An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-5052 | Bly/CC-2224 | Cody, CC-5052 | Bly & CC-2224 | Cody
Characters: CC-5052 | Bly, Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody
Additional Tags: Unresolved Tension, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Kenobi: Coruscant Boy, Polyamorous Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Purposeful Miscommunication, Canon Compliant, Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Alcohol, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Not Beta Read
Summary: The Senate summons its Marshall Commanders to Coruscant. It's been almost two years of war, and credits are low. Marshal Commander Cody of the 212th finds himself away from the front and from his brothers, in a city too big to comprehend.
For better or worse, he doesn't find himself alone.
(In which Cody and Bly find that even though they don’t share the same dorm room, things aren’t so bad)
The good thing about going to college with your boyfriend is that at least the two of you can commiserate together life’s hardships.
The bad thing about going to college with your boyfriend is that, if you don’t get to bunk together in the dorms, things might get awkward between you and your roommate.
Bly supposes he and Cody have been blessed with their roommates, because both Ponds and Rex are fine with exchanging rooms from time to time, even though he could do without all the teasing - “Seriously, Bly, I might as well get into a relationship with Rex since we already spend every night together” “C’mon, Ponds, it’s not every night!”
They’ve been very kind allowing them to get away with this, even though next year they’ll try to get the same room, so that they won’t have to resort to this anymore.
“Codyyyy are you done?”
“Almost. Just another bit of patience…”
Bly groans, letting himself fall back into Cody’s bed. When he got asked to help Cody finish an assignment that he has to send in the next two hours, Bly thought that it was a code for having some good times together… not actually having to help him!
“C’mon, it’s just a little bit. Don’t be a baby.”
“You said that last time too, and it’s been half an hour already!” Bly complains.
“I know. It’s taking longer than I thought,” Cody replies, apologetic.
Bly sighs, but he doesn’t push it further, since he’s well aware that it’s midnight already and that Cody doesn’t have much time left to send this.
It’s fine, he’ll wait for him. After all, he does feel a little bit tired, so he might as well rest his eyes while he waits.
What’s the harm in that…
Bly wakes up when he feels the mattress shift beside him. He opens his eyes and he sees… well, nothing, since it’s dark.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t want to wake you…” It’s Cody’s voice. He must’ve noticed that Bly has woken up.
“What…” his partner can’t help but to mutter. He didn’t think he’d actually fall asleep, especially considering that usually he goes to bed later than just midnight - he ain’t a kid anymore - but also now he can’t help but to ask himself how long he’s been asleep. Also, did Cody finish his assignment?
“You feel asleep,” Cody explains. “Didn’t want to wake you up.”
Bly nods, turning on his side so that he can drape one arm around Cody’s frame, pulling him closer. “Mmh, feels nice.”
Now that Cody’s here too, he’s more than ready to get back to sleep. Not to be a romantic sap, but it feels different now that he’s been joined by his partner: it’s so much better than before, like he’s whole again. Sure, it’s quite an exaggeration for something so simple, but this is how Bly feels.
“… I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Bly asks. What is Cody apologizing for?
“For wasting your time,” Cody replies. “I really thought I would finish sooner, that’s why I called you, but… Well, you can see it didn’t happen.”
“Cody, ‘s fine,” Bly is quick to reassure him, blindly leaning in to give him a kiss. He gets the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, even if we don’t do anything, I’m fine with it, as long as we’re together.”
“Okay… Good…” Cody mutters, sounding relieved. “You know, it’s the same for me.”
“I’m glad,” Bly whispers, smiling at those words. “But I’m falling asleep on the spot.”
Cody chuckles. “Me too.”
They kiss one last time, though it’s awkward at first because they need to find each other’s mouths in the dark, but they manage to do it after a bit of fumbling.
Friend as you know I am in the codybly blender rn, may I please request them with 💘 or 💛 whichever you like best!
1 codyblynder for len.
i chose the second one because 1. yellow!, and 2. i do love a good reunion kiss
💛 reunion kiss / relief
---
The sky has yet to lose Bly’s interest. He sits on the tarmac, the base buzzing all around him and his back against one of the many crates waiting to be loaded on a ship and off-world. After so long in space stations and capital ships and conference rooms, Bly’s slowly but surely remembering how it feels to be out in the open. He leans his head back and follows the wispy white clouds with his eyes, the vibration of ships landing and taking off making his bones rattle.
