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aspentreewrites · 1 month ago

Text

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 1

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: slow burn(ish), fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

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A/N: In my unending quest to name all of my fics after The Amazing Devil songs, this one is taken from Elsa's Song. If you're reading this on Tumblr, you're getting a unique version of this author's note - hello there! I usually just link to my fics on Tumblr, but this time I've decided to post each chapter in full here!

Any and all comments are massively appreciated, and if I can format anything better for posting here please let me know. I'm aiming to have the next chapter up in 2-3 weeks :)

Huge thanks to my wonderful friend @whenyourfavouritedies (link to their AO3 here!) for beta reading.

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He’d had a good run, Cody thinks to himself as he faces down the adversary in front of him. Perhaps he could avoid the mortal embarrassment of defeat by defenestrating himself from the nearest window - at least then his death could be ruled as a bizarre, impulsive moment of pure lunacy rather than the alternative of being done in entirely by the man in front of him.

… The man in front of him who evidently seems to be expecting a response to his words.

Cody, the Marshal Commander of the 212th who has spoken in front of the Council multiple times, who’s renowned throughout the GAR for his prowess at quick-thinking and strategy, desperately tries to muster something. Gingerly, he collects the shattered pieces of his brain from the floor, and attempts to produce something coherent with them.

“... Oh,” he manages, trying to not let his words come out as strangled as it feels like they could in this moment. “Right.”

As it turns out, those two words alone are insufficient, at least judging by Obi-Wan’s look of pure bewilderment. The Jedi tilts his head a little, studying the clone before him.

“Is everything alright, Cody?” he asks tentatively, before glancing back to the mission briefing on his datapad. Cody’s eyes remain glued to one word in particular, practically glaring at him from the harshly backlit screen of the tablet.

He can feel a headache coming on.

“If it’s too much, Anakin has offered to spare Rex, but to be perfectly honest–”

Absolutely not. The only thing Cody can think of that would be worse than going on this mission at all would be someone else going in his place.

“-- I’d rather avoid a repeat of what happened on Corellia, if at all possible,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking a hand over his beard. He frowns slightly at the memory, and Cody files the subject away to ask about later, though for the moment he has far more pressing matters to address.

“Right,” Cody repeats, before finally remembering that he does, in fact, know how to string words into a sentence. His eyes snap up from the datapad, meeting his General’s gaze. Discomfort claws its way through his body, constricting his throat a little when he tries to gather himself. “Yes, sir. I’m just wondering, about the aliases-”

Obi-Wan huffs, clearly having his own strong opinion on whatever he thinks Cody is about to say. “Yes, well, I appreciate that the backstories aren’t as detailed as they could be. I did mention it, but the Council did what they could on such short notice.”

“Of course. I’m just wondering if we have to be–”

“Really, it’s a miracle that they even had anything planned, knowing them.”

“-- Married?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a long silence stretches between the two men. He studies Cody’s face again for a moment, before he looks back down at the datapad, his brow furrowed slightly as if he’s only just considering the implications of the mission for the first time.

Cody stands, steady as ever, though behind his back his fingers twitch anxiously. From the Jedi's telling, it’s going to be a fairly quick undercover stint - a handful of days at most. They’ll be staying at a hotel-slash-resort out in a neutral system, where they’ve been tipped off that a handful of Separatists are meeting for a business deal that could debilitate the Republic if it goes off smoothly.

A tad dramatic, perhaps, but when intel like that is received, the Jedi have to ensure that the call to action is answered. And who better to answer it with than one of their best?

Unfortunately for Cody, the Jedi’s best has a penchant for dragging him along, too.

This type of mission might be incredibly rote for the General, but for Cody, it’s… An intimidating prospect. He’s a soldier, a strategist - a damned good one at that, there’s a reason he’s been given the position of Commander - if there’s one thing he is decidedly not, however, it's an actor.

It’s likely that the more experienced man hadn’t even given Cody’s involvement a second thought - they’re by each other’s side on most battlefields, after all… This arena, though, is an untrodden one. After some consideration, Obi-Wan quirks a brow and looks back up at his Commander.

“You’re aware that we wouldn’t actually be signing any legal documents for the sake of the mission?” he queries, as if that were at all the issue Cody is having here. Stars, but does this man like to play dense sometimes.

“... That’s not the point, sir.”

“Then what is? Do you not think I would make a fine husband? My dear Commander, you wound me.”

Cody has the quiet suspicion that if anyone had the fortune to wed his General (not that the Jedi were even allowed such things), they would find themselves spending a considerable portion of the rest of their lives having to put up with his unfortunate sense of humour.

As it happens, Cody is the one who’s taking the burden for that responsibility at current. It’s been slowly driving him up the wall for the better part of the war effort.

“I’m sure you would make a good–” no, that’s not appropriate, “a fine–” he stops short, glowering at the amused smirk that has plastered itself on his General’s face. Obi-Wan seems to be garnering a little too much delight in causing him to stammer like a schoolchild, the victorious glint in his eye evident. Cody shakes his head, persisting despite the flush that he’s sure has appeared on his cheeks. “... You know what I mean.”

Much to Cody’s relief, Obi-Wan takes mercy on him and drops the subject. He glances back down to the datapad with a thoughtful hum, his expression returning to something a little more dignified.

“It was ultimately a logistical choice. We would be sharing a room in the hotel, regardless, and the cover makes it considerably less likely that people would raise questions.” A pause, and then the Jedi’s voice turns a little more gentle. “If it would truly make you uncomfortable, Cody, then we can come up with an alternative.”

Cody finds himself shaking his head before he even has time to think it through properly. It’s… Fine. He’s fine. The thought of pretending to be Obi-Wan’s… husband, makes something strange curl in his gut, a sense of tightness and discomfort that he can’t quite identify.

He pushes the feeling away, telling himself that all it is is feeling unsure about going undercover in general - it will be, after all, his first time doing so for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s bluffed to get past guards and to stall enemies, they all have, but he’s practically a shiny in this territory. It makes sense that he’d have some nerves.

“No, I… I’ll take the mission, General. I was just…” he hesitates. He was just what exactly? Cody isn’t entirely certain. “I’ll just need some time to look over the aliases, to prepare. Being undercover is… Not my usual wheelhouse.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“If you’re certain?”

Cody holds the Jedi’s earnest gaze for as long as he can muster with this odd sensation sloshing around in his stomach. He manages a nod, moving to take the datapad from the other man as they prepare to move onto other matters for the morning.

“Yes, sir.”

______________________________

The night before the mission rolls around, Cody finds himself still awake far too late into the night. He’s at his desk, poring over multiple tabs of research, and Stars, there’s still so much to cover before they’re set to leave.

He’s… what is it that an actor would call it? ‘Studying’ the fictional man that is Vidarr Emerin, a wealthy investor who’s gained a frankly ridiculous amount of credits from backing a series of Spice mining projects on Kessel. Vidarr isn’t actually involved in the day to day operations of the creation of the drug directly (and thank the Force for that, because Cody couldn’t realistically describe the process if there was a blaster to his head), though he has his fingers in many metaphorical pies of Kessel’s ‘industry’, if one can call it that.

Vidarr is ruthlessly efficient, cutthroat, and has more money invested in the black market than Cody has ever seen in his entire life.

His favourite colour, the document notes, is brown.

They’re hoping that, due to the planet they’re travelling to not having seen hide nor hair of the war as of yet, Cody can blend in as a regular human without issue. If he were to be clocked as a clone however, he and Obi-Wan have come up with a story that fits. A benefit of their cover is that if any clone were to defect from the GAR, Kessel would likely be a decent option for them to run to, due to its relative distance from the war and the objective difficulty in getting to the planet. It would be easier if he didn’t have to out himself, but it never hurts to be prepared.

The Commander is about three cafs into his nighttime research, and is showing no sign of slowing, currently skimming through a holonet article about Kessel’s southern equator. He’s trying to take notes on as many details as possible about the habitable section of the planet: the names of local wildlife, parks, various points of interest… It’s unlikely that anyone would want to talk to him about the geography of the local rivers, admittedly, but what if he’s caught out unexpectedly?

No, Cody reasons to himself, taking another gulp of caf. Not worth the risk. He’ll just have to memorise the relative locations of every tributary and estuary in the local area that Vidarr is from. It’s the only way he can walk into this prepared.

It’s even later when his chrono beeps at him for attention. His eyes have been struggling to focus on the various screens for too long to ignore, and Cody’s attention turns to the empty notepad page to his right. The one that’s been staring him down all evening.

He narrows his eyes at it, sizing the offending object up. One moment passes, then another. The man groans, running a tired hand over his face and silencing his alarm. He may as well get this over with.

He returns his datapad to the page about their aliases, scrolling until he hits the ‘marriage and relationship’ section. Cody pulls the notepad over, reluctantly beginning to scribble down some bullet points.

Renne Emerin, née Cardall, met Vidarr at a soiree attended by a handful of various small-time investors for the Pyke Syndicate, and the two began courting not long after. Three years into their relationship, they got engaged. A further year, and the two were married. This little trip together is a celebration for their second wedding anniversary.

They have a bonded pair of tookas. They’re considering adopting a child. They’re a regular, normal couple in love.

Cody turns off the datapad, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

For the life of him, he doesn’t know why he feels such a mental block in regards to… all of this. Obi-Wan had been incredibly accommodating - between them, they’d laid out expectations, negotiated how they were going to approach this, and the Jedi had promised to not push too hard in the name of making a good cover (though Cody had insisted he not hold back on his account - he’d be damned if his own incompetence compromised a mission).

And yet… The anxious feeling persists. It’s subtler now at least, having spent the last week preparing and researching, but it remains under his skin, simmering away.

It worsens when he thinks of the marriage they’ll have to upkeep.

His chrono beeps a second time, a harsh, needy trill that tells him he really ought to be getting to bed now. Cody grumbles to himself, turning the blasted alarm off again, before finally flopping down in his bed and flicking off the light to his room.

It’ll be fine, he thinks wearily, forcing himself to take a deep breath and settle his mind.

If there’s one thing he trusts implicitly in this Galaxy, it’s that Obi-Wan will have his back. Discomfort be damned, they’ll get through this in one piece. Soon enough, this’ll just be a funny story to tell when sufficiently drunk.

Clinging onto that thought like it holds the last vestiges of his sanity, Cody drifts into a fitful but desperately needed sleep.

______________________________

The Commander wakes early, exactly as he was trained. A fast shower, an efficient shave, and his bed made neatly behind him as he dresses.

At 0600 hours exactly, he leaves his quarters, fully clad in his newly issued armour - shiny, pristine, bright white plastoid that catches in the harsh, fluorescent lighting lining the hallways of the Venator. He is precisely as he should be: the perfect example of what the Kaminoans created.

When he reaches the briefing room, he raps his gloved knuckles against the door once, twice. Cody feels confident as he waits - every single choice he makes matters today, and a good first impression is vital. Yes, he thinks, mulling it over in his mind: a single knock would have been insufficient, and three would be bordering on informal. Two was the right answer, Commander. Good work.

