Chapter Text
Cody doesn’t like his office. It’s not that it’s not a nice office. It’s very cushy, as Rex likes to point out when he visits. In fact, it’s bigger than his old office and quarters on The Negotiator combined.
There’s a sleek coffee table framed by two plush couches that Cody has slept on more often that he’d like to admit. The desk is wide enough for all the never-ending piles of flimsy and datapads. There’s a top of the line caf machine against the back wall next to a secure locker for his weapons and armor that’s still painted gold. There’s even a window that spans the entire length of the eastern wall.
The GAR barracks, or what is left of them, are a sprawling mess of office towers and residential compounds with all the amenities that a clone could ever need. It’s a jumble of repurposed warehouses, thrown together haphazardly after the War had ended. Most of it is underground, or what passes for underground on Coruscant where there never seemed to be any ground at all. But a select few of the buildings rose into the upper levels. Some of them even had natural light. Windows.
Unfortunately, Cody can’t help but think, his office was nice enough to have one.
Some of Cody’s brothers would kill for a window with a view of the cluttered Coruscanti skyline packed with a never ending field of skyscrapers painted with graffiti and advertisements for the Spotchka flavor of the week. Waxer loves to sit on the windowsill and just watch the assortment of speeders and starliners whizz by. Fox likes to rest on the furthest couch, with his back to the window, eyes closed, and just listen to the sounds of the city. The blaring sirens. The insistent horns. The screams and hollers of people in the streets below. Rex even comes by just to peer up at the sky, a would-be-stunning blue that’s muted by layers of smog.
But Cody had turned his desk to face away from the window less than a week after he had been promoted. He had even gone so far as to replace the padded swivel chair with a straight back durasteel one from the mess so he would stop accidentally swinging around to face outside.
It wasn’t that Cody didn’t like Coruscant. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the lights and noise and people.
It was because of the way the sky looked just before dawn. The way the gray-blue lightens softly before the sun could rise and turn it harsh. The way that thin strip of pale light just along the horizon was the exact same shade as Kenobi’s eyes.
It was because of the way the flashing neon signs would catch in the corner of his vision and remind him of the blur of a lightsaber moving across the battlefield.
It was because of the way the haze would lift just enough on a clear day that Cody could see the silhouette of the Temple between the gaps of skyscrapers.
Cody doesn’t like his office. But even with all of the influence and power he now holds as the Commander in Chief of the GAR, he can’t manage to get a new one.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cody doesn’t have to look up to know exactly who’s standing in his doorway. He had heard his footsteps from all the way down the hall, and only one person in this building walked around like they owned the place.
“What do you want, kid?” He keeps tapping away on his datapad, typing up the last bit of a requisition form and forwarding it to his liaison in Chancellor Organa’s administration.
When Cody does finally look up, he sees Commander Sprint leaning up against the doorframe with an air of nonchalance that Cody has only seen on someone that is entirely comfortable in their own skin. It’s an ease that he himself has never quite found.
Sprint had taken up the mantle of leading the Coruscant Guard after Fox, Thire, and Thorn had been removed from active duty at the end of the war. Being so close to Palpatine, brainwashed and controlled by the Dark, had messed with them. Even after the War ended, and the months spent with the temple mind healers, none of them were quite ready, or able, to step back up to the plate.
Sprint had been recommended for the position by Master Ti herself. Cody hadn’t liked it initially. He had protested loudly, in fact, that a shiny, who had graduated from the command track a month after the end of the War, had no business running the Guard.
As it turned out, a fresh face, metaphorically speaking, was exactly what the New Republic had needed. Someone that had never been touched by the Sith Lord’s influence. Someone who still believed in the New Republic as it should be, as it was supposed to be. Someone willing to fight for a Senate that had only ever recognized them as sentient. Someone who had never been treated like a clone by the senators they were being ordered to protect.
Sprint had settled into the position immediately, taking to it like a Quarren to water, but it had taken Cody much longer, years, to adjust to Sprint’s attitude and presence. But as rough as he might act to the kid, Cody can’t say that he still dislikes him.
