Archive of Our Own

If the medics had their way, Cody probably wouldn’t be back on the bridge, but even Butcher had finally backed down, sending him off with only a vague threat to ‘take it easy.’

In their defence they’re probably right; he feels like shit, exactly like someone had fired a rocket at a tank only a few metres off to his left. He’s lucky to be alive, he can handle his whole body feeling like a giant bruise. And he’d rather have some semblance of normality rather than laying in the med-bay. 

Gregor is already at the table standing in Cody’s usual spot by Kenobi’s side, pouring over the plans for their next assault. His Captain gives him a similar look to the medics, but steps easily out of the way, opening up space for Cody. 

“General. Captain.” He says in greeting, offering the datapad he’d been using to complete his flimsiwork while imprisoned in the medbay. 

Kenobi reaches out to take the data pad from him, glancing up from the plans in front of him just enough to catch a look at Cody’s face, and the fresh scar, still red and angry and stark against the mottled bruising, down the side of it. Bacta could only do so much when applied as late as it had been to him.

“How are you feeling, Cody?” Kenobi asks. 

“Fine, Sir. Butcher says I’m doing very well.” Cody leaves off how Butcher had ended that sentence with ‘considering’ and exactly how much emphasis the medic had put on the word.

Kenobi hums in response, the sound of a man very familiar with downplaying injuries and not about to be a hypocrite about it; at least not in that moment.

“Glad to hear it, you had us all worried.”

Cody still isn’t totally convinced that Kenobi doesn’t say things like that just to be polite but he can’t deny how nice it is to hear that people would care if dropped dead.

“I’ve looked over what I missed while unconscious, and there’s some reports there that will need your signature so they can be submitted this evening,” Cody said. While he prided himself on his efficiency, his speed in completing his reports wasn’t entirely selfless devotion to the Republic. It was good for his own compartmentalising to be able to file battles, and the pain that came with them, away quickly so he could focus on the next one. 

“Please don’t over-strain yourself, Cody. You’ve more than earned a day to relax.”

“I’d be more stressed not knowing what was happening with my men, Sir. Besides, I’m only here to check in,” Cody said, not needing to say that Butcher had been muttering angrily about giving him a real reason to need to stay the medbay if he overworked himself. “Even I’m aware I’m not fit to be hurling myself back into combat quite yet.” 

Not for another day or two at least anyway. 

“We’re finishing up anyway," said Kenobi. “The Captain and I are managing to muddle through without you. I’ll send you anything you need to look over.”

It’s a polite dismissal, but a dismissal nonetheless. He can read over the rest of reports in the comfort of his room just as easily as he can here, and he could use something to eat. 

“Very well, Sir.” He salutes, and his body only protests a little at the sudden movement. 

He makes it almost out of the bridge before it happens.

“Cody,” Kenobi calls after him, and Cody turns. “The scar suits you.”

Something Cody’s chest tightens, and heat rises on his checks. 

“Oh, uh.” He suddenly feels completely lost for words. Gregor is staring at him from behind Kenobi, his eyebrows slightly raised. He fumbles for how to reply, ludicrously rummaging through his training on how to interact with a senior officer, as though there might be some half-forgotten instructions about compliments. Well, there are actually, but only professional ones, nothing like this. Somehow ‘I was only doing my duty to the Republic’ doesn’t feel appropriate here. 

Gregor’s eyebrows are still climbing and out of the line of sight of Kenobi, he’s smirking openly. 

“Thank you, Sir.” He manages to get out after too long. The lighting on the bridge is kept a little low so the holographic models they use for mission planning are easier to see. He hopes it’s enough to hide his blush.

Kenobi smiles at him, and the heat on Cody’s face grows. 

He turns quickly on his heels, and practically flees the bridge. 

That’s new.

***

“Shit, Commander, I can’t believe Butcher managed to make you even uglier,” Boil exclaims, shifting up on the bench to make space for Cody to eat.

Cody glares; he hasn’t even put his food down yet. It’s probably a good thing Boil feels comfortable starting shit. Means it can’t be all that bad.

“Don’t say Butcher’s name that loud,” Waxer hisses, “you’ll summon him.”

“That’s not true.” Butcher leans over Waxer’s shoulder, plucking one of Waxer’s bread rolls from his tray, before settling down at the edge of the bench. “You don’t need to say my name even close to that loud for me to know.”

Waxer pales but Butcher seems more interested in joining the pile-on of their senior commander.

“Boil’s right though, I did make a fucking mess of your face. My bad, Sir,” Butcher says, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“The next person to comment on my face will be cleaning toilets for the rest of their career.” Cody says, waving a hand at them threateningly.

“What about the general? Is he allowed to comment?” Gregor arrives with his own food and a smile to rival Butcher’s.

Fucking traitor .

Butcher’s eyes narrow. “What did the general say about my stitches?”

Cody fixes Gregor with a glare that would make most men tremble, but Gregor is riding the high of having dirt on a senior officer and is temporarily immune. 

“He said the scar suits him .”

“I can have you court-martialled,” Cody warns but he already knows he’s lost control of the situation.

“Cody turned so red I thought he was going to defect to the CG,” Gregor continues and Cody fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. He can’t put Gregor on cleaning detail, but he’ll find an appropriate punishment.

“I’m on five different medications right now, asshole, of course I’m flushed,” Cody snaps, but it’s a poor excuse and he can already feel himself blushing again. 

“Not how that works,” Butcher says around a mouthful of food.

Cody could have used a couple of days to come to terms with having the most inconvenient crush a man could have before these idiots had found out about it. In their defence, it was a ridiculous crush, and probably deserved at least some of the mocking, not that he would ever admit that to them. 

“I could feel the heat radiating off him from the other side of the bridge,” Gregor continues, as though Cody hadn’t spoken.

“Was that what that was? I thought our heating was broken again,” Boil says, but Waxer fails to stifle a giggle which makes him equally guilty in Cody’s opinion.

“I got blown up yesterday,” Cody says in a weak protest. “Is it too much to ask for my men’s support while I recover?”

It always is.

“Well I remember you insisting you were well enough to leave the medbay, Sir ,” Butcher drawls. “I also recall someone suggesting you stay a little longer but here we are.”

“So in your professional opinion?” Waxer asks. 

Cody glares at him. Waxer has the reputation as the nice one, but that’s only because he can normally rely on Boil to say the shit they’re both thinking.

Butcher sighs and gives Cody a completely unnecessary once over. “In my professional opinion, if someone is well enough to prance around the bridge, they are well enough to have dignified conversations with their friends about whether or not they want to bone their CO.”

“Not sure I consider any of you friends anymore,” Cody mutters.

Gregor gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “But do you want to bone your CO?”

“No!” He says emphatically but apparently there’s something in his tone that has them all beaming.

Boil slaps his palm down on the table. “Fucking knew it.”

“I expected better from you, Sir. Falling for a Jedi is the sort of shit I expect from the 501st.” Gregor says, pointing his fork at Cody as he speaks. “This is going to make us all look bad.”

“Maybe we can ask for a transfer,” Butcher says, “on the grounds of our Commander being too horny.”

“ I’m too horny? You know I get reports on ‘unusual holonet searches’ from everyone on the ship right?”

There’s something very satisfying about how even Butcher shifts uncomfortably. 

“That’s uh, that’s not true is it?” Boil asks. 

“It’s true.” Cody lies. 

“Captain?” 

Gregor shrugs, but he’s squinting at Cody like he can pick the truth from his head like some kind of Jedi.

“It’s bullshit,” Butcher says but he’s still eyeing Cody wearily, “there’s no way this would be the first we’d be hearing about this if he knew the filth you freaks are looking up.” 

“ Us freaks?” Boil jabs his fork threateningly at Butcher. “Only one person here gets off convincing injured brothers that they are going to have to have their arm amputated!”

Butcher makes a noise of disgust. “First, that I jerked off after that was completely unrelated, and second, are you really still upset about that? I saved your arm, didn't I?”

“You also made him cry,” Gregor points out.

Butcher laughs. “Yeah, like a baby.”

“He was on a lot of painkillers.” Waxer puts a hand on Boil’s shoulder, who really should have known better than to remind the rest of them of a moment of weakness. 

“So painkillers are an excuse for him but not me?” Cody asks. The eyes of his men all swivel back to Cody. Shit. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“You know, I don’t know where you think you get off on judging our perverse porn preferences when you’re making big eyes at your Superior Officer. ” Butcher says.

“That’s not even perverse, that’s just cliche,” Gregor points out, and Cody hates that he’s right. 

“Right sir, just get a gross kink like the rest of us,” Butcher adds. “Boil has an impressive collection, ask him for some recommendations.”

Being at the opposite end of the table Butcher is spared the kick Boil is clearly desperate to give him.

“At least we know now why Cody never complains about all the unfinished flimsiwork he has to pick up the slack on,” Waxer says.

“I don’t complain because it’s my job, Trooper.”

“Sure, sure and the way the General beams at you has nothing to do with it,” Butcher mumbles around a mouthful of food.

Shit, does it? Suddenly he’s not sure. It is his job to support Kenobi, and that includes picking up flimsiwork that the general doesn’t get around to; he has far more important things to worry about than resource orders. But, it’s undeniable that it does feel nice with how grateful Kenobi is every time he delivers a stack of completed reports. Oh — this might be worse than he thought.

“I’m volunteering all of you for the next suicide mission,” he says to cover for the crisis he’s currently experiencing.

“If it helps, you are definitely his favourite, Sir,” Boil says.

“How would that possibly help?”

Boil shrugs and the rest of the table laughs.

“Better hope the General doesn’t compliment him while we’re in a firefight, he’ll light up like a beacon and give away our positioning,” Butcher says

Cody groans, turning red even at the suggestion. He can already tell this is going to be the group's favourite topic for a while. 

“No, no, we can weaponise this. Think of it as a potential energy source, or a new form of rapid entry. General Kenobi tells him how dashing he looks with his latest manly scar and we press his face up against Sep bunkers. Melt our way in,” Gregor says, gesturing excitedly with his fork.

“Maybe I should request a transfer?” Cody says, poking at the food on his plate sullenly. 

“But then who will tell you how pretty you look?” Waxer says, somehow managing to look earnest.

Cody ducks his head, to hide his smile and ruin his put-upon act. It’s rare that he is the target of their constant shit-talking, he was probably due his turn. At least it’s over a silly crush and not something really embarrassing, like the incident with the gundark.

“While being complimented might be a rarity for you, Waxer, I’ll have you know plenty of people tell me how pretty I am.” 