It takes precisely six seconds for the door to slide open, revealing the Jedi he had met briefly before in holocalls, though never face to face. The Jedi he’s going to dedicate his life to.

Auburn hair catches the light, and clean, cream coloured robes settle tidily about his form. Curious eyes settle on him, inspecting the clone likely as much as the clone is analysing the Jedi. Cody is quietly grateful for his helmet giving him the tactical upper hand in this endeavour.

The blue of the Jedi’s eyes reminds him of the Kaminoan ocean, though he’s unsure whether or not that association is a good or a bad one. The man in front of him looks methodically put together, neat and organised, as a member of the famed Jetii should be… Perhaps a little tired, though, as the faint bags under his eyes might indicate.

Cody decides it doesn’t matter. It’s surely just a sign of his new General’s commitment to his work ethic that he would stay up late to prepare for today. Something they’ll have in common, then.

The Commander’s back is, naturally, ramrod-straight as he salutes sharply, his voice strong and even as he speaks.

“CC-2224, sir. Ready for our briefing.” He knows the Jedi should have remembered his designation number from their fleeting introductions over holocall, but it never hurts to be cautious. The man has a lot to familiarise himself with over the coming days, after all. It wouldn’t be a slight if it took him a while to remember something so small.

General Kenobi pauses at that, before offering a small, if hesitant smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course.” He steps aside, allowing the clone entry into the meeting room. It’s a tidy, organised space, yet something about it is almost eerie in its quietude. Cody’s eyes sweep over neat stacks of datapads and consoles with no fingerprints yet on their keyboards, no dust yet accumulated on the cables filling the room. A tactical space, ready to handle and catalogue so much violence and death - years of it, more.

And yet it is, at present, still and empty. Lying in eager wait for the blood to start spilling, to see the use it has been designed for. Today, the Commander supposes, is the day.

The General sweeps through the room, posture so exact that it almost makes him look as if he’s gliding rather than walking. He sets up the holotable at the centre of the room, watching as the agenda for the day flickers into being, a list nearly a mile long. General Kenobi scans over the file with a quiet sigh, before he glances over to meet the other man’s gaze.

“Would you care for a cup of caf? I quite find I struggle to focus so early on in the day.”

The Jedi’s voice is gentle, softened at the edges with tiredness - not at all the tone the soldier is used to from authority. Cody frowns to himself. And he’s… Offering him caf. Not an order or command. An unexpected start to their working relationship.

Part of him can’t help but think it could be a trap. A test of how much he’d be willing to take from him, perhaps. A measure of his discipline?

Kenobi looks progressively more awkward as time presses on. He speaks up again, evidently trying to search for any hint of emotion in the clone’s expressionless helmet and drawing a blank.

“Or… Tea?” he tries, tilting his head a little. “I can make tea instead, if that’s more to your liking.”

The Commander hesitates, trying to figure out the right answer to this puzzle in front of him. Would it offend the General if he said no? Could he say no, if he wanted to? How much of a choice does he get here?

Regardless, he can tell his prolonged silence is unnerving his new General, and the last thing he wants is to make a bad impression.

“Caf… Caf is fine, sir. Thank you.”

That, at least, seems to placate the Jedi. He smiles, a little more sincerely this time, before disappearing off to the corner of the room and busying himself with making some drinks.

Cody takes the opportunity to get a headstart on the agenda for their first day, looking over the list at the holotable with a critical eye. There’s much to do, and he’s anxious to get to it and prove himself.

“Right,” Kenobi begins as he returns, passing a steaming mug to Cody before sipping at his own. “Let us get started, hm?”

The briefing is quick, and efficient. They move through all the matters of the day - introductory training with the men, preparations to oversee supply requisitioning, and early drafts of strategy for the 212th’s first upcoming mission in the field together.

The caf is nicer than he expected.

“Before we go, Commander,” Kenobi says as the two turn to leave for the first training, his tone thoughtful. He looks to the clone in front of him, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

… What?

“My… Designation number, sir?” He asks, with a little uncertainty. The Jedi’s mouth twitches - not quite a frown, but something close to it. He attempts to disguise it by passing a hand over his beard. Cody tenses instinctively.

“No, you greeted me with that when you first came in,” he reminds him, voice gentle. “I meant your name. Your actual one.”

CC-2224 glitches.

He’s not sure how long he just stares at the General, but it’s long enough to prompt Kenobi to speak again.

“... If that would be alright?”

No, no it would be decidedly not alright. This is against everything the Commander was expecting, everything he’s spent his whole life preparing for. He’s almost indignant at the impropriety. As he continues to hesitate, a flash of something like worry flashes across Obi-Wan’s face, followed by a sheepishness unbefitting of someone of his station.

He raises his hand, cutting off Cody as he finally opens his mouth to answer.

“No, no, I apologise, Commander,�� he says quickly, sounding a little ashamed. “Names are… important to your brothers, aren’t they?”

At Cody’s stupefied nod, he continues on.

“I should not have asked something so personal of you,” the Jedi murmurs, bowing his head briefly in apology. “Forgive me.”

The Commander doesn’t quite know what to do with that. A brief mumble of ‘it’s alright, sir’, and an evening spent puzzling out who, exactly, his new General is, will have to do.

That night, Cody finds himself staring up at the ceiling as he tries to find sleep.

Perhaps the Kaminoans were wrong about the Jetii. About what would be expected of them. But then, if that’s true, then what else were they wrong about?

It’s an unnerving thought, and it’s one that plagues him for the coming weeks.

______________________________

In the half-light of the ship’s artificial morning, Cody stares down his reflection in the mirror, wrinkling his nose slightly as he tugs a battle-worn comb through his hair, gently teasing the curls apart. He glances back down to the holonet vid he found, the projector balancing precariously on the edge of the sink. Making a swiping gesture in the air with his free hand, he winds back the video yet another time. The helpful, yet slightly too-fast-speaking Kiffar woman in the vid enthusiastically explains how to loosen one’s curl pattern, and Cody repeats the actions she demonstrates, his brow knitting together unconsciously as he focuses.

The 212th doesn’t exactly have access to the myriad of supplies the vid-blogger eagerly shows the camera, but Cody’s scoured the supply shipments to source some decent enough conditioner - combined with the comb with a handful of missing teeth that he’d uncovered earlier in his room, they’ll have to do. The steam from the shower he’d taken minutes earlier permeates the room, and Cody has to pause in his delicate work every few minutes to wipe down the mirror.

He continues working methodically from the ends of the strands up to his scalp, becoming progressively less clumsy with the action as he goes. It’s strangely meditative, though it helps that his attention on this is effectively holding off the nervousness that the mission ahead of him today brings.

By the time he finishes up, the Commander just… stares at himself for a long moment, noting the unfamiliar sensation of his still-damp hair falling a short way across his face. It’ll need to be slicked back, certainly, but it looks… Fine. Not like him, though. Not at all.

It’s a funny thing, that sensation that other sentients would refer to as not recognising yourself in the mirror. When your face is the same as millions of others, it’s more like seeing another one of the vode. One with that same scar across the temple and with considerably less sternness about adhering to the GAR’s hair-length regs, clearly.

Cody sighs, gesturing to power down the holoprojector, finishing towelling himself off and finally heading out of the ‘fresher to get ready for the day. Regardless of his feelings on the subject, it’ll help him blend in better as a deserter, so longer hair it is.

Longer hair and an almost merc-like uniform, according to the tailored cloak and boots that wait for him in his room. Cody grimaces.

He just hopes that if Waxer or Boil see him, they’ll keep their mouths shut.

By some mercy of the fates, he’s able to steal through the Venator and make it up to the docking bays without catching the eye of any of his men (mostly, at least; he’d brushed past Helix outside the medbay but the medic hadn’t even looked up from his work).

He jogs up the ramp to the ship to join his Jedi - already waiting for him and re-reading today’s mission details with a mug in hand, of course.

Cody spots the second mug of caf that Obi-Wan had prepared sitting over on one of the consoles and beelines for it, already knowing he’ll be needing all the stimulants he can get his hands on to feel at all ready for today.

“Ah, Commander, I was wondering when you were going to–” Obi-Wan starts, but the comment dies on his tongue. Cody glances over to see his normally so eloquent General taking a moment before finishing his sentence, his friend’s gaze flicking briefly over his appearance. The Commander raises a questioning brow, and Obi-Wan clears his throat quietly, before offering Cody a slightly short nod.

“... When you were going to arrive.” His eyes linger for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, before he turns away, busying himself by inputting the coordinates into the console. “The hair suits you, by the way.”

Cody feels strangely warm at the compliment, self-consciously reaching up to push back some of the strands.

“I’ve written up some of the boys for shorter,” he comments dryly, stepping up alongside the Jedi and taking a sip of his caf. Obi-Wan snorts in quiet amusement, giving him a sidelong glance.

“I’m sure.”

A calm silence briefly blankets them as the ship’s autopilot gets them away from the Venator and into the familiar black ocean of space, and Cody feels some of his tension ease. Of course it feels normal. He was a fool to think that this would feel any different to their usual missions.

His eyes idly track the various indicators that display the wellbeing of the ship as he exhales slowly, lips curling up into something more reminiscent of a grimace than a smile - but nonetheless, he tries.

“You feeling ready for this?” he asks, feeling selfishly a little comforted by the thoughtful hum he gets in response. That’s a ‘not quite’ from the Jedi, and it at least means they’ll be walking into this together with some uncertainty. Cody hates feeling like he’s on the back foot.

“You can never be too ready for an undercover mission,” Obi-Wan says evenly, staring out ahead of them as the ship prepares to enter hyperspace. His fingers tap idly against his mug. “It always comes down to improvisation. A slip of the tongue here, an unexpected question there,” he murmurs. Catching Cody’s eye, the ghost of a smirk flits across his features. “... Not to worry you, of course.”

“Mm, right. You’d never do anything to cause me worry,” Cody quips, settling down into the pilot chair and buckling himself in. Obi-Wan follows suit, nodding serenely.

“It definitely hasn’t happened before, no.”

The trip through hyperspace is largely uneventful, the two falling into a companionable silence. As his thoughts stray to the mission ahead a little way into the flight, Cody realises his mind must feel a little frayed through the Force, because Obi-Wan turns to give him the look.

‘The Look’ is something scrutinising that happens whenever the Commander hasn’t quite managed to maintain his mental shields enough to conceal his emotions in a time of stress - the Jedi Order had, en masse, taught the vode how to do it in the early days of their partnership, in the interest of maintaining privacy for the troops, and as a gesture of goodwill. Cody does it well, for the most part, though it’s harder for him with Obi-Wan than with others, he finds. The man always seems to be able to see right through him.

“You’re still anxious.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and Cody wishes, not for the first time, that the General wouldn’t draw attention to his vulnerability like this. He levels Obi-Wan with a frustrated look of his own, brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s fine,” he insists. Obi-Wan looks at him flatly. Cody relents immediately, knowing that it’s useless trying to lie to any Jedi, but especially this one in particular.