-
“Commander Sprint, reporting for duty, sir.” There’s a smooth uncalloused hand stuck out in Cody’s face.
Cody takes it, absently noting the shiny’s strong grip. “Sprint?” Not the weirdest name Cody has ever heard from a brother, but it’s certainly up there.
“Yes sir.” Sprint’s smile is entirely self serving. It promises a sharp tongue and a quick wit that Cody is sure will be just as bad as Fox’s. He’s already dreading having to work with this kid. Not even ten years old and already full of himself. “The trainers were always making me run extra laps.”
Cody’s voice is dry and humorless, though he can’t help the way the corner of his lips twitches upwards. “I can’t imagine why.”
-
“Well hello to you too, Commander. I’ve brought you your new orders,” Sprint says, taking a step into the large office.
Sprint is an absolute pain in Cody’s shebs. He isn’t technically part of the GAR which somehow puts him both above and below Cody depending on the day, and Sprint always takes advantage of every second he’s in charge. Like now.
“Must be pretty bad if they’re sending me,” Cody notes with a hint of apprehension. Orders from the Senate never went well for him. After the fourth mission turned disaster, and no Jedi to back them up, Cody had stopped accepting errands from the Senate all together, even if it did keep his mind busy. “What mess have they gotten into now?”
Sprint gives his best politician’s smile and hands Cody the datapad as if it didn’t contain what was sure to be a four day headache.
Cody flips through the mission summary quickly and then glances up to Sprint with a frown. “This is just a supply drop.” He glances back down to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. He hadn’t. “You sure you got the right one, kid?”
Sprint crosses his arms over his unarmored chest. “Yes, I got the right one, Commander. They want you to pick a team and lead the New Republic relief effort on Nal Hutta-”
Cody doesn’t give him the chance to finish. “No.” He can’t believe this. This is exactly why he hated running errands for the Senate.
Sprint doesn’t stop. He talks right over Cody’s interjection, waving a hand though the air. “And you’ll have to go through Nar Shaddaa first.”
Cody barely refrains from groaning out loud, but his eye roll is enough to get his point across. He’ll be turning into Wolffe at this rate. “Absolutely not.”
“It will be extremely dangerous so they wanted to send someone of a high enough profile that an ambitious pirate would ask for ransom instead of just killing you.” Sprint looks almost gleeful. As if giving Cody the benefits of his possible capture is the highlight of his day. It might be, actually, if the kid is stuck in his office as much as Fox was. Or maybe Sprint is just that sick in the head. Cody wouldn’t put it past him.
Cody is a professional. He can, and will, contain himself, but he takes a moment to rub his thumb in circles over the top of the scar on his brow bone. The headache is already in full swing.
“Why,” Cody begins, “is the Senate sending aid to the Hutts?”
Cody never understood politics. Sure, he was good at it. He had to be. Especially working so closely with the famed Negotiator. Too often, missions were executed entirely within the halls of some important dignitary that Kenobi had been sent to schmooze. By the end of the War, Cody was as good at smiling and asking the right questions as he was at drawing battle strategies. Doesn’t mean he had to understand why. He had always been of the opinion that acting first and asking for forgiveness later was much easier. But if it means his brothers aren’t dying in droves, Cody would put on his dress uniform any day.
This, however, does not sound like it’s going to avoid conflict, but stir up something awful instead.
“Because the Hutts asked,” Sprint explains, moving around Cody’s desk to look out the window. It forces Cody to turn in his seat to look at him. Cody tries to not look out of the window himself but some things are unavoidable. It’s a bright clear day. The sky stretches for miles. Cody keeps his eyes fixed on Sprint’s back.
“Plenty of planets ask,” Cody points out. Sprint is avoiding the real answer. If Cody is going to send his men into dubiously allied territory, he at least wants to know the real reason.
“Yes, but not every planet has control of Hutt space or major trade routes.” Sprint turns to face Cody. He still has that irritating smirk on his face. “Come on, Commander.” He puts a hand on Cody's gold-painted pauldron, just below where a long-range antenna waits for a message on a frequency that's been silent for years. “It’s for the New Republic.”
