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One year into the war
“Do be careful, everyone,” Obi-Wan says in parting to the group before him. “I am expecting to see all of you on the other side.”
A year of constant barrage has stolen from many of these troopers their naïveté and lustre. There are some well-meaning grumblings, some sighs of defeat at yet another mission in the rain and mud, and only a few “Yessir”s as the small team of soldiers starts to shuffle out of the tent— but they all straighten up when Cody smacks his vambraces together, demanding their attention.
“Oya!” Cody calls. Live. Come back. Good hunting.
“Oya!” the troops shout in unison, their response resounding through the small area. Yes sir. You too.
Obi-Wan can’t conceal his smile as they file out in a swifter, more enthused fashion after Cody’s call to action. “You have such a way with words that I don’t,” he comments blithely, adjusting his own vambraces in a less concussive manner, “and I likely never will.”
Cody grins up at Obi-Wan between brushing invisible specks of dirt from his helmet. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he snorts good-naturedly. “The men respect you, sir. They always have, and they always will. You don’t need to know the inner workings of our one-of-a-kind culture to garner their respect; your own words are more than enough, sir.”
Obi-Wan hums in response. He knows this, of course— has seen it on and off the field, has experienced it in the mess and the gym and even the halls just outside his own quarters. But there’s still a part of him that wonders why, that questions everything that’s happening, that would like to know if he actually deserves all the respect he’s getting.
He’s a Jedi Master, to be sure; he knows combat intimately. He knows how to defend himself, how to watch for an opening, how to strike at an opportune time. But he’s not a wartime general by nature; he had to be made into that. Obi-Wan would himself feel uncertain about following someone who had been in their role for only some months with no training before leading an entire army.
He can’t deny he’s perhaps a little stressed about this whole war thing. Every time they go into battle, he wonders whose designations he’ll have to sign off on as dead on the next report, and wonders how many new troops will come in the next shipment, still squeaky clean and buffed to shine, fresh from Kamino. He wonders how many men he sends to their doom every time he formulates a plan, every time he gives an order. Every time he looks one of his men in the eye, he wonders if it will be the last time he sees them.
And Cody. How can he ever face Cody if he fails? So he’s simply… not allowed to fail.
Cody, as though sensing his thoughts, pulls him in by the back of the neck, pressing their foreheads together.
Immediately, his body starts to relax - his shoulders untensing, his posture loosening, his hands unclenching. He leans into the touch, grips at Cody’s elbow.
Obi-Wan’s seen him do this with younger, scared troopers, and with the men with whom he spends time nearly every day. This, however, is the first time Obi-Wan has himself been held so closely, so surely, so comfortably in the commander’s grip, and he lets his eyes slip closed in an effort not to glance down at Cody’s mouth.
He’s spent some time on Mandalore, and he knows what this is. He watched life partners pull each other into embraces, parental figures pick up their children, and press their helmets together, a close enough facsimile to a kiss in a culture that wears helmets that it’s referred to as such.
“It’ll be okay, General,” Cody murmurs, his words fanning out along Obi-Wan’s lips. “We’ll all be okay.”
Something deep inside of Obi-Wan twinges at the closeness, wanting nothing more than to hold and to be held. He wishes that an end to the war was even within sight so it wouldn’t be so unseemly for him to—
And instead, he bites back the words on his tongue yet again, not letting his true feelings slip forth as Cody steps away to follow their men out of the tent.
“Plenty of tinnies out here for the both of us,” Cody’s voice comes in Obi-Wan’s ear, exertion evident in his tone. “Don’t know how they keep making the damn things. Need to push up through the left flank to clear the way for the— dammit, just die already!”
Obi-Wan chuckles lowly in reply. His sector is just about clear, scraps and spare parts left in the wake of his spinning saber. “I’m almost done here, I’ll find my way to you,” he replies. “Should be just a moment.”
“Heard,” Cody says sharply, his voice tighter still. “Stupid kriffing— fuck!”
Obi-Wan’s stomach swoops in concern, and he automatically turns to look for Cody. It’s not the expletive that worries him - though to an extent, it probably should, given how surprisingly rarely his commander swears - but his bad feeling is confirmed only a moment later as a series of quiet groaning noises come across the line, wheezing where otherwise there needn't be sound.
“Commander?” Obi-Wan prompts when he doesn’t hear anything else verbalised for a moment. He cuts easily through a droid that tries to take a swipe at him with its blaster. “Commander, I need you to say something. Now.”
“Something,” Cody grunts, and Obi-Wan would kiss him, probably right after he smacks him.
Obi-Wan takes a deep breath at the confirmation and tries to settle his frayed nerves. “Ping a medic,” he says, already turning in the direction he last saw Cody. “I will come find you.”
“Y’r not a medic,” Cody groans. “Already did. Fuck.”
He doesn’t ask something so simple as “are you hit” because at this point, they may have precious little time before whatever has happened to Cody incapacitates him, and the answer is obviously yes. What he does need to pull is useful information, so that by the time the medic gets over to Cody’s location, Obi-Wan will have all of the answers at the tip of his tongue. “Where are you hit?” he asks instead, hoping that he can at least keep Cody talking.
“Chest. Hurts.”
If his commander is this badly wounded… no, that’s not a worthwhile line of thought. It doesn’t bear thinking about. He focuses instead on the ever-present bond between them, clinging to Cody’s Force signature of sunshine and the comfort of late night watch fires, trying to ignore the way throbbing pain threatens to burn into a bonfire.
“General,” Cody gasps, and he sounds terrible. That same heartstring twinges in Obi-Wan’s chest again, though this time it makes him want to scream. “It’s hard to breathe, sir—!”
“I'm nearly there, Commander,” he replies. With each step he takes, he can feel himself approaching Cody, that flicker becoming a blaze as he nears. Each droid that he cuts through is nothing more than a minor obstacle in his path. “Stay with me.”
“Hurry the fuck up,” Cody hisses. Thank the Force, Obi-Wan hears it with his own ears as well as his comms.
“I’m here,” he gentles, immediately dropping to his knees beside where Cody has sequestered himself half under the corpse of a B2 battle droid and pulling off the commander’s helmet to help with air intake. “I thought I told you to be careful," he gently chides. There’s a gaping hole in Cody’s armour, stained red from the seeping wound beneath. “I’m going to remove your breastplate for ease of access,” he says plainly, fingers already deftly finding the catches.
“Yessir,” Cody slurs, his eyelids fluttering. “Do whatcha want.”
“You have my six?” Obi-Wan asks, his mind focused on keeping Cody’s blood inside of his body with only a few tendrils of focus to spare for his surroundings. Even incapacitated - though the thought makes him shudder - Cody’s been trained for situations almost exactly like this.
Cody grunts in reply and doesn’t move, but Obi-Wan can see how his fingers, curled as they are around his blaster, tighten just the slightest bit.
“Good man,” Obi-Wan hums, and lifts away the breastplate, careful not to look at the secrets etched on the underside of it as he peels the shell away from Cody’s otherwise unprotected form. Those aren’t for him to know unless Cody says otherwise.
The blood has made itself more known under here, a dark, wet stain seeping along Cody’s blacks. A lance of worry spikes through the back of Obi-Wan’s mind before he can control it - at how much blood is threatening to bubble out of Cody’s chest, and how much already has. Obi-Wan blinks away the thought; there’s no sense in worrying about it right now, not while the commander’s still breathing in his arms.
A field medic skids in next to them and injects a prepped hypo into Cody’s neck, and then pulls Cody’s glove away to press her fingers to Cody’s wrist even before she’s fully settled. “Sir,” Weiss says, breathless from running but her demeanour calm. “Best if you just try to breathe through the hole that the longnecks gave you, sir. Don’t want you choking on this impromptu one from the tinnies.”
Even in the field of battle, Weiss’ more playful rapport keeps hurt troopers feeling light and easy. Obi-Wan finds it difficult indeed to have a bad opinion of his medics, each of them glowing steadily (and on occasion flickering playfully) in the Force. It’s likely a combination of training and simply who they are as people that makes them so reliable; Obi-Wan’s convinced that the Force plays a large role in how steadfast each of them are as medics.
Cody seems to have no such qualms about bad opinions. “F’ckoff,” he hisses as Weiss prods at the edges of his wound, twitching with the pain.
It must be excruciating, to make Cody react so much; Obi-Wan once watched him break his shin against a sparring dummy and then walk himself to the medbay without even so much as a limp.
“Yessir, I will fuck right off, sir. Can we arrange it for after you get on a medical transport back to the ship?” Weiss flicks at another hypo, cuts away Cody’s blacks around his fresh wound, injects the hypo directly into his chest. “I promise you won’t see me after that until we win down here.”
Cody sighs and breathes more steadily and slowly as whatever drug Weiss gave him starts to take effect.
“Although, that means that we’re leaving you with Mirage and the rest of the kids. Barely old enough to be shipped out, I’ll tell you that much.” Weiss presses directly onto Cody’s wound and packs it with an expanding gauze, “Should probably scare you a bit. Maybe more than a bit. I mean I’m more than capable, sir, but those cadets….” She shakes her head, and Obi-Wan can hear her smile in her voice. “They might accidentally kill you, though they’ll mean well doing it.”
Cody glares up at her, though the effect is somewhat diminished by how his eyelids are drooping.
Weiss turns to Obi-Wan. “We need to get this man back to the ship. He needs more help than I can give him here.”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan nods. “Do you have—?”
“No stretcher,” Weiss interrupts, voice grim. “We’ll need to carry him, but try to keep his head below his heart. Cradle his head best you can, sir. I’ll get his legs.”
“Weiss,” Obi-Wan says before they can act. “I’ll lift. You push.”
Weiss cocks her head to the side, questioning, but she seems to know better than to question a Jedi outright. “Yessir,” she replies, and secures her medic pack.
“You’ll be alright, Commander,” Obi-Wan whispers to bolster himself as much as Cody, picking up Cody’s helmet in one hand, his chest plate in the other, and Cody in his mind. Cody begins to levitate at Obi-Wan’s command, and while he could theoretically push Cody along as well, it would take more mental strength than it does to simply make him float - strength that Obi-Wan needs to get across the battlefield with everyone in his party uninjured.
Deep down, there’s a part of Obi-Wan that wants to linger. To fret over Cody, to ensure his total return to health. The rest of him, the vast majority, knows that not only does he have work to do as the general of the troops that are currently on the field, but Cody would also benefit much more by being sternly coerced back to health under the care of the medical staff than a Jedi who marked solidly in the middle of his peers at using the Force to heal.
His connection to the Force does not waver, though, as he gets the three of them across the field, Cody held aloft until Obi-Wan can carefully place him on a stretcher to board a gunship bringing the wounded back to the Negotiator.
“General,” Cody sighs, face pinched together in a frown.
“Yes, Commander, I’m here.” Obi-Wan fights not to smooth out the furrow in Cody’s brow, busying himself instead with tucking Cody’s helmet next to his hip and clipping it best he can to his belt so it won’t roll away. “What can I do?”
“You coming?”
He wraps his hands around Cody’s ungloved one. “No, but I’ll see you up there once we win the battle down here.”
A flash of smile passes across Cody’s face, followed too closely for comfort by a grimace of pain. “Promise?”
“Absolutely,” Obi-Wan says, pushing peace and ease towards Cody through the Force and hoping it works.
Fresh troops step off of the transport and immediately make a charge for the front lines. Weiss shakes her head as she watches them go, and Obi-Wan can’t help but agree. They have to end this war soon; the cost is far too great.
Obi-Wan brushes his thumb along the back of Cody’s knuckles and then forces himself to step back.
He doesn’t watch the gunship leave atmosphere, instead following his troops to the front, but it feels like a piece of his soul goes all the way into planetary orbit to be treated for a blaster wound to the chest.
One year and one day into the war
“I want him out of my medbay,” Hex huffs as soon as Obi-Wan enters. “Please take him far away. Tell him not to return unless he’s actively dying. Again.”
“I’m right here, you ass,” Cody says from where he is on the bed, equally huffy.
Obi-Wan would like the record to show that he has yet to do anything other than stand silently.
“If I’m an ass, then you’re the pain in my ass.” Hex glares at Cody, then rolls his eyes and strides back to his desk to write something down. “He’ll need painkillers for the next couple of days. He’s lucky we have any at all.”
“I’m fine,” Cody gripes in return. “I don’t need painkillers. This is no worse than when Seventeen accidentally broke my ulna in two spots, and the longnecks didn't give me painkillers for that.”
Obi-Wan blinks at that. He himself has certainly taken painkillers for pain far less than a broken bone— the Kaminoans didn’t offer any medication? He will certainly be talking to Shaak about—
“This isn’t Kamino,” Hex says darkly. “I will not run my medbay like a lab. You are not an experiment, Cody. I’m not going to push your pain to the limits during wartime— especially not during a very temporary truce.”
Cody doesn’t reply, just sends a burning glare back towards the medic.
Hex sighs and steps in closer, arms still crossed. “You are not my only patient. If I make exceptions for you, everyone else will start wanting exceptions too, and then the next thing you know, I’ll be giving out double pudding rations where there previously were no pudding rations at all. Take the damn pills, Commander. It’s an order.”
