His footsteps thump on the gangway leading from the V-19. With a click he opens the seal on his bucket and it comes off with a slight hiss, the artificial atmosphere in the suit releasing.
He salutes sharply. “Marshal Commander Cody of the 212th Attack Battalion reporting for duty.”
General Windu’s smile is too complicated, too sad for Cody’s war-shaped mind. Choosing to focus on the pride for Cody’s achievements comes easily. “Looking good,” the General nods. “Orange though?”
“Needed a change from all the earth tones, Sir.”
General Windu laughs outright and Cody feels light and wings in his chest.
.
“I’m so happy,” Fox coughs as soon as Cody releases him from the chokehold, “that you’ve changed your mind on the dick stripe.”
The world is blurry and sideways and, for some reason, Triple Zero. Which makes the least amount of sense in all the senselessness Cody has been dumped into.
“Imagine the last thing I see is your stupid penis accessory. You and your damn thighs, fucking hell.”
Where’s Obi-Wan.
“At least your muscle memory is predictable as fuck.” Fox coughs. “Fucking— ugh.”
“Where is Obi-Wan,” Cody asks.
Fox stares at him. Blinks twice.
“Where is Obi-Wan, Fox.”
Fox puts away the blaster, not breaking eye contact. “You predictable son of a damaged decanting. I’m going to kill you in your sleep one day.”
“Not today,” Cody dismisses with a slight grin, wincing when multiple very new injuries make themselves known to his slowly clearing mind. “You tried though, didn’t you?”
Fox waves a hand at him. “Someone had to stop you from going apocalyptic on all our asses.”
“It’s a,” and here Cody bites his lips, scratches the side of his nose.
“A?” Obi-Wan prompts gently. Keldabe Kiss doesn’t, objectively, sound too dirty. What’s in a name etc. but when Cody had said, if Obi-Wan is game, they could try something, Obi-Wan had kept his expectations open.
“It’s a headbutt,” Cody wrings out of himself after another few seconds.
On the list of things Obi-Wan had, after all, expected to some degree, this isn’t one of them. He keeps silent. “You want to give me a concussion?” He’s great at being silent, turns out. “Or vice versa?”
Cody is already shaking his head, foot gently shoving his helmet further away from them. “No! It’s a sign of affection…”
Only in the Mandalorian culture, Obi-Wan thinks fondly. “Explain it to me,” he signs, eyes crinkling despite himself.
Cody huffs, leans back against the wall behind his bunk. Most of his armor is stacked on its stand. The helmet on the floor near them because Cody had been fiddling with the antennas when he’d gripped it with both hands, stared at the visor, and asked if Obi-Wan knew what a Keldabe Kiss was.
Obi-Wan sits cross-legged in front of him, restless fingers playing with the starched to death blanket. The mask is on and he wishes it weren’t. The last engagement had knocked the air right out of his lungs when a Hyena-class suddenly dropped down on them and delivered proton bombs on mass. He ended up gasping and on his back after the action was over, so for now the mask stays on.
Cody adjusts the hem on the t-shirt he’s wearing, the bandage no longer peeking out when he’s done. “I’m stalling.”
“I noticed,” Obi-Wan signs back, knocks his shin against Cody’s and lets it rest there.
“Growing up,” Cody begins after a few long moments where he’s watched their legs touch, “we’d sometimes see the Template put his forehead against Boba’s. Gently,” he adds, crooked smile for Obi-Wan’s concussion related fears. His voice turns wistful and Obi-Wan’s heart aches. “We didn’t— most of us didn’t want to be in his place. The Template hadn’t been popular with the clones long before he rejected us. But something about that gesture…”
The gentleness of it in contrast to the cold, neutral environment they’d been growing up in. The obvious affection of it had been calling them. One of the trainers had let it drop what it was named. And over time they had been able to put together a definition.
“You headbutt your enemy to get out of close quarters engagement,” Cody explains. “You have to be aware how you hit them so you don’t injure yourself while inflicting the maximum amount of damage to your opponent.”
“Is that why your nose is a bit,” Obi-Wan signs, pointing at the crook of his own nose just above the mask.
“Wolffe’s head is harder than his bucket,” Cody mutters, thumb stroking over Obi-Wan’s ankle absently.
The other definition, the one the clones had mostly embraced, the one that brought warmth and solidarity into their midst when no one else provided it, that one was based on affection. Clacking your helmets together after the heat of a battle, a job well done. Bringing your foreheads together to be there, to mourn together, to show the other isn’t alone. To remind the other they’re loved.