“That was before Butcher went to your face with a stapler, Sir. You need to take these opportunities when they arise,” Boil says.

“So now you think I should fuck him?” Cody asks, not at all surprised by how inconsistent the line of mocking is.

“Well,” Butcher says carefully, picking away at what’s left of the food he pilfered from Waxer. “Just remember to tell the general that I told you to take it easy.”

Far too late, Cody realises he probably should have eaten in his room.

Rex is face down in Cody’s bunk behind him making soft noises with each exhale that never quite become snores.

Part of Cody, an increasingly insistent part of him, is desperate to join him, but he still has a mountain of work that needs to be completed, ready to be checked and signed by Kenobi and Skywalker first thing in the morning. It’s now the early hours of the morning and he had started this venture already exhausted from a gruelling campaign. He also had convinced Rex to steal a short nap with a promise to wake him after an hour so Rex could finish up his own flimsiwork. 

It wasn’t a promise he’d ever had any intention of keeping. Cody had carefully memorised Rex’s passcodes over his shoulder for just such occasions.

Rex and the 501st had had an even harder time against the Seps than the 212th due to a series of bad luck, and Rex had barely been able to stay on his feet by the time they got back to the Negotiator . Completing his admin for him was the least Cody could do.

He doesn’t touch the list of the casualties. As much as he’d like to spare Rex the particular pain of looking over the list of men who died on his orders, they are Rex’s men and Rex’s responsibility. Rex wouldn’t thank Cody for bearing it for him. Cody wouldn’t thank anyone who did it on his behalf either.

Cody finishes typing the final line on Rex’s reports. He goes through a mental checklist. A rather dry overall mission report that would be sent to the Senate and read by exactly no one. Check. List of orders given, by who and when. Check. All Artillery and aircraft strikes called in neatly listed. Check. List of all Enemy casualties, droids and organics. Check. Prisoners taken, in this case a handful, but no one that will get any attention in the news. Check. List of all Intel recovered. Check. 

Thank the Force.

Rex’s work done, he places the datapad to the side. His own pad, full of reports he hasn’t even started yet, sits dauntingly in front of him. 

He’s so tired.

He allows himself a moment to rest his head on folded arms, closing his eyes. It’s dangerous to flirt this close to sleep but he can’t help himself. He hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time in days and he’s weak.

Butcher is probably still up, or curled up in the medbay, and Cody weighs up the likelihood of being able to convince the medic to give him a stim. If he promised to be on Kenobi wrangling duty the next time the general is injured, perhaps, but Cody still doesn’t fancy his odds.

With great effort he raises his head and signs into his datapad.

He blinks.

He stares down at the completed list of recovered intel. With hesitation he closed the report and opened the next, and then the next, and the next. All were neatly completed and awaiting his signature. Much as with Rex, only the casualty list remains untouched. He jumps back to the mission overview, skimming through it, not sure what he’s expecting to find. The writing style is familiar but any doubt of who the culprit is is put to rest by a line at the very end of the report, right above where he is expected to sign off.

Please get some sleep, Commander, I’d miss you if you work yourself to death. - OWK. 

Cody stares, lips slightly parted. 

Kenobi has been much better of late at completing his reports before Cody can get to them, though in truth it has never been a matter of laziness or forgetfulness. Cody is simply a practised hand at this sort of administration work, and can get through his stack much faster than a Jedi having to learn how the military works on the fly. It only made sense Cody should complete Kenobi’s once he was finished. Kenobi is far too important to waste his limited free time struggling through reports Cody can complete in half the time. And it isn’t like Cody has better things to be doing.

Still, Kenobi’s increasing efficiency hasn’t prepared Cody for something like this.

He keeps staring at the final line in the report.

Has he done something wrong? Is his performance slipping? Why does Kenobi think he can’t manage his own workload?

Cody grabs his comm and without taking into account that it’s the middle of the night, and calls his general. If he wasn’t quite as exhausted he would have realised that this was a terrible idea before he called. In his sluggish state he gets there just as Kenobi answers.

“Cody,” Kenobi says, perfectly pleasant, as though he was expecting this call. He sounds tired, but tired in the way that Cody is, from staying up far too long and not like he’d just been woken up.

“You completed my reports, Sir.” 

“Obi-Wan.”

Cody frowns. “Kenobi,” he counters. He can feel Kenobi smiling through the comm, they’ve had this conversation before, and Cody doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to drop formalities enough to address a general by their first name. 

He frowns; he’s letting Kenobi distract him. “You completed my reports, Kenobi .”

“I did, yes.” Kenobi is playing stupid and Cody clicks his teeth. As entertaining as Cody finds this when it’s someone else on the receiving end it’s infuriating now.

“Why ?”

“It thought it was about time I returned the favour.”

“What favour?” Cody asks, confused. 

“You’ve done mine so many times I’ve lost count,” Kenobi says and Cody should have left this conversation so they could have it in person. Not being able to see Kenobi’s face is making it harder to figure out what exactly is happening here.

“I’m your XO, it’s my job to support you, it’s hardly a favour that needs returning.” Did Kenobi think Cody was keeping track? 

Kenobi hums thoughtfully. 

“I was surprised you hadn’t even started yours when I checked them,” Kenobi says. “I know you didn’t get back to the ship until several hours after me, but normally you would have at least started by that point.”

Cody frowns. He’s certain he isn’t about to be dressed down which leaves him unsure where this is going.

“I assume you were completing Rex’s for him?” Kenobi asks with the tone of someone who already knows the answer.

Once upon a time Cody might have felt like he had to lie to protect himself and Rex. There was still an old instinctual prickling of fear up his spine but fear of being punished is easily soothed by how well he knows his general. Kenobi doesn’t care about bending the rules to help out a friend, he cares about backing Cody into a corner where he’ll have to admit he can’t win this argument. The worst part is Cody is more than aware that knowing this isn’t going to help him prevent it.

Dammit.

“That’s different,” Cody says, because it is, and Kenobi should know it.

“Why?” 

“Because he’s my brother.”

“Because you care about him?” 

“Yes!”

“Well,” Kenobi says smugly, “then it’s exactly the same.”

Cody’s breath catches in his throat.

“What?” he asks, dumbstruck.

“It’s admirable how much you take care of the people around you, and I am honoured to be included in that number, but please Cody, let the people who care about you do the same in return.” Kenobi says fondly.

Cody is suddenly very glad they aren’t having this conversation in person. He’s gaping unattractively.

He likes the way his name sounds when Kenobi says it.

“You don’t need to worry about me, I was built for this, it’s what I’m for. I can handle it.” Cody’s heart is thudding in his chest, and he’s speaking only out of a desperate need to fill the silence. 

Kenobi cares about him.  

“You’re still human, Cody, you have your limits. There’s no shame in accepting help from your friends.”

It’s not shame that makes it hard for Cody to wrap his head around this, though he has no idea what it might be. Kenobi seems to have a talent for putting him in positions his training never prepared him for. He doesn’t know what to say, only that he doesn’t want to be left stammering in silence and his mouth gets ahead of him in a panic. “They made us to last. We’re cheaper to feed than we are to replace.” 

It’s a joke, or it’s meant to be. It was something they had started saying on Kamino — he thinks Grey is to blame — while knee deep in shit and under live fire. It hadn’t been very funny then either but they’d all laughed anyway. It was the sort of shit they shouldn’t have repeated, and he certainly shouldn’t have said it to Kenobi. He's not a clone, he won't get it.

Kenobi’s silence reeks of disappointment and even though Cody knows it’s not directed at him, well not exactly, he cringes. Why does Kenobi affect him like this? He turns into a blithering fool whenever they talk.

“Sorry, that was in poor taste,” he says at last, when the quiet becomes too much.

“You aren’t replaceable, Cody, not a single one of you,” Kenobi says, quietly but firmly.

“Yes, Sir,” Cody says but the sincerity sits uncomfortably. He doesn't know how else to respond, because he's cried over his dead brother far too many times to really think they're replaceable. Generally though, he assumes they are only irreplaceable to each other, the Republic seems to replace them just fine.

They are silent again and this time Cody keeps his tongue firmly in check.

“We should both get some sleep,” Kenobi says, and the tension eases. He just sounds fond again. “I know I could certainly use some.”

 “Thank you,” he says, before hurriedly continuing. “For filling out my reports. It was kind of you.”

“You’re very welcome, Cody. Join me tomorrow morning and we can check everything over  together?” Kenobi sounds so pleased with himself and Cody wishes he didn't find it all so endearing. 

“I’ll be round after first meal. Goodnight, Kenobi.”

“Goodnight.”

The room falls into silence, only the comforting rumble of the engines disturbing it.

There’s a deep pressure in Cody’s chest. He doesn’t know words to describe how it feels, only that it’s overwhelming. He wants to call Kenobi back, ask him what exactly he had meant when he said he cared about him. Or even about details in one of the mission reports, just to hear his voice again. Tomorrow, after they have finished up business he should ask Kenobi what he’s been reading. Kenobi always brightens when discussing academics, taking on an excited, almost boyish quality at the opportunity to share what’s been captivating him with a willing audience. And hells, Cody could listen to it for hours. He wants to be the person making Kenobi smile like that, he wants to shoulder some of the weight Kenobi has to carry, he wants-

He wants to know if it feels different to kiss someone he likes versus kissing someone he just finds attractive.

Cody looks down at his hands, still clutching the comm.

He has no way of knowing for sure, and he doesn’t think there’s anyone he can ask, but he has a growing fear that he might be in love.

“Fuck.”

Thinking about Kenobi makes him feel warm, but it also excites him. Kenobi has such high expectations for him, and doesn’t just want to meet them, he wants to see Kenobi’s thrilled surprise when he surpasses them. He’s smiling, a faint blush heating his face.

Love or not, it’s a nice feeling.

Cody opens up the reports again, copying Kenobi’s message to him and moving it to his private files and deleting it from the original. That done, he stands and stretches, shoulders cracking. Exhaustion hits him again with full force and he flicks off the lamp by his desk, grateful that he never bothered to put on more than just his blacks after showering.

Rex shifts over in the bed to make space for Cody beside him.

“How much of that did you get?” Cody can’t help but ask.

“Most of it.” Rex pauses. “You really like him don’t you?”

It would be easy to point out that Rex likes Skywalker too, but they both know they are talking about something quite different.

“I guess so.”