Sprint doesn’t stumble on the word New, and Cody would bet anything that he doesn’t backtrack when he reads it on flimsi either.
-
“Come on, Commander. It’s for the Republic!” Kenobi bumps their shoulders together, a bright smile on his face and a light in his eyes that Cody knows means nothing but trouble.
His Jedi always takes the hard way. They can never approach the target head on. Instead, every new brilliant plan brings them through mud and slime, over cliffs and canyons, up trees and the side of a building. By the end of it, they’re covered in substances Cody didn’t want to think about. His armor has chafed in all the worst places. His blacks are soggy and damp.
But Cody follows. Through thick and thin. Always one step behind. Always covering their backs. Always at his General’s right hand.
When they meet back up with General Skywalker, who takes one look at them, gags, and makes some quip about needing a shower, Kenobi settles down and relaxes now that their objective for the moment is complete. And when he laughs at Cody’s disgust --written so clearly in the Commander’s body language that he didn’t even need, or dare, to take off his helmet-- his eyes crinkle at the edges; his copper hair falls across his face.
Somehow, covered in filth and scratched from underbrush and exhausted from days of fighting, Kenobi has never been more beautiful.
-
Cody shrugs Sprint’s hand off his pauldron and turns back to the cursed datapad on his desk.
“Do I have to put in an order for the supplies too?” Cody asks, already knowing the answer. He has to do everything around here himself.
Sprint laughs and moves towards the door. “Now you’re gettin’ it, Commander.” He swipes a handful of the sugar sweets that Cody keeps on the coffee table as he walks by.
“Get out of my office, kid.” It’s redundant, as Sprint is already halfway out of the door, but it makes Cody feel a little better.
When Cody is alone again, he lets his shoulders fall and rests his head in his hands on the desk. He’s getting too old for this osik. He’s sixteen. His knees pop when he stands and sleeping on the wrong side of his bunk, his bed, causes him to wake up with a crick in his neck that lasts for days.
The war may be over, but life goes on. Cody just has to figure out exactly how he’s supposed to do that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cody knows he could wait to put in the ration order. The mission isn’t for a week and supply requests are usually filled within three days, but Cody also knows that if he waits too long the quartermaster of the Agricorps will decline his request out of pure spite. Sure the supplies would arrive on time and exactly where they were supposed to, but the rejected form would cause more paperwork for Cody and that was exactly the kind of petty move he would expect from his ori’vod.
Cody decides to bite the bullet and punch in his personal access code for the Agricorps comm line. There’s no answer the first time. Cody grins, all teeth, and dials again.
Fox picks up on the third ring. “What do you want?” His voice is flat and cuts with borderline hostility.
Cody can tell Fox is in one of his moods just from the opening line, but he can’t help but push his buttons a little bit more. “How’s life as a farmer, vod?”
The sigh from Fox cuts static through the transmission but does nothing to dampen Cody’s satisfaction. “You ask that every time you call, and it never gets any funnier. Why can’t you just tell me what you want and leave me alone?”
Cody needs to call Fox more often. Being responsible and stoic in front of subordinates all the time really cuts down on Cody’s opportunities to wind up his vode. “Because then I wouldn’t get the chance to hear you bitch at me about it.” Cody hopes Fox can hear how smug he is.
Fox doesn’t say anything in response. Cody wishes he had called through the hologram line just to see Fox’s expression. The disapproving glare and irritated twitch of his eyebrow. If Cody gets him really upset, there's the carefully controlled quirk to Fox’s lips that shows just how hard he’s trying not to laugh, or yell, or both.
Cody gives in when he realizes he’s not going to get a rise out of Fox today. Too bad. There’s always tomorrow. “I need an order filled.”
“Now was that so hard to say, Kot’ika?”
Cody skillfully ignores the jab and starts reading off the long list of supplies needed for the massive relief effort of a densely populated moon and it’s parent planet. In Cody’s not-so-humble opinion, the Hutts don’t deserve a single crumb of what the New Republic is giving them, but unfortunately it’s not in his jurisdiction to tell those bleeding-heart senators that their plans are a load of banthashit.