“It’s also a proxy for a kiss,” Cody explains, color high in his cheeks which makes Obi-Wan’s heart squirm in his chest. They’ve had sex a few possible and impossible ways and yet Cody is blushing over explaining a kiss. It’s sweet and touching and— “You can’t kiss when you wear buckets,” Cody says, “and sometimes you can’t kiss at all for various reasons. So it’s— it’s a kiss by proxy,” he ends, shrugging helplessly and aborted.
Obi-Wan waits as the question builds up inside Cody, firming the strokes of his thumb, the determination in his spine. He waits while Cody is stealing his breath.
“You’ve got something there,” Quin says, gesturing vaguely at his own shoulder.
“I’m aware,” Obi-Wan signs. “It’s some sort of monkey lizard fungus.”
The monkey lizard fungus giggles into his shoulder.
Quin nods grimly. “I heard the only cure is to placate it with sweets and hope for the best.”
Anakin precariously leans over, heels accidentally digging into still bruised ribs.
Obi-Wan bites his lips behind the collar but of course Quin immediately detects his movements turning stiff.
Quin holds out an arm, flexing his bicep with wiggling eyebrows. It has the desired effect and Anakin jumps from Obi-Wan, swinging around the elbow before hooking his knees over Quin’s arm.
“He’s heavier than he looks,” Quin strains out.
They walk to one of the mess halls that’s open around the clock and mainly offers food and beverages to those clinging with teeth to their sanity during exam season.
One of the cramming Padawans looks up from their dozen holo books displaying graphs, and squints at them. “Master Vos, there’s something growing out of your arm?”
“Monkey lizard fungus,” Obi-Wan signs, hiding a smile behind his collar at the Padawan nodding to themselves as if that makes perfect sense.
“What’s with them?” Anakin asks, looking at the sleep deprived tableau and hoisting himself up and swinging one leg over Quin’s shoulder.
“This is your future,” Quin says gravely and Obi-Wan is catapulted to melting stone fire Darkness “You were supposed to be my Master!” yellow familiar eyes from a smoking alive corpse and the grief is ripping him apart “—see once you take your first assignments. The only places you’ll be is either here or the Archives.”
It’s been years since he last had a vision. It’s staggering, his heart thumping in his chest like a clock ticking down the inevitable countdown. But it’s not.
He looks over to Anakin who’s already watching back with wide eyes, the fear in his hands gripping onto Quinlan. “I won’t let it come to that,” he promises, fingers thudding together heavily but he’s still shaking off the vision and Anakin’s fear is a taste in the air by now. He can’t not make promises he only hopes he can keep.
Quinlan is silent during their exchange, gloved hands keeping hold of Anakin. The calculating look in his eyes a guarantee Obi-Wan is going to get cornered later.
.
“Do you like Depa being your Master?”
Let it be said, paranoia is a common infliction amongst Shadows.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighs, voice breaking with puberty and annoyance. “Depa is wizard. She’s amazing even though she’s signed me up to all these classes.”
Obi-Wan looks over all the models, plans, and concepts with added calculations. There’s a data pad displaying language modules and another proclaiming the joys of agriculture. “It’s almost all in the engineering field,” he signs.
“Which makes her so wizard. You’d never have me taking up gardening though,” Anakin adds sullenly.
Don’t yearn for things I cannot give you, Obi-Wan has thought a lot in the past few years as the Galaxy seems to slowly steep in Darkness.
“Knowing what can poison you is important,” he signs, feeling restless and helpless. The mission he’s finished two cycles ago may still reside in his bones.
“I’ll just bite back,” Anakin says, tongue sticking out as he connects wires to ports. He presses a button and the thing he’s been tinkering with since before Obi-Wan left starts to purr smoothly. “Now she can even juice cocadooms,” he says, satisfaction purring just as smoothly in his voice.
“Well done.”
“I know,” Anakin responds airily and swivels around to face Obi-Wan fully. “You’re lurking in the shadows again so let’s get this tradition over with: Depa is an awesome Master and maybe I sometimes wish you’d have chosen me but,” he adds loudly when Obi-Wan lifts his hands to protest, “I also sometimes daydream Master Tiin had chosen me because he’s got his own modded Delta-7.”
The paranoia settles down as Anakin waxes over how wicked the new wing box skins and sensor fusions are, no, truly, you should see them, Obi-Wan!
I got tagged by @meebles 💜 I’m sorry for posting and replying so irregularly, adulthood really isn’t good for my time management.
Anyway! How about some
LOUD.
“Next stop: Cam Mer Plaza.”
Obi-Wan grunts in protest when Depa accidentally jostles him. Needs must in some cases, and in this case the message she’s sending to Grey warrants the slight disturbance in her opinion. “I am proud of you and your ability to be not as… troublesome as some of your siblings.”