Obi-Wan steps forward to insert himself into the conversation and clears his throat quietly. “I can help remind him,” he says. “Or reinforce the order. Whatever needs to happen to ensure my commander is operating at peak efficiency.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cody’s shoulders fall in a silent sigh while he looks askance.
“If he could stop jumping in front of blasters, that would be helpful. Actually, in my professional medical opinion, he should stop jumping in front of blasters full stop, if you want peak efficiency.” He scoops a bottle up from the side of Cody’s medical cot and hands it to Obi-Wan. “I’m not convinced he’ll take these without supervision, so I'd like confirmation each time he takes a pill. If he doesn’t take them, I’ll hunt him down and they’ll become suppositories.” Hex rolls his eyes and starts heading back towards his desk, “Looks like you two will have to start spending more time together, since you weren’t before.”
Obi-Wan reads along the label somewhat out of curiosity, but also to distract himself from the burning at the tips of his ears and the nape of his neck. “I think we spend plenty of time together already,” he says mildly, feeling his cheeks start to flush as well.
Hex levels a look up at him, utterly deadpan. “It was a joke. I was joking. You’re already practically inseparable and down each other’s throats. Both of you get the kriff out of my medbay. Go. Begone.”
Cody winces when he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, but quickly schools his expression and carries on, scooping his helmet off of the bedside table and pinning it to his hip with strained form.
Obi-Wan will be having none of that, thank you very much. “Take it easy, darling,” he murmurs, offering a hand to Cody when the commander takes his first shaky steps along the floor. He’s pleasantly surprised when Cody grabs hold of his arm tightly, having honestly expected to be brushed off altogether. “Let’s get you to a more comfortable bed.”
“I’m expecting an update by 1800 ship’s time,” Hex calls from across the medbay, already tending to another trooper (who is dutifully not looking at Obi-Wan and Cody).
Obi-Wan smiles politely and nods in recognition as he finally helps Cody from the medbay.
“Don’t encourage him,” Cody grumbles. “He’s already underestimating the size of his head.”
“As long as he produces good quality work, I suppose I’ll do what I can not to lend to his ego, but I can’t necessarily call him out on anything.” Obi-Wan couldn’t call him out if he tried. Hex is among the best he’s ever met.
“As if he’ll ever be anything less than perfect,” Cody huffs, unknowingly agreeing. “That man prides himself on being the best medic you’ll ever find.”
“I am satisfied he’s with our company, then.” Obi-Wan tries to siphon some pain away from Cody as they hobble slowly down the hall, but it seems as though in an effort to portray outward strength, the commander has closed his inner self off, too. His light still flickers, but definitely dimmer.
Obi-Wan places that on a list of things that simply will not do, which seems to be growing steadily longer. “Let’s head to my quarters,” he murmurs. “More room, more accommodations. Plus, I can keep a closer eye on you from there.”
Cody groans but doesn’t protest further. Obi-Wan will take any win he can get.
Cody slumps against the door as soon as it closes, his eyes closed and his face beaded with sweat.
He’s scarily pallid, frankly, and Obi-Wan would like him at least functional as soon as possible— for Cody’s own sake. Obi-Wan can handle the 212th for as long as Cody needs to get back up on his feet, literally. He’s not sure how long the man could handle sitting still, though.
“A few more steps to the table, darling, you’ll feel much better sitting down,” Obi-Wan says quietly in the otherwise too-quiet room. “Come along, Commander. You’re nearly there.”
“You’re being too nice to me,” Cody grumbles in reply, but takes the last taxing steps, immediately pulling his gloves off, unfettered fingers finding clasps around his belt and codpiece next.
Obi-Wan would like a word with whomever decided to put him back in full armour. “A moment while I put the water on, and then I’ll help with your armour.” He tries his very best not to scoff, but he’s not sure it works, “Too nice. As if! I think I’m the standard amount of nice.”
Once the kettle is on the hot plate, Obi-Wan settles on his knees in front of Cody, ignoring the way his joints make their protests audibly known. Boot, boot, these go by the door next to Obi-Wan’s shoes. Greave, greave, these get handed up to Cody for him to clean and arrange how he likes.
Obi-Wan bites back his instinct to fill the quiet with noise, instead focussing on the task at hand, methodically undoing clasps that are really quite intuitive, mentally making a point to ask about them at a different date.
Cody inhales sharply when Obi-Wan’s fingers brush gently against his blacks on his thigh as he undoes his cuisses. His head is still dropped back, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed.
“Apologies,” Obi-Wan whispers, deftly undoing the other one and placing them together next to the greaves.
He nearly shivers when he takes Cody’s bare hands in his own to slide away his vambraces and rerebraces. He quickly moves away to unclasp his pauldrons, channelling his focus into his task and away from how Cody’s hands felt so warm in his own, fingers callused but gentle.
The kettle begins to whistle as Obi-Wan places the second pauldron on the table. He debates setting a hand on Cody’s shoulder, hovers it there for a moment, draws it away. “Tea,” he murmurs. “Back in a moment.”
Two mugs full of a healing blend and piping hot water, and Obi-Wan stands and watches them steep with an unfocused gaze. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Cody’s bloodied form. He swears he can still hear the roar of blaster fire interlaced with Cody’s broken cries.
He runs a ragged hand down his face and into his beard. Cody needs him as support right now, and definitely does not need him to be a clingy hindrance; he’ll have to walk the fine line between supporting and overbearing— something he’s concerned he didn’t do well as a master and therefore has very little experience with.
The timer goes off, and Obi-Wan pulls the tea bags from the mugs and adds sugar almost on autopilot.
He cares about his commander, perhaps in a way that is unbecoming of his station. Perhaps in a way that he… shouldn’t. He is aware of this. His behaviour is not so much a concern as it is an inconvenience; he can handle it, but reining in his emotions and schooling his features every time he’s around Cody after so long of simply being comfortable around each other, it might be difficult.
He will do what he must. Cody doesn’t deserve Obi-Wan pattering about after him with his heart on his sleeve and his eyes the size of nebulae. He needs to pull himself together and act like the general that Cody was expecting.
It’s only when Cody’s breath catches on a pained grunt that he realises he’s been stirring for much longer than necessary. It’s odd how easy it is to become lost in thought, when he has but a moment of quiet.
He finds his way back to Cody and sets the mug down amongst the neat piles of armour. “There you are,” he says quietly, and sets his own mug further along the table. “Supposedly has some healing properties. Believe that as you will; at the very least, it should make you tired enough to sleep well tonight.”
Cody hums a low noise of appreciation and takes a swig. “‘S good,” he murmurs, not caring that it’s still overly hot. “Thank you.”
“Of course, darling,” Obi-Wan replies, and steadies himself between the edge of the table and Cody’s chair. “Just your breastplate and your back plate and you’ll be good as new.”
“I’ll get them,” Cody says sharply, and then winces at his tone. “Sorry, sir. I just mean… I’m not totally useless, sir.”
Obi-Wan itches to pull Cody close, but he’s working on that whole schooling himself thing. He would like to say he's doing a very good job of it. He pauses for a moment, trying to choose which words would best convey his meaning without betraying this feeling he’s so recently discovered. “I’m very sorry it came across that way,” he replies, carefully bracing himself on the table amongst the scattered pieces of armour. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re going it alone. You don’t have to do everything yourself, see.”
Cody blinks up at him. “Why does it matter to you?” he all but whispers, cradling his mug close to his chest, the jagged edges of the hole in his armour where Obi-Wan tried to keep him alive just not that long ago starkly evident against his new blacks beneath.
Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, pushing his stress out of his body. It doesn’t relieve the furrow in his brow. “Because I care about you,” he replies. Not a lie, necessarily, but not the whole truth. “Because I don’t want to see you suffering.” That’s a truth, to be sure. He barely fights back a shudder at the memory of white and gold plastoid stained with red; he’d rather not face that situation again any time soon.
Cody takes a deep breath, winces, pushes a hand against his armour-clad chest. “Okay,” he says finally, in a small voice. “As long as you remember I’m infinitely replaceable.”
“Oh, Commander,” Obi-Wan says, feeling his nails bite into his palm. “Not to me, darling. Never to me.”
They sit there a moment longer in silence before Cody grunts out a “Will you help me get this damn thing off? My range of motion is limited. Something about a hole in my chest.”
Obi-Wan smiles and reaches out to unclasp the last two pieces of armour, carefully not looking at the chest plate and instead holding Cody’s gaze. It’s a start.
One year and seven months into the war
Less than three hours into their deployment onto what is perhaps the coldest planet Obi-Wan has ever set foot on, he’s shivering uncontrollably even under his several layers of robes and coats. It’s not even the snow that’s the problem; it would be fine if it weren’t for the damned wind that cuts right through him.
“You’re looking a little blue, sir,” Cody says, barely containing a laugh.
Easy for him to say. He’s fully bundled against the chill; his armour - “cold assault armour,” Cody had explained while painting on his stripes of golden sun, sitting cross legged on the floor of Obi-Wan’s quarters - is designed to protect him and be a bulwark against the wintry conditions.
Oh, to have a bulwark against the wintry conditions.
Alas. He was offered a Sparhartt jacket and not even a backwards glance.
“I feel a little blue, Commander,” he replies, trying to rub his hands together in his mittens to create any friction at all. His legs are so cold they’re numb, he’s fairly certain his balls have either shrivelled back into his body or frozen off entirely, and he might have to lose his nose to the mission altogether. Not even because of the cold, though— but because it won’t stop running, and he’s tired of chasing after it, trying to sniff the entirety of northern Snokota back into his sinuses. “Blue as in fucking cold.”
“I can tell,” Cody has the nerve to laugh again. “You should join the 501st with that shade, sir.”
“Har har.”
Even after they’ve set up their tent - the sides billowing in and making it seem like they could blow away at any second - and after a cup and a half of tea, Obi-Wan still feels like he can’t shift the feeling around him, this cold that’s settled into his very bones and decided to spend the night.
It’s extraordinarily difficult to focus on anything. Obi-Wan finds himself fretting over the condition of the tent, worrying that his men outside are having the same issues with their own tents and are less well equipped to handle it, or being just generally concerned about the state of the mission. He’s not entirely certain what they’re looking for on this frozen planet; he was told that he would “know it when he sees it”, which is just about his least favourite way to operate when trying to find a potentially war-altering device.
Obi-Wan and Cody share a dinner of ration packs over a little fire. It’s a mostly silent affair, but for the occasional passing mention of how the ration packs still taste like shit, and how it's unfortunate that for all of those spending bills the senate is more than willing to pass, none of those will see the front lines in terms of quality— purely in quantity. (Which, while they are eager to get new troopers away from Kamino, they’ve agreed that the shinies will be less likely to see action. Obi-Wan will see to that. They’ve also agreed, somewhat more superficially, it also will be unfortunate once they have a lot more troopers and the quality of the ration packs suffer for it. More money allocated to troops means less money allocated to the quality of provisions.)
It’s after dinner when Obi-Wan begins to bundle up to do checks that Cody starts giving him funny looks.
“What do you think you’re doing, sir?”
“I’d just like to make sure our men are still there,” Obi-Wan replies, trying his best to bundle in airtight layers through breathable fabric not rated for winter. “Comms aren’t working, which I believe has something to do with the conditions. In case you haven’t noticed, my dear, it’s a fucking blizzard out there.”
Cody gives him an odd sort of half smile, then stands and grabs his helmet. He slips it on and adjusts the weatherproof fabric around his neck, and his voice comes through the vocoder but is still notably his when he says, “You’re a little less tight-laced when you’re cold, sir.”
Obi-Wan hums, nestling his snow goggles safely within his scarf before he responds. “And is that an issue, Commander?”
Cody’s back straightens just the slightest bit at the title, but the steady, easy warmth of his presence in the Force is almost strong enough to make Obi-Wan forget about all of the snow. Almost. “Not in the slightest, sir,” he says, and Obi-Wan can hear the smile in his voice.
Insufferable. Obi-Wan steps into their vestibule to get away for even just a moment, to calm his unruly heart.
Making it out of the tent feels like an act of pure determination. As soon as he steps foot out of the safety of the canvas, the threat of the wind trying to blow him away becomes more realised. Cold seeps through his jacket, and he shivers with it, but the idea that his men could be dying from hypothermia even while hidden safely away in tents that are hopefully holding fast pushes him through to the first tent.
He and Cody catch their breath in the vestibule of the nearest tent, hidden away from the brunt of the storm but not exposing the tent’s members directly to the cruel environment that seems like it’s actively trying to kill them.
Perhaps more thought went into the GAR’s winter gear all around, and the Jedi were given items as an afterthought. As long as his men are safe, Obi-Wan supposes he really can’t complain.
It settles his nerves just a touch, despite how the material of the tent still whips around them with the force of the wind. He would knock, but the thought of frozen bodies on the other side catches his mind and—
What he notices first is the amount of heat in the air, which he’s careful not to let slip out, ushering Cody in behind him and sealing the tent once more. The second thing he notices is how all of the soldiers have stripped down to their blacks and are huddled in a close pile on the floor, sharing their blankets and mats and body heat with one another.