Fox is silent for a moment after Cody finishes and the distant sound of clicking is heard on the other side of the comm. “Is that all?”
“For now.” Cody sets aside the datapad. “But don’t be surprised if I get an update for you.” He settles back in his chair and stares up at the ceiling of his office. One of the ceiling tiles is starting to turn a brackish brown at the edge. He’ll need to put in a work order to get that fixed.
“How’s living behind a desk?”
Fox could always read Cody’s mind regardless of how far apart they are. Cody had never been able to sit still for long, even on Kamino. He always learned tactics best on a field instead of a classroom. During the War, he had usually done his paperwork while on patrol or in the mess. He was always moving, always doing something. These days the most action he sees is with whatever shiny is dumb enough to spar with him down in the training salles.
Cody huffs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m enjoying it about as much as you did.” Which isn’t true at all. Fox had hated his job, but not because of the paperwork. He had hated working under Palpatine’s thumb, but the desk, the authority, the responsibility, the politics, it had all come so naturally to Fox. He had filled the position he had been thrust into with all the grace of someone who had been born for it, and he had. But Cody…
Cody had been made for war. Not this.
“We could always use the help out here,” Fox offers sincerely. Cody knows he could take it at any time. He could go out and actually work with his hands. He could shrug off the stress and the responsibilities of running the GAR. He could turn his back on every scrap of power he had fought tooth and nail for. He could set it all aside and fly off to Bandomeer to grow meiloorun.
“I can’t. Some of us have better things to do than play in the dirt all day.” It’s intended to lighten the mood, but it’s closer to the truth than either of them want to acknowledge. Cody has a responsibility to the New Republic, to what’s left of the GAR, to his brothers.
He had had a responsibility to the Jedi once too. To his Jedi.
“Suit yourself.” Cody can hear the eye roll in Fox’s voice. “I’ll see you in a few days, vod’ika. Try not to get into too much trouble.” The comm clicks off.
Cody is left in the dark quiet of his office. He sees his office more often than his own rooms in the barracks these days. The thrumming bass and pitched trills of Coruscanti nightlife filter up from the street below. The flashing lights and neon advertisements throw color across Cody’s white walls. The passing headlights of speeders cast uncomfortable shadows into the corners of the room. Cody didn’t realize how late it had gotten.
How did he get here?
Cody could retrace every step he took, every decision he made, from the very moment of the Separatist surrender to get to the position he was in. He had done so much to secure safety and stability for his brothers. He had built the Clone Repatriation Program from the ground up. He had campaigned for and supported every ounce of freedom his brothers were granted.
Somehow he had gotten lost along the way. So caught up in making sure his brothers were safe and cared for that Cody hadn’t realized he was moving farther and farther from where he really wanted to be. Adrift in a political nightmare he has no idea how to navigate. Distanced from his closest brothers by more than just miles. Bound by duty and responsibility to keep pushing, keep fighting, years after the War had ended.
The silence becomes oppressive against Cody’s ears. It’s cut through by the sounds of the temperature regulator hacking up air and clicking for a moment until it reaches a steady-state. It still feels too quiet. There’s no whine of hyperspace engines. There’s no bustle of droids in the hangar. There’s no blaring alarms or shouted orders. There’s no incessant chatter over the commlink in Cody’s ear. There’s no conversation held in identical voices interspersed with snorts of unique laughter.
Cody feels like he’s missing something. On paper, He has everything he should ever want. More than he had been told a clone deserved and more than enough to survive on. He has ticked off the boxes for every basic need. It still doesn’t explain why he keeps looking for something, some one, always one step ahead.
Cody wipes a hand over his face and stands from his desk. He just needs sleep. That’s all.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The door to Cody’s office is slightly ajar. Cody knows he locked it before he left. There are few people in the galaxy who have authorized access, and none of them are on planet. Cody draws his blaster and presses himself against the wall, treading slowly and lightly to the doorway. It should concern him how naturally he is able to fall back onto muscle memory, how much he enjoys the adrenaline rush.
While there’s no open threat against Cody, or at least not one that he’s aware of, there was always a risk for someone in such a high powered position. He was also a clone, and even after the passing of the Clone Rights Bill, there were a lot of people who weren’t happy that the GAR was being run by one.