Rex doesn’t say anything to that, and Cody’s grateful. Instead his little brother pulls him closer so they are cuddling more deliberately. Cody rests his head on Rex’s chest, curling protectively around him. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with these new feelings swirling around in his head, but for now at least he’s bone-tired and Rex’s fingers are carding through his hair. He’s going to sleep, he’ll worry about the rest of it later.

“Thanks for doing my reports, Cody,” Rex says into the darkness.

“You deserve a break,” he says, voice coming out little more than a mumble.

“You know I’ll be changing my passcode though.”

Cody smiles knowing Rex can’t see; like he won’t just steal that one too.

“This is going to end badly.” Wolffe says, cornering Cody during battle prep of all things. At least he waits until they’re alone.

Cody already has a good guess of what this is about, but he’s not going to reveal his hand if he doesn’t have to. He loves Wolffe, but he is objectively bad at giving advice. Even in a helmet he’s so expressive, judgement oozing off his every movement.

“You don’t like the plan?” Cody says, and Wolffe clicks his tongue, unimpressed.

“This thing for your Jedi.” 

“Unlike your attempts to have your general adopt you, which will end great?” It’s cruel, and Cody regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth. He’s feeling oddly defencive in a way he hasn’t been with the 212th; probably because Wolffe knows him better. “Sorry.”

Wolffe shrugs and sits down beside Cody; if they hadn’t both learnt to give each other a little leeway with their tempers they would have killed each other back on Kamino.

“Sometimes, I think our batch got even fewer survival instincts than the original ARCs.”

“I hardly think wanting to fool around with my general is going to get me killed,” he realises a second too late how loudly he said it and glances around to make sure no one overheard.

Wolffe grunts but there’s a tension to his shoulders, like he’s imagining exactly how Cody’s infatuation could end up with him dead. Cody can’t blame him, he’s already done the same himself; distractions of any kind during a war are dangerous. 

“Who told you?” Cody can’t help but ask. His money would be on Rex if he had to guess. Rex, who might have known about it even before Cody did, and had already shared his own concern. 

Wolffe pulls off his helmet, setting it down beside him, visor carefully facing forward.

“I know you, Cody,” Wolffe says, which Cody supposes is true enough. “But I may also have threatened your captain into confirming my suspicions. You have loyal men, it took a lot to get him to talk.”

“As long as you didn’t bite anyone,” Cody murmurs, even though it’s been years since that last happened.

For the briefest moment Wolffe is smiling. “I make no promises.”

They fall into silence, Wolffe tapping two fingers against the armour on his thigh.

“Is that all you want to do? ‘Fool around’ with him?”

Cody could lie, it would certainly make this easier.

“I think I love him,” Cody admits, bracing for Wolffe’s response. 

“You’re an idiot,” Wolffe says, but there’s no heat to it. If anything, he just sounds sad.

“I don’t expect him to feel the same way,” Cody says, a little too quickly, as if can spare himself the weight of Wolffe’s disapproval. “I know he doesn’t, can’t.” 

Wolffe’s jaw is set in a hard line. “Then why indulge it at all?”

“Because I like how it feels? This isn’t about him, it’s about me.” It’s not a lie, not exactly. He likes how the way his heart skips when Kenobi smiles at him, the warmth that fills his chest when Kenobi makes a quiet joke intended only for Cody, the way that sometimes when Kenobi’s hand brushes his when passing something between them Cody forgets he’s a commander, a soldier, a clone, and feels utterly unique and entirely himself.

He isn’t stupid, he knows nothing will ever happen. It’s not like he fantasises about how Kenobi’s bare skin would feel under his hands, or how his name would taste if Cody ever felt brave enough to call him Obi-Wan. And if he does, well, it’s only in the privacy of his own bunk. He’s a soldier, he can compartmentalise.

“Isn’t that what people do?” Cody asks. “Fall in love? Maybe I just want the chance to feel like a real person and not-” He swallows the words back, unsure if he’s able to bare himself so completely even to his brother.

Wolffe scowls, glaring at the ground at their feet. Wolffe isn’t always good with words, and Cody can see him trying carefully to select the ones he wants. It’s a sign of how much they’ve both matured that he’s perfectly happy to give him that time. Their impatience as children had caused more than a few fights.

“We’re already people, Cody,” Wolffe says at last, and it’s not all he wants to say but like Cody, he seems scared of how vulnerable this conversation suddenly turned. Wolffe stares off and Cody thinks at first he’s just glaring into the middle distance but when Cody follows his gaze his eyes land on General Plo. At least Cody isn’t the only one finding a sense of personhood in their Jedi.

“I know,” Cody says, though he isn’t sure he does. “But it’s hard to remember that when all we do is eat, sleep, and fight.”

He doesn’t know how to say that alone in the dark he has this gnawing fear that maybe they aren’t, that he’s scared they have more in common with droids than people. They were built and programmed with just as much purpose as any droid, and their masters would deal with them with the same prejudice if they disobeyed as a faulty droid. 

It’s strange, he’d never once doubted their humanity on Kamino, only once they had been let out into the Galaxy that doubt had settled in his gut. He wants to be a person. He doesn’t know anything other than war, he wants to experience these feelings that everyone has the chance to.

Wolffe’s still glaring at him, frustrated by Cody’s brooding but unsure how to address it. In the end, he falls back on a classic.

“You should talk to Fox.”

“I’m not talking to Fox.”

“Fox is better at this stuff than me,” Wolffe says, meaning he thinks Fox would be able to talk Cody out of it. If anyone could it’s Fox, but Cody doesn’t want to be talked out of this. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, you can call me an idiot just as well as Fox can.”

Wolffe doesn’t see the humour and huffs angrily, kicking at the ground.

“I don’t see why it matters, this isn’t your problem, it’s mine,” Cody says.

Wolffe gives him a sharp look, and if they were back on the ship in the privacy of one of their rooms rather than surrounded by their men and their generals only a hundred or so meters away then that look probably would have been the start of a fight that would have left one of them in a headlock

“It matters because it’s you. You think I’m going to have this conversation with Bly?”

Wolffe grabs his helmet and stands. He takes two steps, stops, and then swears loudly and in a language Cody can’t even guess at. He stalks back, slamming his helmet down and drops heavily back beside Cody. His anxious tapping against his leg starts up again immediately.

Wolffe clenches his jaw. “This is why you should talk to Fox.”

Cody almost laughs, but he forces it down as he doesn’t think Wolffe would take it the right way. They are both such idiots.

“I know you care, I shouldn’t have implied you didn’t. And honestly, I’d rather hear this from you than from Fox. You know me just as well as he does.” And despite Wolffe’s general moodiness he’s willing to be genuine in a way Fox struggles to. 

Cody sighs. “I don’t know why I find it so hard not to be an ass around you and Fox.”

Wolffe doesn’t look at him, staring back across the camp towards the generals.

“Do you really think I’m kidding myself with General Plo?” He asks, voice suddenly small, and Cody's chest tightens with guilt. “I’m not looking for a father, Cody, I’m not, but it’s comforting to feel like I can ask him for help if I need it, that I don’t need to have all the answers.”

Wolffe’s tapping stops abruptly and he curls his hand into a fist. “He calls me ‘son’ sometimes.”

Cody shakes his head. “You should hear the way he talks about you and the 104st to Kenobi. Even Kenobi makes jokes that he thinks Plo is planning a mass adoption of you all. He’s proud of you and your men,” Cody pauses. “As he should be. You’re an excellent commander.”

Wolffe lips twitch in a tiny shy smile. Cody would give Wolffe the whole fucking galaxy if he could.

They are quiet for a moment, the plastoid of their pauldrons knocking together but Wolffe is back to tapping on his armour, betraying that Cody hasn’t been able to put him completely at ease. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to, but tries anyway.

“If this is a mistake, it’s mine to make. I want this.”

Wolffe closes his eyes and sighs. 

“I know, I just-” he sighs again. 

Wolffe twists around to face Cody and brings a hand up to Cody’s face. He presses their foreheads together, hand pressing tightly on the back of Cody’s head, fingers curling against his scalp. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Wolffe says softly.

Cody closes his eyes. He wishes he wasn’t wearing armour; he wants to hug Wolffe properly. 

“I won’t be,” Cody says, as though he’s not hurting now, albeit for an entirely different reason. He misses Wolffe and Fox so much it aches. 

Wolffe doesn’t answer but his hand tightens in Cody’s hair.

“Sorry to interrupt, Commanders,” Kenobi says, appearing off to Cody’s left. “Master Plo was looking for you, Wolffe.”

Cody jerks backwards, out of reflex more than anything. He’s not scared of being caught displaying such open affection in front of Kenobi like he was around the Kaminoans, but it still feels a little unprofessional.

Wolffe apparently has no such concerns, as he follows Cody’s movement, banging their heads back together with more force than Cody would have liked.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Wolffe says, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I try and leave that to you and Fox.” Cody matches Wolffe’s low tone. 

“Don’t make me make it an order,” Wolffe says.

“I outrank you, Commander,” Cody reminds him, but he misses the teasing tone he wants and does nothing to ease the weight of the conversation.

“Not in the ways that matter, brother,” Wolffe says. He shoots Cody an unconvincing smile before returning his attention to Kenobi.

“General. Commander.” Wolffe salutes before pulling his helmet back on and leaving. Kenobi has an amused smile on his face, and Cody gets the impression that they probably hadn’t spoken quietly enough.

“He’s your batchmate? Is that the term?” Kenobi asks.

“Yes, him and Fox of the Coruscant Guard.” He doesn't know if Kenobi has met Fox, or if he’d even remember him if he had. Fox seems to get around Coruscant, from working personally with the Chancellor, to overseeing routine patrols, but unless Kenobi was actively looking out for him, he’d probably blend in with all the other clones stuck on the Capital. Fox has presence when he wants to, but he’s also a master of avoiding unwanted attention.

Kenobi’s gaze matches his own, watching Wolffe return to General Plo’s side. Wolffe stands a little straighter under Plo’s attention, and Cody can’t help but be jealous that a stranger was so quick to figure out how to soothe Wolffe’s quick temper, when it had taken him and Fox years. He worries about the men they are becoming away from each other, even if Plo’s effortless calm is exactly what Wolffe needs. He hopes when the war finally ends, the men they’ve grown into can settle back together as easily as the men they were when they parted on Kamino.

“It must be difficult, seeing them so rarely. I’ve been fortunate that we work so closely with the 501st; I’m not sure how I’d cope hardly ever seeing Anakin,” Kenobi says, and Cody supposes it’s an obvious observation. 

“We always knew it was coming,” Cody says. It’s the line he’s said to himself many times. “Unlike Trooper squads who expect to stay together, the Command track clones always knew they were going to be split up and assigned to their own battalions.”

