brother. That seemed to shake his vod out of whatever stupor he’d been in since the questioning began.

“Let me go with you, sir. The commander doesn’t deserve to feel alone, not right now.” Rex offered, suddenly perking up even as his eyes traced out the path that Fox had tread just moments prior.

Skywalker nodded. “We’ll catch up with you, Cody. Tell Obi-Wan I went to get help, if The Council ever surrenders him.”

What else could he do but nod and wait? Good soldiers followed orders and Cody was an exemplary soldier. (It helped that his general stayed behind. Cody belonged by Obi-Wan’s side, even when he had to wait outside.)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cody never did get a chance to warn his general. One moment he was pacing the temple halls, the next his communicator was blowing up – each series of messages from a different brother, in varying degrees of urgency. He gave the feed a quick once over, his eyebrows sliding up his forehead against his will as he took in the deluge.

Wolffe: Kote, get your sorry shebs over here right fucking now.

Wolffe: Now.

Wolffe: CODY.

Fox: Vod’ika.

Fox: Help.

Fox: Code Red.

Gree: Kote, are you here?

Gree: Please, I need you to get over here.

Gree: It’s my ad’ika, please.

Rex: ‘Soka’s innocent.

Rex: Need you to spinkick a demagolka.

Rex: Ideally right now.

He cast a pleading look at the still sealed council chamber door – Kenobi hadn’t emerged since 08:00 and, judging by the hushed squabbling that drifted through the seal, wasn’t likely to earn any sort of reprieve any time soon. He’d also given Cody a direct order, though Force knows General Kenobi merely saw it as a suggestion (as if Cody could ever deny him anything), just before sequestering himself, and Cody was loath to start disobeying now.

At the same time, his brothers never asked for help, not unless it was serious. Especially not the older twins – Fox and Wolffe were always the more fiercely independent. For Cody specifically to get their pings, the situation surely had spiraled far beyond their control.

Dank ferrik. Cody bit back a whimper of frustration, stabbing aggressively at his commlink. Uncaring of any typos he might accumulate, he broke into a jog as he finished his message: Where? Requisitioning a speeder.

Cody ran 7 red lights, cut off 11 freighters, and almost wrecked his borrowed speeder coming around the final turn to make his exit. It took him under 45 minutes to get from the Temple to the Coruscant Guard headquarters.

The engine hadn’t even died before Cody launched himself to his feet, breaking into a run as the sound of blaster bolts echoed from within. His boots pounded into the pavement, the polished duracrete, the metallic plated catwalks of the holding cells, before skidding to a halt just outside of the ragged circle of Jedi and commanders that encircled a tall, black robed woman.

From this angle, he couldn’t make out her features – not that it mattered when she swung a ghastly, familiar red ‘saber in an aborted arc, narrowly missing Gree’s outstretched hand. His ori’vod stood at the apex of a grim triangle, flanked by Fox’s unshakeable presence and the barely contained whirlwind of Anakin Skywalker. Cody would need every pair of hands in the room and then some to count the amount of times he’d seen that blade – Ventress’s wicked weapon – at his own neck, that of his general, or embedded in a brother.

Cody darted a hand behind himself, pulling loose his DC-15 rifle and hesitantly releasing the safety. Two of his brothers, the ones closest to him were revealed in the bloody tinged light to be Rex and Wolffe, wore grim looks of determination, visible only in the tension in their necks and their half-crouched posture. They both took half-steps to the side, leaving just enough room for Cody to slide into position; he lowered the barrel of his rifle to study the scene through its scope.

“Ad’ika, just stop for a moment.” Gree pleaded, taking a step forward despite the way the woman twitched. He was helmetless, speaking at a low, soothing rumble to avoid startling her. “We can talk this out. It’s not too late. Come home, Barriss.”

Barriss. Cody knew that name, had heard Ahsoka shyly bragging about her gentle, soft-spoken fellow Jedi. More than once, he’d also seen Gree’s commlink profile picture change to some new group photo of him and General Unduli, both of them gazing impossibly fond down at their beloved padawan commander. Even Obi-Wan had nothing but praise for the young woman; Cody had never heard anything to contradict his mental image of her as a perfect knight.

“No, you don’t understand! There’s no place for me in The Order, not now.” Her voice cracked on the last syllables, devolving into a rattling warble. As if to accentuate her position, she made a feint towards Fox.

She only made it two steps forward before Wolffe fired at her hip and Anakin arrived to parry the blade. Cody tightened his grip on the trigger. He watched the blaster bolt curve around Barriss, as if guided by unseen hands, only to embed itself into the empty cell behind Fox.

“Stand down, young one.” Anakin said calmly. He parried her blade away with one hand, flexing the wrist joint on his other. “There is a still a chance for this to end without bloodshed.”

Her gaze leapt from Skywalker to Fox, now brandishing the same cuffs he’d used to lead Ahsoka away with all those hours ago, to Gree once more. She studied their faces with a kind of solemn acceptance before shaking her head.

“So be it then.” Anakin replied.

“Barriss Offee, you are under arrest, in the name of the Galactic Republic–” Fox approached slowly.

Wolffe and Rex began to close ranks as well, pressing in to form a veritable barrier of plastoid. Both of them cocked their heads expectantly at Cody. He slid into place beside them, never once moving the muzzle of his blaster away from where it was trained onto Barriss’ spine.

As General Skywalker pressed down on the blade, Cody spotted an orange blur of motion sneaking beyond Rex. Commander Tano. She too held her blade at the ready, rocking back on her heels as though ready to launch herself in Barriss’ direction.

Straightening up under the laden gazes of his brothers, Cody curled his hand into the GAR’s universal handsign for forward. Skywalker grinned, wide and menacing, before raising his saber to come almost directly down onto Barriss’s head.

The fear in her eyes was the last thing Cody remembered before the roaring blood of battle pounded every other thought in his head into sweet, dreamless oblivion. The whine of blaster bolts and the steady hum of light saber powercores drowned out the tears, but Cody doubted he’d ever forget the gutted, empty desperation that clung to Gree.

He came to in a heap, slumped against a wall with pain shooting through his left shoulder. His vision was blurry and his ears rang with alarm klaxons; even still, he would recognize the touch of his general against his forehead anywhere. A fuzzy halo of auburn drifted in and out of focus before he realized that Obi-Wan Kenobi was hovering over him. It was a tired smile that graced his otherwise tense features; not for the first time, Cody was struck by the all-encompassing hope that his general couldn’t bear to lose him either.

“Back with us then, my dear? You gave Anakin and the lads quite a scare, I’m afraid. That was a nasty blow you took, to hear Ahsoka tell it.” Twin oceans glimmered with relief, with mirth, with some unspoken emotion that made Cody fear he would vomit on the spot were it ever to be named. “Myself included, if I’m honest. When we got the message that Anakin had apprehended the true culprit, I about tore the temple apart searching for you. I half feared that one of my brethren snapped you up immediately after I left you.”

Cody’s head throbbed as he tried to crack a returning smile. If anyone asked afterwards, he absolutely did not drool, no matter what the damning wet fringes of Obi-Wan’s sleeves suggested.

“Not going anywhere without you, sir. How else will I get my daily dose of cardiac arrest in?” He snipped back, leaning forward to stand. His vision swam with bright colors; a gentle hand lifted from his forehead (no, Cody absolutely did not whine at the loss) and eased him back against the wall.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. From what I understand, none of you are to be moved until at least one medic approves.” Obi-Wan admonished.

That was… fine, Cody concluded. Just to catch his breath, mind, and then he’d be ready to go again.

Obi-Wan wasn’t moving though. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, as if unsure how to continue. Cody could relate. No part of this would be easy to explain.

Over his shoulder, as Cody’s vision cleared, he could see Rex and Anakin locked in what looked like a tense conversation with Ahsoka. Neither of the men looked pleased; Skywalker’s face was hardened in grief and Rex had fresh tear tracks tracing down the grooves of his face. Beyond them, Gree was debriefing his own general, head bowed as he recounted the encounter. Only Wolffe and Fox seemed unperturbed, flanking the now-occupied cell. A compact figure, clad in torn black robes, curled in the furthest corner.

“General…”

“Cody–”

Their voices blended together beautifully, Cody thought, like they were made to be one. Some distant part of himself was disgusted at his pathetic yearning. Another, much more distant part didn’t care.

Still, his jaw snapped shut and he nodded at Obi-Wan to continue.

“I don’t know how to say this, Cody. I’m a bit at a loss for words, in truth.” He sighed heavily and Cody realized just how world-weary the famed negotiator truly was. “You all did good work here, clearing Ahsoka’s name and getting to the bottom of this mess.”

“Thank you, sir.” He responded, carefully testing the waters. Obi-Wan seemed to pay him little mind. His brow was furrowed; his eyes were fixed on some point just beyond Cody’s sore shoulder.

“The Council is extremely concerned about how easily we were misled. I… I can’t forgive myself for ever doubting Ahsoka’s innocence.” He admitted.

Cody struggled into a more comfortable sitting position, fumbling to grasp his general’s hand – the one that still rested against his chest. He crushed it between his own.

“I’m sure she understands, sir. You were just following orders.” Cody said.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, my dear.” Obi-Wan whispered. He seemed to shake something off before offering another, more watery smile. “As it stands, Ahsoka has decided to leave the Order. Her faith in us has rightfully been shaken and we can’t force her to stay.”

Obi-Wan stood then, stretching his back before turning around to help Cody to his feet. Cody almost reminded him about the pending med exam before he caught the faintest tears glittering, unshed, in the corners of those ocean blue-grey depths.