Cody doesn’t end up needing to burst into his own office, because the intruder pokes his blond head around the corner and stares down Cody’s blaster barrel with only a mildly irritated expression.
“Where have you been?” Rex asks with a raised brow, “and why are you wearing your armor?” Rex keeps talking even as he ducks back into the room. “You do realize we aren’t required to be in uniform anymore, right?”
Cody lets out a sigh as he reholsters his blaster and follows Rex into his own office. Rex has made himself right at home, spread out on one of the couches, feet up on the coffee table, bowl of sugar sweets pulled into his lap as he shoves them into his mouth by the handful.
“I could have shot you,” Cody grumbles and yanks the bowl away out of Rex’s sticky hands as he passes. Rex protests but doesn’t fight it. Cody heads straight for the caf machine in the corner. If he has to deal with an unplanned Rex today, he is going to need more caffeine.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” Rex says while tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes as if he’s lounging in the sun. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
There’s a moment where Cody seriously contemplates throwing Rex out of the window. “Which one?” He asks, pouring the grounds into the filter. A sharp jab to a button, and the machine spits as it begins to make the second pot of the day.
“The first one,” Rex answers helpfully. “Where were you?”
Cody takes off his helmet and sets it on his armor rack. “In a meeting.” It had been particularly dull. Not as boring as the quarterly supply and inventory reports on The Negotiator had been, but close. “The committee for firearm research and development came to report that they had nothing to report and none of the new tech has been cleared for beta testing.”
Rex snorts and doesn’t bother to even crack an eye. “I don’t envy you.”
The caf is dark and nearing the consistency of sludge as Cody pours it into his mug. He still uses the cheap stuff, and if Kenobi was here, Cody knows he would’ve gotten a ten minute lecture on the importance of properly made refreshments.
“Did you need me?” Cody asks as he walks past the window to his desk. It’s another clear day, and Cody does his best not to notice.
“Not really,” Rex shakes his head. “Just thought I’d come check on you.”
Cody scowls into his mug. “I don't need you to-”
“I know,” Rex cuts him off, opening his eyes and sitting up a little. “I was on my way home from babysitting for Anakin.” And Cody doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the lack of a title. He certainly doesn’t understand how easily Rex says it, or the way it nearly sounds fond. Cody had never been on the best terms with Skywalker and that was just fine with him.
“You should come by sometime and see the kids. They’re getting so big now.” Rex’s eyes light up as he talks about them; his voice gone soft. “Leia tripped over one of her toys today and scraped up her knee, and Luke cried for her. It was adorable.” Rex chuckles and shakes his head fondly.
Cody smiles a little at the idea. He would like to go eventually. He knows he’d be welcome. Senator Amidala had certainly extended the invitation enough times that Cody almost feels bad that he doesn’t drop by more than once every few months. He hasn’t seen Luke and Leia since Rex made him go to their birthday party. In another life, they might have been calling him Ba’vodu.
A knot forms in the back of Cody’s throat, and he struggles to swallow it back down. Another life, maybe, but not this one.
“I’m sure,” Cody says, keeping his voice as even as he can.
They’re both quiet for a while. Cody starts on a new file while Rex taps his fingers loudly on the table. His goal is to annoy Cody into talking to him, they both know it, but Cody had learned to ignore irritating little brothers before he had even left Kamino.
“This is boring,” Rex announces finally. “Is this really what you do all day?”
“No.” Cody doesn’t look up from his datapad. “Sometimes someone breaks into my office while I’m gone.”
Rex rolls his eyes. “I thought being Commander in Chief would be more interesting. I don’t know how you can stand being stuck in here all day.”
There’s an edge to Rex’s voice. Something about it ticks Cody’s nerves. Maybe it’s the undercurrent of disgust or the tinge of frustration that Cody himself feels clawing at his heels every second he sits in this chair.
“Honestly,” Rex gives an over exaggerated sigh. “You’re happy with this?” He’s just joking, Cody knows, but kriff if it didn’t hit too close to home.