Kenobi looks at him sometimes like he doesn’t need the force to understand exactly how Cody is feeling. His pulse quickens.

“I suspect that doesn’t make it much easier.”

For a second he considers saying how desperately he misses them, and how the three of them haven’t all been together since the war started. He thinks Kenobi would sympathise. Maybe if this conversation was happening at the end of a battle rather than before he would feel more willing to be vulnerable.

“Not always, but I have to take advantage of these joint operations when they arise.”

Kenobi beams at him, and it’s like staring into the sun. Cody pulls his helmet on hurriedly to hide his blush.

“Then let's go join Commander Wolffe and Master Plo then shall we?” Kenobi’s hand very briefly touches his lower back and even though layers of armour Cody’s skin tingles. 

Wolffe is right about one thing at least: he is an idiot.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

Cody’s chest is tight, his hands balling into fists at his side, the threat of tears burning behind his eyes. Kenobi has a hand on Duchess Satine’s face, his thumb stroking along the sharp line of her high cheekbone.

The way Kenobi looks at her.

He’s never in his whole life been so grateful he’s wearing his helmet. He’s not going to cry, he’s not that pathetic, but he can feel the devastation across his face and he would never be able to look any of his men in the eye again if they saw that. 

He tries to be rational — it wasn’t any more likely that Kenobi returned his feelings yesterday than it is now — but if war has taught him anything it’s that you can’t logic your way out of feeling, no matter how much he’s tried.

What he wouldn’t give for Kenobi to look at him like that. 

One of his men, probably Waxer or Boil but he doesn’t turn to check, nudges his shoulder in what he imagines his meant to be comforting. His cheeks flush with shame, their pity somehow only digging the knife in deeper. Nice to know that even with his bucket on they can all tell exactly how well he’s taking this.

He’s flanked on this other side by another of his brothers who makes a dismissive noise over their shared comms.

“We’re prettier than her, Sir,” Boil says.

He almost laughs but it catches in his throat. Across the platform he can see her place a hand on Kenobi’s chest, fingers curling just a little into the material of his robes. Envy tastes so bitter Cody could choke on it. 

Satine and Kenobi part, and she heads to her ship, Kenobi hurrying back over to join them with a rueful smile and apologies about holding them up. Waxer replies for them when Cody’s mouth refuses to work, assuring the general it’s not a problem. If Kenobi notices that Cody isn’t talking he doesn’t acknowledge it, cheerfully filling the silence by himself as they head back to their temporary quarters on Coruscant. 

Boil’s lying; she’s beautiful.

***

Cody shouldn’t have let Ghost Company convince him to come out. He knows he’s drinking is only going to make him miserable but going back to his room alone to mope had felt just a little too pathetic. At least here he can mope with company. 

None of them are technically paid, but they are a resourceful sort, and there always seems to be credits available when drinking was required. Cody had long since decided he was happier not thinking about where it comes from. But it does mean they are in a shitty bar drinking the cheapest shit on the menu. 

Cody has Butcher on one side, and Wooley on the other, the three of them crammed into one side of the booth’s table. Opposite them Boil and Waxer are enjoying far more space. He doesn’t feel much like talking, but the others are more than capable of keeping the conversation going without him, and there’s a familiarity to their good natured arguing that’s comforting.

He’s been nursing the drink they pressed into his hands for a while, in part because it tastes like the back-end of an Aiwha, but he’s also wary of getting too drunk around a group who while his friends are also his subordinates. He doesn’t want to know what shit he’ll start saying with his inhibition removed.

“What do you think of that one, Sir?” Wooley says, pulling Cody from his head.

“What?” 

Wooley very unsubtly points across the bar at a handsome Pantoran in criminally tight trousers.

“Is he your type?”

“Really is the best way to get over someone,” Butcher says. He’s nodding sagely but the poorly hidden amusement ruins the effect.

“Waxer and I are great wingmen,” Boil says, Waxer nodding eagerly beside him. “Say the word and we’ll get him over here.”

It settles his internal debate about if he wants to get drunk and he throws back what’s left of his drink.

It’s a good reminder that rock-bottom rarely really is rock-bottom and you can always sink a little further. For example, in just one day Cody has had to watch the man he loves engage with someone else and now the idiots he calls his friends think he’s so pathetic he needs their help getting laid. 

But there’s an eagerness to all, built on a genuine desire to make him feel better.

It’s almost sweet.

There’s the familiar sound of standard issue boots clicking on hard floors and then there’s a clone in pristine white armour, in contrast to the rest of them in their greys, looming over Wooley.

“Move,” the clone says and Wooley jumps out of the seat to make space. Cody frowns, not quite placing their voice and wondering who has come to try and drag him from his self-made misery now. 

The clone slots in beside Cody, unceremoniously pulling off his helmet and dumping it at their feet under the table. Cody double takes. The clone is already greying at the temples, from stress rather than age, and wears his curly hair just a fraction longer than regulation length. He sets two glasses with sharp smelling liquid down in front of him, far higher quality than what they’ve been making do with.

It’s the bags under his eyes that give him away.

“Which of you told Fox?” Cody asks, glaring at his gathered brothers who are all suddenly very interested in everything but meeting his gaze. Only Fox is unimpressed and gives Cody a sharp look, one he’s well familiar with. It’s telling him to shut the fuck up before he gets them both busted for whatever trouble Fox is about to pull them into. Cody has learnt the hard way it’s a look worth minding. 

“Commander Fox is on duty right now,” the shiny who is definitely not Fox says, swapping Cody’s drink with a new one. “Or at least someone wearing his armour is on duty right now.”

“Uh huh.” Cody frowns but doesn’t object to the drink.

Fox lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “If it’s really him under there, well there’s just no way to tell.”

“Who are you then?” Waxer asks, because apparently he doesn’t understand how Fox works.

Fox narrows his eyes, his target for the evening having volunteered himself. 

“Shots,” he says, voice like lead.

“Oh.” Waxer seems disappointed, probably expecting something more exciting.

“Get us some.” Fox tosses some credits onto the table and Waxer has just enough self-preservation to do as he’d told, climbing awkwardly over Boil, who refuses to stand, and past Wooley, who does.

“Stop bullying my men,” Cody says 

Fox shifts the weight of his focus back to Cody. “I can bully you instead?” 

“I thought you were going to help cheer him up?” Wooley asks nervously and with appropriate reverence, learning from Waxer’s mistake.

“Fox has never cheered up anyone in his life,” Cody lies, as though he’s not already feeling a little less like throwing himself a pity party on the floor of his fresher. Fox’s brand of assholery is warm and familiar in a way that only comes from being batchmates. Besides, he knows Fox loves him, there aren't a lot of people he would go AWOL for, probably just Wolffe now he thinks about it. 

Fox smirks in a way that suggests he knows exactly what Cody is thinking; he probably does. 

“When the boy gets back, we are going to get you spectacularly drunk, and you’re going to tell me what your general has done to turn you into such a pathetic ass. And then, I will decide what the appropriate act of vengeance is.” Fox nudges the glass he gave Cody, raising his eyebrows.

“He didn’t do anything,” Cody says, but does what he’s told and takes a long drink from the glass. He makes a face; he’d expected more expensive alcohol to taste better. “It’s not his fault I’m in love with him.” 

Cody closes his mouth with a click of teeth, wincing. He’s been careful not to use the L-word around his men, only admitting it to Wolffe and Rex. Hells, they’d probably already guessed anyway. At least he managed to catch himself before he said something truly pathetic like how he didn’t blame Kenobi for not feeling the same about a man like him. No one likes dealing with that sort of thing.

“I could probably frame him for something, if you do change your mind.” Sometimes it’s very hard to tell if Fox is joking or not. 

“Is framing people something you do a lot of these days?” Cody asks.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Fox says, and Cody rolls his eyes. He’s heard that avoidance before.

Waxer choses that moment to return carrying a tray of brightly coloured shots, cautiously placing them down in front of Fox who is giving him a look like he’s still considering unhinging his jaw like a snake and consuming the poor trooper whole. 

“Where’s my change?”

Waxer pales, and his eyes dart frantically between the rest of the table. Wooley, Butcher, and Boil all very successfully avoid eye-contact. Fox very deliberately flexes his hands and Cody sighs, elbowing his brother.

“He’s fucking with you, Waxer, just ignore him.”

Waxer seems unconvinced but he slides back down into the booth. 

“Something to keep in mind,” Fox says, placing a shot down in front of each of them. “I am not here for a bunch of CTs to get drunk on my credits, I am here to get my pathetic, broken hearted, little brother drunk on my credits. If I see a single one of you take more than your share I will nail your balls to your chest plates. Am I clear?”

The group manages an unsynchronised ‘yes sir,’ and no one dares asks how they will know what their fair share is.

Fox wouldn’t tell them anyway. 

Cody takes the drink and under Fox’s watchful eye tosses it back, the men around him following suit. Absently, Cody acknowledges he’s just consumed three drinks in a very short amount of time.

“So, how bad we talking?” Fox asks. “I only got the highlights. You just thinking about staring into his eyes while you rub one out at night, or are we talking full on planning your wedding and what you’ll name your kids?”

“Fox,” Cody warns and is ignored.

“Did he reject you? Already in a relationship? Straight?”

“I’m not telling you shit.”

“You,” Fox fixes his gaze on Wooley. “How bad has the whelp got it?”

“Don’t answer that.”

Wooley looks between them frantically.

“I’m your CO, and I outrank him,” Cody says, and places another shot in front of Wooley. 

“But I’ll feed you your own asshole if you disappoint me.” Fox places a shot in front of Cody which seems to have nothing to do with the disagreement at hand.

“I can still kick your ass, probably even more thoroughly than before; I’ve heard you’ve gone soft lazing around in the Capital,” Cody says. Fox has always been the scariest of them, but Cody had taken to hand-to-hand combat like a fish to water.

Fox’s hand lands on his shoulder, gripping him hard enough to hurt.

“Cody, my sweet boy, my perfect brother, my ugly little runt of a batchmate. Do not fucking test me.”

“You have a lovely way with words,” Butcher says, tracing the rim of his empty glass with a finger.

“I do, thank you for noticing. You’ve earned another drink. You two,” Fox turns his attention to Boil and Waxer, “have five seconds to earn yours.”

“Your hair looks really soft,” Boil says hurriedly, the words running together.

Fox frowns and Cody is almost impressed that Boil managed to surprise him.