Gentle hands, black bloody gloves hidden away behind a chest plate, adjust Obi-Wan’s body against her side until his hair tickles her cheek and he’s safely tucked in once more. Depa stops counting the times Obi-Wan’s breathing is checked and looks at Commander Cody not meeting her eyes while he consciously stops his fussing.
Grey’s name pops up on her comm a second later.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me and I now have it on record,” he says, dry as a desert planet, as soon as she accepts the call.
“Hello, Grey,” she smiles, feeling the warmth of connection to her commander and her troops fill her chest.
“Hello, Depa,” he replies, equally as warm and the exhaustion is starting to unravel from her muscles.
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with sparkling wine,” Commander Cody states.
“Compound butter,” Quinlan and Commander Fox groan back in different levels of exasperation.
“You gotta understand,” Grey starts again and Depa’s attention snaps away from what she has thought were ancient methods on ice cream churning, “the first command batches are, genetically speaking, not that far off from the template. So they regrettably really are like this if left to their own devices.”
Depa had met Jango Fett face to face exactly once. With the Galaxy unraveling by the second, their fight had boiled down to a lot of rain and the heart stopping, heart breaking introduction of the clones, but she can very well remember the armor peaking out like neon colored evidence as Jango had explained his humble life in a state of the art cloning facility on a planet that did not exist.
“It explains a lot,” she allows.
“Sorry.”
The last line was the shine in her eyes while we explore Coruscant’s public transport 🥰
No-pressure-tagging: @chiliger @bluemaskedkarma @lttrsfrmlnrrgby @omaano @julijuli77 @snowywinterevenings and honestly whoever wants to! Show off your WIPs!
“Oh,” he puffs out, chuckling at himself, “I definitely do not know what I’m doing.” The lightsaber slips into his hand as he calls to it. “I’m still standing though.” - Quinlan Vos in LOUD.
Fox pursed his lips. Front teeth absently biting at his scarred lips. Weighing odds, making plans, making spreadsheets with a color system for making plans was a Cody thing. “Fuck it.”
Quin leaned against the open door of the armory, curiously watching him as he decided how light or heavy he wanted to pack. “I guess you have decided what cavalry to bring? I’ve heard enough from Obi-Wan—“
Fox glanced at Quin. Right. The other Jedi. He put a vibro knife in every slot his armor provided.
“—to suggest air support. Or a tank.”
“A tank won’t stop him,” he murmured, storing a couple 15S on his person. A tank driven by a clone commander might be the only thing able to stop Cody but Fox was very aware how Cody operated. A comparatively small space with only one entrance/exit deal? Fox would be writing on the wall within minutes.
The missile launcher looked incredibly sweet and safety promising. The noise pollution Coruscant could maybe cover the sound of the missile going after Cody until it was too late. Fox sighed. The people making the noise pollution might not appreciate the plan as much as he did. He compromised on a sniper rifle designed for tranq shots.
It would be better if Cody remained none the wiser of being hunted. Or who was out to hunt him.
“There was a training sim,” he started.
Quin cocked an eyebrow, interest drastically zeroed in on Fox’s life before Coruscant.
“One of the batch would lead the hunt of one other batch mate. He won more times than not when it was his hunt.”
“Was it ever his turn to be hunted?”
Plenty. Probably the only times Cody felt close to carefree. “Still was his hunt in the end.”
“Each of us, every single clone, is a one-man army. And yes, I am… I’m so proud of them. We protect the Galaxy, we die fighting for the Galaxy and its peoples. We are not made for peace times, Obi-Wan.”
The cynical part of Obi-Wan wants to ask why Cody is so steadfast in his belief when everywhere the clones go they’re confronted with people dismissing them, equating them to the droids they’re fighting.
He understands, though. Jedi are only welcome where people know about the help they can provide. The Order is looked down upon, the Jedi just as easily dismissed, more often than not when it comes to it.
And still. And still. The call to protect people is too strong to ignore. He doesn’t want to ignore the call. He can help so he does.
So yes, he understands Cody and his need to fight.
He watches as Cody self-consciously rubs the back of his neck, fingers not halting over the port, so— so used to its presence, as the silence reigns. Cody doesn’t try to further his explanations. He said his piece and that’s that.
Obi-Wan settles down on the floor in front of the weightlifting bench. And Cody.
He crosses his legs automatically, the armor he has to don if he wants to engage in the battles blessedly absent, here. His fingers find Cody’s other hand in his lap, tapping it lightly, glancing by the embedded screen in the armored boot proclaiming Cody as belonging to the 212th.
Commander Cody got his own Attack Battalion. Mace remains the immediate superior but the brass saw Cody’s merit. No Jedi can easily fill the role as war general and Cody is… too brilliant to not be in charge. He and Mace have been flattening the CIS, the GAR is only too happy to spread out their heavy hitters.