One trooper with an undercut looks up towards the intruders groggily, offers a half-assed salute and a small, warm smile, cuddling back down to the body beside him. “Sirs,” they say by way of greeting, and nothing else, waiting to see what Obi-Wan says.
Obi-Wan smiles in return, though hidden as he is by his many layers he pushes out the idea of him smiling more than visibly expresses it. “Comfortable?”
“Yeah,” the trooper replies, nestling further into the pile of warmth. “You joining?”
“Case,” Cody says in a low, reprimanding tone from behind Obi-Wan, though he sounds almost wistful to the trained ear.
Case shrugs. “Your loss.”
“Quite,” Obi-Wan agrees, “it seems very cozy in here.” Also he’s glad they’re not all dead, but he decides it's probably best not to say that part out loud. “Should I hazard a guess we would find the occupants of the other tents in similar fashion?”
“They’d be idiots not to,” Case confirms. “In this weather, all we really have is each other. Sir.”
“Case,” another trooper grumbles, shifting in the pile. “Shut up.”
Case shrugs again, yawns, and turns over. “Sun comes up early, per the briefing. If you want beauty sleep, you should probably start now.”
“Trooper,” Cody says sharply. “A little respect goes a long way, son.”
“It’s beyond freezing outside. I think you have a further ways to go than my respect, sir.”
Obi-Wan can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. It’s true; the landing squad seems to be thriving despite the conditions, and Case, as lacking in decorum as he’s been, has settled Obi-Wan’s admittedly jumpy nerves more than they have been this whole mission so far. “Duly noted, Case, thank you,” he says with a smile. “See you bright and early.”
“Ass o’clock,” Case confirms, then offers another quick and sloppy salute and closes his eyes once more.
“I’d like to apologise on behalf of my unruly trooper, General,” Cody says as he takes his bucket off, his voice becoming clearer the further the vocoder gets. “He was out of line. He’ll be on KP duty for a while, see what he learns about respect.”
“It’s no trouble at all, Commander,” Obi-Wan replies, brushing snow from his shoulders and hood. “We interrupted his sleep, it was perfectly understandable. I took no offense, I guarantee it.”
“He should still know better.” Cody frowns and runs a hand through his helmet-mussed curls, shaking the snow from his shoulders like a massif. “A little tact doesn’t hurt.”
“I personally thought he made some well-conceived points about warmth,” Obi-Wan hums. Huddling for warmth is the obvious answer, after all. Though, to be fair to himself, the reason Case had to point it out at all is that Obi-Wan hasn’t been a member of a cuddle pile since a few years before he became a knight. His schedule filled up with things other people deemed important, and his regularly alotted cuddle time became little more than a memory.
Cody looks at him for a moment, his brow furrowed with something Obi-Wan can’t identify when he meets his commander’s gaze. The fear that he’s potentially overstepped his bounds and made Cody consider huddling with him - even if it’s just for warmth - and perhaps placed him in the awkward position of needing to acquiesce because of rank… he jumps to correct before Cody can comply.
“I’m not saying—”
“Sir—”
Obi-Wan huffs a quiet laugh and motions for Cody to continue his sentence.
Cody clears his throat and looks down at his boots, not meeting Obi-Wan’s eye. “Clones, um. Clones put out a lot of heat. Sir. And your hands - especially your fingers, that is - are almost always red, on the Venator. You hold your tea for as long as you can to get any warmth out of it. I have cause to think you maybe… don’t put out a lot. Of heat. Sir.”
Obi-Wan chews on the inside of his lower lip, realising he’s still wearing his full coat, in a somewhat incriminating turn of events. “You would be correct, Commander. I do particularly poorly in the cold.”
“I’d prefer you functional, sir,” Cody says quietly, blinking a couple of times before looking up to finally catch Obi-Wan’s gaze, something deep in his eyes. “I’m open to whatever, sir. Whatever needs to happen to ensure my general is operating at peak efficiency.”
Obi-Wan’s breath catches at the memory of those words, what feels like so long ago now.
“If that means we share a bed for every night on this mission, then I suggest we do it.” Cody’s mouth twitches, “We could even double up on blankets that way, sir. A heater and an extra blanket.”
Obi-Wan is silent for a moment, somewhat dazed at what Cody’s saying. “How could I possibly refuse,” he replies, quiet but honest. “You’re… quite certain?”
“Yes, sir. I’d prefer we share a bed than you lose your hands to the mission due to reasons that could have been avoided.” Cody sets his helmet gently on his bed, now looking deeply into Obi-Wan’s eyes. “If you’re worried about my autonomy, sir, don’t be. I can tell when you treat me as an equal and when I’m your subordinate; I’m rarely your subordinate anymore.”
Obi-Wan opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. He’s mildly concerned he bears a close resemblance to a surprised fish being suddenly yanked out of the water.
“Which I’m not upset by,” Cody’s quick to amend. “I, um. I like being treated as more than just an object or a station, it turns out.”
“Oh, Cody.”
Cody’s spine straightens and his eyes flutter shut; when he opens them again, his pupils are larger than they were before, beautiful brown irises swallowed up in a sea of black. He clears his throat. “Probably we should start thinking about sleep, sir.”
“Yes, quite.” Obi-Wan turns to shuck his coat from his shoulders, purposefully evening out his breathing, lest his body betray what his heart is aggressively tapping out in his chest. Coat, mittens, hat, scarf, lighter coat beneath, all are neatly folded and placed in a small pile in the order he’ll need them.
“Um, sir,” Cody says in a small voice behind him. “Sorry, sir, my armour’s stuck. Could you…?”
“Of course, darling,” Obi-Wan replies, and bites back a laugh when he catches sight of Cody’s obvious struggle to get even his pauldron off, his fingers caught under the plastisteel. “Dear me, Cody, what happened?”
“It won’t unseal,” Cody mutters as Obi-Wan’s fingers slide deftly next to Cody’s own. “I think it’s frozen on.”
It takes all the effort equivalent to harnessing a team of womp rats to a speeder in order not to laugh. “Has this happened before?” His fingers rapidly lose whatever warmth they had left as he pries away the pauldron from Cody’s shoulder. “And if yes, what was your solution?”
“Yes, once,” Cody confirms. “And I… waited. I slept in my armour. Until it thawed. But I think it would be uncomfortable to do that tonight.”
“It does seem like sleeping in a full kit of—”
“For you, sir.”
Obi-Wan pauses momentarily in his efforts on the other pauldron before doubling down. The piece comes off with a pop, and he lays it gently next to the first pauldron. “Oh,” he says quietly, unsure of how else to respond.
They work their way along the rest of Cody’s armour in silent tandem, prying piece after piece away from Cody’s body to reveal the thermal layer underneath. There are thankfully fewer pieces to the cold assault armour than there are in Cody’s regular armour, so it’s mostly quick work until they just have the breastplate, fauld, and kama left.
“Watch the pinch points,” Cody murmurs, warm hand catching Obi-Wan’s cold one before he can slip his fingers between the equally cold plates of armour. “This armour moves differently from the standard kit. I’ll try not to breathe too much, but this fauld doesn’t flex as well as the standard.”
Obi-Wan tears his gaze away from his hand still held in Cody’s once he realises he’s been staring. “Okay,” he says, half certain Cody can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips.
Cody draws a breath in and releases Obi-Wan’s hand with a nod.
It takes a great deal of patience, and perhaps the maximum amount of effort Obi-Wan’s fingers are capable of giving in their cold and fragile state, but the breastplate eventually starts to give. With one last great heave, the piece goes skittering to the ground, leaving only the white thermals and the fauld in its place.
“Thanks.” Cody’s voice holds a laugh.
“Of course.” Obi-Wan turns away as Cody goes to pick it up, leaving him his privacy. He busies himself instead arranging the other bits of armour on Cody’s cot - which will apparently otherwise go unused - only to be pulled back when Cody calls to him just barely above a whisper.
“You can look,” he says, his voice hoarse.
Obi-Wan searches Cody’s eyes for any flicker of doubt, but finds only certainty and trust. Bolstered, he glances down.
Despite this being the first time that he’s worn the cold assault armour, the inside of Cody’s breastplate is covered in writing— many names that Obi-Wan knows, and some that he doesn’t. There are some that he’s only heard of, and some that he’s met only in passing. It’s… beautiful, the sprawling inscriptions on this piece of armour that Cody took the time to personalise inside and out, to keep his loved ones close to his chest.
And then there, carved into the centre, where he know Cody’s heart lies beneath, he sees his own name.
“If you’re uncomfortable, I can move back to my bunk,” Cody says, keeping his voice low.
“No,” Obi-Wan gripes and settles back into Cody’s arms, pressing up against the radiator of a man behind him. He’s very comfortable, actually, no matter how unwilling to admit it he is. “Shut up and hold me and go to sleep.”
“Yessir.”
Obi-Wan sighs and shifts under Cody’s arm so he’s facing his commander. With no lights on, whatever occurs in this tent will surely stay only between the two of them. They already share so many secrets as top of command, what’s one more? “So long as I’m sharing a bunk with you, I’m extending a blanket permission to stop referring to me as sir.”
He can practically feel Cody roll his eyes. “You tried that on day one.”
“And I’ll note that it didn’t work. Presently, however, you’re literally holding my waist.”
“Which I will note I’ve done before, and will probably do again. It’s where you’re easiest to grab when you’re about to do something—”
“Cody.”
There’s a long pause during which neither of them speaks, then there’s a harsh exhale from his commander.
“Again,” Cody whispers through the darkness, almost pleading. “Say it again, sir.”
“Then go ahead and stop calling me sir,” Obi-Wan smiles, “Cody.”
Sudden movement. With a wounded noise, Cody only barely catches himself once his mouth is scant inches away from Obi-Wan’s; his rapid breath ghosts across Obi-Wan’s lips, shaky and uncertain. His hand slides up until he’s cupping Obi-Wan’s jaw, blaster-callused fingertips tenderly brushing across Obi-Wan’s wind-chapped cheek.
“Obi-Wan,” Cody breathes, barely audible.
Obi-Wan, for his part, will deny the quiet keening noise he makes until the end of his days, and is willing to enforce secrecy to make sure Cody does, too.
He could do it. Two inches separate them, if that, he could close the distance and finally taste Cody’s lips against his own. It would be so easy, they’re so close, and Cody— Cody wants him, in the same way that he wants Cody—
But he can’t. They both know Cody needs to move first.
And Cody’s always been a better man than him.
Cody presses his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs just shy of Obi-Wan’s lips, and Obi-Wan’s heart soars at the same time his stomach sinks. “I… we can’t, sir. Not here. Not now. There’s a mission.”
“There’s always a mission,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Well, we’ve waited this long. What’s a further, unknowable amount of time?”
That makes Cody laugh, and Obi-Wan smiles at the sound.
“Let’s focus on you not dying of hypothermia first, sir.” He gently pulls his hand away from Obi-Wan’s face and lays his arm once more over his waist. “Turn over,” he says, voice gruff and filled with something that might be longing. “Easier to exchange heat that way.”
And indeed, once Cody pulls him near, it’s like laying in proximity to the ship’s boiler. The relief of warmth pressing into his body brings sleepiness with it, and he finally yawns. His chrono’s already set to wake them up, and there’s no other detected life on this planet. The tent isn’t going to blow away. He can allow himself the necessity of sleep, and the luxury of it being unguarded— though the irony of it still being in Cody’s arms does not escape him.
“Sleep well, my dear.”
“Goodnight,” Cody says, the last thing he hears. “Obi-Wan.”
Two and a half years into the war
The endless marching in this terrible swamp - which seems like it’s actively trying to kill them, while Obi-Wan would like to remind the swamp that they’ve genuinely done nothing but walk - is starting to get to them all, Obi-Wan’s pretty sure. Their march has been decreasing in speed (something that he’s not personally terribly upset by), and more than one trooper has gone through a couple of early stages of fatigue.
He has orders to press on, but for the safety of his men, he’s pretty sure he should pull back the pace. While he himself can channel the stamina to continue, he seems to have found a way to actually wear out the troops.
Cody chuckles his agreement when they sit around the same fire, burning low and smoky with the driest wood they could find. “Yeah, full pace for too many hours on end will finally take it out of us. Command class can go a bit longer, generally. Found that out the hard way. Though, I’m not sure how you’re still going, if I’m being honest.” He takes a bite of his ration pack, “You’re not genetically enhanced too, are you?”
“Ah, no. That would be the Force,” Obi-Wan admits. “It sustains the Jedi emotionally, mentally, and spiritually but can also do so physically. It just has to be channelled the correct way.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Cody laughs, shaking his head. “Are there limits to how long you can do it?”
“If I am too tired, that can be a factor.”
“If you become too tired… from keeping yourself from becoming tired?”
“Usually I can keep myself sustained for several days on end, but after a while with no food it can become difficult. It also depends on if I’m keeping someone else upright; there are some physical drawbacks to giving without receiving. I’m happy to do it, though,” Obi-Wan explains, not meeting Cody’s eye. He’s somewhat selfishly been helping to keep his commander upright as well, giving more of himself than he strictly needs to because he knows how privately frustrated Cody is when his mental prowess is not at full capacity, even though his commander keeps it under a tight seal.