Cody doesn’t mean to snap, doesn’t mean to get upset, but something about the way Rex just waltzed in here and so easily declared the truth that Cody had kept denying every time he glanced out of the window had pushed him to an edge he wasn’t even aware he was close to. It makes Cody irrationally angry, and he isn’t even sure why. His hands clench into fists, fingernails digging into his palms, knuckles turning white.
“Yeah? At least I’ve got a job, and I don’t depend on other people to pay for my shit.” Cody regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but he can’t take them back now.
Rex seems as surprised by the hostility as Cody is. His entire demeanor changes from teasing to defensive in a heartbeat. Ashen guilt crumbles in Cody’s throat to know that that’s his fault.
Rex narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “What’s your problem, vod?” The endearment spits like acid from his mouth. “Are you really going to tell me this is what you wanted to do after the War?”
-
“What do you want to do after the War?” General Kenobi asks, breathing hard as he catches his breath. The men around them clean up the last stragglers, but the battle is won; the fighting over for now. He uses the edge of his tunic to wipe dust from his saber.
It’s a question that Kenobi has asked before and yet it still catches Cody by surprise. He had never bothered to think about it before. On Kamino, there had been no after, there had been no choice. He had never even expected to get this far, let alone survive until the end. “Me, sir?”
“Yes you, Cody. After the war. What do you want to do?”
Cody knows the real answer. He wants to be wherever his brothers are, wherever his General is. He wants to see Manda’yaim. He wants to get some beskar for his armor. He wants to wake up in the morning, grab a cup of caf instead of a blaster, and sit in the dawn light without the threat of everything being taken away from him.
Cody looks to his General. Kenobi’s eyes are crinkled at the edges with expectation.
Cody wants to live in a world where he’s free to put the tightness in his chest and the flutter of his heart into words. He wants to be brave enough, selfish enough, to say what he really feels.
But he isn’t brave enough. Not today. Not when they’re both still catching their breath from the battle, and their conversation is coated with the echoes of blaster fire.
“I’d like something simple, sir.” Is what Cody says instead of a dozen other things. “Somewhere my brothers are safe.” Cody does not say, somewhere by your side. “A cup of caf,” he continues, just to see the way Kenobi’s lips curl up in amusement and his nose crinkles on the edge. “A lothcat maybe.”
Kenobi does finally laugh at that, and the sound sends Cody’s heart into a stutter in a way not even mortar shells could do. “You would hate having a lothcat, my dear. It would climb on top of your shelves and stress you out.”
“Then I’ll name it after you.”
-
Cody grits his teeth and turns away. His bucket is just out of arm's reach but it might’ve been a different star system for all the good it does him. He has never been able to hide from Rex anyway. With or without the helmet.
“You didn’t have to take this job,” Rex points out, voice still stained with defensiveness.
Cody hates the way the words cut through every flimsy excuse and lie he’s told himself. “And who else was going to do it?” Oh, Cody hates fighting with Rex. He hates the way Rex can find the core of the problem with the deadly accuracy of a blaster shot. He hates the way Rex blows past every carefully constructed wall within a few sentences.
“I don’t know,” Rex scoffs. “Wolffe? Bacara? Ponds? It doesn’t matter.” He stands from his seat and throws his hands in the air. There’s an undercurrent of something else laced with his frustration. It takes Cody too long to realize it’s concern.
“They wanted a natborn, Rex,” Cody admits. He hadn’t told any of his brothers about the early talks during the reconstruction, or the way he had had to argue and defend their very existence to a Senate they had just won a War for. “They wanted Tarkin. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Even still the very idea of such a man in control of his brothers sends a chill down Cody’s spine. No. He would spend the rest of his life in this office if that’s what it took.
“The War is over, Cody!” Rex snaps. “You don’t have to protect us anymore.”
Cody sighs and shakes his head. “It’s not about that-”
“What is it then?” Rex cuts him off, striding over to stand over the desk so that Cody has to look up at him. “Why are you in this haar’chak’la office instead of out in the field? Better yet, why the kriff aren’t you at the Temple?”
Cody stands up from his chair and slams his hands down onto the desk. “Kenobi has nothing to do with this!”