Oh. That certainly explained his brother’s miserable expression, even as he yanked Ahsoka into a fierce, bone-crushing hug. Anakin patted her on the shoulder once, meeting his old master’s eyes.

Ahsoka stumbled over to embrace Cody’s general next; both Jedi – well, Jedi and civilian now – burst into tears. On instinct, Cody stumbled in front of them, blocking the clean up efforts from their intimate moment.

He was so absorbed in simply remaining upright that Cody didn’t notice at all when Skywalker sidled up next to him, laying a cold, metallic hand on his shoulder. (When had his chest plate been removed? He didn’t remember taking it off.)

“I think I know what you wanted to tell me about Obi-Wan.” Anakin began, his eyebrows knit in concentration.

Cody stiffed, both at his touch and at the gravel that roughened the words, tumbling them out in a half-growl.

“What’s that, sir?” He ventured, careful to keep his eyes facing forward, no matter how much he wanted to turn back around and envelope his still-sobbing general – and little Ahsoka, who he’d seen grow up before his eyes (Is this what Gree felt, now? Force, what a horrible way to go.) – in his arms.

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Despite it having been phrased as a question, the tone of Anakin’s voice implied it very much so was a statement of fact.

“Yes. I do.” Cody allowed, fighting back the urge to swallow hard. He would not blow this. “And I was hoping that you might…”

“Might what?” A genuine question this time; wonder leaked out to color every syllable.

“If you might find it within you to grant your blessing to me, sir, to tell him.” Cody bit the inside of his cheek to avoid throwing up his ration pack from breakfast. In that sense, he was successful. However, there was nothing he could do to prevent the rest of it from tumbling out of him, a stream of word vomit that hung just as offensively between them.

“I could be good to him, sir, keep him out of harm’s way. You know he’ll listen to me when it counts; I got him to wear some armor after all–”

Anakin cut him off him with a shake of his head.

“You asked, Cody, and I can at least appreciate where you’re coming from. But Obi-Wan is the closest thing I have to a father and I just lost Snips… I can’t lose him too, Cody, I just can’t. I know you do so much for him and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong, but… I’m sorry, but my answer is no.”

Cody knew that Skywalker was still talking – some osik about how Anakin hoped this wouldn’t ruin his working relationship with Obi-Wan and that maybe, in another life, it wouldn’t have been so unfeasible – but he’d stopped listening after the first no. Three times now, someone had told him to give it up, but Cody refused to see the pattern. Deep down in his bones, he knew there was a way for him and Obi-Wan to make this work.

He plotted instead, pasting a vacant expression on his face as he nodded along to Skywalker’s babble. His head was swirling with the possibilities even as he hugged Ahsoka goodbye as well, before shaking himself awake again to slip her the general’s private hololink.

Obi-Wan still looked as though he were one moment away from breaking after Ahsoka took her leave. As the medics finally arrived to rush them back to The Temple, Cody feigned an extra bout of dizziness just to throw an arm over him. His general leaned into the warmth, letting out a snuffling sigh, and Cody resolved to press on, even without Skywalker’s blessing.

Quinlan & Bant

One benefit to being confined to temporary bedrest while your council-member general was pulled aside to present the incident report to the Senate, Cody considered, was finally getting to know the jeitise that he grew up with. It also meant that Cody narrowly avoided getting shipped out without Obi-Wan. He hoped that Waxer wouldn’t hold a grudge; Cody refused to go back to Utupau without his general. All that dust and grime and those creepy lizard things without Obi-Wan to motivate him? It sounded miserable in Cody’s book, no thanks.

(And if anyone reported that, when Cody was high off his shebs and the Council had tried to deploy his general without him, he’d clutched Obi-Wan’s wrist so tightly that the plastoid gauntlets – that Cody had painted himself, mind you – cracked a hair and Vokara Che declared that she rather thought not, well, then that was insubordination and Cody was going to make any slanderer run so many laps in retaliation. General or not, he wasn’t feeling particularly picky.)

To his credit, Obi-Wan tried to visit as often as his fellow councilors would permit him. It was rather endearing actually, given the way Cody’s general tended to avoid any and all medics like they could give him the plague. Seeing those anxious blue eyes scan the Halls of Healing until they landed on Cody and brightened was in itself a reward. Cody silently vowed to let Obi-Wan fuss more after battles, if only to see that gentle relief smooth the ever-furrowed line of his brow just for a few moments.

They had a bit of a routine, refined to a fault as they always did. Cody would have physical therapy for his steadily mending shoulder – dislocated, not broken, to his eternal relief – and his general would swoop in just when he was getting overwhelmed. Master Che willingly turned him loose every time, remanding him to Obi-Wan’s side until the war and Jedi business pulled them apart once more. Their ebb and flow controlled the shape of a better part of Cody’s week.

In the absence of his general’s bright, elfin smile, Cody occupied himself with becoming better acquainted with one Quinlan Vos, the Halls of Healing’s sole other long-term patient. He recalled the apprehension his general shared the last time they worked with the man; Cody’s main sticking point was that Vos had a habit of bringing out the more competitive streak in his general – who would often forget Cody couldn’t do his fancy Force osik to keep up.

(Well, after the first night, Cody wasn’t sure if General Vos counted. He couldn’t sleep in the oppressive silence of the Temple, missing the incessant noise of The Negotiator, and almost definitely spotted Vos climbing out of a window. What General Che didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, he supposed. It wasn’t like General Vos was his business.)

The man was fun to play Sabacc with, though – a fact that Cody would ardently deny until the day he marched on.

On the fifth day of Cody’s confinement, Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to come see him at all and Cody was bored enough to admit he’d take just about anyone’s company over his own thoughts. Somehow, he didn’t think that the pulse monitor on his chest would appreciate his wistful pining.

He’d already crumpled the styrofoam cups from his breakfast tray and attempted to shoot them into the wastebin by the door, build a house from tongue depressors, and completed his outstanding paperwork from the past four and a half campaigns. This included the requisition forms that Waxer was actively working on – including one requesting a therapy tooka for every soldier who had made it through one campaign with. Cody took great pleasure in trashing that one immediately, even before the digital signature was done; he’d gotten a very angry holocall from his second for that. Cody prided himself on being as much of a spoilsport as possible if he couldn’t be hands-on.

Safe to say, Cody was out of ideas and the only other living creature was General Vos, who’d been throwing his ‘saber to the ceiling and catching it. There were several holes burnt into the stone. He took a deep breath before craning his neck in desperation, straining his body against the I.V. and heart monitor for any sight of his beyond-fashionably late general.

The hallway remained stubbornly empty. His head thumped back against the pillow with a loud thunk.

“Oh yeah, keep looking. I’m sure your boyfriend will turn up.” General Vos’s voice was gritty and mocking, heavy from disuse. He did not look away from the lightsaber tossing. “He’s good at making people wait.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?” Cody hadn’t meant for it to come out that bitter, but Master Che also banned caf from her medbay. He ran on at least five cups, on average, and zero was doing little by way of improving his boredom. Cody did, however, have a presumably now icy mug of herbal tea; it was a recommendation of Obi-Wan’s, allegedly, but Cody had his doubts about that. He’d seen his jetii run almost entirely on caf, painkillers, and sheer force of will too many times to ever buy into the leaf water propaganda.

He heard the crackle of paper coverings as General Vos turned to face him. There was so little mirth on the kiffar’s face that Cody almost didn’t recognize the man, face especially bare without his signature smirk. It was only after his mind caught up to him that Cody realized the gravity of both what he had implied and inappropriate level of snark he had answered with.

“Oh, so it is true. Damn, Bant was so convinced that it didn’t sound like him at all.” General Vos mused. Cody felt the weight of Vos’s amber gaze as it sliced straight into the core of him. Whatever he found there, it seemed to be to the general’s liking because he nodded approvingly before his classic grin emerged from behind the dark clouds and brightened his whole composure.

“He’s cute when he’s flustered, isn’t he?”

Cody could handle this. He’d been interrogated far too many times during this war, often alongside Obi-Wan, and likely would be many more times before all was said and done. He was a marshall fucking commander, trained by Prime and Alpha-17 to be a bastion of stoicism, Force damnit, and he was not about to crack under the weight of one off-handed comment.

“Huh?” It was not a whimper, no sir, not from Cody. He managed to catch the undignified yelp in his throat before it fully materialized, but the damage had already been done. To make matters worse, when he tried to stumble to his feet, the room spun and his legs remained stubbornly frozen to the bed. Nailed it.

Why was it so hot in here all of a sudden?

“Oh, this is even better. I mean, look ‘atcha, man. You’re the same color as Foxy’s armor.” General Vos leveled his pointer finger in Cody’s direction. “He has no fucking idea, does he?”

Manda, did he die from his concussion? Was this the sithspitting hell that the jetiise kept swearing by?

Before Cody could react to or even comprehend what was happening, General Vos swung his body off the too-small medical bed and approached; his smile was devil-bright and far too wide. He unceremoniously shoved Cody’s legs aside before settling himself at the foot of the cot.

Cody grunted in protest, moving his body to put as much distance between them as the twin mattress would allow. It was, in fact, not nearly enough to return his faculties to him. Later, reflecting on this moment, he would blame his own stuttering train of thought for getting him roped into this conversation.

Vos, for his part, (because Cody couldn’t bear to think of him as a superior, not if they were truly discussing his inappropriate crush on his general) merely crossed his legs over one another and propped his chin up on his fists.

“So?” He prompted. “Spill the deets.”

“Sir,” Cody tried. He trained his eyes on the wall just beyond Vos’s head, drinking in the empty hallway in vain, begging for someone, anyone to interrupt.“I can’t do that. For so many reasons, I can’t do that.”