He knows better than to think himself unguarded, but they leave him the hell alone, and he’s come to the conclusion that that’s what matters. The birthers don’t quite know what to make of him; his brothers pity and fear him in equal measure. Bly’s tired: tired of himself, tired of awkward silences, tired of vigilant eyes, and too tired to do anything about the whole thing, so lately he just tries his best to find himself a place to sit and look at the clouds that’s out at the way and think of nothing.
He’s thought more than once about leaving. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be too hard either: the rebels are a paranoid, suspicious bunch, but Bly was trained by the best of the best, and he’s been doing this for a very long time.
They would hunt him down. They would find him and they would probably kill him, and—and.
There’s a certain kind of bitter, awful pleasure in thinking about that. About being killed, about dying. He has outlived not just his purpose but everything else as well: he’s but a living fossil, slowly ossifying, worn down by time and weather. He doesn’t think he wants to die, not really, but he doesn’t quite know if he wants to keep on living. What’s left to live for?
If he lets himself, he can almost intellectualise the whole thing: what he’s feeling is some kind of compound, overcomplicated grief. He’s grieving nothing and everything at once: the world has ended, and he helped end it, the world keeps on keeping on.
In a way, he misses the simplicity and ease of mind that the chip gave him for the first few weeks, the first couple months: it didn’t last, but while it did, it didn’t let him think. Not about anything that mattered.
And then: Cody’s favourite captain, aiming the business end of his blaster at Bly, and then waking up in that shitty medbay, and then, and then. And then.
Bly exhales. His ass is falling asleep, so he stands up with a groan and shakes himself.
For a supposedly secret base, it sees quite a lot of traffic. Bly leans his elbows on a crate and watches with something that’s not quite interest a ship trying its best to navigate the narrow space between full landing pads. It’s an old GAR model, an ancient larty, the paint on the sides chipped and washed out, the bright colours of the nose painting cheerful and awful under the clear morning light.
The pilot knows what they’re doing, but it takes them some time, and Bly watches all the while, amused despite himself.
By the time they finally touch down, he’s sitting on top of the crates, cross-legged, his right elbow on his knee and his chin resting on the palm of his hand, and he’s not that surprised to find out that the shuttle was mostly carrying clones.
What he did not expect is for one of those clones to be Cody.
At first he’s just one of them: he’s wearing an awkward mix of civvie clothes and thermals, his dark hair overgrown, patchy stubble on his jaw, and he looks stiff and angry and out of place. He exits the larty and stop to the side, blinking half-blinded in the bright sunlight, and Bly doesn’t quite realise he’s on his feet until he’s half-way to the ship, his body moving without his input, his legs carrying him closer and closer until it’s too late and Cody has seen him too.
Cody’s on him in seconds. He launches himself at Bly, his arms going around Bly’s neck and his legs wrapping around his hips, and Bly holds them both up the best he can, stumbling on the cracked tarmac, the sun in his eyes and Cody warm and smelly and alive and heavy in his arms. Cody has hidden his face in Bly’s neck, he’s holding Bly so hard it hurts, and Bly would take it and take him forever and a day, if Cody let him.
“I thought—” Bly croaks. Cody peels his face off Bly’s neck. He’s flushed and scowling and his eyes are bright.
“Shut up,” he says, and kisses him, off-centre, their teeth clacking together. Bly snorts. He allows himself to be kissed quiet, and this doesn’t fix anything, this doesn’t fix him, but he kisses back anyway and holds on.
Hello!! May I be predictable and ask for Cody/Bly with n.4 💛
hi len 💕
birch tree by foals; cody and bly after o66. they find cody, take out the chip, cody jumps into a river, etc. 486w.
The city I was born in I left a long time ago / And we lost touch, grew apart, my friend [...] Come meet me by the river, see how time it flows
Cody wakes up with a start: Bly can tell the exact instant he opens his eyes again, because his shoulders go stiff under the thick fabric of his blacks, and his hands twitch, turning into fists. Bly swallows and wraps his arms around him, taking care not to put too much pressure on his ribs, and presses his nose against his wet curls, on his temple.
They’re both soaked to the bone, and Bly lost his boots somewhere, his bare feet pale and vulnerable in the low morning light. His civvie clothes are heavy, uncomfortable, and he’s starting to grow too cold for comfort, but he doesn’t dare move: he waits with bated breath while Cody comes back to life, while he wakes up in his arms, warm and heavy.
