Chapter Text
Anakin strides into the tent, wiping a layer of fine, red dust from his armored shoulder. He expects to find Obi-Wan reviewing after-action reports or giving orders. He pauses at the tent's entrance, however, arrested by the sight before him.
Cody is seated on a supply crate, his upper armour already stripped away, exposing the damp, black undersuit beneath. He has a nasty, though superficial, blaster graze running along his bicep.
Obi-Wan is kneeling directly in front of him. He is holding a small medical burn kit, his attention entirely focused on the injury. He applies the antibiotic salve with a single-minded intensity. His movements are extraordinarily gentle, almost hesitant, as if the arm were made of spun glass.
"That's what you get for leading the charge when you're supposed to be commanding from the rear," Obi-Wan murmurs, his voice a low, soft register Anakin rarely hears, devoid of his usual dry wit. It sounds close to genuine concern.
Cody, typically ramrod straight, is leaning slightly forward, his posture unnaturally relaxed. He makes no sound of discomfort, his focus mirrored on Obi-Wan’s face.
Obi-Wan finishes dressing the graze. He doesn't immediately pull back. Instead, his hand lingers, the tips of his fingers sliding down to trace the cool, smooth plastoid armor just above the new bandage. He stays there for a moment too long, his gaze fixed on the injury, before finally pushing himself to stand.
Anakin clears his throat, breaking the silence. "Master, the scouts have a preliminary report on the separatist troop movements."
Obi-Wan turns, his usual General demeanor snapping back instantly. "Ah, Anakin. Come in. Cody was just—" He gestures vaguely toward the Commander.
Anakin steps fully into the tent, but his eyes flicker back to Cody, who is now securing his armor. The Commander is watching Obi-Wan with a silent, heavy regard that feels intensely private. It’s a look that holds a depth of shared experience Anakin can’t quite place, but one that undeniably excludes him.
Anakin is running late. He was supposed to meet Obi-Wan thirty minutes ago for a crucial strategy session with Admiral Yularen, but his former Master is nowhere to be found—not the bridge, not the briefing room, not the mess.
Frowning, Anakin approaches Obi-Wan’s private quarters, ignoring the polite knock and simply opening the door a crack. He fully expects to find his Master meditating and having lost track of time, a classic Obi-Wan move.
He finds him, but he’s not meditating.
Obi-Wan is asleep in his narrow bunk. He is still in his worn Jedi tunics, a datapad having slipped from his hand and landed silently on the deck beside the bed.
But Obi-Wan is not alone.
Cody is stretched out beside him. He has removed his helmet and his upper chest armor, which are resting neatly on the small desk across the room. He is fully clothed in his black undersuit and trousers.
They are lying pressed together, occupying the space with a silent, heavy finality. Obi-Wan’s head is resting naturally on the Clone Commander's shoulder, his usually precise braid slightly mussed. Cody's arm is draped lightly, yet completely, over Obi-Wan’s waist, the hand resting near the small of his back—a pose that seems less about rest and more about holding on. Both of them are deeply asleep, their breathing synchronized.
Anakin stands in the doorway, momentarily frozen. The shared bed, the intimacy of their collapsed forms—it is jarring. They look utterly drained, two people who sought out the specific, familiar anchor of the other to finally let go of the war.
He takes one quiet step back, careful not to let the door squeak. He manages to pull it almost shut before pausing again.
They must be exhausted, he thinks, the automatic mental shield snapping into place. General and Commander. They must have been coordinating shifts and collapsed here. It’s practical.
Anakin turns, leaving his Master and the Commander to their stolen rest. But as he walks away, the image of Cody's heavy, protective arm on Obi-Wan’s waist lingers, an image he can't quite categorize as professional, but one he doesn't dare dwell on. He’ll simply tell Yularen that Obi-Wan was “delayed.”
The communication coming from the forward assault group is garbled and panicked. A sudden, unexpected surge of Separatist forces has trapped a critical squadron of starfighters in a rapidly collapsing asteroid field.
Obi-Wan is instantly focused, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his lightsaber—a nervous gesture even for him. He begins listing contingency plans at a frantic, rapid pace, his composure barely maintained.
"Anakin, prepare the Stalwart for immediate vector change. Admiral, we need the Triumph to divert and provide cover, regardless of the risk to their sensors. We must secure their exit point—"
He trails off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’s running through probabilities too fast, starting to overthink and overload the command system. The other officers look concerned, waiting for the General to settle on a viable course of action.