Vos leaned back and stretched, cracking his neck as he did so. Behind him, a flurry of brown robes spilled from the hallway leading towards the council chambers. Cody could see his general among them; he strained to catch Obi-Wan’s attention before he noticed the tension in the man’s shoulders. Something was wrong.

“Sir, this isn’t really the time; General Kenobi needs–”

“You’re avoiding the subject, Commander. Man, you two are more alike than I thought.” Vos trilled in return. “To be honest, I was afraid you were boring; you didn’t exactly do much on Nal Hutta to dispute that.”

Cody fought every molecule of his being to avoid shooting something scathing back. Nal Hutta had left his general irritated for weeks afterwards. He set his jaw and pointedly looked away.

With the tide of masters came Master Che; she peered into their shared wing, nodding in approval as she observed her patients. Yet she lingered only for a moment, unable to catch Cody’s pleading before she too disappeared in a blur of woolen fabric.

“C’mon, Commander,” Vos wheedled, “You can tell your good pal Quinlan. I mean, Foxy and I have been spending a lot of time together lately; we’re practically family!”

Distantly, Cody acknowledged that Quinlan Vos was quite possibly the only person in the galaxy that could make a passing acquaintance sound like a sordid affair. He also noticed the bait. A very big part of him – the oft-tamped down younger brother instinct – wanted desperately for Vos to spill everything he knew about Fox. The other, marshall commander part of himself knew that Vos would never part with anything embarrassing without an exchange of intel.

It was very tempting though, he had to admit. In Cody’s caf-and-general-deprived brain, it was just tempting enough for him to offer —

“Play me for it then, if you’re so certain you want to know.” Cody retorted, gesturing to the pack of playing cards Obi-Wan had dropped off on his first day in the healing wing. “Loser has to spill – me about the general and you about my brother.”

Vos arched an eyebrow in reply. “Is that it? I play Sabacc with you and then you tell me what exactly you find irresistible about Obi?”

Obi? Cody forced himself to nod before he could reconsider.

“Exactly. I think that’s a fair trade, for what you’re asking me to do.” He couldn’t, however, keep the deadpan humor from his tone. “One game for my chance to get decommed.”

Vos’s eyes seemed to glow with excitement as he held out a hand towards the card deck. It smacked into his palm a half-second later and then Vos began to shuffle.

“You’re on, Commander.”

Cody bit back a smirk. Obi-Wan taught him Sabacc – he knew all the dirty Force tricks that the Jedi pulled to win these games. After a few rotas of practice against his general and Skywalker, Cody was fairly certain he could win against most of the jetiise.

Surely Vos would be no different.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Vos was, in fact, very different. The man was almost impossible to beat. Staring at his cards, who very stubbornly continued to add to a meager 15, Cody felt the prickle of dread inching its way down his spine. He felt a dreadful certainty wash over him, a tidal wave of horror that made the ending of their game stretch out in front of him as if trapped in a gravity generator’s highest setting.

At the other end of the bed, Vos continued to arrange his hand, seemingly unaware of his opponent’s distress. An idle datapad rested between them; its gentle glow taunted Cody with a blank notes page – ready and willing to swallow down his heart’s deepest desire.

(Midgame, Cody’s nerves returned with a vengeance. He feared the inevitable tightening of his throat; already, his blacks felt way too tight where they rested against his neck. Graciously, Vos had agreed to alter the terms of their agreement, permitting Cody to transcribe his secret instead. It did little to lessen the tremors in his hands.)

Still, when Cody could bring himself to temporarily forget the circumstances, he had to admit that he was learning a lot about his general.

“Did Obi tell you about his last relationship fiasco?” Vos had casually volunteered, pulling from their deck in a swooping flourish.

“Should he have?” Cody just barely managed to curb the nascent jealousy that curled in the pit of his stomach.

Vos shrugged in reply. “I thought you would have already known, man, sorry. You met her after all.”

Oh. Oh.

That certainly explained a few… Cody stiffened. His tongue hung heavy in his mouth but he still forced himself to speak. “You mean…? On Mandalore?”

“Yeah, he loved her a lot. Had since we were kids. It was hard enough to put him back together the first time she rejected him.” The unspoken this time hung between them like a poisonous cloud, clogging Cody’s lungs. He was trained to find and exterminate threats – what else could this be, if not a conversational one?

In what Cody would later come to call a shocking display of emotional intelligence, Vos had the decency to look mollified. His words, though, Cody could have done without. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you off necessarily. I just wanted to let you know that I am not trying to coach him through another loss. You catch my drift?”

Lies. Without even taking in nuances of tone, Cody could tell that Vos very much did not want him involved with Obi-Wan at all. Sometimes he really hated Seventeen’s instance that every graduate of ARC Trooper training learn how to read vocal cues. It only brought him strife. Was every being in the galaxy determined to tell Cody in no uncertain terms that his crush was folly?

“I read you, sir.” He grunted, laying his cards face up on the bed between them. “I’m calling it. You win, though I’m not sure your prize really matters. Seems like you’ve got me all figured out already.”

Vos didn’t deny the allegation. He merely arched an eyebrow in anticipation.

“I get it, okay. You, General Skywalker, my vod’ika – you all think it’s a bad idea. You can stop whatever plan you’re executing to talk me out of it. I love him; I’m not going to try and pull him away from his path.” Cody felt a year and a half’s worth of anger flood out of him. He could love selflessly, damnit; he wasn’t going to burn his general just to feel his warmth for a bit. His hands may have been hewn for violence but Obi-Wan had taught him that he could be gentle.

Sabaac forgotten, Cody sighed. He clenched a fist at his side, bunching up the blanket he’d long since cast aside in a desperate attempt at self-soothing.

Vos seemed momentarily dumbstruck, expression too vacant, as he were recalculating with every new bit of information that Cody volunteered. He recovered far too quickly though.

“I’m glad you feel that way, Commander.” Vos said.

“Sorry for the delay, Cody.” Obi-Wan’s gentle, Coruscanti lilt echoed through the halls. He stood in the doorway, chest heaving like the protagonists in Wooley’s illicit romance novel.

Vos rose from the bed to meet Cody’s general halfway. “Obes! You don’t look so good.”

They embraced, with Vos tucking Obi-Wan’s head into his shoulder. Cody felt the strained blanket fibers as they shredded in his hand; the momentum of the effort begged him into motion. He crossed the room in short, measured strides, ending at Obi-Wan’s side. Vos cooed something unintelligible before petting the man’s hair.

“General, there you are.” Cody wanted to scream. He was supposed to be the one providing comfort, not Vos.

Obi-Wan struggled to right himself, gently disentangling himself from his fellow Jedi. He offered a shy, strained smile to Cody. “Hello, my dear. Keeping well, I hope? Or has Quin been harassing you while you’ve been trying to recover?”

Vos let out a squawk of indignation at that. “I am wounded and gutted, Obes. I wouldn’t dream of harassing anyone, much less my extremely handsome best friend’s dashing right hand. I’m returning your commander in one piece.” His eyebrows waggled meaningfully.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at that, finally settling in at Cody’s side. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he took in the implication that haunted Vos’s words.

“Honestly Quinlan, leave it to you of all people to find vulgar ways to color even the most professional relationships.” He admonished. His tone was stilted and uneven, as if Obi-Wan had spent many hours shouting. Or as if he were injured and suppressing the hurt for something he considered to be ‘the greater good.’

Cody’s general was frustrating that way. The absolute dinii of a man once tried to hide a punctured lung from Cody and their medics because he thought that securing the ruins of their outpost was more important to the Republic.

“Sure, babes, keep telling yourself that.” Vos glared at Cody as he enunciated the words. “But I get it, I’ll let you two get back to running the war or whatever it is you do together.” He squeezed Cody’s general’s arm before shouldering his way between them and stalking towards the exit.

Cody’s hand twitched to lace their fingers. Vos halted his departure to stare; his gaze flicked to the motion at the same time; he made an aborted GAR hand sign: stand down. He waited for Cody to acknowledge the order – with a slight, submissive dip of his head, no less – before truly granting them space.

Swallowing hard, Cody settled for a visual pat down of his general, paying special attention where his rumpled white robes crisscrossed for any sign of blood or leaking infection. Nothing appeared to be leaking.

“Sir, are you alright?” Cody breathed out at last; panic seized its way up his spine as he frantically tried to locate the source of his general’s malaise. “You look…”

“Oh, positively wretched, I expect.” Obi-Wan agreed, his shoulders sagging. “Today was particularly draining and I’m afraid I had to miss our date today.”

“I was going to say exhausted.” Cody chided. He valiantly tried to ignore the embers in his stomach that flickered to life at Obi-Wan’s choice of wording; he knew better by now than to assume. “It comes from a place of concern, sir. You’re spreading yourself too thin.”

Cody’s general let his shoulders sag. His forehead wrinkles were out in full force; they emphasized the crow’s feet cracking at the corner of his eyes, the subtle strands of white that streaked from his temples. Obi-Wan waved a hand towards the door access panel, guiding it closed. When he finally met Cody’s gaze again, his jaw was set and there was a preempting sorrow that flickered in his eyes.

“Cody, dear, would you mind taking a seat?” Obi-Wan was firm as he touched Cody’s shoulder. His warm, pale hand guided Cody to sit back on bed. Obi-Wan sat next to him, wringing his hands in his lap.

“Did… did I do something wrong, sir?” Cody felt his throat click from the effort. He tried to replay in his head their last few conversations.

“No, Force, Cody, absolutely not.” Obi-Wan rushed to reassure him. “It’s just that, well…”

“Sir, please, just tell me.” He pleaded.

“The Chancellor was a sith lord, Cody. A party – including two of your brothers, Anakin, and Ahsoka – stole into his office this afternoon and there was a.. confrontation.”