Cody sighs, shaky and hoarse. He drops his head on Bly’s shoulder, heavy and familiar, and Bly adapts to his weight. He doesn't move away, wrapping a trembling hand around Bly’s right knee, his fingers digging into the muscle.
He broke that kneecap when they were eight and a half. First time in a bacta tank. It was a training accident, and it healed right, but it bothers him every time it’s cold outside or too damp, or when he walks for too long, or sometimes just because. Cody remembers, because his fingers do that thing he used to do back when they were on Kamino, searching and finding the same divots and dips on the joint, placing his fingertips there, like he’s making sure Bly’s still himself, worry and fear and that familiar, obsessive care somehow finding a home in the warm palm of his hand.
“Chakaar,” he rasps. He doesn’t turn to look at Bly, and he has his eyes closed again, face half-turned to hide in Bly’s neck. When he blinks, his eyelashes brush the skin of Bly’s neck, and Bly shivers. “Should’ve let me go.”
Bly snorts. It comes out shaky, wet. He sniffs and tries again, and when Cody’s free hand finds his he lets him slot their fingers together.
They should have known he’d wake up earlier than he thought. He’s always been like that—always needed to buckle expectations, always in a race against himself. He broke the medbay window, climbed the wall and jumped into the river, barefoot and weaponless, the surgery scar on his head still raw and tender.
Bly gets it. He really does. He’s forgotten the first few weeks after they got the chip out of his head: the only thing he thinks he can remember is a vague feeling of horror, of shocked incredulity at the cruelty of the world.
There’s very little he can say, so he says nothing. He grips Cody’s hand and watches the first sun rise over the river, the noise of the base muted and far away and Cody warm and present and there and in his arms.
“You can crash with me,” Bly had said, because the 327th had picked up Ghost during an impromptu rescue mission and, at capacity, there are few other places for Cody to go. And Cody had thought they’d switch out, one on-duty one off, but Secura had told them she would take over, and Kenobi had ordered him to rest, and there’s always, always something that needs doing. But.
Cody watches from the bunk as Bly submits the last of his reports. Old drafts date stamped and sent, officers’ reports signed off, official notices queued in the circulation system, that kind of drywork. Cody had tapped out a standard notice to his company before chucking his bracer down on Bly’s locker, too happy to be done with it. So he lies still and watches, weighed down with leaden exhaustion.
Bly sets down his datapad and stretches his arms back. The towel around his neck slips; he catches it before it hits the floor and uses it to scrub the remaining shower dampness from his shoulders and legs as he stands.
“Can I join you?” he asks. He never used to ask before.
Cody slides stiffly towards the wall, making as much space as he can. Bly sits down next to him, wringing the towel between his hands, hesitating.
“It’s all different, now,” he says quietly.
“Mm,” Cody hums.
“Feels like everything changed. But we’re still here.”
“Somehow.”
Bly tips back onto the mattress. Their shoulders knock together and Cody’s eyes drift closed of their own accord.
“We don’t have to change,” he lies, but it comes out as more of a slurred mumble, intoned lowly and for only Bly to hear. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”
It used to be that Bly slept best when he would cling to Cody’s arm all night. It used to be that Cody slept best on his own, and that he was cold without Bly snoring into his neck or with his knee hooked up over his thigh. Now Bly sleeps wherever and whenever, and Cody can only sleep alone if he exhausts himself first—and he is exhausted, but Bly is next to him, so he hopes (so contrary) that sleep passes them by this one, solitary instance.
Fox hums sleepily at the feeling of Bly’s cold nose nuzzling behind his ear.
“Budge up,” he whispers, and Fox nearly seats at him, but decides he’d rather keep his energy and shift closer to the wall like he’d asked.
The bed dips a second time after Bly follows along, hooking a knee over Fox’s thigh and plastering himself to his back. Cody joins them, content it seems to kick his feet—also freezing—forward and wind his ankles between Fox’s.
“Good night?” Fox tries to ask, but it seems to come out as more of a nuanced hum. Cody snorts, arm stretching over Bly’s side to Fox’s waist hold the both of them close, and Bly snuggles down in the warm well of mattress he’s created for himself.
“Go back to sleep,” Cody murmurs. “Talking is for tomorrow.”
Fox doesn’t know what he grumbles after that. Bly kisses his neck, stubble barely grazing his skin, and Fox manages to wind his fingers between Cody’s over his hip. He falls asleep warm and content and held, tightly, safe.