Not saying it out loud thus far, not admitting his personal motives to a single soul— this has been the only way Obi-Wan has justified it. Had he even once said it out loud… there’s no longer any deniability.
“General,” Cody chides, a teasing sort of tone in his voice. “Tell me you haven’t been wasting your badassery on me.”
“I certainly wouldn’t call it wasting,” Obi-Wan replies, encouraged to the point of smiling by the lack of actual reprimanding. And there goes any deniability.
Cody kicks him gently in the muddy greave. “Obi-Wan!”
Obi-Wan grins fully, now. “It’s maybe only five or ten percent of what I’m doing, don’t worry,” he says. “I’m not genetically enhanced and we’re slogging through one of my least favourite terrains, I have to keep up with you somehow.”
Cody rolls his eyes. “Oh, sure. But you’re reinforcing the abilities of the one clone here who can go longer than all of the others.”
“And I’d do it again,” Obi-Wan shrugs, peeling away a bite of jerky. “It’s a strategic move where we can both take care of everyone else, so the better condition we ourselves are in, the more likely we are to succeed as a group.”
Cody gives him a narrow-eyed look.
“You are right, of course; I should have asked, and for that I am sorry.”
“That’s not quite what I’m thinking,” Cody says, glancing back down towards his ration before meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes again.
Obi-Wan swallows hard at the intensity of Cody’s gaze. “What is it, darling?”
“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He takes another bite, says around his mouthful, “I’m trying to figure out why you would want me reinforced but not expect anything extra from me.”
There’s a stretched silence during which Obi-Wan thinks he can hear his own heart fracture further. “Oh, Cody.”
“You said it yourself, you’re giving without receiving.”
There have only been a handful of times where Obi-Wan has wanted to take back what was said more than this moment. Best to shut it down before it can get out of hand. “Cody, no. I’m not expecting anything of you, darling, I do it because I—”
Well, no. He can’t say that.
He sighs. “Because I want to, I suppose.”
Not yet, anyways.
Cody seems to understand, hears the words Obi-Wan doesn’t say. His brow furrows, his lips form a hard line. “Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, gripping onto his ration like he’s stopping himself from reaching out. He clears his throat, looks away. “Understood, sir.” He sighs, heavy and long, then shakes his head. “I can’t endorse it,” he says plainly, and takes a beat before continuing with the slightest curve to his lips. “But I can’t say I don’t like it.”
Obi-Wan offers him a small, thankful smile, which is returned easily - comfortably - by his commander. The rapport they share, he will always be grateful for. Maybe someday he’ll be able to express just how grateful.
After a mostly solid - albeit still uncomfortable - night of sleep, they find their way again in the morning.
“Two and a half years into this bullshit,” Cody grunts, kicking some mud from his boot with help from a nearby tree, “and no end in sight. Aren’t you sick of it yet?”
Obi-Wan sighs and brushes his already-sweaty hair back from his forehead. “Dearest, I’ve been sick of it since it started.” He pushes past another vine, trying to think wholesome thoughts towards it and not about cutting it in half. “The whole thing—” he dislodges his foot from some mud, “—with war—” another vine, think only good thoughts, dammit, “—is that it promises victory around the next turn—” if he feels another Forcedamned bug on his skin he might explode, “—but offers no insight into how long it might be until you get there.”
A rope catches him around the throat, and his saber is in his hand before he realises it, ready to free himself from the beskar grip of whatever fresh horror is trying to kill him— only to realise it’s another kriffing vine just fractions of a second before he sears into its flesh.
Cody’s hand covers Obi-Wan’s, stopping him just as much as Obi-Wan stopped himself. He carefully reaches up and untangles the vine from Obi-Wan’s throat, expressing no wariness in stepping towards the humming plasma blade scant inches from his face to do so.
“There you are, sir,” Cody says, allowing the vine to settle behind Obi-Wan’s head, stepping quite a ways into Obi-Wan’s personal space to accomplish his goal. “Right as rain.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmurs, startled to once again find himself close enough to feel Cody’s breath on his cheek. A clamouring from the troops behind them startles him back into action, “Er, thank you, darling.” He clears his throat, tries to convince himself the flushing in his face is from the oppressive heat and exertion. “Shall we?”
“Yessir.” Cody motions for Obi-Wan to lead the way, further into the depths of the swampy jungle that can’t figure out which biome it would rather be. “I might take a splinter group and try to search for better terrain.”
“That’s a good idea,” Obi-Wan replies. “Not sure how much more of this we can take.”
“Remind me again who said we had to be dropped off on this side of the jungle?” Cody asks as he walks back towards the group of troopers, laughing as he talks.
“Oh, and remind me who said I didn’t need to ask for a better plan— who said, I believe the words were, “we have it well in hand”?” Obi-Wan counters, feeling himself wear a fond, dopey smile. “Your argument won’t fly, darling. It won’t even leave the ground.”
“It had hopes and dreams,” Cody calls over his shoulder, “and you’ve killed them!”
Obi-Wan hums, grinning as he watches Cody trot awkwardly through the difficult terrain, and pull a couple of troopers away from the main group after a brief conversation where he can only imagine what was said.
Before he’s out of eyesight, Cody slides on his helmet and then turns and salutes - a small figure at the edge of the line of the forest - which Obi-Wan returns easily. “Be careful,” he murmurs towards his commander’s retreating form, knowing full well that Cody is too far to hear him. Ah, well. It’s for the best. Hopefully they’ll be able to get out of this wretched jungle soon.
He swats at a bug that lands on his neck. Yeah, the sooner they get out of here, the better.
He flinches when a voice comes from right next to him.
“So are you two going to figure your shit out, sir? Or…?”
“Hex,” Obi-Wan greets, pointedly not making eye contact. Medics can glean too much from one look; they’re scary like that. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, is it the whole fraternisation thing?” Hex hums, apparently picking up on Obi-Wan’s tone of voice anyways. “It’s not actually that big of a deal on our end, unless someone upped the ante and didn’t tell us. Which, well. That’s entirely possible.”
Obi-Wan, who is aware that people have been thrown in jail for less, simply gives him a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean, not that big of a deal?” he says, incredulous. “The Republic takes fraternisation very seriously.”
“The Senate does,” Hex corrects, and Obi-Wan’s not sure when he became a political expert— at the same time he became a medic, apparently. “The Senate is also rife with their own problems, sir, so I hardly think they can speak on the matter of fraternisation.”
“And how is it that you know so much?” He’s already lost whatever argument they’re having here, but he may as well get answers while he has his medic’s ear.
Hex shrugs and grins slyly. “I have my sources,” he says, walking back towards the men. “And you’re not exactly subtle, sir. Just as bad as Skywalker.”
“That’s insulting.”
“He had to learn a lack of stealth from somewhere.” Hex waves a nonchalant hand, effectively brushing away any response Obi-Wan might have had. “I’ve got some troopers who pushed themselves too hard yesterday, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Obi-Wan says faintly, and watches as the medic stalks away through the goopy mud back towards the gaggle of troops, leaving Obi-Wan with his own wandering thoughts once more.
It’s bad enough that he and Cody almost kissed in the icy tundra of Snokota. Despite coming up on a full year since that happened, he still thinks about it - and everything it implies - at least once a day— in no small part because it still holds true. The way Cody’s scar puckers when he smiles, the way his face lights up when he laughs, his sheer level of competence in everything he does. Obi-Wan wants to keep seeing him like that: happy, carefree, at ease.
Which is why they’ve been operating as normal for the past year.
Well, perhaps a touch friendlier than what was previously normal; Obi-Wan openly refers to Cody using his name rather than his station when they’re not on duty, now that he knows his thoughts on the matter, to which Cody replies with Obi-Wan’s name rather than the “sir” that had been ingrained into his being. They spend a touch more time together, too. Time not spent on flimsiwork or pulling reports or filing inventory requests or updating the Council is still spent in Obi-Wan’s quarters; flecks of golden paint dot the floor from where Cody has found a level of comfort there— silent as he decorates his armour while Obi-Wan reads the latest reports, but open to conversation if there’s something that particularly piques Obi-Wan’s interest.
They’ve also found that they both sleep better with someone by their side, courtesy of that night on Snokota, and have on a few different occasions found themselves in the same bed, bodies pressed tightly together to feel the other’s heartbeat, to know they’re both still alive. Cody had quietly murmured one morning that it reminded him of when he was younger and he was closer in proximity to his brothers, they would sleep in piles like they had seen the troopers do that night. It’s safety and warmth and that quiet reassurance that he’s not alone.
Obi-Wan is happy to be these things for Cody, since Cody is all of them for him.
“General,” Cody says over the comms, startling him out of his reverie. “Checking in. So far, little luck to the north.”
“Understood, Commander,” Obi-Wan replies, and pulls up the map from his vambrace. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you won’t have much success even if you push further north.”
“Only other option is south,” Cody agrees. “We’ll bank around further east and head that way, just to see what’s ahead of us.”
“Be careful,” Obi-Wan reiterates, insistent. “We don’t know all that this jungle holds.”
There’s an underlying note of laughter in Cody’s voice when next he speaks. “Yes, sir.”
And then Obi-Wan is left with the ambient noises again - the bird calls, the noises that are probably frogs, and the quiet murmurs of the men who remained - all mingling together in the humid air to create an environment that has him realising just how tired he is.
Of the war, of the missions, of the jungle, of biting his tongue. Of being sent to inflict pain after his negotiation attempts go unheard and ignored. Of watching his men die and be replaced, die and be replaced like they’re nothing more than cogs in a machine— “infinitely replaceable”, as Cody had said after he had nearly died. Of senators’ piss poor excuses for sympathy; all hard lines and “Well, that’s war” and side-eyed glances that betray how little they think of any of the pieces they’re moving, none of the lives they’re toying with worth anything more to them than pawns.
And none of that is even addressing the physical exhaustion that grinds his bones down to dust, wears his composure flimsi thin, and has compelled him on more than one occasion to pull the blankets over his head and allow himself five minutes to just breathe to start his day. It’s a miracle he gets out of bed at all at this point.
Another incoming comm pulls him from his thoughts. “Sir!” the voice says, urgency evident. “Commander Cody, he—!”
Obi-Wan immediately goes on high alert, jerking his head up to look in the direction he last saw the men go, trying to find spots of white and golden orange amongst the verdant forest. “He what?”
“He appears to be choking, sir,” the trooper replies hastily, “and we don’t have a medic! Boil is going to try to start rescue breaths if Commander Cody doesn’t take a breath in within—”
“I’m on my way,” Obi-Wan says sharply - perhaps sharper than he strictly means to - and searches back towards the men behind him. “Medic!”
There’s a sloshing noise, and then Hex is by his side within mere seconds, precious seconds that tick away that could spell the end for Cody.
“Trooper. Location?”
“Sending,” the trooper says, and then Obi-Wan has a map of the terrain pop up above his vambrace, accompanied by a blinking blue dot that signifies where Cody is. And then— “No, stay with us, Commander. Sir you’ve got to fight it, sir—!”
An overwhelming wave of nausea washes over him as the transmission cuts, but his feet are moving before he even tells them to. Thank the Force for training, instinct, and years of experience, he supposes, tapping into that swell of song in his chest to make his footsteps lighter, and to drag his medic alongside.
It’ll be okay, he thinks almost forcefully. It’ll be okay. The Force whispers what he hopes is agreement as he jumps over a log and lands about fifteen feet further than he intended to.
The blue dot nears on his map, but he hears them before he sees them. There’s a low murmur, and this awful wheezing, choking sound that makes Obi-Wan’s heart clench; a shuffling noise to his side betrays Hex already shuffling through his medic pack at his side.
Obi-Wan and Hex crash into the underbrush with perhaps more force than intended. Hex stumbles a few steps, but Obi-Wan catches himself easily, hand already outstretched towards where Cody’s writhing on the ground as he walks easily towards him. Cody’s breastplate goes flying out of the way, and Obi-Wan thinks it finds a new home embedded in a nearby tree, but he doesn’t stop to check; his entire focus is on his commander.
Boil leans over top of Cody, his brow furrowed. “He inhaled something,” he explains, his voice shaking ever so slightly, betraying his nerves only to those who know him best. “There was a plant that shot powder into his face while he had his bucket off to take a drink. We don’t know if rescue breaths will be… helpful.”
Obi-Wan turns to Hex, feeling wild. “Can you— do you—?”
“I will do my best,” Hex replies grimly, already knowing what Obi-Wan is asking, and settles on the ground next to Cody. The hypo goes to the side of the neck - which has Cody clawing at the ground in pain, but at least some part of him must understand that he’s being treated, because he could take Hex out with one hand easily and still he doesn’t - and after some seconds, Cody starts taking short, ragged breaths.
“General,” Hex says just shy of snapping, “get under him. Support his upper half. Need you to do that peace and love on Coruscant bullshit you do that you think we don’t know about.” He tosses him an inhaler as well, “One puff, leave it there four breaths.”
Obi-Wan immediately goes to sit cross-legged, pulling Cody against him. “There you are, Commander,” he murmurs. He pulls Cody’s arm up above his head and massages circles into the clammy skin of Cody’s wrist with one hand while providing gradual puffs from the inhaler with the other. “Come back to us. Nice and gentle, there you go.”