“Was? Does that mean…?” Cody asked. He didn’t trust himself to ask who was there. With their luck lately, it would be Rex and he was dead now and Cody would have to eat his blaster just to march on with him.

“Yes, I fear we missed the party, as it were. Fives was very insistent that we ought to be quicker next time.” Obi-Wan’s smile ghosted across his face before his expression returned to its pinched, anxious state. “Of course, there is another part to this. The reason I had to miss our walk today is because Anakin, Ahsoka, and Fives brought to the council’s attention that there are chips in your heads.”

Cody couldn’t hold back the snort that erupted from him. “Sir, you’re going to have to be more specific. The kaminiise put gods-know-how-many in our heads. I’ve got one to tamper aggression, one to reduce exhaustion, one to stimulate neuron growth —”

“You knew?” Obi-Wan sounded hollow and gutted. Unspilled tears made his blue eyes appear glassy – welling and ebbing like the surface of Kamino.

“Of course.” Cody tried to set him at ease. It was a bit of a shock, to be sure, that none of the Jedi seemed to understand the sheer amount of engineering when it came to their troops – Cody and his brothers were, after all, made specifically and individually for their corresponding generals. However, it shouldn’t be this crushing. (It was likely due to some sort of inherent respect for individuality or some other osik. Jetiise were funny like that.)

Obi-Wan rose from the bed and brought a hand to cover his mouth, muffling his next words. His other hand shot across his body, as if to hug himself, resting where Cody knew his lightsaber hung.

“You knew that you and your brothers were going to kill us?”

The syllables echoed in Cody’s ears like alarm klaxons. He tried to stand, to follow after his retreating general before thinking better of it.

“I… No, general, Obi-Wan – I couldn’t, we would never –” His mouth tripped over the words in his rush to enunciate them all at once. Finding his footing, he lunged to grab (inappropriately, his hindbrain added) at Obi-Wan’s robe, to anchor them together.

Obi-Wan flinched. Cody felt his heart crack.

“I’m sorry, boss, please.” He croaked out. “No, I didn’t know. You said that Fives and General Skywalker found them?”

“Mostly Fives,” Obi-Wan admitted. “From what Commander Fox was saying, it sounds as though Anakin was simply along for the ride once he learned Ahsoka was involved.”

Well, that certainly explained some things. Cody absentmindedly scrubbed at his temple.

“What exactly is on the chip and when can it be removed?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They ended up on Coruscant for another week and a half while Cody recovered from brain surgery. This time, though, Cody at least had several of his brothers for company as the Jedi steadily called their battalions back from the frontlines. In fact, he’d ended up sharing a room in the temple with Fox (now sporting what he claimed to be a more dashing scar than Cody’s ever had been that bisected his face) and Fives (who spent most of his time telling anyone who would listen about his brand new, kick ass prosthetic arm).

On the bright side, Obi-Wan stayed with him throughout recovery this time. If Master Che was to be believed, Cody’s general had even stayed for the removal process, after he’d gone under. Cody’s grip on his hand prevented Obi-Wan’s departure until well after he woke up.

They’d managed to dodge their duties for eight glorious days before the Curiosity broke atmo above the Temple, hailing their beloved general and commander for evac back to the Negotiator. The Council had responded kinder than usual, asking if Cody and his general would mind terribly shipping out again and tracking down Grievous, dispatching him quietly so the new chancellor could be elected, please and thank you? Oh, and would they also be so kind as to de-chip the rest of the 212th, please, before coming home? Cody had never wanted to kiss High General Mace Windu before. He hoped it was a one-time thing, borne from his sheer relief. Ponds would almost certainly haunt him forever if it weren’t.

General Vos caught his arm after Cody had reassembled himself into The Commander. It was a fervent, frenzied gesture; shock forced Cody to freeze in place.

“What can I do for you, General?”

Vos looked like a wreck – his eye bags had smaller bags of their own, his clothes rumpled and slightly damp, as if he’d slept in them and woken up soaked. Perhaps, given the haze that colored Cody’s recollection of the past few days, he had. Force only knew how much rebuilding the Jedi had to do while their troopers were laid up for a few days. Still though, he managed to hold Cody’s gaze with some degree of intensity.

“Right back to it then, is it? Are you going to at least consider what I said?” Vos said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. We have our orders; I’ll do my job the same way I always have.” Cody tried to sidestep the man. Vos moved with him.

“I don’t think you understand, man.” Vos tried again, crossing his arms over his chest. He tried to maneuver himself so that he met Cody’s eyes head on, even through his bucket. “Obes is a bit of a slut — more power to him — and we’re just worried you’ll get hurt.

Get hurt? Cody mouthed to himself, disbelief sharpening each syllable. Part of him bristled to hear his general described in such a crass way, even though he knew it was true and, frankly, a bit of an understatement. Cody’s general preferred to talk first and shoot later, with his first resort generally being to befuddle his opponent with charm and sweet talk. Most times, Cody watched “negotiations” with an uncomfortably heated blush and a general sense of latent, skin-prickling arousal. The more rational part of himself caught on Vos’s wording.

“Who’s we, exactly?” He allowed at last, taking the bait.

A Mon Cala woman stepped out from behind General Vos. She looked bored and slightly unimpressed; Cody vaguely recognized her as one of the healers who had been steadily de-chipping his brothers as they rolled in.

“I warned you, Quin,” she scoffed. “You can’t go around threatening people like that. It’s bad manners.”

That was meant to be a threat? Force, and Rex said Cody was bad in social situations. The idea that he would get hurt from something he’d already born witness to was laughable, but Cody was careful to keep his stifled cackle low enough so his vocoder wouldn’t pick it up. “Is that all, sir?”

Clearly not. Quinlan threw his hands up and shot a look in the direction of his mediator. The woman sighed.

“Hi there, you must be Commander Cody. Obi-Wan talks a lot about you. I’m Bant, Bant Eerin. Quin, Obi, and I grew up together.” Her smile was friendly enough.

“That’s correct, sir. I’ve served most of the war at General Kenobi’s side.” It was hard to resist the urge to puff out his chest with pride, even if just a tiny bit. He would forever be proud of the work they’d done together.

She shook her head slowly, as if disappointed it had come to this. “What Quin is trying to say, Commander, is that Obi-Wan — though Force knows we love him — seems to attract trouble. He seems to have a pathological desire to show as much of himself off as possible and it doesn’t always end well for his… friends.”

Was that all? Cody knew about Kenobi’s tendency to lose his cloaks and outer robes already; he had, in fact, been the one to sign off on the requests for replacements until fairly recently. Sure, there had been some particularly lecherous Seppies or politicians that had commented on it, but never in front of Cody or, gods forbid, Obi-Wan himself.

Besides, Cody didn’t care what Obi-Wan wore. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was of the opinion that the man looked good in anything, as long as he was smiling in Cody’s direction. Even if it did come to matter, later on, Cody could fight. It would be fine.

He steeled himself to tell the jetiise as much.

“Look, generals, I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but –” He began.

“Cody? Come on, my dear. Oddball is being rather insistent that he’ll leave us behind if we don’t hurry up.” Obi-Wan’s voice punctured through his defenses. He stood at the landing platform just beyond Bant and Vos.

“I’m sorry.” Cody apologized, not meaning it in the slightest. “I have to go. It’s against regulations to keep my general waiting.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and marched off to join his jetii.

Ahsoka

The 212th did not return to Coruscant for another two months, as it turned out. General Grievous, somehow, managed to hide deep within the Outer Rim – in a holdfast carved into a quarry on Serenno, no less; Cody and his men didn’t manage to flush him out until three days before the inauguration of Chancellor Organa. Though they hadn’t lost anyone in the capture, Cody was pretty sure most of their Ghosts would be nursing wounds and bruises for the foreseeable future.

It was, in Cody’s opinion, definitely worth it to see the way General Kenobi – or just Obi-Wan, as he’d told the men to call him lately – sagged forward in relief as the Council and the Senate alike pronounced the end of the war. (And if, in the moment, Cody relished being able to place a discreet, grounding hand on his jetii’s back, there was little anyone could do to stop him now that the GAR was on its way to being formally disbanded.)

“Shall we go home, then?” Cody’s general had asked, a genuine twinkle in his blue-grey eyes.

There wasn’t a man aboard the Negotiator who wanted to contradict him.

And so, for the first time during this wretched war, Cody was able to give an order that thrilled him down to his core: “You heard the man. Get us the fuck out of here.”

Going home free felt good, he realized. It painted Obi-Wan’s typically pinched expression with gentle pinks and red; it cast a languid sort of calm across his brothers’ too-tense shadows, easing the regulation-tight rotas and beckoning Cody and his men to relax. They’d earned this peace, hard-won with blood, sweat, and tears.

In the absence of mission reports, council meetings, and near-endless flimsiwork, Cody found he suddenly had far more time to focus on Wolffe’s daily political digest. He took to reading it over his morning caf, catching up on almost two years of debate about the GAR, its soldiers, and the duties of the Republic in welcoming them as full citizens. Wolffe had dutifully catalogued every debate, every vote, every inkling of denial from the start of the war. (Where had he found the time to do this? Surely General Koon had been just as busy as Cody’s general; they were both council members, for Force’s sake.)

It was during one of these spirals that Cody noticed the invitation. Obi-Wan had encouraged him to take it easy that morning; they were, after all, due to arrive on Coruscant in two hours. (Actually, his exact words had been “Take a moment to preen, Commander. One of us ought to be radiant for the masses and I, for one, would much rather see your handsome face on the billboards than my own” but Cody was still vehemently refusing to address that comment.)