Silence.
They glare at one another through the tension that hangs in the air.
“Fine,” Rex growls as he grabs his jacket and keys from the table. “Believe whatever you want, vod. Just don’t take your regrets out on me.” He doesn’t even bother looking back at Cody.
Rex slams the door on his way out.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cody has been looking forward to this night for weeks. Of course, it just also happens to fall on the night before he leaves for that dikut’la relief mission. Sprint is going to owe him so many favors for that. Regardless, he doesn’t let it put a damper on his mood. He’s dressed and ready to go nearly an hour before they’re scheduled to meet at 79’s.
Bly, his baby brother Bly, is having a baby. Cody couldn’t be more happy for him. It had come unexpectedly, though General Secura hadn’t seemed surprised at all. Those two had been married since nearly the beginning of the War, and afterwards Bly had taken up post as Commander of the Temple Guard to stick closer to her. It had been a natural position for him to fill. Especially, since he’s soft spoken and so many of the Temple residents are still recovering from everything that had happened.
Secura wasn’t due for a few months yet, but Bly had insisted on finding a time to get everyone together and celebrate. With everyone constantly busy, it was a miracle they had found time at all. Wolffe was taking leave from rounding up slavers in the Outer Rim and was scheduled to pick up Fox from bandomeer on his way in. Rex was supposed to come too, given he wasn’t still upset with Cody. Ponds was already on Coruscant, so that hadn’t been an issue. Thire and Gree had been a little more tricky, but Cody wasn’t above using his position to get them reassigned to the Core for a few days. It would be the first time in nearly a year that Cody had seen all of his batchmates together.
When he arrives, Cody is waved over to a table in the corner by Wolffe.
“Well look here,” Fox whistles as he gets closer. “A visit from the Commander in Chief of the GAR himself. How did we get so lucky?”
Cody scowls and shoves Fox over in the booth so he can sit down.
“Am I seeing things?” Ponds rubs at his eyes and squints over the table from the other side of Wolffe. “Or is Cod’ika actually wearing real clothes? I didn’t know he owned something other than his blacks.” Thire cracks up laughing at Ponds’s shoulder.
Cody ignores them and peers around Fox to find Bly. “Congrats, vod. You’ll be a great buir.”
Bly smiles from ear to ear, still ecstatic even months after finding out the news. “Thanks! Aayla is more calm about all this than I am. I’ve been reading every holonovel I can get my hands on, but she just tells me the Force will handle it.” Bly reaches out to take Cody’s arm in a panicked grip, though it's more for show than reality. “Cody, the Force will not handle it.”
Cody laughs, all too familiar with Jetii Osik. “Kenobi said that shit all the time,” he says. “I could’ve sworn he was going to give me an ulcer by the end of the War.”
“Speaking of!” Thire cuts in. “What’s up with you two?” And the entire table’s attention shifts to Cody.
Cody’s used to being under pressure, but the eyes of his batchmates makes him swallow uncomfortably. They had all been so sure that he and Kenobi would end up together after the War. Cody had been so sure of it too, once upon a time.
But that had been years ago, and Cody hadn’t so much as said a single word to his old General since the last time they had crossed paths in the halls of the Senate. Cody shrugs helplessly, not sure where he had gone so wrong. “Nothing.” He tries his best to keep his tone casual, but that one word draws up a wellspring in his chest.
If Kenobi had wanted to stay in touch, he would have. But instead they had drifted apart. So close during the War that Cody didn’t think it was even possible, and yet here they are.
Cody had wanted so much. He had hoped for so much. He should have known better.
Not everyone got so lucky as Bly. Regardless of what Cody had done, how important he was, what he had achieved, at the end of the day, Cody was just a clone. He was born to hold a blaster and give his life in service to the Republic. He didn’t know how to do, how to be, anything else.
And a War which had been the sole reason for Cody’s entire existence, was only three horrible years for Kenobi.
Cody doesn’t blame his General for not wanting to talk to him. Though he hates himself for the way he still can’t look out his own damn window.
An uncomfortable silence spreads over the table as the reality of what Cody had said dawns on them.