While Hex works at his wrist, pulling away his vambrace and sliding up his bodyglove to inject a couple different hypos, Obi-Wan presses comfort and ease into the Force, hoping to loosen the bond around Cody’s lungs.
Gradually, over the course of too many minutes and too few breaths, Cody takes a slow, shuddering lungful of air… and then a second. He’s still wheezing, but at least his chest moves in a productive way - in that it moves at all, rather than the breath moving no further than his throat.
“Ow,” Cody says, wincing, and his voice is tight, but it’s there, and that’s what matters. Deep coughs wrack his frame for a moment before he slumps back in Obi-Wan’s lap, brow still furrowed, and pants heavily as he regains control of his airway.
Obi-Wan feels like he can breathe again with each breath that Cody takes.
“Sir,” he says, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, fighting to keep his eyes open against the exhaustion of whatever drugs Hex gave him. “Thank you.”
Obi-Wan’s fairly certain that deep in Cody’s eyes lie other words, but he’ll take the excuse that he’s supporting Cody from behind that he can’t see them. “No trouble at all, dear,” he murmurs, fruitlessly brushing away that curl that keeps springing back into place. “It was mostly Hexanes.”
Hex shakes his head from his post at Cody’s wrist. “I would not have gotten here in time, sir. That was all you.”
“A team effort, then.” Obi-Wan finally goes to catch the glance of any of their surrounding troopers and ask them for next plans, only to find the small squad keeping a protective circle around their commanding officers and medic. He’s somewhat grateful for the privacy, and presses his forehead against the back of Cody’s head when Hex is turned away. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a B2 used me as a trampoline,” Cody grunts, then shakes his head as though to clear it. “But I should be fine to mobilise in—”
“No, no,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “That’s quite alright. Boil can take the squadron. They know now what to look out for, right, boys?”
The troopers hum their affirmation, still on the lookout for any potential threats.
Hex discards the last used hypo into a container in his medic bag, scoffing at the actions of the troops. “Some of these idiots wouldn’t know danger if it bit them on the shebs.”
A noise of protest goes up from the group, and then one quiet sound of agreement sends them all into cascading bouts of laughter.
The sound of laughing covers Obi-Wan’s hushed whisper next to Cody’s ear. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Not like that,” is Cody’s reply. When next Obi-Wan looks, he’s wearing a small, comforting smile.
Two years and ten months into the war
The taste of victory is close. They’re so unbearably close. Each battle won brings the end of the war that much tantalisingly further within reach.
It’s energising, to say the least. There’s a spirit in the air that hasn’t been felt since the very beginning of the war, when they were young - well, younger - and more naive. The troops march with lighter step, run as though they’re more tightly coiled. Even the shinies clean their blasters on a regular basis— something that usually has to be a necessity learned from experience.
The difficult part to see is that despite their enthusiasm, the war might not end tomorrow, or next week, or even within the year. They have energy now, but there’s no guarantee that this second - fifth? - wind will carry them to the end. They’ve spent three years dodging Death’s sickle, but there’s no guarantee that three years is all Death had in store.
Obi-Wan points this out to Cody after a briefing to what should be a short battle and sweeping victory.
“It would be unwise of us to go barrelling into these next days using up all our fuel reserves while not being sure how far the rest of our flight is,” Cody agrees. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” He drums his fingers on his helmet pinned to his hip, “How would you feel about a shore leave?”
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and a hand to his beard, considering. They haven’t had a shore leave in a while, certainly. The men could use some time away. It would certainly be better for morale and more effective for slowing the flywheel of energy down than, say, a spar night. In fact, a spar night would probably only make things worse.
“Shore leave feels good,” Obi-Wan says. “Do you have a specific place you want to go?”
Cody shrugs. “We’re right over Felucia,” he says, turning back to the holotable and pulling up the map of the planet under siege. “I’ve always wanted to go there, after hearing so much about it.”
Obi-Wan can’t help his laugh, “Always, darling? Or ever since you wanted to be on shore leave and we were over Felucia?”
“You’re terrible,” Cody hums, no bite behind it and a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“No, I just know what Felucia is like,” Obi-Wan says, wishing that Cody had been with him those past times. His presence may have soothed the frayed nerves that came from what should have been an ordinary battle.
“I think you had a biased experience,” Cody laughs then, something unnameable alight in his expression. “Shore leave is different from combat, in my experience. Something about how you’re a little less likely to die.”
“Not necessarily true,” Obi-Wan counters, purely to be difficult and play Sith Lord’s advocate, and certainly not to extend this quiet moment with his commander… his Cody. “Strange things can happen on shore leave. Everyone has allergies. You eat something you’re allergic to and then suddenly you’re going into anaphylaxis.”
Cody shakes his head, snorting. “You’re terrible and ridiculous. Clones don’t have allergies.”
“Clones are people too, surely you’re allergic to something.”
The air in the room suddenly becomes charged with enough electricity to kill a bantha.
Cody blinks at him, eyes wide. He turns back to the holotable and spins the map of Felucia, zooms in on where they know a settlement to be. “Rex said he met a farmer on Saleucami. We’re coming to the end of the war, Obi-Wan, I can feel it.” His voice betrays him, unsteady and wavering, despite how he clears his throat against it.
“Cody, did I say something—”
“If we end the war, and clones are seen as people, I want the boys to have a good life. A life they’re proud of. A life they choose, not one chosen for them.” He finally turns back to Obi-Wan, brow furrowed and chewing on the inside of his lip. “I want them to see that they have options, like being a farmer. Or an engineer. Something they can put their mind to, or their back into, and exist as people. Not as property.”
A weighty silence hangs in the air. Clones are people too.
“Cody…” Obi-Wan ventures carefully, “was that the first time—”
“Yes,” Cody interrupts him, hands fidgeting with his helmet. “Yes it was. You are.”
“Cody, I—” Obi-Wan folds his arms across his chest with a frown, “I don’t know what to say. All these years, you’ve….”
Cody smiles at him then, a tinge of bittersweetness around the corners. “I’ve had you,” he replies. “And I’m extremely grateful for it.” His smile brightens and he gives a nod, and slides his helmet over his head. “See you on the field, sir.”
Obi-Wan wants to reach out, wants to call after him. There’s very little stopping him from doing so anymore. But something nonetheless stays his hand even as his fingers curl into a loose fist at his side, wishing nothing more than to hold Cody in his arms.
They set up tents that night, after a very quick battle - indeed, Obi-Wan would be hesitant to call it anything more than a skirmish - and some superficial wounds but no casualties, by the will of the Force.
The men have decided that Obi-Wan and Cody will go into the (relatively) nearby settlement tomorrow to scope things out, the rest of them staying in their little encampment to take a breather before they know if they’re welcome to the little town. A sudden horde of noisy troopers is not always the first thing a town wants.
So here they are again, setting up their shared tent, Cody with his back turned and removing his upper armour to prepare for time spent sitting around a fire. Obi-Wan arranges his blankets and sets a datapad next to his cot; he has some work to do yet tonight if he gets the chance. There’s laughter outside the open flap, some members of the company actually getting a fire going while others set up their own tents.
It’s at least a pleasant evening, a far cry from the last time they did this whole tenting thing. Obi-Wan doubts there will be a strong need for the troops to sleep in piles tonight, though he can’t fault them if they simply want the company.
He had never thought that war could be so lonely.
“I can hear you thinking, you know,” Cody murmurs, at last pulling his chest plate and back plate away and stacking his armour neatly. “You’re very noisy when you’re being quiet.”
“And you’re a walking contradiction, my sweet,” Obi-Wan replies, half drunk on the rapid victory and the promise of shore leave. They had planned for the battle to stretch to at least three days, so now they’ve budgeted time with nothing to do. “Perhaps shore leave will come sooner than we thought,” he murmurs. “Tomorrow, even.”
“Are you planning to keep it a secret?” Cody huffs on a laugh. “I think General Windu might like our help elsewhere.”
“Mace will understand. Besides, it’s in the time… budget. Allotment. Thing.” Obi-Wan sighs, reaches a hand for Cody, always out of shot where anyone else can see. “We have the time, I mean to say.”
Cody laces their fingers together and gives a sigh of his own, letting their hands swing between them with their own weight. “I heard we’re headed towards Anaxes next.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirms. He’s heard that too. He doesn’t have a great feeling about it. All the more reason to rest while they can.
“If the Separatists take Anaxes, we can pretty much kiss all of our war efforts goodbye.” Cody squeezes Obi-Wan’s fingers. “I’d rather not lose such an important station.”
“How about,” Obi-Wan proposes, ever the negotiator, “one day of shore leave, and then we head out one day early? We still arrive at Anaxes before planned, but we still can take a day to relax and refresh.”
A look of something that might be relief passes over Cody’s face. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
“We’ll have to tell the men that coming into town might not be an option,” Obi-Wan warns, “and I don’t particularly want to deal with that fallout.”
Cody shakes his head and smiles. “If I know those boys, one day off at a campsite is better than nothing at all,” he replies. He squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand once more before turning back to his cot and stacking his armour how he likes it. “Besides, they’ll probably be glad to be rid of their COs for a while. Imagine what they could get up to for a day without our supervision.”
“Oh, I’d rather not,” Obi-Wan laughs, too well aware of what they get up to with supervision.
The night passes with only minimal incident - fire-related, because of course if man makes fire man’s next natural instinct seems to be to set himself aflame, despite what Obi-Wan had thought was baser instinct - and the morning dawns in hues of pink and orange and gold. It wakes Obi-Wan with a gentleness that he has not felt in some time, and promises a good start to a good day.
Cody seems equally chipper when he meets Obi-Wan by the embers of last night’s fire, dutifully attended to through the night by restless troopers who have since fallen asleep. “G’morning,” he murmurs, plunking down on the log next to Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan leans into his warm presence, pressing their shoulders together in an unusually brazen show of affection, bolstered by the snores of troopers and the lack of a watch. It’s just them, even outside of the comfort of their tent. “Good morning, Cody,” he replies. He drops his head onto Cody’s shoulder and breathes deeply; it feels as though he’s breathing freely for the first time in months.
Cody ever so tentatively, ever so gingerly, ever so carefully - as though trying not to frighten away a spooked tooka - rests his head atop Obi-Wan’s. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, but his voice catches on his own sleep that still ties up his vocal cords, and it comes out as a husky whisper. He doesn’t try to correct it.
Obi-Wan smiles— something that must be pure instinct, since no one can see him smiling to read his reactions. “Well, thank you.” He takes another deep breath, the slightly chilled morning air stinging his nose to remind him that he’s alive, he’s awake, this is real. “I had a very strange dream,” he muses. “We were baked into a pie of sorts, which was cut into four equal parts. You were separated from me, and I spent much of the dream trying to find you, hopping between slices of pie and falling into fully immersive worlds where a version of you was waiting. But none of them were the real you.”
Cody hums in thought, rather than huffing a laugh. Obi-Wan appreciates it; he hadn’t overly enjoyed the dream. “Did you find me?”
“Eventually, yes, right before waking.”
“How did you know it was me?”
Obi-Wan grins again, “Because you were covered in the same sticky purple pie filling I was.”
Cody’s warm hand finds Obi-Wan’s waist, and he pulls him closer.
Something thrills through Obi-Wan at the overt closeness even despite how he started it, and he checks again to make sure everyone else is asleep. Indeed, there’s nobody around.
Cody presses a quick kiss to the top of Obi-Wan’s head, “I’m glad you found me.”
And with that, he stands to find himself a stick with which to prod the abating fire back to life, leaving Obi-Wan frozen in place wondering if he’s still dreaming.
Wooley joins them before too much more of the stunned silence, brushing sleep from his eyes and his fingers through his hair. “I’ve got lookout,” he yawns. “Go ahead and see what you can find in town. Bring Lancer back something fun.”
Cody bumps his shoulder into the young ARC’s, smiling softly. “Thanks, vod’ika.”
“If you don’t hear from us in a couple of hours, do send someone after us,” Obi-Wan says in parting, trying to give Wooley access to his location. “Last time I was here… well, it wasn’t the warmest welcome.”
“There were more droids then,” Cody reminds him.
“Yes, but also more troops to counter the effects of the droids,” Obi-Wan is quick to point out in reply. “And today it is just the two of us, my dear.” He feels more than sees Cody roll his eyes in Wooley’s direction, and feels more than hears Wooley’s responding snicker. He doesn’t grace either of them with a look.
Still wearing a sly grin, Wooley says, “If you get caught, you could always kiss. I’ve heard that showing affection like that tends to make natborns very uncomfortable, and tinnies are programmed to think like natborns.” He shrugs. “It could work.”
That gets Obi-Wan’s attention, and his stunned silence. “Er,” he says smartly. “Well.”
“We’ll be okay, General. I don’t think we’ll be in any danger,” Cody says, and slings his rifle over his back in a display. “Look, see? I’m practically unarmed.”