He course corrects.

“It’ll be fine once we’re actually in the thick of it. It’s…” he grimaces, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the unknown of it all. At least if it’s a firefight, you can face down the enemy with a rifle.”

Obi-Wan reaches out to gently squeeze his Commander’s shoulder. The action soothes, the familiar warmth of his hand providing an anchor point of calm. “You’ll be wonderful. If I didn’t have full faith in you, I wouldn’t have asked you to join me,” he says, sincerely.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan adds, a playful glint in his eye, “if it all goes sideways, then you can happily be in your comfort zone while we blast our way out.”

A huff of amusement escapes Cody as he rolls his eyes, reaching up to cover the hand that remains on his shoulder.

“My comfort zone of keeping you from getting yourself impaled or shot? Yes, I’m unfortunately very familiar,” he mutters, exasperated yet fond.

Obi-Wan tips his head back and laughs.

______________________________

The first time he hears Obi-Wan laugh - properly laugh, not that wry chuckle he occasionally hears during briefings - it’s also the first time they’ve stayed up late together to finish up on paperwork in his quarters. Cody has been regaling him with a tale from his youth on Kamino, relating to a particularly memorable incident involving Wooley, Boil, and a few mouse droids, and Obi-Wan laughs, eyes creasing at the corners and shoulders shaking with mirth.

At this time, it’s been about six weeks since the battalion’s first deployment in the war. The group is beginning to feel less like a random selection of soldiers and more like many parts of a functioning whole. Most notably, a handful of the men have recently started on their armour decoration. After much debate back and forth about the colour they should choose to accurately represent the battalion, Crys organised a (debatably) official vote in the mess hall with swatches of the strongest contenders.

The General had politely abstained over lunch, telling the vode that it wasn’t his place to influence their choices on such matters. Waxer indignantly declared such a position as ‘fence-sitting’, and Cody had sharply warned the young trooper that if he were to accuse High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi of centrist tendencies again, it would be KP duty for a month.

The vote had come out strongly in favour of a colour they’d henceforth started referring to as ‘212th gold’ - a handsome shade that glowed like the sun when caught by natural light. As his duty dictates him to show the way for his men, the Commander was among the first to adopt it, beginning with the sunburst on his chestplate. It felt right, even with those first brushstrokes, to be able to claim something as truly theirs. Cody hopes that one day, 212th gold will represent a spark of hope across the Galaxy. A mark made entirely in their name.

A little romantic of a thought, perhaps, but it brings him a spark of pride whenever he sees the newest shinies brought in, eager to earn the paint stripes they see displayed by those in command.

In these last six weeks, a considerable amount has changed for the men, and it’s been a lot of adjustment. Both Obi-Wan and the vode serving under him have had to figure out how to adapt, to work alongside each other effectively. The General is kinder, more human than the Kaminoans had warned he’d be - he watches out for them on battlefields, mourns alongside them when their brothers are lost… in turn, the vode are beginning to slowly open up, too, starting to share parts of their culture with the Jedi.

He’s even been learning to speak Mando’a, though Cody is privately grateful that he’s been able to warn the boys ahead of time to watch their tongues when the General is floating around. They mean well, but he knows what they can be like if they think no one can understand them… The last thing he wants is to have to deal with writing up half of his troops for discussing too liberally what happened during their most recent trip to 79’s.

Once Obi-Wan gathers himself again, he looks over at Cody with a thoughtful glance, his expression softened with a grin.

“It doesn’t sound altogether too dissimilar to the way we were raised in the temple, you know,” he says, “... mischief and all.”

Cody watches him from his position sat on the edge of his bed. He thinks the relaxed, genuine smile suits the other man greatly. He privately hopes he’ll get to see it again after tonight.

The Jedi hums to himself, before adopting a fond, faraway look. “All younglings can be particularly trying in large numbers, regardless of origin,” he continues, “I do not envy the crechèmasters for the duty they have to perform.”

Cody’s interest is piqued at that. The datapad in his hand is ignored for a moment, attention turned fully to the man sitting at his desk.

“You were raised communally?”

Obi-Wan nods, pausing briefly to make an amendment to the report in front of him, slender fingers moving quickly across the screen. Stars, Cody thinks to himself with a little annoyance, the man can even make paperwork look elegant.

“Yes. Well, from a certain age at least. I was brought to the Temple around age 4,” he explains. His eyes are still a little distant, lost in the memory of a happier time. “I still have a deep fondness for my crèchemates, despite… Differing opinions with a handful of them.”

Cody nods slowly, studying the Jedi for a beat.

“I get that, General,” he says, returning his attention to his datapad. “I’m the same with my batchmates. I just… Might have had more of them than you.”

“An understatement I’m sure, Commander,” Obi-Wan chuckles, before his tone turns softer, more sincere. He glances over at Cody, choosing his next words carefully.

“It seems like… A wonderful thing, the family you and the rest of the vode share.” He gives Cody a small smile, though there’s something else to it, a heaviness that settles behind his expression. “... It’s a shame that such a thing was created for the unworthy purpose of war. I can only hope that once the fighting is done, you’ll be able to thrive as all other sentients do.”

The two lapse into silence for a little while, the only sound filling the room the soft tapping of keys. Obi-Wan has spoken a little about his feelings on the war over the last handful of weeks, and to be truthful, it’s not a subject that Cody trusts himself to speak about. Neither the 212th, nor Cody himself for that matter, have been deployed for very long, and the clone doesn’t quite understand all of the weight behind his General’s words. Perhaps he will come to, in time… for better or worse.

Cody has reckoned with his own adjustments in the past few weeks. He’s found himself relaxing considerably around Obi-Wan, no longer feeling the burning need to watch himself as if his General is considering decommissioning him if he puts a foot wrong. He didn’t particularly know her, but from what the other vode say, Shaak Ti was similar back on Kamino.

It took a week and one mission in the field before Cody decided that the Jetii were not the dictators they’d expected. A further week and he was convinced they had no choice in this whole matter either, and were evidently suffering for it. Like a good Commander, he'd kept those observations to himself.

As soon as he’d allowed himself to be… Well, human, around the Jedi, he and Obi-Wan had started to become closer. Cody isn’t particularly adept at it yet, but if he finds himself arriving early to their morning briefings, he’s started making the General his tea in the way he likes it. It’s something small, but judging by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes had widened the first time he’d done it, a pleased smile crossing his face, it’s something that seemed to mean a lot to him.

They’ve become… Friends, or something approaching that, at least. It’s a thought that has him steeling himself to speak now, clearing his throat in the quiet space.

“... Cody,” he says, forcing the word to come out casually. Obi-Wan glances up again with a raised brow, a questioning look in his eyes. Cody finds it in himself to meet his General’s gaze, offering an affirmative nod. “You, uh… asked me for my chosen name, when we first met,” he explains quietly, ignoring the way his stomach wants to twist as he holds out this olive branch of trust, “it’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan’s expression goes from confusion, to surprise, to something incredibly warm.

“Cody,” he repeats softly, as if testing out the sound of it on his tongue, before giving an approving nod. A smile remains on his face even as he returns to his work. “Thank you, Cody,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the datapad at his desk. The Commander is grateful for it - he feels as if the vulnerability of further eye contact might make him combust right now. “It’s a fine name. I’m honoured to know it.”

If Cody feels his heart react to the softness of his Jedi’s tone in that moment, he doesn’t mention it.

______________________________

“Mister and Mister Emerin?”

Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance at the call across the docking bays. They’ve barely been parked for a minute, and they’re already out of time.

“I suppose that’s us,” Cody says with a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly. He looks at Obi-Wan, tilting his head with a silent question of ‘ready?’ and the Jedi nods, bringing the last of the bags with him down the gangway of the ship.

A tall, pale Nautolan woman with a checklist in hand approaches, teeth flashing a perfect, artificially white smile as Obi-Wan steps forwards to shake her hand.

“Charmed,” he drawls in a smooth, Outer Rim accent, his voice low with lazily drawn out syllables - a stark contrast to the sharp, crisp Coruscanti voice that Cody’s used to hearing. Beside the Jedi, he forces on a smile.

“You’re here to check us in?” he says, hoping that his voice comes across not nearly as unsure and out of place as he feels. The Nautolan nods, making a scribble on the flimsi paper she’s carrying, pocketing it and taking the bags from the two of them without asking.

“Here, I’ll get these for you and show you to the main building. Is this your first time staying with us?”

The woman chatters away to them as they make the walk from the docking bays to the resort itself. Obi-Wan is as content to make conversation as Cody is to let him. The clone hangs back a little, taking in the planet around him. Brilliant light beams down on the building ahead, even as it nears the start of sundown, making him squint a little. It’s…

Excessive is the primary word that comes to mind.

The docking bays themselves are massive, on an elevated platform above a calm looking ocean of tropical blue. The bridge they’re now on connects to a few perfectly sculpted beaches that are teeming with people even at this hour, and more pressingly, a building the size of the damn Senate. Cody’s far from an expert on architecture, but it’s clearly a recent build - large windows and extravagant relief work carved into the stone of the imposing structure, of various people or mythological beings that Cody imagines he probably should recognise but doesn’t.

It all seems to be purpose-built with the intention of making the space feel welcoming to those in a certain tax bracket.

Cody is undeniably not part of that tax bracket.

This area of the planet itself has almost definitely gone through some extensive terraforming by the looks of things, and he feels a little dizzy as he imagines the cost - coming from a corporation, no less. Part of the background provided for this mission detailed that Miphena, the planet they’re standing on, is essentially owned by the resort managers with no government to speak of. To call it ‘bleak’ would be underselling it.

They’re ushered inside by the woman with the increasingly grating customer service voice, brought through a pristine foyer tiled with marble underfoot. Cody is sure to make a mental note of that - that’s very slippery when covered in blood, so if they’re having to fight their way out, they should find another point of exit than this one.

He continues to sweep the rest of the room with an analytical eye. The main desk could be used as cover in a pinch, though it’s not in a particularly tactical location - the presence of stairs, an elevator, and double-doors through to the main events hall makes this an undesirable position to have to defend with too many points of ambush.

… Granted, it’s exceedingly unlikely they’ll be forced to stage a firefight here, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

The receptionist leads them up to the seventh floor (with a lot of small-talk in the elevator that feels entirely unnecessary), hands them their keys for the room, drops their bags off and thanks the two profusely for their custom before leaving them alone once more. Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance, and the former smirks.

“After you, darling husband,” Obi-Wan says easily with a flourishing bow, still holding onto the accent despite the fact it’s just the two of them. The amused gleam in the Jedi’s eye only gets stronger as Cody rolls his eyes, pushing past him to enter into the room.