“He’s always giving them a chance to surrender first,” Cody had commented on Mace, pride and admiration shining from his whole body. “How he’s able to walk with balls like that is a mystery to me.”
Obi-Wan had politely choked on nothing.
Once Cody is looking at him, apologies in his eyes for being made for war, of war, Obi-Wan signs a simple question. “How would you know?”
Temper makes the scarred eyebrow rise and Obi-Wan continues, undeterred now that Cody’s attention isn’t on misplaced guilt.
“You know nothing but war. You’ve learnt nothing but war. You’ve,” Obi-Wan pauses to swallow the grief, “experienced nothing but war in your life. How would you know you’re not made for peace times when you haven’t even had the chance to live in them?”
A smile, half there and fleeing, cracks, warm brown eyes watch Obi-Wan’s hands. “In my darkest moments I’m not sure I’ll even see them.”
Obi-Wan is against false promises but hope has never left his life’s side and he’d like to share. “We work together and we end this war. We see as many of you and us on the other side as possible.”
“Sounds like an easy first step,” Cody laughs ruefully, and leans down, captures Obi-Wan’s unmasked face, blurred by the unknown, and holds their foreheads together for a long self-indulgent moment.
Obi-Wan ducks his head, mask and scars in place once more. “Is that something you wish? To see me?”
Cody shakes his head, shoulders tight. “I’m sorry. I went too far.”
No, you didn’t, Obi-Wan wants to tell him, I want you to see me.
Soon. Probably. As soon as Obi-Wan has removed the screws from his heart and their doubting pressure.
“I think I can help you,” Obi-Wan signs, bullheading through the burgeoning silence. “But I need your help for that.”
“What do you need,” Cody asks, all Commander now that he’s got a mission objective.
“I want to know how you can communicate neurally and who has access to that channel.” He’s been looking into it for months, always ending in front of a Kaminoan wall. He’s at his wits end and now, now, with Bail confirming Palpatine is shuffling credits to the CIS and it’s still only heresy where a court is concerned…
Kamino confirmed only authorized personnel has access to the comm links in the clones’ heads. What if those include the CIS?
Cody blinks in surprise. “General Windu has access to that information.”
Does he? Obi-Wan is beginning to doubt that fact. “Humor me.”
Shoulders go wide, straight, loose. “Protocol dictates that, in case of emergency in an engagement situation, a High General is able to deploy orders directly to a CC-class clone via the Force after initiating with the correct identification.”
The clones are password-locked. Obi-Wan tries very, very hard to keep his expression neutral. “I assume every Commander knows the identification?”
Cody starts to smile, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, ready to playfully lecture Obi-Wan about confidentiality. Obi-Wan can see that, can feel the intention of Cody to do so. Before his eyes sharpen like the back-up blade in the boot holster. “Is there a leak?”
“Not that I’m sure of,” Obi-Wan hurries to sign. “Cody, please, what is the initialization sequence?”
Cody watches him, tracks his every move and twitch and stillness with keen eyes. Obi-Wan lets him, not able to keep a lid on the worry he’s feeling, the Force hushed in absolute and anticipation. “Every Commander knows those words. No one else does. A High General can request it of his Commander. That is what General Windu knows. A Commander takes the words to their grave if they have to.” A built-in failsafe, based on the clones’ loyalty to the Republic. “And the Jedi,” Cody adds with a soft smile. “Maybe we have been trained to follow you but you have proven yourself over and over again. The initialization is—“ Cody’s face twists into confusion as the Force starts— starts to shriek in warning. “Is…”
Shards of glass hurtle towards Obi-Wan, high-pitched tone piercing his eardrums, hack into his thoughts—
“Who are you?”
Obi-Wan hurries, pulls a hand up and projects “Cody, wake”.
.
Cody wakes, blinks. Shakes the cloudy remnants of a dream gone wrong off, as stuck on him, burnt into him as some details of it are.
He looks up when he notices the presence by the training salle entry, smiles up at Obi-Wan, feels his eyes go soft, relaxed.
Obi-Wan stares back at him, mask in place which ups the distant, rumbling intensity of his gaze like an incoming storm. “Thank you,” he signs, and Cody can see the tremors in his fingertips. Blue eyes flick up to the surveillance camera in the ceiling, go back to him.
Cody… remembers. Obi-Wan pushing him behind a destroyed tank during battle, one hand covering the helmet camera while the other had signed “need to talk, no eyes” in battle signs.
He looks to the door again but Obi-Wan is suddenly right in front of him, cradling his face so gently Cody can feel tears prick at his eyes, forehead carefully, with no hesitation and too much meaning coming to rest against his.