“Untrue,” Obi-Wan replies, finally getting his location to sync to Wooley’s vambrace. He can feel the flush in his cheeks and is doing his best to ignore it. “You’re as unarmed as I am, Commander. Even without a weapon, you can be lethal if you so choose.” He turns to Wooley, who’s eyeing the two of them with something that Obi-Wan doesn’t much care for. “We should be set.”
“Call if you need us,” Cody tells his ARC, “or if we’ve been gone too long.”
“Okay,” Wooley says, amused.
“And if any of those bastards set their hair on fire, let them figure it out themselves.”
“Yessir.”
“And remember, if it’s been a couple of hours without hearing from us, go ahead and come looking for us.” Cody raises an eyebrow. “Though, I fully expect the general will fill you in on every little thing he sees.”
Obi-Wan now fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Commander.”
“Yessir,” Cody laughs, and pulls Wooley into a brief Keldabe. “Be careful, kid. Stay safe.” He smacks Wooley’s shoulder in a friendly way, hiking his rifle further on his shoulder before turning to walk out of the camp.
“I’m staying right here, sir,” Wooley grins as he calls after them, “I think I’m not the one that has to worry about safety.”
“You might be surprised!” Cody calls back, the smile in his eyes brighter than the one on his lips, which Obi-Wan would have thought impossible.
It’s about an hour’s walk before they start hearing sounds of civilization, and it’s mostly pleasant the whole way. Animals that are foreign to his ear chirp at them the whole way; the wind rustles in the moss-laden jungle trees; vibrant flowers that stand taller than Obi-Wan bend and sway.
Underneath it all, though, is an undercurrent of what feels like the Living Force. This whole planet feels like it’s teetering on a precipice between light and dark, like one final act would push it to one side. Every flower, every tree, every animal, the very ground beneath their feet shimmers with it, swells with it, sighs with it.
Cody shines.
On the other hand, Obi-Wan feels almost vulnerable here, like he’s seen not just on the surface but truly seen in the Force. It’s not something he’s had to worry about much in this war, and part of him is afraid that he’s become a stranger— to the Force and - on a deeper level - to himself. As though while he on a whole had been so firmly entrenched in the light for much of his youth, a part of himself became so doused in shadow that it’s unrecognisable.
He pulls his cloak around him, relishing in the warmth and feeling of protection it provides.
Cody knocks their shoulders together. “You definitely look more passable,” he grins, “less like a general.”
Obi-Wan hums, still caught in his own thoughts. “Less like a living weapon?”
“Hey.” Cody pulls at his wrist to stop him and catches his eye. “More like a Jedi.”
Obi-Wan’s next breath catches in his throat, and he finds it immensely difficult to hold Cody’s gaze. There’s something that it feels like Cody is trying to tell him, and he’s not sure he wants to look deeper and piece it together. Sometimes not knowing is kinder, especially with this closer distance that’s still a distance that they’re carefully, tentatively allowing themselves. “I, um. I should let Wooley know that we’ve—”
Cody clears his throat and looks away. “Yeah,” he agrees, his cheeks darkening into a beautiful shade that Obi-Wan has a strong desire to see more of. “Good idea.”
Before Obi-Wan can even tear his eyes away from Cody long enough to raise his comms, a loud bellowing sound catches his attention, followed by the familiar whine of a speeder bearing an unfamiliar figure.
“Was that—?” Cody asks, squinting as they pass, fingers of one hand tightening around the strap of his rifle, his other hand unclipping his helmet from his belt.
“One of Hondo’s pirates,” Obi-Wan confirms darkly. “Welcome to Felucia.”
Many things have changed about Obi-Wan after so many consecutive days and weeks and months in war, but he’s fairly certain the running has always been a constant. He’s always felt a certain joy about being able to slow down and take a nice walk, enjoying his surroundings. But this, this constant moving, this never slowing down, the way he can feel his lungs begin to ache in his chest and his muscles begin to burn, the way he at least has the comfort of Cody at his side— this is their natural state, after all.
Pirates overrun the square, rounding up the recent harvest of the much-coveted nysillin. A few of them encircle the crop, while still others point their weaponry towards the villagers, keeping them solidly away from their prize.
“Got a plan?” Cody hums, not looking towards Obi-Wan in favour of keeping an eye on the situation from their position hidden behind some crates.
Obi-Wan, however, takes a moment too long to look at Cody. He’s always beautiful, but there’s something about this, now - the lighting, the situation, the way that Cody keeps his attention on whatever needs it most - that has Obi-Wan completely enraptured, despite how he’s fully aware that he doesn’t have time to lose his focus. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I think I might.”
He turns back to the predicament, taking in the assets and threats for the situation at hand. The villagers look restless and ready to strike at any moment; if they lead an attack, Obi-Wan will more than gladly join in to help them secure their harvest. Obi-Wan has his lightsaber. Cody has his rifle. Both of them have hand to hand training, should it come to that. The pirates have blasters and other crude weaponry, but they don’t have a lot of training, and they don’t know that Cody and Obi-Wan are there.
Furthermore, there’s—
His thoughts are interrupted by that same loud bellowing sound as before.
And then there’s a whole herd of beasts of burden that derails Obi-Wan’s train of thought as pandemonium ensues. They know who their masters are, and they know who their masters are not, and they seem to have a personal vendetta against the pirates.
Cody moves his head ever so slightly in Obi-Wan’s direction, so Obi-Wan can tell he’s looking at him from around the edge of his visor. “Was this your plan?”
“Yes, darling,” Obi-Wan replies, watching rapt as one of the creatures kicks a speeder to the wayside, no small amount of facetiousness in his tone. “Yes, this is all going according to plan.”
The panicked shouts of the pirates seem to bring a rejuvenated spirit to the villagers, who charge in armed with everyday household items— rocks, pitchforks, spoons, chairs, anything that could help take down someone they don’t want in the area. Obi-Wan has to commend them; the valour of everyday civilians is every bit as strong and important to winning the war as the mettle of soldiers.
“I like your plan,” Cody murmurs, sitting back on his haunches, gesturing towards the chaos happening in front of them. “We don’t even need to get involved. We’re more liability than credibility at this point.” He shrugs and grips at his blaster. “Shall we help them?”
A pirate goes sailing over their heads and crashes into the crates behind them.
“It’s entirely probable they have this well in hand,” Obi-Wan replies. “And we should perhaps evacuate the premises.” The crate they’re hidden behind begins to smoulder as a series of blaster bolts singe across its surface. “Perhaps sooner rather than later.”
Obi-Wan’s fairly certain they haven’t been seen as they duck across this impromptu battleground and into an alleyway. It feels much safer here, where they can watch from a distance— until heavy footsteps immediately make Obi-Wan’s hair stand on end and his stomach churn.
“I could swear I just saw a clone,” one of the pirates hisses, much too close for comfort.
Obi-Wan looks to Cody in alarm, finding with no surprise his commander’s eyes already trained on him.
“You? Saw a clone? What the hell would a clone be doing here?” comes another voice.
“I dunno,” the first voice replies, “but there was that shiny white shell. Like an egg. Do you think it bleeds gold if we crack it?”
“No, dumbass. It bleeds red.”
Obi-Wan rests his hand on Cody’s breastplate. “Your armour,” he murmurs. “You have to take off the most visible pieces. I’ll cover you with my cloak.”
Cody’s hands fly to the magseals of his breastplate, undoing them with a practiced deftness. Obi-Wan accepts the piece of sunburst from him to rest it on the ground while Cody gets started on his greaves. “I am not shiny,” Cody hisses, the ease with which his armour comes off corroborating his story.
Obi-Wan smacks lightly at his backplate, trying to listen.
“A clone is generally never far from a Jedi,” the second voice says. “Unless this one got lost… separated from its pack…?”
They’re coming concerningly near; at this point Obi-Wan decides how close is too close and steps forward into Cody’s space, wrapping his cloak around both of them as far as it will go, covering all of the armour that he can.
“Remember what Wooley said?” Cody whispers. “About— about the—?”
Does Obi-Wan remember. He has to fight not to scoff at the question. The real question they should be asking is if Wooley was correct in his statement. In Obi-Wan’s limited experience, chances are fairly high that he was, though the Force alone knows how he knew. If they want to be looked over, not paid any attention to, it might be their only shot.
He nods gingerly, then more emphatically as the sound of pirates nears closer still. “Yes, I remember,” he says, trying to put all of the emotions into his words that he doesn’t have the time to convey— the gravity of the situation, the long-standing deep desire he feels, the urgency of their predicament.
“Kiss me, General, quickly,” Cody gasps, already reaching out for Obi-Wan with his open hand that isn’t holding his helmet.
And who is Obi-Wan to say no? Sharing Cody’s panic, he surges into Cody’s space and pulls him in by the waist, crowding him against the wall, pressing their foreheads together so at least they could be mistaken for kissing. Eyes wide, he searches Cody’s for any misgivings. “Quite sure?” he pants, adrenaline beginning to course through him and soothe over the parts of him that want to be rational.
“Yes,” Cody replies against Obi-Wan’s lips, and then—
And then.
Obi-Wan kisses him hard, like their lives depend on it - which perhaps they do - and like he’s wanted to do since the beginning— and Cody, dear, sweet Cody, inexperienced as he is, groans low, the sound likely quiet in actuality but loud as blaster fire in Obi-Wan’s ears.
“Obi-Wan,” he gasps against Obi-Wan’s mouth, dropping his helmet to grip into the short strands of Obi-Wan’s hair.
The sound of approaching feet marches right past them. Obi-Wan almost doesn’t hear them pass for the sound of his own blood pulsing through his body and rushing in his ears.
The threat has passed. They could pull apart. But Cody opens his mouth under Obi-Wan’s, and his hands are gripping tight at Obi-Wan’s skull, and the whole of his posture screams more, more, more—
And then Cody’s voice comes from behind him.
“General.”
Which is weird, because he’s currently holding Cody against the wall in front of him.
Obi-Wan, remiss as he is to pull away from this new thing Cody has offered him that already has an iron grip on his very being, has the need to turn and look. He doesn’t feel a second Cody, but there certainly is someone there.
“Wait,” the Cody in front of him whispers, cupping Obi-Wan’s jaw to keep his eyes forward. “I don’t….” He squeezes his eyes shut, “It’s embarrassing, sir.”
Obi-Wan wraps his Cody in his arms, presses his cheek to Cody’s. “If you don’t want me to look, I won’t, darling,” he murmurs into Cody’s ear.
It’s almost impossible not to listen, though.
“I would first like to say it’s been an honour to serve under you,” the Cody behind them says faintly. “We’re a year into this war, and it’s equally as bad as I had ever thought it would be, but you make it more bearable.”
The Cody in his arms sighs shakily, deflating.
“Do you want to turn it off?” Obi-Wan asks quietly. “I won’t look.”
“Fuck, you’re never gonna watch this anyways.”
Cody groans and buries his face in his hand.
“Cody, look at me, darling.”
He looks truly wretched when he meets Obi-Wan’s eyes, brow furrowed and fighting some internal battle that Obi-Wan will likely never know. “Sir,” he whispers. “Obi-Wan.”
“The truth is, I think I love you.”
Obi-Wan’s breath leaves him in one great exhale. He feels like he’s floating, like his feet could leave the ground at any moment.
“And… I have for a while.”
Cody closes his eyes. Obi-Wan wants nothing more than to look into the depths of them again, see with a renewed lens the galaxies they hold.
The Cody behind them sighs, and there’s a rustle of movement before he speaks again. “Look, I got shot last week, and you’re still making a point to come over and make sure I’m okay. I’ve told you I’m fine in the harshest of terms, and you still smile at me and tell me to finish my meds or Hex will have my hide. Which, I mean, you’re right, he will, but—” He sighs again, and Obi-Wan can practically feel him running a hand down his face.
Cody shudders in Obi-Wan’s hold. “If you want to watch….”
“I don’t need to, my dear,” Obi-Wan replies. He presses a kiss to Cody’s forehead and squeezes him in his arms in what he hopes is a comforting manner.
“But, like I said, if you’re watching this, I’m probably dead. I mean, shit, Obi-Wan. I almost died last week. I think it’s only because of you that I didn’t. And it’s the way that you keep all of us alive but have no regard for yourself that drives me to the brink, sir. Please try to keep yourself alive now that I’m gone, okay? I won’t make it a final request from me, that’s a shit thing to do, but. Just. I love you, but I’d prefer if I didn’t see you again for a while.” He clears his throat. “Stars, that was embarrassing. You’re never gonna watch this anyways.”
The light that had bathed the small alleyway in blue fades away, leaving the pair of them bathed once more in the darkness that allows them their secrecy.
Cody gives a ragged sigh. “So,” he says, not meeting Obi-Wan’s eye.
“So,” Obi-Wan agrees, feeling his heart swell in his chest.
“Sir, I—”
“May I kiss you?”
Cody’s gaze snaps to Obi-Wan’s like the right sides of a pair of magnets. “Sir, you really.” He clears his throat, swallows. Obi-Wan watches his throat bob. “Obi-Wan.”
“Cody,” Obi-Wan breathes, smiling.