Much like the exterior of the hotel, it’s certainly extravagant. A large bed takes up most of the space, crisp white sheets with elaborate gold embroidery detailing the edges, and a plush red carpet beneath it. Every surface has some form of decoration, a vase of fake flowers here, a small metal sculpture there. A fairly incomprehensible piece of abstract art hangs above the bed, though what it’s intended to represent is entirely lost on Cody.

The two share another glance, silently communicating with one another, and get to work searching the room for any listening devices.

Cody heads directly for the mirror, carefully unhooking it from the wall to see if the garish item is the result of the need to obscure a bug of some kind, or if it’s just the result of terrible taste.

Hm. Terrible taste it is.

Once they both signal the all-clear, Obi-Wan relaxes a little, setting both of their bags down on the bed.

“Well,” he says mildly, glancing around with a disapproving gaze. “It’s certainly expensive.”

Cody snorts, following his eyeline. “Just how much did the Republic spend to send us here?”

Obi-Wan peers closely at the strange painting, letting out a soft hum. “I shudder to think.” He pauses as Cody wanders over to check out the balcony. “This surely can’t be an original work,” he mutters to himself, passing a hand over his beard and frowning in thought.

Cody can’t help but glance back with a raised brow.

“... Sir,” he says, and the Jedi interrupts him with a wave of his hand, still narrowing his eyes at the artwork.

“It’s Obi-Wan when we’re alone, Cody, you know that.”

“Obi-Wan,” he starts again, amused. “Please tell me you’re not critiquing the art–”

“If it’s there, it should be there with purpose. This is soulless. It’s nothing-”

“In a resort, Obi-Wan.”

The Jedi lets out a rather contemptuous scoff, before drawing back to meet Cody’s gaze. He folds his arms, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “If you’re not the type to appreciate a critique of art, my dear, then whyever did I marry you in the first place?”

Cody lets out a long suffering sigh, not missing a beat. “I ask myself the same thing every day, darling, believe me.”

That draws a laugh from his Jedi. Cody steps out to the balcony proper as Obi-Wan begins to unpack his bag.

The sun is drawing lower on the horizon now, painting the sky in picturesque golds and oranges as people slowly move in from the beach - a steady stream of holiday-goers and families making their way back to the hotel for the evening. Cody idly watches them, leaning out over the railing as he takes in the myriad of species, genders, and ages of the people who’ve come here for an escape. One thing seems to bind them all together despite the differences - that distinct aura of wealth that seems to permeate the very air here.

He can’t really put his finger on what it is. The way they carry themselves, maybe? The sea of perfect skin and hair, the precision in which they choose to dress… It’s all fairly alien to the Commander. None of it really feels real in the way that people tend to be. Give him the flawed mess of the Lower Levels any day.

“I’m going to go for a little wander,” Obi-Wan calls through from the bedroom. “Get the lay of the land, so to speak.”

Cody turns, stepping back into the lavish room and stretching slightly. He sighs as he feels a pleasant ache in his muscles.

“I’ll probably stay in,” he yawns, “get an early night. Didn’t sleep well last rotation, and I’d prefer to feel rested for tomorrow.”

Even though he technically hasn’t been awake for all that long, Cody figures it’d be best to get started on adjusting to local time as quickly as possible. They’ll need to be up at dawn, regardless of if they’re ready for it. The Jedi hums in response, slipping on his cloak and heading to the door.

“That sounds wise. I’ll try not to return too late - if you’re already asleep, I shall endeavour to join you as quietly as possible.” His gaze falls to where Cody stands, offering a small smile. “Feel free to claim either side of the bed. Comms are on, I’ll see you in a little while.”

With that, he’s disappeared off into the night, leaving Cody with the question of whether or not he should take the floor tonight dying on his tongue.

He blinks, a little stupidly, after the now closed door. It’s as if there wasn’t even a question of whether they would be sharing the bed in the Jedi’s mind. Which… Cody supposes there shouldn’t be, really.

He and Obi-Wan have shared tents before in the field countless times, slept closely on the ground when there hasn’t been space in various quarters they’ve been given. Hells, during a mission on Mygeeto two months ago, he’d had no qualms with combining their bedrolls together for warmth.

A real bed just… feels different. Cody isn’t quite sure why.

He gives a wary sidelong glance to the offending furniture, as if expecting it to bite him. The bed, for its part, stares back at him unblinkingly, its exorbitant number of pillows providing more fuel for Cody’s growing resentment of the damn thing.

The Commander shakes his head. He’s being ridiculous. With a sigh and a mental slap upside the head, he unpacks his own bag, glancing out every now and again to the progressing sunset as he changes into his sleepclothes.

He’s almost loath to admit it, but the view is gorgeous. The twin moons slowly rise into the sky, basking the ocean in an ethereal glow. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still hear tourists partying outside, he could be tricked into actually enjoying this.

Cody sets aside the outfits he’ll need for tomorrow - something casual for the day, and something more formal for a party that’ll be occurring in the evening - before putting his suitcase down on top of Obi-Wan’s, near the door.

Sinking down into bed, he’s further frustrated to find out how comfortable it feels, reluctantly admitting to himself that perhaps the richest of the rich in the galaxy do get some things right every now and again. Rarely.

He lets out a deep exhale, pleased to find that his mind feels considerably more settled now that they’re actually here at the mission location, a little more peaceful.

It’s a relief, to be certain - Cody doesn’t really know who he is if not for the calm, collected strategist that always has an answer. His lack of certainty as of late has been… Disquieting, to say the least.

He grasps the feeling of quietude with both hands, allowing it to pull him into the alluring drift of near-sleep.

He stirs a little when he hears Obi-Wan return, the door clicking closed ever so gently. The Jedi seems to be true to his word in keeping his movements as soundless as possible-

Well, that is at least until he takes a step further into the dark room and walks directly into the suitcases in front of him, letting out a hiss of pain.

Cody can’t quite conceal his ensuing huff of amusement. Obi-Wan seems decidedly less pleased, grumbling something under his breath.

The other man pads over to the other side of the bed, and Cody hears the distinctive rustle of clothes being removed. He lets out a slow breath, ensuring to stay stock still, facing the other way. Not that he could really see what was going on even if he did roll over, but…

“Sorry. I tried.” Obi-Wan’s whisper cuts through the darkness, genuine regret in his tone.

“You’re fine. Is your foot alright?”

The Jedi huffs. “Mortally wounded, I’m afraid. Amputation likely.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

The bed dips gently behind him as Obi-Wan gets in. Cody is suddenly very grateful that everything in this hotel is oversized - it at least means they can do this without threat of the two being close enough to touch. For one long moment, he’s hyper-aware of every shift, every slight movement from his Jedi, before he forces his eyes to close.

It all falls quiet after that, apart from the gentle sound of even breaths behind him. Cody unconsciously finds himself matching them, slow inhales and exhales that serve to soothe his suddenly racing heart. He tries not to think too hard about why his heart might be racing.

Cody swallows. Thank the stars he knows how to shield, because he has no idea what Obi-Wan would say if he could sense this… Whatever it is that’s gotten into him.

With a long exhale, he uses what his General had once taught him of meditation technique to forcibly quieten his mind. He’s not allowing himself to do this. Not again.

To his immense gratitude, with a little effort (and time spent visualising the movement of the ocean outside), the calm of earlier finds its way to him once again, soothing his mind and slowing his breaths to match that of the lapping water.

As he finds himself on the precipice of sleep once more, he hears a quiet murmur from the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Cody.”

Cody pulls the covers up a little tighter to himself, yawning as he does so. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does, it’s uncharacteristically quiet.

“Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

(chapter 2)

#codywan #aspentreewrites #my fics #star wars fanfiction #tcw #cody x obi wan #commander cody #commander cody x obi wan #flowers & cannons

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aspentreewrites · 2 days ago

Text

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 2

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: (for current arc) slow burn, fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, Obi-Wan is not as mentally stable as he may seem, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and thank you to @whenyourfavouritedies (their AO3 link here) for beta reading.

Fun fact: my WIP document title for this chapter was 'middle aged man yaoi', so do with that what you will. Get ready for much pining and shenanigans - also an exceedingly indulgent dive into my favourite lightsaber headcanons.

Please let me know if you're interested in being added to a taglist!

Wordcount: 9.6k - link to chapter 1 here

✷✷✷✷✷

Cody wakes slowly, a number of objective facts about his surroundings flitting through his awareness as he produces a tactical assessment of the situation he finds himself in.

The first thing he notices is sunlight. Soft, gentle, yet altogether far too much brightness pressing against his eyelids for this time in the morning. A low groan slips its way out of Cody’s mouth as he presses his face into his pillow, trying in vain to chase the peaceful dream he's been rudely woken from. Something to do with a pair of pet tookas…? It’s lost to him now, despite his efforts.

The second thing Cody takes stock of is the solid, steady, yet altogether unfamiliar warmth of something nearby to him. Something, his mind supplies to him lazily, that’s breathing.

This series of truths might, on a usual morning, serve to alarm the Commander in his half-awake state; this morning, however, Cody just finds himself sinking back into the allure of a light doze.

You’re safe here, his subconscious whispers to him, just let yourself rest.

It’s not the message he’s used to hearing upon waking in an unfamiliar location. He spares a moment to marvel at the rarity of it all, before he gives himself over to it, completely.

It’s only later when a light, warm breeze passes through the room, courtesy of the balcony door he’d left ajar the previous night, that Cody finally opens his eyes.

… And with the action, he finds himself jolted into awareness with all the subtlety of a raging bantha. He remembers where he is. Exactly where he is. A luxurious hotel room, a number of gaudy decoration choices, and a kriffing Jedi asleep in bed beside him.

Cody swallows thickly.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts to sit up so they’re not laying facing one another as they were. He thanks every deity he knows of for the fact that they’d remained relatively on their own sides of the bed last night - if they were any closer, he’s not sure he could have handled it.

As he watches the steady rise and fall of the sheets with each breath from Obi-Wan, Cody feels a painfully familiar ache in his chest - one he’d long-since promised himself he would forget.

As much as it would be easier for him to continue to pretend that he has absolutely no idea what’s been causing this uncomfortable reaction from him for the past week or so, he’s beginning to suspect that he knows better.

Damn his traitorous heart to Moraband, and let it rot there.

It’s a stubborn infatuation - an entirely unprofessional (and, he’d thought, temporary) interest that he’d taken in the other man a short ways into his deployment.

It had, nonetheless, begun to haunt his mind during the quiet moments of those early months.

It’s not that it was an unusual thing to happen - in the early days of the war, the vode were gaining feelings for the Jedi they were serving with left right and centre. They were the first people they’d met outside of the Kaminoans… it was, in many ways, inevitable.

The thing is that most of the men’s feelings ended up dissipating over time. The longer they were deployed, the more frequently they met other non-clones who were fascinating, and kind, and who treated them like people. Crucially, these non-clones also happened to not be part of an order that forbade any form of romantic attachment.

It had taken time, and a considerable amount of discipline, but Cody had come to count himself among these numbers of individuals who had managed to move on.

Had.