“I’ll allow it,” Fox says after a moment of consideration and turns to poor Waxer who looks like his life is flashing before his eyes.

“I uh…”

Fox holds up his hand, counting down Waxer’s time one finger at a time.

Five. Four. Three.

“I don’t-” Waxer starts.

Two. One.

“Sometimes Cody says the general’s name in his sleep!”

Cody groans, burying his rapidly blushing face in his arms. There’s no way that can be true, someone would have mentioned it before now. He risks a questioning glance at Wooley over the crook of his elbow.

Wooley gives an apologetic shrug. “Just once or twice.”

Cody makes another pained noise and returns to hiding his face. Butcher pats him on the back in a way that does absolutely nothing to help.

Fox meanwhile lets out a long sigh and places drinks in front of the two troopers, shaking his head at Waxer.

“Bad move,” he says. “You always side with your CO.”

“What? But you- you asked!” Waxer says indignantly. 

“Of course I asked, I wanted to know. You shouldn’t have told me. If I’m lucky, you’re never going to interact with me again, but Commander Pining over here is going to be around to punish you for this for the rest of your sorry career.”

“Fuck you,” Cody mumbles into his arm, and then raises his head to glare. “And fuck you too Waxer.” 

Fox looks smugly over the situation he’s created. 

“What was Cody like as a Cadet?” Boil says suddenly, and far too loud, but it works and everyone’s shifts from Waxer.

Fox considers the gathered group, and Cody internally winces. He can think of a dozen stories which will ruin what scraps of respect these men still have for him after this sorry display, and can only imagine how many more Fox remembers that he doesn’t.

“I was in bacta twice during training, the first time was Cody, the second time was because of Cody.”

That was surprisingly tame.

“You deserved it, you should have tapped out.”

“Ah yes, my mistake,” Fox isn’t smiling, but there’s a spark to his eyes that means he’s actually enjoying himself: Fox smiling meant he was either plotting your downfall, about to kill you, or just really pissed off. “I should have known that trying once to flip you out of your pin would leave you no option but to fucking crack my skull on the floor”

“I agree, you should have known,” Cody says. “And the other time was mostly Wolffe’s fault.”

“Oh, I hold him equally responsible. When my reckoning comes, I’ll have vengeance upon both of you.

“They ran me over with a speeder,” he says to the others.

“ Wolffe ran you over,” Cody clarifies. “I was just also on the speeder.”

Fox gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Drink up boys.” 

Rolling his eyes, Cody does as he’s told, noting that Fox isn’t joining them; he probably has work to do the following morning, while Cody had abused his rank to find people to cover for the rest of them.

Fox watches them all with a glint in his eye which preludes trouble.

“And once, Wolffe hit Cody so hard he threw up over Jango’s boots. He cried for forty minutes before Wolffe and I were able to calm him down.”

Oh, there it was.

“I thought he was going to decommission me!” Cody says and is ignored.

“There is a very special sort of joy to being able to recall at will how Prime looked trying to deal with a sobbing cadet while also trying to avoid getting more vomit on his fancy fucking Beskar,” Fox says, lounging in his seat, one arm stretching across the back of the seat behind Cody. “Cody was no longer the favourite following that shit show.”

Cody realises he’s slouching into Butcher, pressing him into the wall in a way that must be uncomfortable. He straightens up, but his vision blurs a little, the alcohol hitting all at once. He’s going to be a mess tomorrow morning.

He takes a couple of deep breaths to try and clear his head.

“Fox, because I’m the bigger man, I’m calling a truce before we both say things we’ll regret. I can embarrass you just as easily as you can embarrass me,” he says, already rummaging through all the stories of Fox’s youth to select an opener. Too tame and Fox won’t be convinced to back off, but too much and Fox will be compelled to respond in kind.

Fox grins broadly. “I am committed, Twenty-Four. I will burn if it means ruining you. I never have to see these dumbasses again, you have to face them every day. You have so much more to lose than I do.”

“Do you remember when we had to carry your sorry ass across five miles of hostile terrain because you managed to get what you swore was the worst injury of your life in the middle of a live fire training exercise? You bitched more about it than when Wolffe, and only Wolffe, ran you over. Do you remember what the diagnosis was?” Cody imagines this one would do the trick; Bly still bitched about it.

Fox’s face fell, apparently realising what the results of his mutually assured destruction would actually be.

“It was a fucking splinter, Fox,” Cody snarls.

They stare at each other for a long moment, Fox visibly weighing up how much he wants to talk shit about Cody with all the humiliation Cody will be able to recall.

“Truce.” Fox agrees, sounding like it physically pains him.

Neither miss the collective sounds of disappointment coming from the rest of the table. 

Fox snaps his attention back to the group, gesturing at the shots. 

“Drink,” he says, putting a bright blue shot in front of Cody.

“I think I should slow down,” Cody says, but he takes the drink anyway, swallowing it all in one mouthful. His head is past buzzing and into that heavy fog that accompanies this sort of drinking.

“You can slow down when you’re dead, or when you pass out, whichever comes first.” Fox makes a face. “Actually, don’t die, I’m sure somehow that involves more flimsiwork for me. Count yourself lucky that you’re my sixth favourite,” Fox pauses but Cody doesn’t take the bait of asking who exactly the five people ahead of him are. He knows he and Wolffe are equal favourites. With disappointment Fox continues, “I don’t even want to think about how much work I’m going to return to tomorrow.”

Cody looks down at the growing collection of empty glasses in front of him. As grateful he is that Fox is here, Cody shouldn’t have pulled him away from his work, or allowed himself to be distracted from his own work for that matter. Men lived and died by their decisions and Cody was letting his personal life impact his judgement.

Fox once claimed he could smell guilt, and Cody is still only almost completely sure that he’s joking.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Fox asks, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“You didn’t have to come,” Cody says quietly. “I’m fine.”

Fox gives him a different look, and Cody swears this man got more control over his eyebrows than the rest of him. 

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.” 

“You never ‘just want to see’ anyone.” Fox was lucky he’d named himself young or he would have ended up being called Ulterior Motive.

Fox hums but doesn’t disagree. “Besides, if I don’t use up some of the favours Thorn owes me I end up with too many to keep track of.”

“You’re a good friend, you know that.”

Fox snorts. “I’m an excellent friend, but there’s more to friendship than being kind and supportive. You have your pet CT for that. I perform the much needed role of telling you you’re an idiot and getting you so drunk you can’t see straight. I can try the other part if you like?” He pats Cody awkwardly on the shoulder. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Cody smiles, shaking his head. “Please don’t. I don’t know what I’d even do if you started being nice.” 

“Am I doing better than Wolffe though?”

“No.”

Fox sneers. “Are you lying to your big brother, Cody?”

Cody matches Fox’s stare. “Never.”

Fox's smile widens and becomes even more predatory. “I’m going to let you get away with lying to my face just this once, but only because you just found out you’re unlovable and that has to be rough.”

Cody stiffens. Fox is joking; it’s the only way he knows how to approach emotional subjects, but that hits just a little too close to real insecurity, and not one he wants to air in front of everyone.

“Fox,” Cody warns, and the others tense but Fox doesn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t mope. I’m sure we’ll find someone for you. There has to be at least one Yarkora on Coruscant who would settle for you.”

It’s a little embarrassing that it stings, even as Fox grins at him.

“Fox, leave it alone.” He shouldn’t have come out and he definitely shouldn’t have drunk as much as he has. At least he can blame one too many drinks for how quickly his mood has soured and pretend he’s not just being overly sensitive to the sort of jokes Fox always makes.

Fox looks at him, finally noticing that Cody’s tone has changed, and then at the gathered clones who try very hard to look like they haven’t been listening in.

“Talk amongst yourself,” he orders, and the others scramble to obey, Boil desperately launching into a conversation about nuna-ball of all things. Fox gives them a moment before returning his attention to Cody and lowering his voice. “What’s with you?” 

Cody shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Cody,” Fox says in what Wolffe used to call his ‘big brother voice’. Cody knows Fox doesn’t mean for it to come across as patronising but it puts his hackles up all the same.

“I’m fine, Fox. This whole thing was stupid, and I don’t need you to tell me that. Just let me get drunk enough to forget how much I’ve managed to humiliate myself and let's never talk about this again. All right?” Cody doesn’t mean for it to come out as angry as it does, but his brain seems a little behind his mouth.

Fox smiles. “Why are you being like this?” 

Something about the way Fox says it, like Cody is being unreasonable for not wanting to share everything he’s going through for Fox’s entertainment, that crosses a line Cody didn’t even know he’d drawn. “What do you want me to say, Fox? That I’m upset? I am. Or that I’m angry with myself for letting it get this far, because every other asshole in my life was telling me to back off and I didn’t listen because I thought I knew better. Or do you want me to tell you that I love him and I want him to love me back and I know that’s never going to happen, and I’m fucking devastated. Is that what you want me to say?”

Something flickers across Fox’s face so fast Cody almost misses it.

“I want you to talk to me,” Fox says, his smile slipping.

“Yeah, well, sometimes you’re hard to talk to, Fox.” 

“You think I don't know that?" Fox’s face and tone are perfectly neutral but he takes a drink from the middle of the table. He eyes it over before throwing it back. “I’m trying. I'm sorry.”

Shit.

Cody takes Fox’s hand under the table and squeezes it. Fox’s expression doesn’t change, but he grips back just as tightly. Cody sighs, rubbing at his temples with his free hand. He is so fucking drunk.

It takes Cody a moment to get what he wants to say straight in his head but when he does it comes out in a rush. “It was fine when I thought he wasn’t interested in anyone. I liked how being in love felt, even if it wasn’t going anywhere. It was a fantasy and it was mine, not something the Kaminoans put in me, not a cause chosen for me, or something I had to share with the rest of you. It was just mine.”

He forces himself to continue, even as anxiety builds in his chest at letting himself be so vulnerable. The rest of the group are talking loudly about something else, but he knows they can hear him. “I think it being impossible made it easier, I didn’t have to decide if I was going to act on it, or deal with the reality of what a relationship with him would actually look like, because he’s a Jedi, they don’t do romance.”

“Cody-” Fox starts but Cody keeps talking, hating the way his voice cracks a little. 

“But it isn’t that he’s not interested in romance, he’s just not interested in me.” He cringes. It sounds so much more pathetic aloud than in the privacy of his own head.

Cody’s vision blurs as he blinks back tears and Fox for once doesn’t jump on the weakness.