It was a subtle, unadorned e-mail, sent from an unfamiliar address, and the subject line read simply “to my dear friends.” The unblinking blue unread dot next to the header unhelpfully reminded Cody that it had been sent three weeks ago. Swallowing his mounting panic, Cody opened the message.

From: <[email protected]>

TO: OWK; ALS; YD; QLV; read more…

CC: CC-2224; CC-1138; CC-5052; read more…

RE: To my dear friends

I apologize for the rush job of getting these invites out; believe me, our prior mutual acquaintance left behind a slightly larger volume of problems than the average politician… but I digress. I wanted to formally request your presence for the upcoming inauguration ceremony. To be clear, this includes all recipients of this message – yes, even you, Commander.

Best,

Bail Prestor Organa

Senior Senator

Alderaan

Cody felt his mouth go dry. Oh no. There was a calendar invite attached, helpfully prompting Cody to set an alarm for the inauguration in about two hours. He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. They did not have enough caf on the ship – scratch that, in the entire galaxy – for Cody to feel remotely ready for such an occasion. And Obi-Wan, the bastard, had to have known; there was no other reason he’d have sent Cody away, not this close to landing.

He downed the dregs of his fourth mug of caf and cast a baleful look towards the stubbornly half-empty carafe.

Son of a bitch, would he have to wear his dress greys?!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As it turned out, the answer was a resounding no. Cody received no notice whatsoever to change out of his armor, even after he’d reunited with Obi-Wan to make their descent to the waiting platform below them. His former general had changed into a nicer set of robes (lacking the blaster bolt holes and scorched edges that Cody had come to know like the back of his hand), trimmed his beard to neatly hug his face once more, and slicked back his hair ever so slightly. His trademark errant lock still swept across his forehead, stubbornly refusing to join its brethren. Cody wanted to smooth it back himself.

“Is all that for Senator Organa’s inauguration?” He coughed out instead, suddenly self-conscious of his battle-scuffed kit.

Obi-Wan, his dear jetii, merely shrugged. “It didn’t feel appropriate to greet the new chancellor in my field robes, I must admit. Besides, I doubt anyone will be looking at me, not truly.”

Cody would be. Cody always was. He still wasn’t sure he counted as much of anyone just yet though. This line of thinking proved to be his downfall.

Obi-Wan stepped into his space suddenly, bringing a thumb up to brush over his cheekbones, edging over the curling tail of his scar. Twin blue pinpricks squinted up at him as Obi-Wan seemed to appraise his very being.

“That’s much better.” He murmured, half to himself. “Now if only we could just…”

That cursed warm contact ignited into a supernova in Cody’s blood. He felt a hand card into the slightly shaggier curls atop his head, mussing them every so slightly so that a few broke free to frame his forehead. Cody knew his cheeks were scarlet and his knees were trembling; he simultaneously loathed and adored the scrutiny.

“Sir?” He grunted out, fighting the urge to encompass his former general’s hand within his own and never let go.

“Oh hush, Cody. A bit of care never hurt anyone.” His Jedi chided. He pulled back after a moment more, properly dragging the pad of his thumb down the rest of Cody’s face. The line of contact broke just as Obi-Wan crested the ridge of his jaw; the barest whisper of touch ghosted just beneath his ear.

Cody was absolutely certain that everyone in the hangar heard the sharp inhale that the gesture punched out of him.

“Obi-Wan,” he started, unsure of where he was going.

“Cody.” Obi-Wan returned, tucking his fucking torturous hands back into his sleeves.

“Can we, I mean, after the ceremony…” He stumbled over the words too long. The landing platform lowered and outside, in the bright rays of day, Cody could see hundreds of Jedi and troopers alike waiting for their famed Negotiator.

Obi-Wan plastered on a serene smile that never quite reached his eyes. Faking it like the best of them, Cody’s mind supplied. When the people gathered below caught sight of him, they cheered in a roar that deafened even the loudest DC.

“Did you know, Cody, I rather think you look better without that helmet on all the time.” Obi-Wan offered, as if he had not set Cody’s heart aflame and his blood boiling.

“Duly noted, sir.” He managed to stammer out, just before their men surged forth behind them, raising their commanding officers onto their shoulders as they passed. Cody caught a glimpse of Obi-Wan with his head thrown back with genuine, heartfelt laughter.

You look better when you’re happy, he thought to himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As far as swearing-ins went, Cody assumed, Senator Organa’s was hardly typical. He didn’t have a frame of reference per say; the prior Chancellor, the Sith Lord, the Doom of the Republic, had already been installed by the time Cody and his brothers had been aware enough of galactic politics to care. However, judging by the sobbing citizens craning their necks for a glimpse of now-Chancellor Organa and the lack of comments about the troopers speckled about in their midst, this was a monumental occasion for natborns.

He tried to pay attention – the Chancellor was in the middle of his acceptance speech, spouting something about the demilitarization of the Republic, which was osik unless it also included backpay for the GAR – but couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Part of him hoped it was Obi-Wan, beckoning him forth like a beacon, but that couldn’t be the case. The Jedi Council sat on the stage with the politicians, their spouses, and hundreds of other presumably important figures that had been running the war from behind their cushy desks and never needed to hold a brother’s organs back in or spend hours a night chanting the remembrances. They couldn’t know–

Cody wasn’t aware of how harsh the sound of his teeth grinding against one another was until the throngs of people surrounding him began to hiss at him to shut up. Stammering out an apology, he took a few steps backwards. There may as well have been a writhing wall of solid flesh behind him; the crowd provided no give.

K’atini, Kote! His inner voice sounded suspiciously like Seventeen. He took deep, shuddering breaths – wrinkling his nose at the stench of sweat, of people, of gods-only-knew what that made up Coruscant’s signature scent – and found himself tapping out a message in the 212th’s adapted code against the plastoid of his thigh: S.O.S.

It was a self-soothing ritual that summoned the dregs of his focus, meaning that he barely noticed the first time the robed woman touched his upper arm.

He did, however, snap to attention when she started to call his name.

“Cody? Cody! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.” The voice teased, as a lithe, orange arm hooked its way around Cody’s and interrupted his silent plea for help.

Startling back into his skin, Cody wrestled down the urge to lay the stranger out first and ask questions later. He chanced a look down at the shorter figure, registered the sparkling blue eyes, the even bluer twitching lekku peaking out of the hood and felt the adrenaline melt away.

“Commander Tano.” Cody unclenched his jaw. “I apologize, I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s just Ahsoka now, Cody. I’m no one’s commander. And now, I take it,” she said, gesturing to the stage, “neither are you.”

Chancellor Organa had finished his speech and was bowing to the crowd. A twi’lek senator stood and proclaimed the end of the Clone Wars and the quiet death of the Grand Army of the Republic. Applause erupted around them, in this square packed with thousands of people, but Cody felt more alone than the day he’d been decanted.

“Yeah. It, uh, certainly seems like it.” Cody felt his throat constrict and his chest tighten. On autopilot, he felt his body slip into an aborted parade rest; it was only Ahsoka’s arm still threaded through his own that prevented him from completing the mission.

“You don’t sound happy about it. Want to talk about it?” Ahsoka’s face was soft with understanding, with sympathy, with — Cody hoped it wasn’t pity.

No, he did not want to talk about it. He wanted to flee the scene, to hide in his barracks room from the rest of the world until his role in it made sense again. He wanted to be up there with Obi-Wan, squeezing his hand to soothe the pounding sensation that echoed in his skull. The most traitorous part of himself wished they had never found Grievous and lived indefinitely in the limbo of pursuit. Cody wasn’t ready for peace, no matter how much he wanted to wrap it up and gift it to Obi-Wan.

“I think so,” is what he actually said, wincing at the hollow, wrecked gravel of his own voice.

Ahsoka nodded sagely, as if she were prepared for exactly this outcome. The gesture – down to the slight incline of her chin – tugged at his heart strings. It was like watching a younger version of his jetii, one unburdened by the reality of conflict, conquest, and loss. “Here, come with me. I have a quieter place we can talk.”

Using their still-interlocked arms, she tugged Cody into motion, threading them through the crowds with a practiced poise. He went willingly, only pausing once to chance a look back at the stage. At some point during the chaos, the Jedi had risen to take their leave, escorted by the unmasked Coruscant guard. He’d tensed at first, momentarily consumed by the desire to shoulder his way up front and regain his traditional role in Obi-Wan’s shadow, before a gentle nudge from Ahsoka maneuvered them into a quieter stretch of shops and well beyond the line of sight for the Jedi.

The air felt lighter here, but whether that was due to the absence of recycled air passing through hundreds of sets of lungs or the sparse smattering of plants that lined window boxes, Cody couldn’t say for sure. He did, however, start to recognize some of the signs.

When they turned the final corner and stood in front of a familiar red-and-white striped awning, Cody hissed out a sigh of relief. Dexter’s Diner blazed cheerfully overhead, complete with a winking cartoon Besalisk.

Ahsoka released his arm, settling her hands on her hips to face him. “I don’t even know why I’m asking this, since I know Master Obi-Wan, but has he introduced you to Dex before?”

“We may have met once or twice.” Cody acknowledged, holding open the door for her to enter through.

She smiled at him before giving a mock bow and sweeping into the diner. It made for an awe-inspiring entrance, Cody admitted, with her practiced dancer’s grace guiding her movements. The effect here, though, was altogether ruined by the sudden appearance of Dex and his crushing embrace. Ahsoka disappeared underneath two sets of muscled limbs until only the tips of her montrals stuck out.

“Little ‘soka!” Dex greeted, his excitement catching in his throat as a warm, chocolatey rasp. “I was wondering when you’d grace us with your presence again. Still on for next Benduday?”