The Commander might consider himself an expert in denial, in delaying acknowledging his feelings until they either quell or are forced to spill over, but he’s far from a fool. As unsure as he is about why it’s returned now of all times, he recognises that flutter in his heart when he feels it.

He sighs softly. Not much use in brushing it off now.

In the quiet of the early morning, with only the sunlight and the sound of the birds outside to keep him company, Cody allows himself a singular moment of weakness.

He returns his gaze to the sleeping Jedi beside him, and lets himself take a moment to just… look.

Stars, Obi-Wan is a beautiful, beautiful man.

Hair fans out across the pillow beneath him, set aglow in the soft light of the dawn and unspooled like golden thread. His freckles are almost countable at this distance, as are the slight indents of wrinkles, faint lines that have become progressively more pronounced over the course of the war.

Cody finds he looks so much more real when softened with sleep - no longer the perfect Jedi General, a poster-child of the war effort, but a tangible, flawed, flesh-and-blood man.

Over the years, Cody has found himself making note of the several crows feet that have begun to nest at the outer corner of his Jedi’s eyes, the worry lines that have found their home at his forehead.

The everpresent crease between Obi-Wan's brows is eased in rest, though not nearly enough. Cody has to resist the urge to gently press his thumb there in a bid to encourage the muscles to relax further.

Cody does his best to not let his gaze, as inappropriately indulgent as he’s being, dip below the neckline, or further, to where the sheets pool at the other man’s chest. It’s certainly not helping his situation to discover now of all times that his General apparently sleeps shirtless.

The Jedi lets out a soft murmur as he begins to stir; Cody shakes his head to dispel his wandering thoughts. He takes the movement as a sign that his temporary surrender to the yearning of his heart must come to an end. He's felt it, he's acknowledged it… now comes the time to put it to rest and tell it to leave him be once more.

… He just hopes it’ll listen this time.

Quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping man beside him, Cody slips out of the bed to grab his clothes and steal away to the ‘fresher for a morning shower.

He’s grateful for the distraction that trying to solve the enigma of the shower provides him, even if it means he has to take nearly ten minutes to navigate getting the damn thing to work. It seems to be an immutable rule of his life that in every hotel or inn that Cody is doomed to stay in, the only shower available exists solely on settings that are inscrutable to the average man.

Waxer had claimed one day after training, with an entirely misplaced air of wisdom about him, that every sentient has both one mundane superpower, and one boring facet of life they’ll forever have inexplicably bad luck with.

His brothers had teased him endlessly about the idea, upon which he had confessed he had read it in an article linked to by some cheesy pop-psych holonet forum. It hadn’t helped his cause.

Cody had initially scoffed at the idea along with the others, though he quietly suspects that if there is any truth to it, then his divine misfortune must absolutely, unequivocally be the way unfamiliar showers seem to go out of their way to break on him.

On the other hand he had determined –after deciding there was no harm in entertaining Waxer’s superstitions a little– his mundane superpower would probably be his uncanny ability to end up with his General’s lightsaber whenever he loses it in critical moments.

If only the other man actually kept his eyes open on the battlefield… though Cody would be lying if he told himself he doesn’t privately enjoy the way Obi-Wan’s expression always softens in both gratitude and sheepishness whenever he holds out the recovered weapon to return to him. It would almost be a shame if the Jedi suddenly gained competency in holding onto his precious items now.

No, his mind is straying back to dangerous territory again. Breathe.

Cody refocuses, directing his attention to the sensation of his blunt nails running across his scalp, digging in just a little harder to create a point of focus to ground himself with. In the present moment, all he needs to think of is getting ready for the day. No need to reckon with unnecessary, transient, emotions.

Once his shower is finished and he returns to the room, he’s met with Obi-Wan, awake and sitting cross-legged on the bed in a meditative position. He doesn’t open his eyes as Cody steps through, though his lips quirk upwards just slightly, the hint of a smile hidden behind his beard.

“Ah, good morning, my friend.”

By the sound of his voice, it would be impossible to tell he was asleep just minutes prior. Always perfectly lucid and alert when he needs to be… Cody has privately wondered if it’s thanks to some supernatural ability from the Force that Obi-Wan is able to bypass the half-awake stupor that everyone else seems to struggle with. It does sound like some osik that Jedi would be able to do…

Being honest with himself though, he imagines it’s probably just an ‘Obi-Wan’ thing. Most of the man’s oddities seem to be.

“Morning,” he returns, sounding considerably more gruff than his companion as he scratches at his stubble. He’s had to forego shaving for the past few days to look right for the part, and it’s starting to get irritating to deal with.

“Sleep well?”

Cody hums in response to the question, absently heading across the room to open the small fridge in their room in search of something to drink. He spares a horrified glance at the prices on the tiny cans inside, before promptly closing it again.

“Mm,” he returns his attention to the still shirtless man sitting on their shared bed. He tries not to think about the implications the thought provides him. “Surprisingly well, actually.”

Obi-Wan nods, tilting his head slightly in Cody's direction, eyes remaining closed.

“Benefits of the ocean air, do you think?” he suggests.

Cody is incredibly aware that it wasn’t that at all. He manages to only briefly pause before getting out an answer.

“... Something like that, I'm sure.”

Before the two get ready for the morning, they take a moment to pore over what they need to get done before their mission starts in earnest this evening. The agenda for this first day is a relatively simple one: gather as much information as they possibly can about the resort’s layout, entrance and exit points, and try to get a sense of any particular locations they could make use of for eavesdropping on their targets at the party tonight.

The main man they’re keeping an eye out for is Atashe Barrek - a Rodian that they only have a handful of grainy holos of, but thankfully for them happens to have a distinctive, bright red tattoo of a rifle covering the majority of his left arm.

(Obi-Wan had raised his brow at that, upon an initial glance. Cody snorted at the look of disapproval, throwing him a playfully warning glance. “Careful,” he said, flicking through the projected images, “half of the boys have something as tasteless. Wouldn’t want to go insulting them, would you?”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose a little. “Our men tattoo each other. That’s a ritual that means more than how it ends up looking after the fact. This was likely done by a professional.” He looked down at his datapad with a sigh, and made a note on Barrek’s file. He had tutted softly then, and Cody had to disguise his smirk behind his mug of caf. “Really, I’m unsure of what you want me to say, Commander. It’s garish.”)

Alongside the Rodian will be a handful of others there to facilitate the deal - a human woman with short ginger hair, a Togruta man with one broken montral, and a Separatist agent of unknown species and gender.

The party, such that it is, will be attended by a fair few resort-goers in the evening. They have it on good authority that Barrek and company secured their tickets early, making it a near guarantee that they’ll be present tonight. It’ll be taking place at the hotel’s casino and bar area on the lower ground floor - a fairly large space, which could be both a boon and a curse: more room for them to hide and listen in without being spotted, but equally more space where their quarry can slip out of sight.

Cody brings up a small projection of the resort’s floor plan, setting it on the edge of the bed. It’s basic at current, with just the barebones annotations they’d made upon arrival yesterday. He makes a gesture with his hand to enlarge the image, looking over at Obi-Wan.

“I’ll take the ground floor and the immediate outside area. With any luck I’ll also be able to mark down vantage points for when the party spills out to the gardens at a later point.”

He points to a different part of the map, zooming in a little further. “While I’m doing that, you can have a look through the casino and the adjacent dining area. Maybe get talking to one of the bartenders if they’re around, see if they can tell us about the party setup tonight. If we can get a sense of how many tables there’ll be out, we can see how fast we’ll be able to move in an emergency.”

Obi-Wan nods with a thoughtful hum, stroking a hand over his chin.

“That sounds perfectly reasonable. What time is the event starting?”

Cody checks the chrono on the nightstand, currently cheerfully displaying that it is 8:42am on the local rotation.

“1900 hours. So we’ve got a considerable amount of time before then.”

“Shall we reconvene here at four to combine notes, if we’re not back before then? It would be a good idea to grab some dinner together too, if we are to be consuming alcohol.”

Cody powers down the holoprojector, shooting Obi-Wan a smirk. “Are you sure any alcohol consumption is a good idea though, sir, being the lightweight that you are?”

The Jedi narrows his eyes at the challenge. “The dinner was a suggestion for you, my dear Commander, lest you forget that I can use the Force to flush my systems of any substances.”

“I’m just saying,” Cody shrugs. “It doesn’t change the fact that you get drunk incredibly quickly when you don’t cheat about it.”

“When I don’t cheat?” Obi-Wan scoffs in mock-offence, placing a dramatic hand over his heart as he stands to head for the refresher. “I’m outraged,” he declares, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Wounded. I’m starting to regret my choice of compatriot on this mission.”

“Uh-huh.” Cody pockets the projector, glancing over his shoulder as Obi-Wan walks away. “Oh, I should mention. You’ll have to pull the shower head away from the wall to get the hot water to work.”

Obi-Wan pauses briefly in the doorway. “Oh. That’s... unique. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Being helpful.”

The Jedi quirks a brow, mouth pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Oh? And here I thought your talents were limited to passively criticising me every five minutes.”

Cody huffs out a chuckle, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze. Despite the other man’s irritation, a soft glint in his eye gives way to the fond nature of his teasing. “No, that’s just one of my better qualities. Only the clones with the most sparkling of personalities get made Commander, you know.”

“Wonderful. I’m so pleased for you,” Obi-Wan returns dryly, before slipping into the bathroom and clicking the door shut behind him.

Cody watches after him for a beat, his expression soft as he feels an all-too-familiar stirring in his chest. Blinking, he shakes his head, as if physically dispelling the emotions plaguing him. Time to focus, Commander. There’s work to be done.

______________________________

Obi-Wan considers himself a rational man. Not easily swayed by his emotion, and always taking the route of most reason.

It is perplexing, then, that he cannot seem to rid himself of the strange fluttering that’s been happening in his heart for the past few hours. He sits at the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand over his brow as he revisits the events of the day in his mind once again.

It had been a fairly routine skirmish all things considered: pushing back Separatist forces from an occupied village in Republic space. Thick smoke had engulfed the field from the explosives that had been set there, and at the time he had been sprinting through it in low visibility, single-mindedly trying to get through to a group of civilians on the other end.

And then, emerging from the smoke at his side had been his Commander.

He’d shouted something his way, though Obi-Wan had been too distracted to take it in. Instead, his attention had been pulled to the way Cody’s arm had been outstretched, a lightsaber in his hand. His lightsaber.

Obi-Wan hadn’t even realised he’d dropped it.

Something other than the smog had choked his lungs for a brief moment.

He, of course, hadn’t had the time to explain just the implications of what Cody had just done. He’d simply taken it, thanked him, and rushed ahead to get the mission done. It doesn’t really matter that it was perhaps something the Commander might be embarrassed by had he known - Obi-Wan had needed the weapon at the time, and ultimately that was what mattered.

Still, the crystal inside had hummed in his mind, something a little too warm and content given the context, as it was pressed into his palm.