“There’s this young woman on Senator Organa’s staff. A month or so back she dropped her notes outside Palpatine’s office. I'm talking flimsi everywhere. I was on guard, I shouldn’t have left my post, but I helped her pick them up. When I handed them back to her she gave me the sweetest fucking smile. I’ve jumped out of a ship a half klick up with a dodgy jetpack and my heart-rate didn’t jump even close to as high as it did when she thanked me.”

“But you’re not following her around like a massiff while she goes on dates,” Cody says sullenly. He almost wishes he was still angry; it’s easier than this.

“No, I’m not, but that’s because unlike the rest of our batch, my job is actually hard and I’m busy.” Fox says, apparently incapable of not being at least a little bit of an ass even when trying to be supportive. “The point, Cody, is that men are fucking stupid. You, me, your general too, if he’s giving eyes to some New Mandalorian instead of you. He’d be lucky to have you.”

Cody feels like he should defend Kenobi, and perhaps himself for that matter, but instead reaches for one of the shots in the middle of the table. 

Fox bares his teeth. “Attaboy.” 

***

Fox’s arm has found its way around Cody’s shoulder. Cody would have assumed at some point he’d learn how bad of a pillow their armour made but his face is pressed against the hard plate at Fox’s shoulder all the same. It’s worth it for how it stopped his head from spinning. He’s drunk far too much. 

“Fox,” he says, clumsily nudging his brother’s side. “You’ve seen the Duchess?” 

Fox breaks off from whatever story he’s spinning to keep the 212th so enraptured to look down at Cody. 

“Of course.” 

“Are we prettier than her?” Whatever part of him is still clinging to his pride is glad he says it quietly enough that the others probably can’t hear.

Fox's expression softens into something so genuine that it makes Cody’s heart ache a little. 

“I think it’s time you boys get the Commander to bed,” Fox ruffles Cody’s hair, like he used to when they were kids, though the effect this time is far more tender than annoying. “Ideally before he throws up on himself and, more importantly, me.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Cody protests and tries to sit up, but Fox holds him tightly against him, and after a moment of fruitless struggling Cody accepts his defeat and settles even more heavily against Fox. He’s warm and while he smells different than Cody remembers, apparently indulging in some fancy soaps now he’s off Kamino, there’s something about being near him that puts Cody at ease. This isn’t just a brother, this is his brother . 

Cody reaches for one of the shots still sitting on the table but his fingers barely brush the glass before Fox has a vice-like grip around his wrist, glaring down at Cody.

“Didn’t I just say it was your bedtime?” 

Cody stretches his fingers a little further, nudging the glass ever so slightly. He looks at Fox, letting his eyes get big.

“That was cuter when you were a kid.” Fox lets out a long sigh. “What the hell, I’m not the one who’s going to have to clean up if you make a mess.”

Damn sucker. 

Fox releases his grip and Cody downs the shot, head swimming at the sharp motion and the only reason he doesn’t fall is because already pressed against Fox there’s nowhere for him to go. His body feels heavier than he remembers. 

“You know I’m the fucker that’s going to have to sit up with him all night and make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit?” Butcher snaps. 

“You’re right, you are the fucker that’s going to have to do that,” Fox says, and while Cody can tell Butcher is seething he’s at least smart enough not to start a fight he can’t hope to win.

“All right, Sir. Let's get you up.” Cody can’t even begin to guess which one of them says it.

There are multiple sets of hands on Cody and he’s half dragged from the booth and he’s on his feet, an arm around Fox’s shoulders.

He knows he drank at least twice as much as the rest of them but now they are standing it hits him how staggeringly drunk he is. He sways, grateful for Fox’s firm grip. He’s led across the bar towards the door.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says but this time Fox doesn’t look down at him.

Fox rolls his eyes. “Me, definitely. You, ehh.”

Cody snorts and slaps a hand across Fox’s chest. He hits hard plastoid.

“Ow.” 

“That’s what you get,” Fox mutters.

The air feels bitterly cold against his skin after the heat of the bar, and Cody tries to nuzzle more insistently under Fox’s arm but some weird magic happens, the world tilts, and suddenly Cody is being balanced between Wooley and Butcher instead. Both are less of a stable crutch than Fox but between them they seem to be able to manage him.

“Message me next time you’re on Coruscant, little brother. It really was nice to see you.” Fox presses his forehead firmly against Cody’s and gives his hair another aggressive ruffle.

“It was nice to see you too,” Cody says, and he thinks he gets most, though not all, of the syllables out.

They only make it a couple of steps before Fox catches Cody’s arm. “It was Wolffe that messaged me, but Waxer was the one that called him asking for advice,” Fox says, because he hasn’t changed a bit since training, and there is still nothing he loves more than starting shit and bailing. 

Waxer looks at Fox with the exact same expression Cody has seen him give when facing a Sith Lord. 

Cody tries to straighten up enough to loom, but the world spins and he stumbles heavily back into Wooley’s solid bulk. 

“You better hope I’m too drunk to remember this tomorrow.”

“I’ll send you a message reminding you. Top priority channel,” Fox yells from across the street, tossing a lazy salute before he disappears back up towards the senate buildings. 

“Commander, might I have a word.” 

It’s weeks after Cody saw Kenobi with Satine, and the sting has faded a little, but hardly disappeared completely. There’s still a twinge when Kenobi smiles at him, or compliments his work, a bone deep longing for something that he can’t have, and shouldn’t even want in the first place.

Is it so wrong to want to be loved?

Kenobi is smiling, but the warmth doesn’t fully reach his eyes, and there’s a slight crease between his brows. Not a pleasant conversation then, and a deep dread settles in Cody’s gut. He doesn’t need the Force to know where this is going.

For a moment he considers just saying no, about turning and going to hide in Rex’s quarters. He doesn’t know if his heart, or pride for that matter, can take this conversation.

“Of course, General.”

Kenobi claps his shoulder that does nothing to soothe Cody’s anxiety and leads the way towards his quarters. Neither of them say a word until the door slides closed behind them.

“Would you like a seat, Cody?” Kenobi asks, gesturing.

“I’d rather stand, Sir.” His throat feels tight and he can’t even manage to drop the title. Calling him Kenobi when not actively on duty had been a long fought compromise, but Cody finds himself falling back on the familiar comfort of regulation.

“Tea?” 

“No thank you, Sir.”

Kenobi nods, pouring himself a cup. The spoon sounds too loud when it hits against the side of the cup. He blows on the surface of the tea, looking at Cody over the rim. He’s hiding it well but he looks unhappy and Cody feels a deep pang of guilt for putting his general in such an uncomfortable position.

“I’m aware of your, ah,” Kenobi starts, and Cody braces himself. “Of your feelings towards me.”

Cody swallows and looks down.

“Yes, Sir,” he says, because he cannot for the life of him think of what else he can possibly say.

There is a painful silence and Cody can’t bring himself to raise his eyes from the floor to see what Kenobi is thinking.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t a conversation you want to have. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t think it needed addressing.” Kenobi sounds so terribly anxious and Cody realises with a jolt that Kenobi is worried about upsetting him. Cody clenches his jaw, embarrassment and heartbreak warring inside him. He already knows Kenobi doesn’t feel the same way about him, he doesn’t need to be told.

“With all due respect, General, there’s nothing that needs addressing.” He pulls his gaze back up, staring at the wall a foot to Kenobi’s left. “I’m perfectly aware that you don’t return my-” The word catches in his throat, much as it had in Kenobi’s, and it’s only with great effort he manages to finish. “-my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenobi says, and he sounds like he means it. Cody doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. “You’re a good man, Cody. You deserve to love someone who loves you back.”

It’s worse. He hates being pitied, he always had.

“How long have you known?” He asks and immediately regrets it, he doesn’t want to know the answer. He hates it when Fox is right.

“Since the Siege of Christophsis,” Kenobi admits, and it’s even worse than Cody had feared. He’s been making a fool of himself for months. “Strong feelings can be felt by Jedi, and, well…”

“I see,” he forces out, his voice distressingly croaky.

“Cody, I promise I would never bring this up to embarrass you, or intentionally cause you discomfort. I certainly don’t think any less of you for it. I simply hope that by talking about it, you will be able to begin moving on.”

A hysterical laugh threatens to burst from his mouth. Kenobi says moving on like it’s easy, like Cody hasn’t been trying since he saw Kenobi with the Duchess and the whole affair had very suddenly stopped being enjoyable. He barely even understands how he fell in love in the first place, he has no idea how to stop.

“Why now? Has my performance suffered?” He doesn’t think it has. If anything he’s been working even harder recently, using it as a much needed distraction. 

“No, no, nothing like that, just…” Kenobi pauses, and Cody doesn’t need to be looking at him to know he’s rubbing at his beard. “It didn’t seem worth bringing it up when you seemed content with how things were, but for the last couple of weeks you’ve been, well, distressed, I suppose.”

Cody opens and then closes his mouth, swallowing hard.

“I shouldn’t have acted that way with Duchess Satine in front of you. I forgot myself.”

Cody is no stranger to anger, certainly not as a way to mask other, more painful emotions, but he finds it slightly strange that this is what his pride objects to.

“It’s not your job to manage my feelings, Sir,” he snaps. It’s incredibly unprofessional, even on top of his already improper conduct, and he straightens his spine, as if perfect posture can save him from the hole he’s digging for himself.

“That was poorly worded of me, I’m sorry.” Kenobi drags a hand down his face. “I simply meant that you’re my friend, Cody. It pains me to have caused you discomfort.”

Cody’s remaining pride isn’t entirely mollified, he doesn’t like thinking of himself as someone who needs to be coddled, but he tries to appreciate the concern. 

Kenobi sighs again, long and tired. “I’m afraid I’m making rather a mess of this. I’ve never been very good at conversations of this nature.”

“Do you have to turn down a lot of unwanted suitors?” He isn’t sure why he tries to make a joke, certainly not one that close to real hurt, but it comes out clearer than he expected, closer to their normal playful conversation.

Kenobi laughs, it’s a small thing, but genuine, and it manages to pull some of the tension from the room. “Well, no, I suppose not.” 

“But,” he says, serious again, “while I might not be able to give you what you’d like from our relationship, you are hardly unwanted, Cody.”

It hurts, that unfailing kindness. Cody thinks it’s what drew him to Kenobi in the first place. Kenobi is handsome, but Cody has seen plenty of handsome men and none of them drew Cody in the way Kenboi did. Kenobi who treated him so gently like hurting his feelings was as much a crime as punching him.

He sinks into the previously offered chair, running his hands down his face.