Giggling despite her feigned struggle to escape her family friend’s embrace, Ahsoka managed to remain almost frightfully composed. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends on the clientele that day. Are they going to boo during my set again?”

“Nah, they wouldn’t dare. Too afraid your captain and little Ani would come after them, to tell the truth.” He waved dismissively, pausing as if to consider the situation. Dex seemed to settle on a follow up before he spotted Cody lurking uncomfortably in the doorway. His entire being lit up in recognition. “Commander! I was beginning to think Obi-Wan was never bringing you here again. You know you can come without him, the bastard, yes?”

Cody stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind him with a merry tinkle of bells, and he waved. “Mr. Jettster, sir, good to see you again.”

“Please, call me Dex. Come in, come in; take a load off.” Dex busied himself with collecting menus, rolls of silverware, before ushering them to an empty booth beneath a wall-length window. “I had hoped to see this family back together again, but the two of you are better than nothing at all.”

Ahsoka slid into the left side of the booth, shucking her cloak and bracing her elbows against the table. Cody followed suit on the right, setting his bucket on the far end of the table. As he did so, an effeminate droid clad in a purple and red apron sprang to life, shambling on gangly legs to their booth.

“Can I get you two anything specific?” Dex asked, shooing the droid away. “We’re running a special today for the Chancellor – ‘s the Organa burger with bantha cheese and wild Felucian mushrooms.”

Cody glanced over the menu, reading but not truly comprehending any of it. His hand trembled as he went to flip the laminated flimsi sheet. Blessedly, Ahsoka seemed preternaturally attuned to his steadily mounting panic.

“Just caf for now, thanks. We just needed a moment to catch our breath away from the crowd.” She cut in, effortlessly diffusing the moment.

Dex nodded in agreement before disappearing behind the kitchen’s swinging double doors, leaving them in silence. Cody studied the surface of the table – with its vast, metallic expanse separating the two of them – tracing a vague pattern of swirls and angles into the clinging dampness from where someone had wiped their table down after the last patron.

“So?” Ahsoka prompted, startling him from his thoughts. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“It’s really nothing serious,” Cody protested. “You really didn’t have to do all this. I’ve made it this far without an issue.”

Her wide blue eyes narrowed and pinned him down with what bordered on disappointment. “Are you really lying to me, Cody?”

He jerked back, feeling his spine hit the gently padded cushions lining the booth; it lit up his nerves with faint alarm klaxons, threatening to send him spiraling. “Lying about what?”

There was a pause; Ahsoka sighed heavily before flattening her hands against the table, clearly displaying her lack of weapon. Not a threat, Cody’s brain hissed at him. Stand down.

“Okay,” He breathed out. “Yeah, okay, I get it. You gotta swear to me, on the Ka’ra, the Force, whatever – just… swear you won’t breathe a word of this to Obi-Wan.” His breath hitched on the last words, pitching up into a whine. Even as the syllables ricocheted out of his throat, he cursed how needy, how unsteady they made him sound.

“Oh Cody,” Ahsoka sounded pained. “I can’t promise you that. If you’re in danger, he’s the best person to tell. You know he’d do anything for you, if you asked.”

Yes, in fact, Cody did know that. He happened to think that Ahsoka was putting it lightly at best. His jetii was the single biggest self-sacrificing di’kut Cody had ever met. Any sort of distress from a sentient in his line of sight, at least during the war, was a recipe for an incapacitated Obi-Wan for the remainder of their campaign. He also knew that there was no bigger people pleaser in the Order than Obi-Wan Kenobi. The absolute last thing he wanted was for Obi-Wan to sacrifice himself for Cody’s crush – or worse, to see him feign reciprocation for fear of hurting Cody and chasing him away.

“Yeah, he would.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded wrecked – its resonance hollow and the tone downright funerary. “It’s hard… it’s hard to not love him for it.” There it was, laid plain between them. After almost two years of denial, Cody couldn’t deny that it felt good to finally speak the words aloud.

Ahsoka merely nodded in response, cocking an eyebrow. “And how long have you felt like this?”

He clutched his face in his hands. “That’s the problem. I feel like I’ve always loved him. And, honestly, I might as well have. My entire life – beginning and end – was designed in a lab to revolve around him.”

Cody didn’t dare raise his head to face the music. Instead, he kept his gaze stubbornly fixed to the ground. Even when Dex delivered two steaming, fragrant mugs of caf to their table, he did not return his gaze to Ahsoka’s.

“Cody,” She broke the silence at last, laying a hand over his forearm. “I don’t say this lightly and I don’t want you to think I mean it out of malice. Can you look at me?”

He nodded. A jetii – even a former cadet like Ahsoka – was asking, so Cody would. It was the only thing that still made sense, even now. He peeled his now-sweat slicked gloves from where they’d rested protectively over his eyes. She was all business, expression laden with nearly infinite compassion. Even still, his eyes prickled with unshed tears.

“I think you could do better, Cody. You’ve never had a chance to grow, to change without Master Obi-Wan guiding you through it.” She started, catching one of his trembling hands and unfurling his grip to lace her fingers with his. “Have you considered doing something just for yourself?”

“What?” The pit of his stomach fell away, leaving Cody freefalling into a spiral. Just imagining a future apart from Obi-Wan felt like denying some intrinsic, sub-atomic portion of his very being.

“You have always lived for others, carried them on your back. Be free of your burdens. Take some time to live without the Republic breathing down your neck. If you still feel this way, let my grandmaster approach you on his own terms.” She reasoned, squeezing his hand before snaking her grip back into her lap.

In the absence of her touch, Cody slid his hands around the smooth, heated porcelain mug in front of him. It was rare these days to touch genuine pottery these days, he remembered Obi-Wan telling him one night, as they patrolled the Outer Rim. Far cheaper and more efficient to outfit an army in durasteel and manufactured plastoids; earthenware dishes were luxuries for people whose lives didn’t rely on easy clean up and leaving no trace behind.

(“It’s a real shame, in my opinion.” Obi-Wan had sighed, casting a mournful look at their uniform, twinned mugs and the matching carafe that left a metallic rustiness clinging to their tongues, a film that choked even the strongest willed drinker. “Our quartermasters have drained all the soul from even this ritual, breaking the requirements down to ghosts of their former selves so that it might as well be unrecognizable. One day, Cody, we must visit a genuine cafe for the full experience. “

“It’s a date, sir.” He hadn’t even looked up from his filmsiwork to see the effect his words had on his general. It had been so early – their overnight crew having been short a man and requisitioning Cody before his rest cycle was anywhere close to being over – in truth, that Cody barely registered that Obi-Wan had been speaking at all until the very end.

“I’ll hold you to that, my dear.” Obi-Wan’s voice rumbled with amusement and he left them to work in a comfortable silence the rest of their morning. It was only afterwards, lying in his bunk at 20:00 hours, that he realized abruptly that he’d asked his general on a date. More importantly, his general had accepted. Rex was going to kill him.)

Fuck my life, Cody groaned internally. He had completely forgotten that promise – made almost absurdly early into the war and never once cancelled. His general never forgot anything he’d agreed to, no matter what the man claimed when it came time to rub elbows with senators or report to medical for a check-up.

“It’s not that simple, Ahsoka.” The protest sounded feeble even as the words left his mouth. “My contract isn’t technically over for another few weeks. Once that’s over, I can’t just leave my brothers to their own devices.”

Across from the table, Ahsoka blew on her caf. Her quiet, measured composure unsettled him; silence and calm had never gotten under Cody’s skin – in fact, his most treasured memories were of the rare, almost soundless days where no one shot at him and his brothers. This was a different type altogether; she radiated surety, her face a smooth, unbroken mirror of confidence. And so, almost hysterically trying to fill the empty space, Cody babbled on.

“I don’t know how to do anything else but this.” He gestured down at his weather-worn armor, his battered helmet, his well-oiled pistol. “I was decanted to be a soldier and I intended to die as one, before my general if I could help it, just to give him a fighting chance at making it out. I wasn’t meant to outlast the war and I sure as all hell wasn’t meant to get a happy ending afterwards.”

“But here you are.” She countered, as easily as breathing. “You lived, Cody, and you don’t have to fight anymore, not unless you want to. Do you think any less of Rex for wanting to lay aside his blaster? Wolffe? Bly?”

“No, of course not. My brothers more than deserve to have a life. Manda, ‘Soka, it’s all I’ve begged for since, since… I don’t even know.” He deflated a bit, swallowing around the lump that constricted his throat.

“What about my grandmaster? Would you begrudge him a soft life?” Despite his best efforts, Cody detected no inkling of insincerity in her tone, no matter how hard he scrutinized. Cody choked on his coffee, spluttering and dribbling flecks of it across the table. He felt the blood drain from his face.

“Never.” He swore vehemently. “You asked me what I want to do, now that my life is my own, right? If I’m allowed to be selfish, what I want is to be the one to give him that peace. I want to be the one he comes to when he’s stressed, scared, or in danger. I want to watch that tension he carries in his shoulders melt away. I want my hands to be capable of tenderness, not just violence, but I don’t know how.”

“You must first learn to be gentle with yourself, Cody. Think of this like you would a battlefield. You know better than anyone that the plan never survives first contact with the enemy. Master Obi-Wan is a completely different person from General Kenobi, the same way that I hope you will find that Cody, a potential partner, is a different person from your role as his subordinate.” She steepled her fingers together, leaning forward as she spoke. “I think some time away would do you good and I caution you against ignoring my advice.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Cody swept up his helmet and jammed it back on his head. “Thanks for the talk, ‘Soka. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He left a handful of credits on the table to cover his caf, ignoring her protests, and marched back out into the early afternoon smog. He made it almost a full kilometer before he stopped abruptly in the middle of the street.