He looks down at the weapon in his hands now, absent-mindendly running his fingers over the cool metal of the hilt.

Anthropomorphising a kyber crystal isn’t exactly the right way to go about things - it doesn’t have feelings in the same way a sentient would, per se. It’s more that it is an emotionally resonant mineral that is heavily in tune with the Force - a fact that allows it to bond itself with the Jedi that chooses it.

Still, in this specific instance, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that it felt… happy. A soft buzz in the back of his consciousness that had nothing to do with being returned to him and absolutely everything to do with the man who had been holding it a few moments ago. He’d nearly stumbled in surprise when he first held it in his hand again.

… And then there was the matter of Cody holding it in the first place.

Your lightsaber, Qui-Gon had impressed repeatedly upon Obi-Wan, who in turn had passed on (even more frequently, given the boy’s forgetfulness) to Anakin, is more than a weapon - it is your very life.

As such, asking another to wield or hold yours is an… intimate thing - almost equivalent to allowing someone to hold a piece of your soul in their palm or clipped to their belt.

It’s not an infrequent request to make from one close member of the Order to another, particularly between Masters and their Padawans, but it is understood each time as a sacred responsibility to undertake.

To trust a non-Jedi to hold your lightsaber is practically a marriage proposal.

Cody hadn’t known, of course - how could he have done? In any other circumstance, Obi-Wan would have simply dismissed the motion as something a little awkward but ultimately harmless and silently vowed to keep a closer eye on his weapon in the future.

No, the problem here, the one that has Obi-Wan feeling so out of sorts now, isn’t that it happened, but rather that it didn’t feel nearly as strange as it should have.

It has, admittedly, only been a few months since he first met the man, but the trust shared between the two would position Cody as the next most likely person after Anakin, Bant, or Quinlan (though he’s reluctant to admit to that last one), that he might ask to take care of his ‘saber in a time of need.

It should be, he thinks to himself, a fact that means nothing other than the proof of the camaraderie that has grown between them.

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan knows himself a little better than that.

Only one other non-Jedi had ever felt the weight of his lightsaber in their hands, and that was Satine, many lifetimes ago, now.

Obi-Wan sighs deeply, holstering it back to his belt as he stands, eager to shake such thoughts from his mind. He will meditate on the situation, put the image of the other man emerging from the smoke from his mind, and that will be that.

As the war progresses, days bleeding into weeks bleeding into months, Obi-Wan continues to tell himself that one day he’ll come clean. That he’ll tell Cody exactly what it means for him to hold his lightsaber as easily as he does, and appropriately apologise for not speaking up about it earlier.

That voice in his mind gets progressively quieter as time marches on.

About a year into the war, Obi-Wan knows it’s far too late for him. It’s a quiet, shameful feeling, but one he has come to know intimately.

When his Commander adds a holster to his armour specifically for his lightsaber, Obi-Wan feels as if his own heart may as well be nestled there, too, steadily beating at the side of the man who’s come to mean so much to him as of late.

It is inappropriate in far too many ways, and equally as forbidden, but he is at peace knowing this. He just feels sorry that Cody, while under his command, is subject to his clandestine and thoroughly unprofessional affectations, even if he is unaware of it.

Perhaps, once the war is finally over and Cody has his own space and freedom, he can finally confess to his shame, and ask for his friend’s forgiveness.

… Though he isn’t certain he deserves it.

______________________________

The chrono on the bedside table pips loudly as it hits 7pm.

Cody spares it a brief glance before he returns to his cufflinks, fiddling with them for a moment longer. It would be a stretch to call the suit he’d been provided with by the Council formal, by any means.

The navy jacket is a little oversized, and has been altered to appear worn with a patch of fabric over one of the breasts. His trousers are a mismatched shade of blue to the rest of the suit, the white button-down shirt he’s wearing unironed and crumpled. Cody feels that he wouldn’t look out of place on some neon sign blazed down in the Lower Levels of Coruscant, with the word ‘WANTED’ pasted underneath and a ridiculous sum of credits.

He’s been given a scuffed silver watch to wear on one wrist, and his loosened curls have been pulled into the closest thing he can get to a bun behind his head, though the frontmost strands at his temples can’t quite reach and instead fall down to frame his face.

After a moment of consideration in the mirror, he turns up his collar. Vidarr is, after all, not a man overly concerned with appearances.

At that moment, Obi-Wan steps out of the ‘fresher, brushing down his clothes. He’s in a suit of his own, a plain, sleek black material with a deep blue pocket square. The Council didn’t deem fit to embarrass him like they have Cody, though he supposes it makes sense. Renne did have a mark on his file claiming he was ‘stylish’, after all.

The Jedi offers a supportive smile as he heads over, hands raising to gently flatten down Cody’s collar. An electric current moves through the Commander at the smoothing motion, his skin tingling at the contact, even through the layers of clothing. “There we go,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly, “now you look the part.”

As soon as his hands have retreated, Cody frowns, turning it up again.

“It was a deliberate choice,” he protests, feeling oddly defensive.

Obi-Wan hums at that, before reaching out once more to fix it.

“It was a poor one, darling.”

Cody is certain the term of endearment is a joke, something done exclusively to poke fun at their given aliases, but he feels his chest tighten nonetheless.

The two manage to keep up their petulant staring match for a few seconds before cracking into smiles.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, slipping his hands into his pockets and nodding towards the door, “shall we?”

Together, they head down the hall to the lift, taking it down to the basement level of the resort. Obi-Wan’s posture changes markedly as soon as the elevator doors slide open, facing the line of people waiting to get inside the event. Confidently, he saunters forwards to join the queue, one hand remaining tucked into the pocket of his jacket and the other slung lazily around Cody’s side.

The Commander tries his best to match him, loosening his posture as much as his body will allow, fighting against the way he instinctively wants to straighten up whenever someone so much as glances their way.

When it’s their turn to enter, Obi-Wan flashes their tickets to the bouncer, who waves them through a large set of double doors.

Cody takes in a steadying breath as he’s near-immediately confronted with an assault to the senses, his eyes scanning across the open space ahead of them.

To their left is a series of slot machines that are already all occupied with patrons, the loud chimes and whirring of the motors as they spin contributing to an overwhelming level of background noise when combined with the chatter of the eager and already tipsy clientele.

Directly ahead of them lies the bar, where a majority of the partygoers are currently gathered. The rest of the space that isn’t blocked with statues, plants, and other manner of decoration is packed to the brim with tables and various seating arrangements.

A buffet to the right is boasting freshly-cooked local delicacies, though Cody isn’t certain that a planet that has only ever been owned by corporate investors can really claim to have ‘local roots’ as they seem insistent on doing.

Some tinny, yet upbeat jazzy music plays from speakers throughout the hall. The general chaos of the atmosphere is not Cody’s usual scene, to put it lightly.

A gentle squeeze from the hand at his waist doesn’t serve to calm his nerves.

“Shall we split up?” he murmurs, glancing over at Obi-Wan. “You take the left side, I take the right?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker over Cody’s face, hesitancy in his expression. “That would be wise, but… are you certain? I don’t want to leave you to the wolves if…”

“I’ll be fine,” Cody insists, cutting him off with a slightly forced smile. “Besides, the worst that could go wrong is an awkward interaction, right?”

“Right,” Obi-Wan nods at that, giving him a grateful smile. “Then, yes, divide and conquer would be the best way to start, I think.” He leans in, pressing his lips close to Cody’s ear in a move that, to outside observers, would easily read as normal for two lovers. To Cody, it just serves to make his mind go entirely blank.

“Comms are on. Stay in contact,” he whispers, and Cody forces himself to not shiver at the feeling of his breath ghosting over his skin. Shields, Cody, he reminds himself forcibly, scrambling to throw up a mental wall so that his Jedi isn’t slapped in the face with the incredibly embarrassing intensity of his reaction.

He gives Obi-Wan what he hopes is a not-at-all shaky smile as the two part ways, slipping through the throng of people to get to the buffet table. He can stall a little while here, make use of the vantage point to try and pick out any familiar faces.

Within seconds, a waiter glides past with a tray in hand, and offers him a well-rehearsed smile. “Drink?” she asks, plucking a flute from the precariously balanced platter and holding it out to him.

“Uh, sure. Thanks,” he says, taking the glass from her. He sips at it idly while looking over the assembled guests. Granted, Cody is not a regular drinker of champagne, but he gets the feeling that it tastes cheaper than it probably should for a hotel such as this. Not that he’ll complain about free alcohol - the prices at the bar, in comparison, are painful to even look directly at.

He watches the partygoers mill around for a little while, eyes dancing over the crowd as he instinctively monitors the changing threat levels of the unfolding situation around him.

There’s a door nearby to the adjoining restaurant that looks like it would become a choke point in an emergency, that’s a trample risk - there really should be more guards on duty here, given the number of guests. All it would take was one aggressor…

Cody sighs, leaning against the wall as he continues to idly observe the goings-on. Perhaps he’s just overcautious from a life spent embroiled in war, but crowds like this set him on edge.

It’s not all too long before something familiar catches the periphery of his vision, and he turns his head subtly to make note of it without being too obvious. Blue skin and the flash of an aggressively red tattoo… It seems he has eyes on one of his marks - the Rodian. Cody pretends to be preoccupied with tucking his hair behind his ear as he discreetly flicks his comms on and off once, twice to get Obi-Wan’s attention.

He moves to follow as casually as he can, making as if he’s perusing the canapé offerings while sidling closer to the other side of the room. From the corner of his eye, he sees Barrek, two humans, and a Togruta take their seats at a table in the corner, drinks in hand. Jackpot.

He feels an arm slip around his shoulder as Obi-Wan finds him amongst the crowd, drink in hand. Cody manages to shoot him a plastered-on grin.

“Hey, uh, sweetheart,” he says, the words coming out a little stilted. It feels unnatural falling from his lips, but Obi-Wan is gracious enough to not look too amused at his discomfort. “I was thinking we could take that table over there,” he points to a tiny table behind a divider, a few metres away from their quarry. “But there’s only one chair. Perhaps we could ask that group if they can spare one?”

He punctuates his words by discreetly toying with the proximity listening device in his pocket. Obi-Wan thankfully seems to catch his meaning.

The Jedi turns, drawing the two over to Barrek’s table. “Of course, love. Hey, guys,” he says, a little louder, and Cody internally sighs. He’s entirely certain by now that he absolutely hates the damn voice Obi-Wan is using for this persona, and he’s already looking forward to never hearing it again. “Mind if we take a chair?”

The group turns, and Barrek gives Obi-Wan a fairly disgruntled look up and down. Obi-Wan, for his part, does a good job of looking like the oblivious tourist, unaware of his intrusions on a clearly private conversation.

“... Why can’t you get a chair from any other table?” he responds gruffly, and Cody takes the opportunity while they’re all looking at Obi-Wan to discreetly attach the small device to the underside of an unused plate sitting near the edge of the table.

One of the human women places a hand on Barrek’s shoulder and shoots him a reproachful look.