Cody makes a soft, punched-out noise, and surges up to press his lips once more to Obi-Wan’s, gripping at the neck of his tunic. Their teeth clack together, and Obi-Wan’s pretty sure Cody’s tooth nicked his lip, and their noses are smashed together in such an uncomfortable way that makes breathing more difficult and only enhances the shaky, heavy breaths that further fuel Obi-Wan’s desire, gripping at Cody’s waist, his hips, sliding his fingers against the flex of his fauld and passing just barely down under the top of his belt—
Cody grunts and bites down on Obi-Wan’s bottom lip at the same time as he bucks his hips, catching Obi-Wan’s fingertips between his hipbone and the unforgiving plastisteel armour.
“Ow,” Obi-Wan pants into Cody’s mouth, utterly stuck but utterly unwilling to move.
Cody tenses under his hands. “Did I hurt you?” he gasps, breath coming in fast, short puffs against Obi-Wan’s lips.
“Your armour,” Obi-Wan breathes in reply, more enamoured by the affection he feels blossom in his chest at the look in Cody’s eye than pained by the sharp stabbing sensation in his fingers. “I’m stuck.”
Cody drops his head against Obi-Wan’s shoulder and mouths sloppily at his neck, blindly finding Obi-Wan’s trapped fingertips and shifting his hips to free them. “I thought I told you to watch the pinch points,” he murmurs, lacing their fingers together.
“Cody,” Obi-Wan sighs in pleasure as teeth scrape across the sensitive skin of his neck. His other hand finds the back of Cody’s neck and gives a gentle squeeze. He could be here all day, he would let Cody do anything to him that he wanted, but there is an ass-whooping happening all of two hundred feet away that Obi-Wan doesn’t particularly want to get tangled in. “Cody, darling, we should leave.”
Cody pulls away from Obi-Wan’s neck with a reluctant noise and a wet popping sound. “Fine,” he says, “but we’re sharing a bunk tonight.”
Obi-Wan can’t help the laugh that he snorts. “Yes, sir,” he replies, and presses one more kiss to the corner of Cody’s mouth. “How was that for shore leave?”
Cody picks up his fallen helmet while Obi-Wan collects the discarded armour. “Maybe we should try it more often,” is all he says.
(They pick up a cool looking rock for Lancer on the way back to their camp.)
(Obi-Wan’s cot goes unused that night.)
Five minutes after the war
It has become a point of pride throughout the war for Cody, Obi-Wan happens to know, to be able to navigate their battalion through any terrain they come across. To be able to encounter and subsequently - and within short order - overcome any obstacle. He should be proud. He does it well.
The initial landing squad rappelled in at just the right time, the beautiful, familiar whirr of gunship engines delivering their payloads making him smile. Each trooper vaulting over the railing added an extra note of hope to the song swelling in his chest. This is it, he barely had time to think before Grievous came towards him again. This is the end.
And there amongst the chaos had been Cody. Bright, beautiful Cody, directing his squadron, firing into droid after droid, not even sparing Obi-Wan a glance but somehow still definitely aware of his location as he sent unerring bolts into droids on either side of Obi-Wan, who couldn’t even reply with so much as a “thank you” before his life was in peril yet again.
And now here they are amongst the wreckage, General Grievous dead, the opposing force obliterated, still standing shoulder to shoulder.
“Did we just win?” Cody asks, looking out at the carnage, the back of his gloved hand brushing the back of Obi-Wan’s bare one, fingers just shy of tangling with Obi-Wan’s.
“I believe so, yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs in reply. His heart can’t decide on a rhythm, jumping and settling in equal measure. There’s something happening in the Force, and for the first time in what feels like twenty years he feels a deep calm wash over him. His loved ones are okay. He’s okay. They made it through.
“In that case,” Cody all but whispers, so quiet the vocoder almost doesn’t pick it up, and Obi-Wan barely keeps himself from reaching out to grab a hold of his hand when he pulls it away. Cody takes off his helmet, curls that he hasn’t had time to tend to tumbling out of their confinement. “I believe this is yours, sir,” he murmurs, reaching for Obi-Wan’s lightsaber on the clip on his belt.
Obi-Wan could go on at length about that clip and what it means to him, but he’s sure Cody’s already aware, if the gleam in his eye is anything to go by. “Thank you,” he replies just as quietly, not wanting to disrupt this gentle peace they’ve created. He clips his saber onto his own belt, then reaches out and loops his fingers under Cody’s belt to pull him closer. “Commander.”
Cody’s next breath is ragged against Obi-Wan’s mouth, and he looks down at Obi-Wan’s lips like they’re a particularly inviting meal that he wants to devour.
Obi-Wan has no plans to stop him.
“Your quarters, sir,” Cody breathes, eyes flicking back up to meet Obi-Wan’s and then down again to his mouth. “Once we’re both on board and headed back home. Once we’re not needed. Your quarters.”
Obi-Wan replies with a broad smile and a giddy laugh, which makes it difficult to reciprocate the kiss that Cody is stepping into his space to press to his lips. “Yes, darling,” he says when next he gasps for air, and then Cody is smiling too, and it’s even more difficult to kiss but somehow Obi-Wan finds he couldn’t care less.
All he knows is that with the threat of imminent death so eradicated, the odds of him being able to stay alive to the next day have just skyrocketed. There was nothing guaranteeing their survival through the day at any point in time, but now it’s almost a promise that Cody will never leave his side.
He’s really enjoying those odds.
The prime minister of Utapau steps out of his chair as Obi-Wan approaches, covered in sweat and dirt as he is.
“It is done, then?” he asks, the threat of hope in his voice.
Obi-Wan smiles. “It is,” he replies. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about the Separatists ever again.”
The prime minister sinks back down shakily. “Thank you,” he breathes, “thank you!”
“Oh, you’re very welcome, really,” Obi-Wan says with a kind smile. “I had a comparatively small part in it. My troops are largely responsible for taking care of the army.”
“And yet you, General, you are the one who… took care of that dastardly general,” the prime minister says, shuddering, “you give yourself too little credit.”
“None of the rest of us could have dealt with that guy,” Cody agrees from behind Obi-Wan, walking up towards the pair of them. He’s been leading the cleanup efforts that have taken much of the rest of the day, and had promised to come find Obi-Wan once they were nearing completion. He’s managed to get himself all muddy somehow, streaks of white armour visible under layers of smeared-on mud. He’s got his helmet pinned to his hip, and his face is streaked with it too, where he wiped away sweat with the back of his muddy hands. “General,” he nods. “The last transport is waiting for us.”
Obi-Wan feels his lips quirk at the same time his heart leaps in his chest. “And I surely could not have done it without all of you,” he replies. “A joint effort, then.”
“Commander,” the prime minister says, standing to grasp Cody’s hand in his own, long fingers wrapping around Cody’s glove, uncaring of the dirt. “Thank you and your men for all of your hard work. Your service is more than appreciated.”
Cody blinks a couple of times before offering a brief smile and a curt nod. “Of course, sir,” he replies. “It’s the least we could do.”
“It certainly is not,” is all the prime minister says, and then with one final deep bow to both Cody and Obi-Wan, he glides from the room.
Obi-Wan shrugs. “I mean, he has a point. We could have left them here to deal with the cleanup on their own.”
“It would have been rude, though,” Cody frowns. “Our men are perfectly capable of cleaning up our own messes.”
“Spoken like a true commander,” Obi-Wan grins, and starts from the room, grasping Cody’s hand to walk in step with him, feeling the grit under his own hand. “We’ve officially received summons back to Coruscant,” he says, “and you’ll need a shower before you’re allowed anywhere near my bed.”
The ride back to the Venator is quiet, but not like any of the other quiet rides he’s experienced throughout the war. No, those had been a quiet sense of loss; this is a quiet sense of relief. They’re almost back when one of the troopers in the back of the ship says something that makes the trooper next to him laugh, and that laughter echoes through the transport until the doors slide open and they all tumble out.
Cody looks at him with such a light in his eyes that Obi-Wan can’t begin to explain, but he can barely beat back the urge to jump his commander right there in the hangar, what with the waves of pure desire rolling off of him. “A moment more, dearest,” he murmurs, and bites back his laugh at how Cody begins to pull him in the direction of his own quarters. “A brief stop at the bridge, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Cody sighs but acquiesces, and relinquishes his hold on Obi-Wan’s hand to tuck his hands behind his back instead. They walk in a charged silence; Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say, but it almost feels as though if he says anything at all, he’ll end up with his back pressed against the nearest wall in the best way possible. They only have the slightest bit of a job left to do… best not to stumble this close to the finish line.
“General on the bridge,” Static says when he and Cody walk in, and the bridge staff stand to salute.
“Gentlemen,” Obi-Wan smiles, “at ease. We’re headed home. Set course for Coruscant.”
There’s an immediate flurry of movement, and a swell of pride and relief from Cody behind him. Obi-Wan’s smile turns into a toothy grin. They’re going home.
“General…?” Static asks tentatively, brow furrowed as the ship starts to make the jump into hyperspace. “You’re smiling an awful lot, sir. Did something happen?”
A faint surprise takes Obi-Wan. Had the bridge staff not been made aware? “Stars, Static, we won,” he says plainly. “That was it. Their leaders are all taken care of.”
“Ah. Well.” Static shrugs. “I suppose it’s just odd that this all coincided with the Sith in the Senate, sir.” He frowns up at Obi-Wan, “Sorry, sir, did you just say we won?”
“Yes, dear.” Obi-Wan blinks, then furrows his brow. “The Sith was found?”
Static clears his throat. “I guess we were both missing information. The chancellor, sir. He’s been neutralized.”
A pang of coldness pushes into his very core. “The chancellor?” Anakin. Of course, Anakin, he was always the play, the Chosen One, the one who would bring balance— could it be possible that balance was tipping towards the darkness? But Anakin wouldn’t— Obi-Wan couldn’t have—
The warm hand on his shoulder repels the shadow of fear that had begun to grip him, scattering it once more into the far corners of his heart.
“Where’s General Skywalker?” Cody asks in a low tone.
“In the Temple,” Static nods, “on Coruscant. I’m told he’s being looked after, General, don’t worry.”
Obi-Wan takes a slow, deep breath. Surely he would have felt if anything had gone terribly wrong with Anakin. No, even this far away he can sense it; his former Padawan is still alive and on the path of lightness. “He’s okay,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “You’re okay. We’re all okay.”
Cody squeezes his shoulder once and drops his hand. “In that case, let’s head home.”
Personally, Obi-Wan thinks they should be commended. Neither he nor Cody ended up with their backs against a wall until they were inside Obi-Wan’s quarters.
Admittedly, not very far inside. Obi-Wan turned to plant his feet between Cody’s as soon as the door was shut and he could press Cody against it, pinning him to the door with his hips so he could tear his gloves off and just feel.
“General, you really don’t have to— we can wait until we— mmph—!” Whatever he was going to say next is lost as Obi-Wan presses kiss after kiss to his lips, threads a bare hand into the shorter hairs at the base of his skull.
Obi-Wan presses a hand to Cody’s heart, or rather where he knows it is under the armour. He swears he can feel it beating out a steady (albeit fast paced) pulse under his palm, even through the plastisteel. His hand slips a bit in the mud that covers Cody’s sunburst paint; he wipes it away with the back of his hand, and feels the urge to cry at the sight of the orange that peeks through the grit. He kisses Cody again, cupping his jaw with both hands, not a care in the world for how dirty Cody’s armour is or how it’s transferring onto Obi-Wan’s own beige tunics.
Cody sighs in contentment against Obi-Wan’s lips and brushes his gloved thumbs under Obi-Wan’s eyes, leaving thin, watery streaks of still-wet mud behind. He parts his lips to suck Obi-Wan’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Obi-Wan just about goes weak at the knees at the sensation.
Cody’s touch disappears for the slightest moment so he can rip off his own gloves, and in tandem with how Cody’s now bare hand travels down along his chest to grip at his waist, Obi-Wan’s breaths are coming heavier and more frequently. He pulls away from Cody’s lips in what he believes might be his greatest show of self-restraint to date. “Shower,” he pants. “And then bed.”
“Yessir,” Cody grins, letting Obi-Wan pull him in the direction of the fresher.
Once he has Cody safely pinned once more against the sink, Obi-Wan presses their foreheads together and brings Cody’s hands to his saber belt. A thrill goes through him at the look Cody gives him, almost reverent as he finds the clasp.
“Obi-Wan,” he breathes, eyes wide. “I— are you—?”
“Please, Cody,” Obi-Wan whispers in reply, his stomach swooping at the feeling of Cody’s hands on one of his most personal items, something everyone else knows not to touch. This is something he grants with great joy. He grins, “I’d like to get you in the shower at some point today, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re terrible,” Cody says, and achingly slowly undoes the clasp anyways. He carefully sets Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to the side. “Me next.”
Obi-Wan smiles and hooks his fingers under the edge of Cody’s breastplate.
“Watch the—”
“Watch the pinch points, I know,” he interrupts, all of his renowned Jedi Master’s patience lost, undoing the magseals as he presses another bruising kiss to Cody’s already swollen lips. “I’ll be careful.”
Cody’s armour is set piece by muddy piece next to Obi-Wan’s saber belt, until he’s down to his bodyglove. Obi-Wan’s tunics fall to the floor, Cody’s warm hands carefully mapping the new terrain of equally warm skin, Cody’s fingertips carefully tracing across each freckle and scar. Obi-Wan shivers under his touch and turns the water on with a thought— they can take care of the dirty clothes at a later point; he just needs their bodies to be relatively clean before they fall into his bed.