Then, Cody steps forward from his position slightly behind Obi-Wan, his voice cutting through the tension—not raised, but firm, clear, and perfectly modulated.
"General," Cody says, his eyes fixed on the holographic display, though his words are clearly aimed only at the Jedi. "The starboard flank is secure. We can afford three minutes."
The words are a tactical non-sequitur. The starboard flank had been secure for the last hour; no one was talking about it.
Yet, Obi-Wan's entire demeanor instantly shifts. His rapid speech halts. He stills his body, taking a deliberate, slow, and visible breath that pulls his shoulders back into their familiar, relaxed position. The tension around his eyes visibly eases.
He nods once, his voice returning to its calm, measured tone. "Right. Three minutes it is, Commander."
He then uses those three minutes, not to frantically calculate, but to clearly outline a single, cohesive rescue strategy that is precise and effective. The change in tempo is immediate, and the bridge crew quickly follows his revised command.
Anakin glances from Obi-Wan, now completely composed, to Cody, who is already back to monitoring the main display as if nothing happened.
How did Cody know that's what Master needed to hear? Anakin thinks, confused. The Commander hadn't offered a strategic solution, just a simple observation of a static fact. It was a verbal anchor, a grounding mechanism. It was as if Cody saw the exact moment Obi-Wan was about to fracture under the pressure, and used a specific, silent code to pull him back to the present. It was a level of intimate, non-verbal understanding that Anakin couldn’t made sense of.
Anakin is helping stack last-minute provisions and encrypted datapads into the small shuttle's cargo hold. Obi-Wan is already dressed in his travel robes, looking less like a general and more like the diplomatic Knight he used to be.
Cody stands a few feet from the ramp, dressed in his full, immaculate armor, his posture stiff. He shouldn't be here; the mission is not military. His presence alone speaks volumes about his reluctance to see Obi-Wan leave for a potentially volatile, unguarded trip.
Obi-Wan finishes his final checks and turns to face the Commander. Instead of a verbal farewell or a formal salute, Obi-Wan crosses the short distance between them and reaches out, taking Cody's armored hand in his own.
He doesn't let go. Instead, with surprising dexterity, he works the clasps of the heavy, magnetized gauntlet on Cody's right arm. He pulls it off, revealing the Commander's bare, scarred hand beneath—a hand usually hidden away, practical and tough.
From the sleeve of his robe, Obi-Wan produces a pair of finely crafted, dark brown leather gloves. They are soft, clearly made for piloting or formal wear—not battle. There is a subtle, intricate stitch work along the cuffs. They look expensive, civilian, and intensely personal.
Obi-Wan focuses only on Cody's hand, gently slipping one of the gloves onto the Commander's scarred palm and smoothing the supple leather over the knuckles.
"Don't let the others see those, Commander," Obi-Wan murmurs, his voice pitched just low enough that Anakin can barely hear it over the hangar noise. He pauses, looking Cody directly in the eye. "And come back to me. All in one piece."
Cody doesn't salute or offer a tactical promise. He simply nods, his gaze unwavering behind the visor, and his newly gloved hand curls into a loose fist.
Obi-Wan gives the hand a final, soft squeeze, then steps onto the ramp without another word.
Anakin watches the entire exchange, his arms crossed over a stack of rations. A gift? he thinks. And a gift completely impractical for the field. Master has never given me a gift like that, or anyone else. It's too fine, too deliberately chosen.
The act feels less like a General equipping a subordinate and more like a civilian leaving a deeply meaningful token with a loved one—a private talisman to be kept safe until their return. It is an image that sits uncomfortably close to his own private interactions with Padmé, and the realisation sends a faint, cold unease through him.
Anakin checks the tactical map one last time, ensuring all patrols are accounted for. He has been looking for Obi-Wan since the service ended. His Master didn't attend the post-mortem briefing and hasn't answered his comm.
He finds the door to Obi-Wan's quarters unlocked. Anakin pushes it open just enough to peer inside. He finds the room dimly lit, with the General sitting on the very edge of his cot, his shoulders slumped, his face buried deep in his hands. Obi-Wan is consumed by the familiar, crushing weight of survivor's guilt.
Cody is in the room. He isn't sitting near Obi-Wan or talking. He is standing a few feet away, leaning against the cold durasteel wall, still in his blacks, a picture of quiet, unmoving vigilance. He is simply present, a silent anchor in the room.
The only sound is a low, hitching breath that Anakin realizes is a sob. His Master is weeping—a quiet, private sound of absolute devastation that Anakin has never heard from him before.