“It’s just a chair, Atashe. No need to be such an ass.” She nudges him, and the Rodian scowls, but ultimately backs down, slumping in his chair. The woman gives Obi-Wan a polite smile. “Don’t mind him. It’s all yours.”

“Thank you kindly,” Obi-Wan drawls, taking the chair and pulling it away to the small corner table a little ways from them.

“Let’s hope this works,” Cody mutters, slipping in the earpiece as subtly as he can manage while they take their seats.

Obi-Wan swirls the drink in his glass, and takes a sip. “Let’s hope the cleaning staff don’t take that plate.

“Mm. Now all they have to do is stay close enough, and we should be good to go.”

Cody takes in a breath as he hears voices crackling through the receiver. He leans in, reaching over to take Obi-Wan’s hand so their quiet words look a little more like intimate conversation.

“It’s coming through,” he murmurs, and Obi-Wan smiles. At this distance, the action might be enough to be lethal.

“Good work, Commander.”

The two fall quiet as Cody begins to listen in, the bustling sounds of the party around them fading to background noise.

______________________________

“Oh, Obi-Wan.”

“Do not,” the Jedi Master mutters, scowling into his glass, “take that patronising tone with me.”

To his credit, Anakin doesn’t smirk or make some ill-advised quip as he usually would. Instead, he just takes a seat across the table from him, an unreadable expression on his face.

A heavy silence permeates the air between them. The ticking of the chrono on Obi-Wan’s desk seems louder than usual, off-kilter from its normal steady rhythm. Or maybe that’s just an illusion courtesy of the alcohol. It’s getting hard to tell.

“I’m just… worried,” the younger man starts, pointedly ignoring the way Obi-Wan grumbles under his breath and ploughing on regardless. “Look, they’re sending Rex to the mind healers because of everything. And neither of you are talking about what happened down there, and–.”

Obi-Wan raises a hand to interrupt him and finally looks up, meeting Anakin’s concerned gaze with unfocused, red-rimmed eyes. “I’ve had worse,” he says gruffly, finishing off his drink and wincing a little as his throat burns. It’s a pleasant type of hurt, especially in comparison to the past week. “Besides, you were there, too,” he points out, and his former apprentice scoffs.

“Yeah, but I was engaged with the Queen. I wasn’t being worked half to death by the kriffing slavers!”

“Language, Anakin,” he warns.

“Deflection, Obi-Wan,” comes the counter.

They glare at each other stubbornly for a few moments, neither wanting to lose this battle, but ultimately the older man is far too exhausted to keep this up. He slumps back in his chair, defeated, and lets his head loll against the backrest as he squints upwards.

The world is the tiniest bit hazy from the alcohol, and the intensity of the fluorescent lighting overhead creates a throbbing pressure behind his eyes.

Obi-Wan could flush the sensation out, purging his blood back to purity with the slightest bit of concentration in the Force, giving him his senses back and taking away the pain.

He doesn’t.

“You know I’m not going to speak of it,” he says slowly.

Anakin turns his head towards him slightly, digesting his words.“... I know. Not yet, at least,” he murmurs.

Obi-Wan continues to stare at the ceiling, absently noting the way black spots dance in his vision as he sluggishly blinks.

“So why are you really here?”

Anakin sighs softly and stands, heading over to flick off the overhead lights. Obi-Wan lets out a quiet, pathetic noise of protest as the dull ache disappears. In the low lamplight, the Jedi Knight steps over to his former Master, fixing him with a worried frown.

“Cody asked me to check in on you.”

… Fuck.

Obi-Wan drags a hand over his face, fighting against the way his brain wants to crawl out of his skull, the skin of his back still prickling under the mountain of bacta patches he has strapped to him under his robes.

“He mentioned you flat out ignoring his questions earlier,” the younger man continues, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes.

“Anakin,” he breathes, more of a plea than anything else.

“And he said you were zoning out during the debrief,” Anakin adds, his gaze unwavering.

“Look, I–”

“He’s worried about you. And so is half of the Order, for that matter–”

“I don’t need–”

“For kriff’s sake, just let us help you!”

Another silence falls between them at the outburst, and Obi-Wan slowly opens his eyes to look up at Anakin.

Despite it all, a rueful smile makes its way onto his face.

“And just when did you become the reasonable one of the two of us?” he asks.

Anakin rolls his eyes, expression begrudgingly fond as he helps Obi-Wan slowly stand.

“Hopefully never, old man. C’mon, let’s get you to bed. Then I can report back to your Commander that you’re being taken care of.”

Obi-Wan sighs as Anakin helps him over to his bed, falling back on it heavily.

“... I hope I didn’t cause him too much stress,” he finds himself saying. He’s not quite sure why.

Anakin eases him onto his side to get him in a safe position, slipping back to the entryway to turn off the last of the lights.

“... He’ll be fine, I’m sure. Goodnight, Master.”

Obi-Wan lets his eyelids fall shut, sinking into the mattress beneath him.

“Thank you, Anakin. Tell Cody I’m sorry.”

The other Jedi lingers in the doorway for a long moment, before dipping his head in response, leaving him alone for some much needed rest.

______________________________

It’s been nearly an hour of idle conversation from the group at the table, and Obi-Wan is returning from his second trip to the buffet table to keep up appearances that they’re out on a date night. Cody glances to the plate put in front of him with a raised brow.

“... I’d have preferred the vegetarian option,” he comments dryly.

Obi-Wan looks unimpressed.

“Has anyone ever told you you could have a wonderful career in comedy, my dear?”

Cody smiles. “Shockingly, it hasn’t come up before.”

“Well, you should consider it.”

“Mhm.”

They lapse into silence as Obi-Wan returns to his seat, Cody absentmindedly toying with the wedding ring they’d been provided with for their cover. He almost starts when he hears a voice in his earpiece refer to a ‘deal’, and he snaps to attention, giving the Jedi a surreptitious nod.

The two lean in further across the table as Cody begins to furtively feed back the information he’s hearing.

“A weapons shipment,” he whispers.

Obi-Wan nods. “We suspected as much.”

“Pyke involvement.”

“How directly?”

Cody shakes his head. “Unclear, it was a passing comment. Wait–” he holds up a hand, staring down at his plate as he takes in the rapid discussion happening in his ear. Did he just hear that right…?

When he glances up, he sees the concern he feels mirrored in the Jedi’s gaze.

“What is it?” He asks quietly, eyes searching Cody’s. He reaches out to squeeze his hand, and Cody plasters back on a tight smile, remembering that anyone could look over.

“Aruetii. In the GAR command,” he says through gritted teeth, holding the smile as evenly as he can. Obi-Wan blinks slowly, carefully keeping his expression neutral.

“... A mole. I see. We will need a name,” he murmurs calmly, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “... Rather urgently, at that.”

Cody nods, returning his attention to the earpiece. A Separatist informant amongst their higher ups… it’s not exactly like the Republic is hiring - someone must have been bought off. The only question is who.

After a few minutes, Cody lets out a frustrated grunt. “They’ve moved on,” he mutters quietly, giving a tiny shake of his head. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker over his Commander’s shoulder to the group behind him, before returning to meet his gaze.

“Of course they have.”

Cody taps the fingers of his free hand against the table, his mind working overtime. “Near the start of the conversation, Barrek mentioned a document in his room. He referred to a– a packet of information, a datastick. It might tell us who we’re looking for.” He shifts a little in his seat, lowering his voice. “... And if it does, our best shot to access it would be during a time we know he’ll be away.”

Obi-Wan hums quietly, picking up on his meaning. “It would be a little risky to take something that would be so missed, no? Or if we were to rush there now, we might find ourselves out of time. Reading through for one name that might not be there at all would likely be looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“We might not have time to look over it ourselves, but we could upload a copy back home,” he counters. Obi-Wan’s brows pinch together slightly, and he tilts his head a little.

“Where it could be read by the spy?”

Cody presses his mouth into a thin line. True, that wouldn’t exactly be ideal, especially if said spy was closer to them than they realised. He glances back down to their entwined hands for a moment, gears turning in his mind. “... I could accidentally upload a copy to one of ours first,” he suggests. “Slip of the finger.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says, a small smirk spreading across his features. “I suppose such a mishap might be… understandable.” He looks over Cody’s shoulder again with a subtle nod as he moves to stand. “But for the moment, it looks like we have a more urgent matter to attend to.”

Turning, Cody sees Barrek in the process of scooping up the empty plate the listening device had been placed on, making his way over to the buffet table. He curses under his breath. If they discover that there was a bug planted on them, their entire cover would be blown before it even truly began. Obi-Wan places a soothing hand on his shoulder, giving him a calm smile.

“Not to worry. Come with me, dear.”

With that, he sets off at a strong pace directly towards the buffet table, smoothly striding forwards. By the time Cody has gotten up from his chair, there’s an irritated yelp as Obi-Wan apparently barrels directly into the other man.

A heads up would have been nice.

Cody rushes over as Obi-Wan pretends to steady himself on Barrek’s arm, the Jedi successfully sneaking his hand up to rip the bug from the underside of the plate and slip it into his sleeve while the black market dealer is distracted with berating him. A group of nearby guests share glances, steering clear of the argument.

“You absolute kriffing moron–” he spits, and Cody pulls Obi-Wan back a step with a firm grip on his arm.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, he’s–” Cody tenses slightly as Barrek whips his head around to face him, giving him the best apologetic smile he can manage, before shooting a glare at Obi-Wan. “He’s had a lot to drink. I tried to tell him…”

At that, the Jedi slumps slightly, adopting a glassy look in his eyes as he easily plays into the cover.

“Yeah,” Barrek sneers, looking disdainfully at Obi-Wan as he brushes himself off. “I can tell.”

“I’m sorry again,” Cody winces. “l’ll get him back to our room so he can damn well sober up,” he adds in a hiss, putting on his best ‘long suffering husband’ look. Barrek scowls, checking Obi-Wan with his shoulder as he moves past.

“You go do that,” he mutters irritably.

As soon as the Rodian slips out of sight, the two get moving. Obi-Wan puts a gentle hand on Cody’s lower back as he surreptitiously steers them towards the exit, keeping his eyes ahead.

Cody forces some of the tension out of his body, doing everything in his power to hold onto a relaxed, steady stride, even as he feels adrenaline buzz through him.

That was far too close. If he had discovered the listening device…

His thoughts are interrupted as Obi-Wan glances over at him with a sparkle in his eye.

“Great work. I truly felt scolded there for a moment.”

Cody rolls his eyes, though he can’t help but return the fond smile. “Thanks. You’ve given me plenty of practice over the years.”

They approach the large double doors leading back out to the rest of the resort, and a worker standing by gives them a small bow of his head. “Ah, heading out, sirs?” he asks, opening the door further to allow them to move past.

The Jedi nods, and coolly lifts a hand to wave in front of him, keeping the movement as small as possible. Cody subtly positions himself between Obi-Wan and the crowd of people behind them, just in case.