“I’ve never been in love before,” he admits and he feels so terribly young. Ten years of specialised training had convinced him that he was in some way prepared for anything but the complicated reality of the outside world seemed to find an unending number of ways to put him on his ass. They didn’t cover romance on Kamino, and what the clones worked out for themselves only seems to apply to their very specific interactions. 

“I’ve had crushes, but nothing like…” He gestures vaguely. He has an acute memory of how desperate he’d been to please Sergeant Gilamar during training. Oh sithing hells, does he have a thing for authority figures? It’s a bit of self-reflection that will have to wait.

“I have,” Kenobi says, as though Cody needs reminding. “It hasn’t as a rule worked out well for me.”

Cody bits back a bitter comment. He doesn’t want to be resentful.

“I thought the Jedi weren’t meant to have relationships,” Cody asks instead. 

Kenobi sighs. “It’s a little more complicated than that. Love without attachment is technically permissible, but I for one have never been able to separate the two, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Cody hates that something hopeful jumps in his chest at that. He’s not an idiot, despite recent evidence to the contrary, but apparently his heart might be. Kenobi has made his position on relationships clear, and even if Cody thought he could change his general’s mind, he respects both of them too much to try. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, because there’s nothing much else to say.

“For what?” 

Cody could reference the situation in general, it wouldn’t even be a lie, but something makes him be honest, perhaps because he’s still holding out hope that there is some secret solution to all this that Kenobi will tell him if he just asks the right question.

“I don’t know how to stop wanting you.” It still makes his insides squirm to have to say it aloud.

Kenobi smiles and it’s a little sad but thankfully not pitying.“I never worked that out that part either.”

“I just want-” Cody cuts himself off before he says something damning but Kenobi says in a way that suggests whatever emotions he’s giving off through the Force have already betrayed him.

“You are allowed to want things, Cody.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I can have what I want.” There’s that bitterness he was trying to keep down.

Kenobi doesn’t comment on his tone however, and looks at him thoughtfully. “If I told you we could be together but it would mean you couldn’t see Wolffe again, or any of your brothers, would you take the chance?”

It feels like a test, and the problem solver in Cody is already part way through dissecting his options and finding the ‘right’ answer before the truth hits him like a speeder.

“No.” 

Kenobi smiles, and despite everything, Cody’s heart clenches in his chest. He’s so damn handsome.

“I won’t do you the disservice of lying to you. There is something unique and special about romantic love, and I truly hope you can find someone to share it with, but it is far from the only type of relationship worth pursuing. I think you already have some of what you want.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Cody says, though he thinks he might.

“I’ve seen what you share with your brothers, Cody, how much you care for each other.” Kenobi hesitates, and it’s his turn to look down. “And please forgive me if I’m overstepping or reading too much into things, but you certainly don’t need me to validate your person-hood, that’s not something it was ever in my power to deny you.”

Cody lips part but no sound comes out. His mouth is suddenly very dry, and he feels bared in a way he has no comparison for. Somehow Kenobi being aware of that particular fear is worse than him knowing Cody has been pining after for more than half the war. He’s never been this vulnerable with someone who wasn’t a brother before. His pulse quickens, he can feel it throbbing at his throat.

He knows he’s a person, he’s known since the very first time the Kaminoans told him he wasn’t, because he knew that Wolffe and Fox were people, knew that all of his brothers were. And if they were, he must be too. 

But he’s been forgetting lately, and letting himself use Kenobi as an anchor to that certainty was unfair to both of them.

He wets his lips.

“Wolffe said the same thing.” Wolffe had always been the least perceptive of their batch, at least when it came to emotions. Had that changed when Cody wasn’t looking? Wolffe had still struggled to find the words he wanted but maybe Cody also needs to get better at listening. 

He should send Wolffe a message. Fox too.

“You have friends who love you, Cody.”

“I know,” he says, and he feels moved in a way he doesn’t know how to put into words. He loves his siblings so completely but he never really stopped to consider that they must love him back just as furiously and how humbling that was.

The way he feels about them is different than how he feels about Kenobi, but it’s no less intense or fulfilling. Even if love was required to make him a person, Kenobi has no say in if he is unloved.

He’s been an idiot. 

“I’m sorry, for all this,” he says.

Kenobi shakes his head. “You have nothing to apologise for, you handled this with far more grace than many with significantly more experience would have. Had our positions been reversed I don’t think I would have been able to come out of the experience with my dignity intact.”

“I don’t feel like this was particularly dignified.” Cody suspects this conversation is the sort that will jump to the forefront of his mind sometimes when he’s just about to fall asleep, forcing him to relive the humiliation all over again. 

“I can’t speak for what you were up to when I wasn’t around, but from my perspective you handled yourself with the utmost professionalism.”

Cody manages to smile. “You obviously didn’t see me after I went drinking with Fox then.”

Kenobi makes a thoughtful sound. “You said Fox was the commander of the Coruscant Guard? Was this the night after all the trouble with the Duchess?”

Cody nods, suddenly apprehensive; had Kenobi seen something?

“Your men were acting strangely all day. Ghost Company kept finding things that desperately needed my attention and Butcher was prowling the halls around the officer’s quarters insisting I was due for a medical check up.” Kenobi shakes his head fondly, fortunately amused by the 212th antics rather than frustrated. “I suppose they must have been running interference for you.”

“I was very hungover,” Cody admits.

Kenobi laughs, and Cody’s smile widens. 

“At least it was your friends who dumped you into bed. On more than one occasion while I was a padawan it was my master that had to come pick me up from some trashy bar barely able to stand. That is a particular embarrassment I wouldn’t wish on anyone. So all in all, I would say you have come out of this looking just fine.”

“I’ll thank the Force for small mercies then,” Cody says, trying to fight back a smile at Kenobi’s expense. He thinks he would eject himself from an airlock if Alpha-17 had seen him in such a state.

Silence falls between them and with it the balm of humour and Cody finds the clawing, aching sadness that’s been consuming him taking its place.

Cody wants to believe Kenobi when he says he doesn’t think any less of him, but considering how Cody thinks less of himself it’s difficult to internalise. This is going to take time he realises, and possibly more talking, but for now, he wants this conversation to be over. 

“If it’s all right, I’d like to go and lick my wounds,” he manages.

Kenobi nods. “Of course, Cody. I’m sorry, for, well for everything.” 

Cody stands, but he doesn’t make it any further before Kenobi stops him.

“Cody.” Kenobi grasps his shoulder. “I wouldn’t trade you for any other officer in the galaxy. You’re one of the finest soldiers I’ve ever met and good man. I’ve been honoured to know you.”

“I-'' Cody's chest tightens in a confusing mix of joy and embarrassment. Now that everything's out in the open he doesn’t know how to respond to such things. He falls back on honesty. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Kenobi’s hand is still on his shoulder, grip firm. Cody meets his eye for what feels like the first time since the start of the conversation and the warmth there suddenly leaves him feeling very bold. “I’m glad to be your friend, Obi-Wan.”

A smile splits Kenobi’s face, any remaining tension leaving his frame.

“A very dear friend,” Kenobi agrees.

This isn’t something that will tidy itself up in one conversation, Cody understands that, but there is a deep sense of relief: they can make this work.

***

Cody decides not to dwell on whether Kenobi waited to have the conversation until Skywalker and the officers of the 501st were on board the Negotiator. He probably had, and Cody’s ego was already bruised enough from how much effort Kenobi had put into sparing his feelings. He shouldn’t complain when it means Rex was only one comm message away. 

Rex even beats him to his room. He’s sitting cross legged on the bed, because there’s only one chair in the room and it’s not exactly comfortable.

“Are you all right?” Rex asks before Cody has even closed the door.

Cody tries not to be dramatic. “Well, I’m probably not going to drown myself with my water ration for the week.”

Rex laughs. “That bad?”

Cody pulls off his armour piece at a time, neatly placing it on the stand crammed into one corner of the tiny room.

“It was made very clear that he doesn’t not feel the same way about me and that I should take steps to move on.” Cody pauses and then, because he still feels compelled to paint Kenobi in the best possible light, adds, “He was very nice about it”

“I’m sorry, Cody.” 

Cody sighs. He feels a little like crying but there’s also a sense of relief that maybe this is something he can start putting behind him now. For tonight at least though, he thinks he’s allowed to be miserable. 

“It was always going to end this way, but my pride could have managed without this particular indignity,” he says, though it’s not entirely true. As much as he hates to admit it, Kenobi was right about the conversation needing to happen. He sits down next to Rex, drawing his knees up and folding his arms over them. 

“What did he say?” Rex asks and Cody takes a moment to decide how much of his utter humiliation he will share. He can be honest with Rex, who is far too decent to mock him for it. At least not until he’s completely sure enough enough time has passed for Cody to find it funny.

“He said I’m a good man who deserves to love someone who loves him back.”

Rex gives a sympathetic hiss through his teeth. 

“It was sweet, I suppose.” Cody hesitates before continuing. It’s not something he’s talked about with Rex, it’s not something he’s really talked about with anyone, unless that brief almost conversation with Wolffe counted. “He also said that I was a person, and that I didn’t need to be loved for that to be true.” 

Rex is quiet for a moment and fidgets with the edge of Cody’s blanket. “Is that something you worry about?”

Cody shrugs trying to play off exactly how much it bothers him. “Sometimes.”

Rex doesn’t say anything. His brow is furrowed but Cody can’t guess at what emotion it’s relating to.

“Do you?” 

“I used to.” Rex stares down at his hands, twisting the blankets around his fingers.

Used to. The not anymore went unspoken.

“What made you stop?” Cody asks. 

Rex releases the blanket, carefully smoothing it back down onto the bed. 

“I think wanting to be a person is enough. I just couldn’t think of any other meaningful measure. Like fuck, Codes, if a kriffing battledroid told me tomorrow it was a person who the hell am I to say it isn’t. I don’t think anyone can make that judgement for anyone else, and honestly I’m not sure I trust anyone who says for sure they can.

“We’re not living normal lives, Cody, we probably never will. But who the fuck do they think they are to say that their lives are the only kind worth living. We’re people because we say we are, not because anyone else gives us permission.” Rex is doing a good job of hiding it, but he’s angry.

When they’d left Kamino, Rex had been a by-the-regs kind of soldier, and Cody had carefully encouraged the sort of flexibility a real war requires, knowing that when to turn a blind eye is as important as knowing the regs inside out. Seems like Rex might be the rebellious one of them now. Skywalker is certainly an influence, for better or worse. If Cody is being honest, probably a bit of both.