“Really?” Wolffe looks confused. “But Buir said-”
“It doesn’t matter.” Cody really does not want to hear it. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not right now and preferably not ever. The lie is so obvious that Cody doesn’t even have to turn to see the eye roll from Fox.
Fox opens his mouth, but before he can say a word Cody is saved by the arrival of Gree and Rex.
The topic turns back to Bly and the baby, and Cody couldn’t be more grateful.
Rex squeezes in next to Cody while Gree pulls up a chair at the end. It's tight but they make it work; they’ve all lived in much closer quarters anyway. Rex gives Cody a look that makes Cody decide he is entirely too sober to handle anything else right now. He needs a drink. Multiple.
He leaves and comes back with a drink for him and Rex as well as a shot for both of them. He places the glasses down on the table in front of his little brother.
Rex glares at him but takes the peace offering without complaint. His face isn’t so pinched after he knocks back the shot. The fact that Rex doesn’t hit him tells Cody that all is forgotten, at least for tonight. For now, that’s enough.
-
For now, it’s enough. This unspoken agreement between them. The promise for more, not yet, not now, but After.
When Cody feels like his entire world is falling apart, after the fifth casualty report in the triple digits this month, after the loss of the last campaign, after the Senate makes a demand for better results and less funding. His hands shake and his eyes burn and he tries so hard to keep it all to himself. He’s a Field Marshall Commander. He’s supposed to have everything together. He’s supposed to be strong for his brothers.
But he can’t.
His entire life is slipping away from him. It still feels like they’re losing this war even as they win nearly every battle.
When he’s alone, hiding in the training salles on the lower decks, Kenobi always seems to find him. They spar until the shaking on Cody’s hands comes from exhaustion instead of fear. They run until Cody’s trying to catch his breath from exertion instead of panic. They talk until their voices turn hoarse.
And Cody can’t help but turn his head to the side, just an inch, and hold their foreheads together until he feels like himself again.
They’re so close like this. A hair's breadth away. Kenobi’s eyes sparkle under the artificial lights. The shadows cast on his face highlight the edge of his cheekbones.
Cody wants so badly to take that extra step. To find out if Kenobi’s lips are as soft as they look. To know exactly what that beard feels like against his cheek.
But for now, this is enough.
-
After the first round of drinks, the night progresses a lot lighter. Rex doesn’t yell at him. No one mentions Kenobi. And for a while, Cody can pretend that he isn’t missing half of himself.
“Oh!” Bly slurs somewhere between his seventh and eighth shot. “I’m retirin’!”
Everyone turns to look at him with varying degrees of surprise. “Retired? You can’t retire, you’re sixteen!” Someone says, probably Gree, though Cody is having a hard time figuring that out because they all look so kriffin’ similar to each other. Who’s idea was it to create an army full of identical men anyway? How was anyone supposed to tell them apart? Kenobi never got their names mixed up though. Cody had always loved that about him.
“F’r the baby.” Bly nods, as serious as he possibly can be. “I was supp’sed to tell you g’ys earli’r.”
“That’s great, vod.” Fox claps Bly on the back, the only sober one in the group. At least one of them had to be responsible. “Who’s taking your position?”
Bly shrugs and lists dangerously to the side. “I dunno.” He decides to counteract the sudden attack of gravity by burying his face into Fox’s shoulder. “Pro’bly jus’ some Jedi.” He rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Obi-W’n wanted me to f’nd someb’dy.” And something about that must’ve made Bly remember something important because he jumped to sit straight up and whirled around to look at Cody.
“Kote,” Bly points a wobbly finger across Fox’s chest. “You got a mish’n to the Hutt’s tom’r’w right?”
Cody does not like where this is going. He narrows his eyes at Bly, trying to get his vision to stop swimming. He is both too sober for this and not sober enough if he’s right about what Bly is about to tell him.
“Obi-W’n has a mish’n there too. He’s g’ne go with you!”
Oh seven kriffing hells.
Two years to get over the guy and then he’s being thrown on a mission with him right after a fight with Rex that has Cody questioning everything.
And that would be just Cody’s luck, wouldn’t it?