“Son of a bitch!” He growled out, her words still rattling around in his skull. Ahsoka, despite her almost infuriating serenity, may have had a point. Maybe like 20% of a point, at best, but it was enough for Cody’s tactician brain to seize upon the problem at hand.

Coruscant was stifling at best and some distance, well, Cody would be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. Before he even registered the change in his destination, Cody found himself approaching a spaceport, just to see. He’d been in the area, after all. It would be poor opsec if he neglected to explore every option.

He stood in the ever-looping line, tucked behind a Hutt who chattered angrily at his protocol droid, typing out a few quick messages on his communicator to pass the time. One went directly to high command, a simple request that Admiral Yularen approved with a haste that set Cody’s emotions reeling. He took slightly more care with Rex’s: Hey vod, got discharged a bit early. Heading out for a bit, just to clear my head. Don’t wait up. Have fun tonight and be safe. I don’t want to come back a ba’vodu.

When it was his turn, the clerk behind the counter took one look at his face and offered to waive the fee for anywhere he wanted to go in the Mid Rim. Cody examined the digital star map and felt a sudden wild spike of adrenaline surge through him. Without looking, he jabbed at a system at random.

“Never been to Lantillies,” he offered. “Is it nice this time of year?”

The clerk nodded in assent.

He still hadn’t figured out what to tell Obi-Wan by the time he’d boarded. Sure, he’d tried several different approaches but always ended up deleting them in frustration. This attempt was going no better. He never got past ‘back soon.’ Fuck it. He could always call later with a better explanation.

As the ship entered hyperspace, Cody hit send.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He didn’t return to Coruscant for a full standard year, as it turned out. Three days of sightseeing on Lantillies turned into a volunteer week on Naboo turned into a probationary month in the sticks of Trandosha hunting a slaver who evaded capture during the war’s height. It was a natural transition, he thought, joining the Bounty Hunters’ Guild. He had left the GAR clad only in the armor on his back and armed with the blaster in his hands; perhaps there was continuity yet to be had in peace.

He had needed a new name, though. CC-2224 was army property and that wouldn’t do; Cody was General Kenobi’s partner and he was loath to taint that bright spot in his memory. There was always a chance he’d fail miserably and his brothers would never let him live it down if he did – Kenobi’s proud, deadly efficient Cody brought low by some guttersnipe hut’uun on some backwater planet. … There was always Kote. A mocking bestowal from Prime though it had been, he learned quickly that the rough rasp of Mando’a carried the same level of gravitas in hunter circles that a jetii’kad invoked in the Republic officers.

And so, armed to the teeth with his new purpose and bolstered by the reputation of his forefathers, Kote exploded onto the scene as a bright and terrible rising star. With his first payout, he’d bought a second-hand ship. With the second, he’d painted shining crystals on his vambrances. With the third, he made the pilgrimage to Mandalore.

It was on this trip, sandwiched between the biggest rogue Seppie job he’d ever pulled solo and a private detective gig that promised low stakes and pay with more zeroes than Kote had ever seen in his life, that he’d received Bly’s invitation. Or rather, when he’d received the ear-splitting call from his baby brother.

“KOTE! KOTE, PICK UP THE LINE RIGHT NOW!” Bly shouted into his comm. Kote, who had previously been lazily dozing in the cockpit of his ship, jolted awake, slamming his knees against the console.

“Damn it all!” He yelped, voice still heavy with sleep, as he rubbed a rough hand over his surely bruised body. “Someone had better be dead or dying. If not, I swear to fuck, it will be you instead, vod’ika.”

“You can not kill me in any way that matters.” Bly retorted without any real heat. “Some of us actually managed to seal the deal with our crushes and therefore are immune to any complaints from our pining bastard brothers.”

“I can and will find you.” Kote muttered darkly, narrowing his eyes at the blue hologram as it rippled in front of him. “Did you call just to torment me? That could have waited until Taungsday, y’know, like the rest of our vod.”

“ Yeah, uh, I don’t think so.” His brother glanced over his shoulder and shouted something with far too many vowels in it at an unknown figure in the background.

That was fine. Kote could be patient, gracious even, despite having been woken up so uncharitably. It gave him a moment to regain some control over himself; Bly wouldn’t call out of the blue for nothing. He tuned out his still babbling brother and mentally ran over a list of things that could possibly have gone wrong since they last spoke.

Had Rex’s tuition money bounced? Fox’s apartment deposit? The extra he’d told Wolffe to slip Gree for Barriss’s mindhealer? Little gods, was it something with Obi-Wan?

The thought made Kote stiffen in his chair, lunging for his datapad. The traitorous ‘pad threatened to slip through his grasp entirely to await the floor’s cold, metallic embrace before he managed to curl his fingers around the end. Toggling to his holonet alerts, Cody scanned for any news about his jetii. He scrolled yesterday’s headlines until he could stomach the anticipation no longer.

“Bly!” Kote barked out. “What’s wrong, what happened over there?!”

There was a giggling sort of snort from someone on the other end of the call and his brother’s face refocused in view.

“Sorry, sorry, Aayla was asking about flowers…” Bly trailed off, a dreamy haze glistening in his eye. “Kote, we’re getting married. I want you to be there to celebrate with us, if you’re available.”

A low, droning buzz in Kote’s ears drowned out the remainder of Bly’s chatter about the proposal, the plans, and the other guests. Married. Bly finessed his Jedi general so adeptly that she had agreed to bind herself to him forever. On the one hand, Kote was so happy for his brother; he and General Secura had been dancing around one another even longer than Kote had been gone on his general. At same time, a deeper, much more selfish part of his mind lamented that he had been overtaken in this unspoken race.

“That’s great, vod.” He rasped out, “I’m happy for you.” Other, more bitter words rose like bile in his throat but he swallowed them down. His brother didn’t deserve any of Kote’s frustration. Bly had never told him to leave that man alone, not like most of their other acquaintances and family members had. Kote could – no, would – be supportive at all costs.

Bly visibly brightened, a previously unnoticed tension bleeding from him. “So you’ll come back for the wedding?”

Kote nodded his assent. “Wouldn’t miss it, not for all the credits in the galaxy.”

“Manda, Kote, thank you. We’ve got 79’s booked for three days from now– I know that’s short notice, but we wanted to get ahead of her next assignment –”

Bly kept talking, gushing over his bride-to-be and the life that stretched out ahead of them. Kote half-listened out of politeness, the other half of his attention fixed on calculating how long it would take him to get back to Coruscant if he ignored every galactic speedposting. Without alerting the Republic patrols, he might be able to do it in 24 hours.

If he pushed his ship's systems to the brink, he could do it in 12. That would even buy him some time to check in with Ahsoka. He owed her an apology.

Some distance had given him time to think, to turn over in his head what he wanted. Cody may have wanted Obi-Wan in whatever way he could, uncaring of their inherent imbalance, but Kote had never been more sure in his life. They were equals now, on the other side of the war at last; Kote had made his own name in the galaxy at large and had plenty to fall back on if this crashed and burned.

(In the past year, Kote developed a policy. Over the course of his travels, no matter how attached to the places or the people he found there, he always left at the end of the job. Sure, there had been feeble, heavy-handed propositions from pleased clients and shy, gentle hosts, but Kote always insisted and they never asked him to stay longer. It was a good system, but the distance was starting to weigh on him.)

When he considered seeing his former general again, Kote wanted nothing else than to hear Obi-Wan ask him to stay. If he could do that one selfish thing, then Kote was sure it would work out. Punching in the all-too familiar coordinates, Kote hoped – Ka’ra, how he hoped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the end, Kote only managed to catch Ahsoka at the wedding reception.

He’d caught sight of her at the actual ceremony from his vantage point at the makeshift altar, standing beside his batchmate and brother in an uncomfortably starched orange-and-white formal robe, but hadn’t wanted to make a scene in catching her eye. Besides, the ceremony was beautiful (by Coruscanti standards, at least. Kote had seen twi’lek weddings on Ryloth while working security; nothing would compare to the tenday long festivities there), according to the chatter that rose like a gyre from the assembled guests.

What that translated to in reality, Kote learned, was that the Jedi Temple steps were packed with hundreds of people mostly wanting to gawk at the affair, to see and be seen in attendance – strangely, this phenomenon afflicted both clones and natborns alike – surging forth to catch sight of the bride and groom as they said their vows and exchanged their armor. He’d lost sight of her then in the crowd’s steady, rhythmic pulsing.

And then the officiant, a much more relaxed iteration of former general Quinlan Vos that had made Kote double-take during the rehearsal the previous evening, had instructed the escort for the bride and groom to join hands. Kote soon found himself staring into twinkling blue eyes and holding warm, freckled, ‘saber calloused hands in his own and promptly forgot everything else. Obi-Wan’s crooked, dangerous smile hooked deep into his gut and tugged; suddenly Kote was Cody once more, half-willing to fall to his knees and beg for his jetii’s attention, audience be damned.

(“Hello there.” He’d leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, his beard brushing against the shell of Kote’s ear. “Fancy seeing you here, my dear.” It was only thanks to his several months of practice with the stoic bounty hunter routine that Kote stymied the shudder that threatened to kneecap him.

“Heya boss,” Kote whispered back. “They let you in here? Even knowing how much trouble you are?”

He was proud of the blush that rose from Obi-Wan’s chest and crept up to his ears, of the half squeaked gasp of exasperation that rose from the man’s chest, of the way that Mace Windu glared at them both to keep it down – carrying Ponds’s helmet, effectively doubling the disapproval. It felt good to fall right back into their friendship, not even missing a beat.)