“You haven’t noticed us leaving. You will forget you saw us exiting the room,” he states, and the worker’s eyes obediently slide into a glassy haze, his mouth falling a little slack.

“I haven’t noticed you leaving. I will forget that I’ve seen you exiting the room,” he repeats monotonously. Cody spares a furtive glance to the rest of the partygoers, but it seems no one is close enough to overhear.

Obi-Wan smiles placidly, patting the worker on the shoulder as they pass. “Good man.”

The pair slip out into the corridor and break into a faster stride as soon as they confirm they’re alone. Obi-Wan swiftly takes out his comm-link, tapping into a secure frequency.

“I have a key to get into their systems, though hacking has never particularly been my forté,” he mutters, eyes scanning the tiny projected display as they step into the elevator. He passes a hand over his beard, clearly trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Anakin has always been considerably more proficient at it, but given that he’s not here…”

Cody presses the button for the top floor, just so the doors close and they can buy some more time alone.

“Respectfully, sir, I’m grateful Skywalker wasn’t assigned with us. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be the most…” he tries to find polite words to describe the whirlwind of impulse that is the General’s former Padawan, “... stable presence on an undercover mission.”

Obi-Wan huffs, glancing up from his work.

“He’s not so bad at it, actually. Still, we have the tendency to be a little… antagonistic towards one another on excursions such as these.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Mm. I’d tell you we’re not that bad, but I think you’d be aware that that would be a lie.” He pauses, letting out a pleased hum. “Ah, there we are. I believe our man’s room is number 842.”

Cody nods. “Good timing, then, we’re coming up on it now,” he murmurs, pushing in the button for the eighth floor. The door slides open with a soft ‘ding’, revealing a long hallway, empty apart from a maid pushing a cleaning cart around a distant corner.

They find the room they’re looking for in short order, a little ways down a side corridor to their left. Cody leans against the wall, keeping watch for anyone coming by as Obi-Wan closes his eyes, focusing on the mechanisms of the unfamiliar lock through the Force and beginning to carefully prise it open.

“How long do you think we’ll have before Barrek comes back?” he says quietly, glancing back at Obi-Wan as he focuses.

The Jedi considers for a moment. “Barring an unforeseen incident at the party, I’d say an hour at the very least. They were very involved in their discussion, and seemed intent on getting a little drunk before leaving.”

“I got a similar impression.” He falls quiet again, allowing Obi-Wan to return his full attention to the door. After a few minutes, he hears a quiet click, and Obi-Wan opens his eyes, giving him a firm nod.

“There we are. Go ahead, Cody.”

Cody pauses, wrinkling his nose. “And what if it’s trapped?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “Then I shall briefly mourn you and then finish the mission on my own.”

Cody snorts, pushing into the room. “It’s so nice to know you care.”

It’s neat inside - evidently having just been cleaned - though a number of personal items are scattered about on various surfaces. A closed, thin suitcase sits upon the bed, and Cody makes a beeline for it, looking at the numbered padlock with a frown. He begins to attempt to brute force combinations as Obi-Wan glances through some papers on the bedside table, before moving on to a datapad on the desk.

Cody spares a glance over to the Jedi as he hears Obi-Wan make a soft tutting sound.

“Rule number one of dealing in illicit activities, Commander,” he starts, expression more than a little smug, “is not to leave your digital devices unlocked for anyone to see. It seems we’re dealing with an amateur.”

He takes a moment to scroll through the information on display, eyes narrowing a little.

“Try 1114,” he instructs. Cody adjusts the number displays on the lock, and gives it a tug.

“Not it,” he says, shaking his head.

“2793?” the Jedi tries, scanning the document for more combinations that could prove fruitful.

“Not that either.”

“0914.”

… There. Cody feels the lock give way. With a satisfied hum, he slides it off and lifts open the suitcase. Obi-Wan makes his way over, and they both sigh as they take in the contents.

“Well…” he tries, but falls short of any silver lining he seemed to be reaching for.

“... We really should have expected this.”

Inside sits a frankly ridiculous amount of datasticks. They had been hoping for just one so they could upload the information and leave, but it looks like there could be up to thirty here, at an estimate. They’ll be here for much, much longer than they initially thought.

Sharing a glance with Obi-Wan, Cody deflates a little. The Jedi heads to the doorway to take lookout duty as Cody takes out his comm-link, starting the first of the file transfers.

Why can’t anything ever be simple?

______________________________

It takes them close to forty minutes, but eventually the files have been uploaded to Captain Gregor along with a brief explanation of the situation, and Cody clicks the suitcase shut, re-scrambling the code for the lock.

The pair step out into the hallway and close the door behind them, ready to head back to their room.

Cody is just musing on how smoothly that all went, when from by his side Obi-Wan suddenly pauses, eyes widening ever so subtly. It’s a familiar mannerism - one that means he’s sensed something particularly concerning in the Force. In combination with the way Obi-Wan’s jaw ticks near imperceptibly, Cody can tell the man is definitely on edge.

He doesn’t bother wasting the time to ask what’s happening, his fingers already itching for the concealed blaster at his side.

“Someone’s coming,” Cody states, and Obi-Wan nods, expression clouded.

“Barrek. Must have forgotten something in his room.”

“Great,” Cody responds tersely, his expression stony. His eyes sweep over the corridor. There’s not exactly any place to hide here, unless one of the other rooms happens to be miraculously unlocked and free of any occupants. He curses under his breath. “Fantastic, even. I’ve got my silencer–”

Obi-Wan shoots him the subtlest glare he can manage. “We will not get into a shootout here.”

“But if he sees us, he’ll recognise us. It’s not hard to put together that we were just snooping around–”

He suddenly finds himself pressed up against the wall.

Alarmed, Cody’s hands instinctively come up to seize the arms that are boxing him in. He’s about to break out of the hold before his brain catches up to who, exactly, is the one accosting him. He may have the reflexes of a battle-hardened warrior, but Obi-Wan is a Jedi, keeping him still with surprising ease.

For a moment, he just stares at Obi-Wan, who is startlingly close, confusion coursing through him. “What are you–”

“Easy, there,” Obi-Wan says, voice low and quiet. His arms continue to cage the Commander against the wall, and Cody feels his mind blank completely.

The Jedi has the decency to not mention the death grip his Commander has on his forearm, instead just giving him an apologetic look.

“This isn’t ideal,” he says, briefly glancing down the hallway to the lift before returning his gaze to the other man. The breath from his words ghosts over Cody’s face, and the Commander does his best to suppress the shiver that works his way down his spine. “But if we look… occupied, it’ll be our best shot at being ignored.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flick over Cody’s face, his eyelids dipping briefly as his gaze drops to his lips, then back up. There’s something deeper behind the look of concern in his eyes, but Cody can’t read his General as easily as he normally could, not while he’s reeling like this.

The Jedi looks guarded, swallowing tightly. His head lowers slightly, drawing closer. “We don’t have long. May I…?”

Cody’s mind spins violently. May he what? What is he…?

Oh.

… Oh.

They remain close, the two practically sharing breath as Obi-Wan irresponsibly waits for his reply.

Cody is more than aware that it would be smarter to just act - their cover hinges on this, regardless, and they need to move fast, Cody, give him a damn answer. Despite this, a more illogical part of him is grateful for the opportunity to stall so he can try to collect himself.

It doesn’t work.

Cody doesn’t quite know what possesses him as he blurts his next words out, but they’ve left his mouth before he can stop himself.

“I don’t know how.”

Obi-Wan stops in his tracks, pulling back slightly. He looks a little bewildered as the words sink in. “You…” he blinks. “Oh.”

It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s not far from it either. It would be more accurate to say that Cody has never kissed anyone while sober. He’s had his fair share of intimacy while drunk - shameful, secret nights going home with men who, through squinted eyes and the haze of alcohol, look a little like the thought of home. Beards neatly groomed but a little too long, eyes still blue but far too deep, red hair that catches the light but lacks that distinct golden glow.

Come morning and the inevitable hangover, he’d convince himself that their similarities to a certain Jedi were just happenstance, though if there’s a limit on the amount of times he can use the excuse of coincidence on this matter, he’s sure he’s exceeded it many times over.

Kissing someone while drunk is easy. It doesn’t require any knowledge, nor skill to do right - just tongues and teeth and enough desperation to want to feel something that isn’t the press of a blaster in your hand.

Sober, on the other hand? Cody doesn’t like the idea of walking into anything without a battle plan while sober.

It’s just not something he’s ever had the time to do, nor the inclination, really. He’s a Marshal Commander in a war, he’s busy, he doesn’t need that type of entanglement with a stranger, for Stars’ sake–!

Still, he has no idea why he felt the need to actually open his mouth and say it. Cody finds himself facing down the sudden desire to put his head through the nearest wall.

A silence falls between the two of them that they don’t really have time for.

“... Cody. Please, trust me.”

Even in this situation, even with nervousness whirling through the Commander like a hurricane, asking him to trust his Jedi is like asking him to blink, to breathe.

Cody barely has time to nod before the lift doors slide open, and Obi-Wan closes the distance between them.

All of the air leaves Cody’s lungs in an instant as his eyes flutter closed, a hand slipping up from the Jedi’s forearm to instinctively hold the back of his head, drawing him closer. The soft sound that he’s rewarded with for his efforts makes his chest burn, his heart threatening to escape his chest with how fast it’s beating against his ribs.

He feels like he’s unmoored, untethered and floating in a blissful haze where all that he seems to be able to get his brain to register is that his General is damn good at this, leading them gently through this dance.

It’s probably – definitely - unprofessional and wildly inappropriate, but he can’t help but sink into him, an almost embarrassing sigh escaping him involuntarily as Obi-Wan’s jaw shifts, tilting downwards to open up more for him.

For him, for him, for him…

Fast-paced, hurried footsteps march past the two of them and eventually disappear down the corridor, until they’re met with silence once more.

Obi-Wan slowly, slowly pulls back. For a moment, they lock eyes, breath heavy and a little uneven, before reality falls into place and they break apart completely.

Obi-Wan clears his throat, gesturing to the lift.

“We should…”

“Right.”

Cody’s mind is a mess. He’d worked so hard to put a lid on these feelings, to push them back into a dark recess of his consciousness where it could gather dust and go ignored in his day-to-day… After what’s just happened, he’s not so certain he’ll be able to get it back there again.

The two make it to their room without further incident, and Obi-Wan, a little awkwardly, excuses himself to the refresher to get changed back into his robes. They had succeeded at navigating the changing mission parameters, yes, but neither of them seem able to talk about their next steps just yet.

It’s only after the door closes behind Obi-Wan that Cody is struck like a lightning bolt with the realisation that in all the chaos, he hadn’t had the wherewithal to shield his emotions during the kiss.

At all.

… Shit.

#codywan #aspentreewrites #my fics #star wars fanfiction #tcw #cody x obi wan #commander cody #commander cody x obi wan #obi wan kenobi x cody #flowers & cannons

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