Cody waits, letting Obi-Wan feel the pain. He doesn't offer any empty platitudes or tactical justifications for the loss. He just watches, his posture gradually softening from military brace to something more relaxed, more personal.
After a beat, Cody moves.
He walks over to the cot, stops behind Obi-Wan, and without a word, settles onto the bed. He doesn't try to make Obi-Wan turn around. Instead, Cody gently wraps his arms around Obi-Wan’s torso from behind, pulling the smaller man back against his chest. He rests his helmetless forehead lightly against Obi-Wan's shoulder blades.
It is an act of pure, physical grounding. A solid presence offering unspoken solace.
Obi-Wan doesn't pull away. He relaxes instantly into the hold, leaning heavily back into the warmth and strength of the Commander. He grips Cody's forearms tightly, his weeping growing quieter, steadier, finding release in the absolute safety of the embrace.
Anakin backs away slowly, pulling the door shut without a sound.
The sight is overwhelming. This is a comfort so intimate, so profound, it eclipses all professional boundaries. It's the kind of unconditional support Padmé offers him when he's broken by his own failures—a deep, vulnerable reliance on another person's strength.
That is too much, Anakin thinks, his breath catching in his throat. That kind of comfort... that isn't allowed.
But the truth hits him then, sharp and clear: not only did Obi-Wan allow it, he desperately needed it. He had sought and found refuge in the arms of his Commander. The realization is a massive crack in Anakin’s carefully constructed denial. The two of them, the General and the Commander, share a bond that is undeniably the same powerful, dangerous attachment he holds for his wife.
The mission was a success, but messy. An aggressive, unnecessary flanking maneuver by Obi-Wan had put him directly in the line of heavy fire. Anakin is crossing the corridor when the raised voices from the small temporary office halt him mid-stride.
He stops, stunned. He’s never heard Obi-Wan raise his voice like this, and certainly not at Cody. He strains to listen, then quickly moves closer to the door, intending to mediate what he assumes is a catastrophic breakdown of professional discipline.
"...don't you dare dismiss the risk you put yourself under!" Cody's voice rings out, raw and furious. "That was unnecessary exposure for a minor objective! You could have waited, General!"
"You know the mission always comes first, Cody!" Obi-Wan snaps back, his tone sharp with defensive fury. "And you know my commitment! The data was critical!"
"Your commitment means nothing if I have to look Kix in the eye and tell him I let you get killed for a sensor array!"
A heavy, metallic thud echoes from inside the room. Anakin’s hand instinctively goes to the control panel, ready to burst in.
"I can't live with that, Ben!"
The single name—Ben—stops Anakin cold. It’s a name of deep, personal intimacy, a name his Master almost never uses and certainly never allows anyone else to use. It's a name that belongs only to a past life, far removed from the war.
Anakin freezes with his hand on the door control. He doesn't open it. Instead, he presses his ear closer to the cold metal.
The argument ceases instantly, replaced by a profound, charged silence.
When Obi-Wan speaks again, all the fury is gone, replaced by a weary, devastating vulnerability.
"I know," Obi-Wan murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.
Anakin hears the faintest sound of movement—a sigh, a shift in weight. Then, a low, thick whisper from Obi-Wan:
"I know, my love," he repeats. "I know. But we’re both still here."
Anakin’s mind snaps back to every previous moment: the lingering hand in the med-tent, the shared, protective sleep, the unspoken code on the bridge, the secretive, civilian gift, the physical anchor after the memorial. They weren't isolated oddities, but threads woven into a consistent pattern.
He realises that the argument wasn't about strategy or rank; it was about fear and love. It was the panicked reaction of a partner terrified of losing the person they’ve built their life around. Cody had ripped off his helmet—a gesture of extreme personal exposure—and used his Master's civilian name because, in that moment, he wasn't speaking to General Kenobi. He was speaking to his Ben.
Anakin silently pulls his hand away from the door control. He takes a long, slow breath, realising the truth: Obi-Wan and Cody are together. Not just allies, not just friends, but two people bound by a love that is deeply committed, actively worried, and completely intertwined with their lives.
And the Jedi Order, so zealous about his own prohibited attachment to Padmé, is either blind to it or—far more shockingly—choosing to look the other way.
Anakin Skywalker turns and walks away, a new, complicated understanding forming in his mind. The rules he chafes under are revealed to be arbitrary, porous, and selectively enforced, creating a private chasm between the life he hides and the life his Master lives in plain sight.