He’d lived in that haze for the remainder of the afternoon and well into the early evening, only managing to snap out of it when Obi-Wan’s attention was needed to assist Mr. and Mrs. Secura with changing for the evening. He was apologetic when they separated; when Luminara came to retrieve her fellow Jedi, Kote felt Obi-Wan’s grip on his hand tighten and spasm, as if it pained him just as much for them to be parted.

“Go on,” Kote nudged him forward. “Force knows Bly probably hasn’t got any idea how to arrange his tabards. They were falling off the whole time Vos did the handfasting.”

Obi-Wan’s smile dimmed but he let go of Kote’s hand at last. “You might be right on that end. However, by no means is this over.” He leveled a finger at Kote’s chest, poking him dead center. “When I come back, I want to hear all about your life from this past year at the minimum. You’d better promise.”

Kote couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay, I swear it. Hunter’s honor.”

It seemed to satisfy Obi-Wan and he threaded an arm through Luminara’s before they disappeared into a back room. Kote let out a harsh, ragged breath before raking a hand through his hair. It was as if the world had dulled, the moment Obi-Wan had swept right back out of his line of sight – an eerie imitation of the way his senses had narrowed to the man’s presence on the battlefield what was beginning to feel like a lifetime ago. Kote needed a drink.

It was at the bar that he finally, finally reunited with Ahsoka. She was taller now – almost surpassing him, he noted with grim surprise – and infuriatingly smug when she caught sight of him. Kote pointedly ignored her until after obtaining his watered down claret.

“This isn't what I meant when I said take some time off, you know.” She started, a hand on her hip. Her eyes traced the lines of his body, taking in the gaunt edges of his hips and the bruising on his forearms. “I am proud of you for trying, but really, Cody? Bounty hunting?”

“It’s Kote, actually.” He said mildly, sipping at the drink and grimacing. Alcohol still remained decidedly not his thing. It did, however, give him something to do with his hands in the interim.

“And yet my point remains. I thought you’d, I don’t know, take a vacation or find a job here, not disappear into the Mid-Rim for a year.” There was a hint of admonishment in her tone, yet Kote couldn’t suss out the object of her ire.

He shrugged in response. “It’s not like I went AWOL. I warned my batch and High Command before I left. Was kind of a ‘need to know’ basis and, as much help as you were, it wasn’t high on my priority list to brief you too.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes at him, shoving him lightly. Kote’s hip smacked into the counter and he groaned.

“What was that for?!” He hissed, patting his side to make sure the impact hadn’t torn his formal wear. “I was hoping to return these afterwards!”

“For being far too well matched with Master Kenobi! It’s infuriating how you two, completely independently of one another, managed to both drag yourselves into yet another high-stress situation.” She retorted. “It’s a miracle the two of you got anything done at all during the war.”

Kote couldn’t help but puff out his chest a little. It was important that Obi-Wan’s grandpadwan approved, even if it came in the guise of exasperation. They were a good team; he’d always known it to be true and it, honestly, was about time that others started recognizing it too. For fuck’s sake, they had ended the war. It was a strange vindication that bloomed deep within his chest, stamping out any apprehensions about how his confession would go. Hells, he was willing to throw his departure policy out the window even without Obi-Wan’s request for him to stay.

“Is this your way of granting your blessing? Kind of a weird pitch, if I’m honest.” He tried to bite back the smirk – really, he did. Judging by the stages of grief cycling in Ahsoka’s expression though, he wasn’t successful.

“Yes, you absolute bastard of a man. Go get your man and get out of sight.” She made as if to shoo him off before clearly thinking better of it. “Wait, no, come back. Give me that.”

Kote made a confused noise in the back of his throat. She snatched his drink from his grasp and downed it, clinking the aluminium alloy against the glazed bartop.

“Okay, you can go now. Thanks for paying me off. Now go get your man, I guess.” She saluted him lazily. Despite her tone, there was a rough fondness that billowed off of her in waves.

Kote broke into a genuine smile, saluted her in turn, and began shouldering his way to the center of the room. Something told him that a certain Jedi with a flair for the dramatic would need his assistance sooner or later.

Besides, they had a date to keep.

+1 Obi-Wan

By the time the reception concluded and the serving droids began to not-so-politely dismiss the stragglers, Kote was maybe (definitely) feeling the buzz a bit more than he wanted to. His brain was pleasantly fuzzy and malleable; his hands shook a bit when he tried to lift his glass to his mouth one last time, draining the dregs of his beer in one gulping swallow.

To his right, hanging off his arm, was an equally (if not more so) trashed Obi-Wan. To his left, their requisitioned table was filled with their spoils of conquest. Each glass had been a story traded between them – from Kote’s aborted homecoming to Mandalore to Obi-Wan’s nascent training bond with a very promising young padawan named Reva. They’d been so lost in one another, as they were wont to do, that Kote didn’t even remember saying good night to Bly. He must’ve at some point though, because he thought he recognised the bride’s lipstick high on Obi-Wan’s cheek bone. (Blue always looked so damn good on him.)

“Please vacate the premises.” A droid beeped out, gently nudging them towards the exit.

“Okay, okay, ‘m goin’,” Kote muttered, tightening his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist. They kept a silted, halting pace, ever mindful of the droid’s long shadow falling over them; at one point, Kote’s boot caught on a raised section of carpet, threatening to spill them through the front doors and into the empty streets outside.

For once, the streets were deathly quiet – barren of their huddling masses and lit only by neon signs that had clearly seen better days. Kote steadied them against a burned out lamp, raising his head to suck in a lung full of an air so thick that legally, on other worlds, it would have been classified as a solid. Dim, faint stars stubbornly twinkled on above them – relics of a wild and unforgiving nature that had long since been tamed and cowed into the sprawling city around them.

It never failed to make Kote feel small and insignificant; in turn, the smallness became sobering. Reality tapped gently against his window, waiting for him to open it and flood the crevices of his mind. He was losing his nerve, here in the polluted mess of civilization. He crushed Obi-Wan against himself as a shield, a bastion of a by-gone era in the face of an increasingly more complex galaxy than Kote had ever imagined –

“Kote, my dear? Where did you go?” Obi-Wan was frowning, the force of it wrinkling his forehead. Kote wanted to smooth it down with his thumb.

He may have said as much. He certainly did as much, that was certain. The pad of his thumb jerked against the clammy skin of his former general’s forehead. Obi-Wan’s jaw hung slack for a moment before he seemed to jolt back into motion.

“I see. I confess that I am also a little further gone than I would have liked.” There was a pause; a deeper furrow that Kote felt blossomed under his hand (he refused to lose this line of contact, not when being untethered on Coruscant felt like drowning). A faint popping noise accompanied the expression, like the planet releasing a sigh it had been holding for centuries.

Obi-Wan straightened up, no longer straining to right himself as he had before and gently guiding Kote’s hand back down from his face, down and back to the hard curvature of his hip. Ocean-deep eyes studied his face; Kote flushed under the scrutiny.

“What’dya see?” He mumbled, ducking his gaze to rest on where they were joined. “Something on my face?”

“Nothing quite like that. I suppose I’m just… drinking this all in, as it were, having you here. It’s not particularly becoming of a Jedi to feel like this, but I find myself caring less and less these days. Especially after today.”

That, at least, Kote could understand.

“Needed to get away. To clear my head after nabbing Grievous. ‘S not your fault, though.” He offered, flexing his fingers around their point of connection. It was far more grounding than any blaster could ever hope to be in his hands. “I’m just sorry about how it happened.”

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. “Oh Kote, I would never begrudge you the chance to spread your wings. Frankly, I am honored to have remained in your contacts list even after all this time.”

As if Kote hadn’t committed his holo number to memory the day, the minute, the second he’d learned it. He suddenly felt very sure of his mission.

“Can I take you up on that date, Obi-Wan? I know it’s probably coming later than you’d have liked, but I would never forgive myself if I left without asking.” His voice was much more confident than he felt, but that was fine. It was Obi-Wan, after all, and that man was the most impossibly kind person Kote had ever met. He felt much more assured in that conviction, bolstered by his now-countless contacts across the galaxy.

Obi-Wan’s eyes glittered like the stars outside of his bunk in the Negotiator. His voice was the gentle purr of an AT-TE, the groan of a LAAT/i. He was resplendent and written so deep into Kote’s DNA that Kote’s entire world shifted on its axis every time they touched.

“Why, Commander, are you flirting with me?” Oh, he recognized that devilish smirk. His jetii was teasing him.

“Have been for most of the war, but thank you for noticing.” He sighed, pressing a hand over his heart and swooning dramatically. “You really know how to wound a man, General, teasing me this long without a hint of reprieve.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard as if locked into a serious negotiation.

“I can see no other alternative, then.” He admitted.

“We are out of options, it seems.” Kote agreed.

“My only recourse for offending your honor so greatly is to rectify this slight with a peace offering.” Obi-Wan extracted himself from Kote’s grip and offered a hand. He seemed to glow with a faint golden light. 212th gold, from the subtle sheen. Kote’s gold.

Coruscant had never looked better than it did with Obi-Wan at the center of it. He could get used to this.

“What do you say, my dear? Can I treat you to a terrible caf at 03:00 after your brother’s wedding?” Obi-Wan teased, fighting his crooked smile.

Kote returned the smile in full force. He threaded his fingers through Obi-Wan’s, drinking in the way they wove together like a brilliant tapestry.

“It’s a date.” He replied, ready to walk into forever. The wait had been more than worth it; every obstacle had led him to this one perfect moment. Kote let the vindication wash over him.

Even after all this time, Kote still thought his jetii was beautiful.