Cody presses against him, pulling at the zipper of his bodyglove until his chest is bared, and shrugging out of the top half before pushing them down his muscular thighs. After a tentative look and a quick nod, Obi-Wan gives him similar treatment, brushing past the scar just to one side to press his palm against where he knows Cody’s heart beats beneath. He’s rewarded with a steady pulse and a bashful smile.
By the time they finally stumble into the shower together, the water is warm enough not to kill the mood but cool enough that they don’t pass out. It’s honestly a low bar at this point; Obi-Wan’s been feeling somewhat dizzy for the past ten minutes.
He doesn’t think their hands leave one another for even a moment— tracing, gripping, sliding, squeezing along all the right places to make each other gasp.
Cody seems to have taken any plans Obi-Wan had been formulating and thrown them out of the nearest airlock. Obi-Wan’s already half hard by the time Cody sinks to his knees and takes him in hand.
“Cody—!” he gasps, the wetness of the water intensified by the warmth of Cody’s mouth. His fingers thread into thick curls just to have something to hold onto, while his head drops back against the tile wall.
“Again,” Cody says once he pulls away, squinting against the spray of the shower, rivulets of water chasing along his skin. He rests his temple on Obi-Wan’s thigh, looking so reverently up at him— which is entirely unfair given the absolutely sinful way his hand pumps Obi-Wan’s length, thumb sweeping under the head of his cock. “Say my name again.”
He rotates his wrist on the next upstroke while his other hand trails along the inside of Obi-Wan’s thigh. Obi-Wan’s ears start ringing at the same time as his vision starts going fuzzy around the edges, like a flashbang in the most pleasurable possible way.
“Cody,” Obi-Wan groans again, his hips twitching when Cody traces along the sensitive vee of his thigh with a feather-light touch, juxtaposed by biting down into the soft skin of his waist. “Fuck!”
Cody grunts low in his throat, seemingly intent on pulling Obi-Wan to pieces. He finally relinquishes his hold on Obi-Wan’s skin with a wet noise. “Yeah, fuck, like that,” he murmurs, one hand still working at Obi-Wan’s hard cock while the other drops between his own legs to palm at himself.
Obi-Wan, for his part, is fairly certain his brain is going to start leaking from his ears at any point now. He’s being very succinctly taken apart, all of his layers peeled away until his very core is the only thing left, and he can only focus on how good he feels, how good Cody feels. It’s Cody on his knees in front of Obi-Wan. It’s Cody who’s so determinedly making Obi-Wan’s thighs shake like that. It’s Cody’s hair tangled in his fingers. And if he reaches out just the slightest bit, expands his horizons just beyond himself—
The wave of lust, of desire, of carnal need wafting off of Cody almost makes him buckle. He grips at Cody’s shoulder, digging his nails in, dual sensations of his and Cody’s unadulterated wants alike threatening to make him spill almost embarrassingly early. He shifts his grip instead to the wall once Cody shifts under him, afraid that he’ll accidentally cause unpleasurable pain.
“Please,” Cody murmurs, nipping at the joint of the inside of his thigh just to watch Obi-Wan jolt. He blinks away the droplets of water that get into his eyes, fixing Obi-Wan in an enchanting gaze. “Please?”
As if Obi-Wan could possibly deny him anything.
With a gasp and a loud, stuttered moan, nails scrabbling for purchase on the tile wall once the sensations become too much, ecstasy swoops through him even as his release is carried away down the drain. Diluted white rivulets course down Cody’s wrist.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
It’s him and Cody. It’s perfect.
A low groan and several small bites to Obi-Wan’s thigh later, Cody stands on shaky legs, wringing the last of his own orgasm from himself. His hands press Obi-Wan’s hips to the wall, his grip tight enough to bruise.
Obi-Wan finds that he doesn’t actually mind the prospect of marks of this endeavour lasting into tomorrow— which is a good thing, because Cody is kissing his neck again and scraping his teeth along the tender flesh, sure to leave marks in his wake.
“You taste good,” Cody says, his breath hot against the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear. “Your skin. Can’t get enough.”
Obi-Wan sighs under Cody’s ministrations, his brow furrowing and his body tensing as though preparing to go again. “Cody darling,” he murmurs, “how do you feel about actually showering?”
Cody laughs and steps back incrementally. “I suppose I could be convinced, sir,” he replies, already grabbing at the GAR-provided bar of soap.
The metaphor is not lost on Obi-Wan as he watches the dirt and sweat and filth of the battle slide down the drain. His fingers work deftly down Cody’s back. Cody’s fingers are gentle in Obi-Wan’s hair. The evidence of the war is washed away from them, and they emerge from the shower as new men.
Lovers, if Cody will have him. Maybe something more, if the Force will allow them, if their stars will align.
Cody steps from the fresher first, the steam following his form into Obi-Wan’s quarters. He turns around and steps backwards, and with a smile, asks, “Bed?”
Obi-Wan, barely two steps behind him, nods in the direction of his bed. “I’m not taking you against the wall darling.”
“Too late for that,” Cody snorts. “You do look damn good against the wall, sir, I’ll give you that.”
Feeling emboldened only a pace from the bed, Obi-Wan grabs at Cody’s wrist to spin him, to pull him close again. Their feet become tangled and Cody loses his footing, but he’s already in Obi-Wan’s arms; it’s easy enough to catch him before he can truly fall.
The effect is Cody bent backwards over Obi-Wan’s arm even as his knee rests against Obi-Wan’s torso to stabilise himself in a facsimile of a dip, his torso only inches from the bed.
Cody grins, not even taking a beat to recover. “Well, hello there.” His fingers brush along Obi-Wan’s jaw, brushing through his beard. “Fancy meeting you here.”
If he keeps talking, they’re going to have issues, most likely of the Obi-Wan is laughing too hard to hold either of them up any longer variety. Best get him to stop sooner than later. The easiest way—
Obi-Wan leans down to catch Cody’s lips in a kiss. Slow, languid, burning, just how he’s learning Cody likes.
He pulls away just as Cody is starting to melt into his touch, bodily tossing him onto the bed to hear him squawk in the most undignified manner, grinning as he crawls over him. “One for you, one for me?” he proposes, fingers already gripping at Cody’s waist, mouth already becoming acquainted with the warm expanse of Cody’s chest.
“The hell was the one in the shower for?” Cody asks, already breathless, already writhing under Obi-Wan’s touch, brow furrowed but lips biting back a smile, a perfect contradiction.
“Us,” Obi-Wan replies simply, offering a smile of his own up to Cody.
A beat passes where all Obi-Wan hears is his own pulse in his ears. Then Cody lets out a shaky exhale. “Come here,” he whispers, pulling Obi-Wan up to kiss him hard and deep.
Obi-Wan’s lips were already swelling, but he can tell this kiss will bruise. He smiles against Cody’s mouth knowing that in the morning he can touch his lips and recall this moment.
Cody’s so bright in the Force, burning and blinding and beautiful. His very being is a beacon to Obi-Wan, who will hold him for as long as he can.
One day after the war
Obi-Wan wakes to the soft rumble and slight vertigo of the ship in hyperspace— and the quiet puffs of breath from Cody dozing in his arms, his head pillowed on Obi-Wan’s bicep. He can feel Cody’s pulse from where his hand is pressed against his bare back. Steady, slow. Present. It accelerates with each inhale, slows down again before the next inhale. All of the pain that Cody has felt, all of the times his heart has stuttered, it’s as though they never happened as Obi-Wan feels the constant, reliable beat of Cody’s heart beneath his fingertips.
He feels Cody’s gentle slumber, feels the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He feels the softness of the sleep that embraces him, the lack of nightmares that seem to plague them both less when they’re side by side.
He feels it when Cody awakes, too, not much later. His heart rate increases, and all of his muscles tense against the length of Obi-Wan’s body with the sense of waking in an unfamiliar place before relaxing again under a newly familiar touch.
His gaze snaps sharply to Obi-Wan’s. “Was that real?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.
Obi-Wan smiles at him, traces his thumb down one of the lasting marks that he accidentally (that one wasn’t an accident, it turns out Cody’s aligned very closely to him in this sense) made last night along Cody’s back just to watch him shiver under his hands. “What does your heart tell you?”
Cody scoots up the bed - kneeing Obi-Wan in the gut along the way - until the offending limb is slung over Obi-Wan’s waist and his cheek is pressed to Obi-Wan’s. His hand comes up to Obi-Wan’s jaw to thread into his beard, nails scratching just so.
Every time he blinks, his eyelashes brush along Obi-Wan’s cheek, a novel sensation that makes Obi-Wan’s stomach flutter.
Who knew two beings used as tools for death and destruction could be so soft together.
“Yes,” Cody says finally, his breath ghosting along Obi-Wan’s neck and forming goosebumps in its wake. “This is real.”
Obi-Wan hums happily and reaches over to pull Cody further on top of him so he’s straddling him. “I agree,” he says, and, cupping Cody’s jaw, pulls him in for a kiss.
Cody groans and deepens it immediately, licking along the seam of Obi-Wan’s lips before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, rolling it gently. He pulls back just far enough that he can look into Obi-Wan’s eyes with a coy smirk. “Not just my heart, actually. My thighs—”
Obi-Wan barks out a laugh and claps a hand over Cody’s mouth. “Awful, horrible, never again—”
Cody presses his lips against Obi-Wan's palm repeatedly, and says something muffled.
“What was that?” Obi-Wan asks, wearing a shit eating grin.
Cody licks along Obi-Wan’s fingers to get him to yank his hand back, and then surges forward to kiss Obi-Wan’s lips before the shock factor wears off. “I love you,” he repeats, wearing the broadest grin Obi-Wan’s ever seen. “I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
And it’s right here, just post-waking, with Cody straddling his hips, that Obi-Wan finally finds his own joy again after three years of perpetual grief.
He pulls Cody down until their foreheads touch, exhilaration swooping through him. “I love you,” he whispers. “Oh, Cody. I’ve loved you since the start.”
“Me too,” Cody murmurs against Obi-Wan’s lips. “Me too.”
Two years after the war
“I’ve been thinking,” Cody says, and the hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck raises.
After so long of losing so many people he loves, a part of him is still scared he’ll lose Cody, too. It’s been long enough that that concern has mostly subsided at this point, but sometimes it nags at him. Sometimes he feels like he narrowly missed losing everyone, Cody included.
Best not to dwell. Move on, Obi-Wan.
“Oh?” he prompts. “What about?”
“Well,” Cody starts, and pulls his hand from his pocket to rub at the back of his neck. “I love you. Like a lot. But this arrangement we have, I think it isn’t cutting it for me.”
Okay, maybe he could dwell just a touch. He feels like he’s being gutted, his heart torn from its very home in his ribs as he’s made to watch himself die in front of his own eyes. “Oh,” he breathes, trying not to cry.
“I was thinking we should get married.”
Tears spring into Obi-Wan’s eyes. “What?”
“Married. Like natborns do. They love each other, they get married, they spend their lives together, they die.” Cody plucks nervously at his jacket. “I think we skipped the marriage step. But we so narrowly avoided missing the spending our lives together step.”
Obi-Wan scrubs a hand across his eyes, wipes at his cheeks with his palm. “That’s the really important part,” he sniffs. “Don’t let anyone coerce you into marriage if you don’t think it’s what you want.”
“I’ve done my research, Obi-Wan.” Cody takes Obi-Wan’s hands in his own and kneels on one knee. “It’s what I want. Is it what you want?”
He can’t stop the tears. They both know what the answer is. “You’re awful,” he says instead. They both know what the answer is. “You never get to call me dramatic again if you’re going to pull shit like this!” And he’s laughing now, crying and laughing and sinking to his knees to pull Cody into his arms and press a kiss to his lips.
They both know what the answer is.
It’s the same as ever, but it’s also different somehow. Like there’s too much joy, like the two of them put together are causing too much of an offset in the balance of things, but Obi-Wan could swear he’s floating away but for Cody’s grounding embrace. The wind picks up around them, adding to the effect.
It’s only when he opens his eyes that he realises they’re no longer kneeling on the ground– instead floating about a foot off of the ground, as though even the Force is cheering them on.
“Sorry,” Obi-Wan says, blushing as he lowers them to the ground again. It’s been a while since he’s done that.
Cody leans forward and kisses him again, smiling into it. “So is that a yes?”
Two years into marriage (five years after the war)
Obi-Wan wakes gently from where he’s intertwined with Cody, sighing with sleep. He looks down at where Cody’s hand rests on his chest, the gold band gleaming in the morning light, and absentmindedly rubs his thumb across where he knows his own ring rests.
The light of the rising sun sets aglow something metal in the corner of the room– Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, which rests next to Cody’s armour, the orange sunburst aflame in the light of its namesake.
Obi-Wan smiles sleepily and closes his eyes once more, Cody’s resting pulse echoing into his own ribcage lulling him back into sleep’s warm embrace. He presses one last kiss to the top of Cody’s head before succumbing.