“When did you get so insightful? Last I checked you couldn’t tell your bucket from your assplate.” Cody asks, the joking tone coming out a little stilted. Rex goes along with it anyway and snorts, shoving Cody with his shoulder. It seems so very simple when Rex says it like that, but he would never have guessed it was the sort of thing Rex had come up with. He’s been underestimating a lot of people it seems, caught up in his own head, and his own drama.

He often accuses Fox of being allergic to sincerity but he’s aware enough to know that he struggles with too. Pushing through the discomfort can be worthwhile however.

“You’ve really come into your own. I was nervous when you left with Skywalker to the 501st, but shit Rex, look at you. The pair of you are turning the 501st into one of the most formidable battalions in the GAR.” He’s never said it before because he had assumed it was obvious, but perhaps it’s nice to hear it anyway. He’s only too aware of how much Kenobi saying his life had value, something which should have been obvious, had meant to him. Something clenches painfully at the memory of Kenobi’s kind words.

“Thanks.” Rex looks down, clearly embarrassed by the attention, but he doesn’t duck his head fast enough that Cody misses his smile. “And thank you for giving me a chance in the first place. I know there was some push back for giving the role to a CT.”

Cody frowns. Rex isn’t wrong about the push back, but Cody also thought he’d been able to keep Rex from hearing about it. It didn’t matter, everyone who had thought Rex wasn’t fit to take on a leadership role in a battalion was eating their words now. Shit, Cody was so proud of him.

“Rex,” Cody puts a hand on Rex’s shoulder, because if he’s going to be honest, he really should just cut to the meat of it. “You know I love you, right?

“Yeah, Cody. I love you too.” Rex rolls his eyes, but pulls Cody into a hug, arms tight around his back, crushing them together. “Heartbreak is making you very sentimental,” Rex says into Cody’s shoulder.

They break apart, settling back beside each other, pressed together from hip to shoulder.

“Kenobi just said some stuff that got me thinking. That I was so focused on seeking love from him that I wasn’t paying attention to what I already had. I think I’ve been taking you all for granted.”

“It’s not taking us for granted to need to lean on us more than we need to lean on you from time to time. How many times have you sat up all night with one of us?” Rex asks.

It’s tempting to insist that it’s different, it certainly feels different, but he can’t really pinpoint why, and he doesn’t want to have to admit that. He is just more comfortable being the person being relied on, than relying on others.

“It’s not fair to expect so much of yourself than you do of us. Stop beating yourself up for needing help, and be gracious about accepting it.” Rex knocks Cody’s knee with his own.

It’s hard not to be scared that he’s growing apart from his brothers when he sees them so rarely, but he has to believe that they are becoming better versions of themselves. Rex certainly is. Even if it’s different than before, they’ll all find a way to slot back together. They’ll have to, he loves them all too much to lose them.

And he has new friends now, brothers he didn’t meet until after he left Kamino. Ghost Company are some of the most talented men in the 212th, and every single one of them a total idiot, and it’s nice to get to be an idiot with them. He’s grateful for how easily they managed to make space for him despite the awkwardness of his rank. And the other CCs, like Monnk and Gree, who he had never spent much time with on Kamino but has now worked with on several joint campaigns. And perhaps Kenobi too, if he can untangle the knotted feelings in his chest. He’s never had a friend who wasn’t a brother before. 

Even if Rex is right, and he isn’t taking his friends for granted, well, he could probably still do more. Fuck, he’s probably going to get hell for this, but he feels like he’s already committed, what with the day he’s having.

“Pass me my comm, I’m going to make a mistake.” Cody nods at his abandoned comm.

Rex eyes him. “You’re not messaging Kenobi are you?”

Cody finds it in him to be offended. “I’m not that stupid.”

Rex raises his hands in apology, and grabs Cody’s comm from the tiny shelf that passes for a bedside table. 

Although, maybe he’s actually even more stupid than Rex is guessing.

“I’m going to message my batch, and display genuine emotion,” he says.

“Your funeral,” Rex says with a mock grimace. “I expressed a genuine need to get some caf in front of Fox once, and I still think he’s plotting to use it against me somehow.”

“He’s not that bad,” Cody says because he feels like he should defend his brother, though Fox probably is exactly that bad. 

He pulls up a rarely used priority comm channel, rarely because it technically was only to be used for emergencies, and there weren’t many emergencies that involved only Cody, Wolffe, Fox. They message each other plenty, but they normally use the slower message system, ones sent in bulk at sent times alone with all other messages from the ship, because it really is difficult to justify using military channels to talk shit with his brothers. But it’s not like anyone is ever actually going to check, and Cody wants to say it now.

Cody: I know we all pretend not to have feelings, but thanks for being there for me. I love both of you. 

A reply comes almost instantly, which he wasn’t actually expecting. 

Fox: I just threw up in my bucket, don’t you ever say that shit to me again.

Cody doesn’t have time to even consider a reply before another message comes through.

Fox: I love you too. 

Cody: Isn’t it the middle of the night in Coruscant?

CC-1010 has acknowledged this message. 

Typical. 

Wolffe doesn’t reply, and Cody knows the 104th aren’t due to their next engagement for a couple of days so he doesn’t worry. He has no idea what day/night cycle Wolffe is on.

He reads through the messages again, smiling both at Fox’s first comment, that is quintessentially Fox, to the point where Cody probably could have predicted it word for word, and the second, which is surprisingly genuine. Maybe if he’s more willing to be open with Fox, Fox will find it easier to be open with them.

And, because Rex is apparently right about him feeling sentimental, he copies the conversation and moves it to a folder in one of his own servers. There’s a handful of other messages there: a rambling message from Rex talking about how excited he was for ARC training; one from Alpha-17, assigning him to the 212th, telling him ‘he’d earned it’; Ponds, saying how impressed by Ghost Company he was. 

And, at the bottom the most recent saved message is Kenobi’s from the reports, from months earlier. Cody doesn’t open it, but he doesn’t need to: he remembers the wording perfectly. What exactly it says isn’t the problem however, rather how sharply it reminds him of how he’d felt the first time he’d read it.

He should probably delete it.

He doesn’t want to.

Cody’s been staring too long, and he realises his smile has faded but he keeps looking down at the message. It had only been a few months, but it felt like so much longer. With a jolt he realises he’s spent more of the war pinning after Kenobi than not. Kenobi had told him he needed to move on, but what would that even look like? Was it possible to be friends with someone he’d had such intimate fantasies about? He wasn’t even concerned about the wank material, he’d had plenty of awkward fantasies about plenty of awkward people, but the other ones, the tender, romantic ones. How did you move on from that?

“Cody?” Rex asks and puts a hand on Cody’s knee.

“I just-” He goes to show Rex the comm before realising he doesn’t actually want Rex to see the other messages and awkwardly aborts the movement. “Just a message from Kenobi I saved. I wasn’t expecting it to-” Cody’s voice hitches and he realises he’s choked up. Tears sting behind Cody’s eyes and he rubs them clumsily with the back of his hand. He hardly thinks himself too manly to cry, sometimes a campaign hits wrong, and a private moment in his helmet helps him get his head back on straight, and he knows he’s not the only one. But this isn’t the realisation that there’s a unit of men he’s going to have to give the order to leave behind, or just exhaustion putting him on his on ass after one too many hours without sleeping, this is him being upset that a man who was never going to return his feelings, doesn’t return his feelings.

He doesn't want to cry in front of Rex over something so petty. He’s not sure how much of a choice he’ll have.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down at the comm still clutched in his hand. 

He misses when this had been fun. When it had been nice to have feelings that were his and had nothing to do with Kaminoans’ desire to encourage human pack bonding and all the benefits that provided. When it had been so easy to be proud that even if Kenobi didn’t love him, that Cody had known that he filled a role in Kenobi’s life that no one else could do as well, not even Skywalker. His desire to please Kenobi had helped push Cody into one of the best Commanders in the entire GAR. 

How in the middle of the night, in the middle of some miserable campaign he could fantasise about how Kenobi would feel pressed up against him, and how it let him imagine something he might actually want to do when this war finally ended.

Some part of him still wonders how things could have played out if they had never been sent to Mandalore and Kenobi hadn’t seen the Duchess again. He knows it wouldn’t have changed anything in the long term, and he knows he’d have had his heart broken sooner or later, but a dangerous ‘what-ifs’ still pick at his brain. What if Kenobi hadn’t felt pushed into confronting Cody so soon, and that extra time had been enough for the way Kenobi felt about him to change. What if he were smarter, or funnier, or challenged Kenobi more? The Duchess argued with him almost constantly. Cody likes that he and Kenobi agree on so much, but maybe Kenobi found that boring. What if he’d-

Cody closes his comm, leaving the saved message where it is.

“I really should have listened when you told me this was a bad idea,” he says, turning the comm over in his hands.

“You’ve been the smart one as long as I’ve known you, I think you’ve earned a couple bad decisions.” Rex reaches out and takes the comm, and Cody doesn’t make any attempt to stop him.

It’s placed back down on the bedside table and Cody glares at it, jaw set, as if it alone is responsible for the pit in his chest. Does keeping the message, or even wanting to keep it, prove he’s not moving on? Was there anything Cody had ever said to Kenobi that he felt was worth keeping a record of? Did he keep the messages from the Duchess?

“What are you thinking?” Rex asks, breaking the silence.

“Nothing you want to hear,” Cody says, because no one ever wants to hear about stuff like this.

“Try me.”

Cody looks at Rex who glares back. 

“You would never let me get away with that as an answer and you know it,” he says, and Cody does know it. He likes this new Rex, who is insightful and willing to call him on his shit, but the old, shyer Rex who thought the sun shone out of Cody’s ass was easier to brush off. 

“I keep getting stuck thinking about what I could have done differently to win him over, about what about me he didn’t like.” When Cody was still a cadet there were a lot of things he wished were different about him. He wanted to be stronger, and smarter. He wanted to be braver. He’d always wanted to be himself though. He doesn’t like the feeling of wanting to be someone else.

“The way Skywalker tells it, Jedi aren’t meant to love at all.”

“Kenobi made it sound more complicated than that,” Cody says, though he doesn’t think he fully understood it. Love seems too intangible a feeling for him to be able to categorise in any meaningful way. “He claimed he doesn’t do romantic love, but he loved the Duchess. If I was different he could have loved me too.” 

Cody slams the base of his fist against the bulkhead. It connects with a jolt up his arm to his shoulder and a dull bang. Rex startles in that way that soldiers sometimes did when faced with sudden loud noises. It’s nothing dramatic, just a sharp twist of his head, and an aborted twitch towards where he knows Cody kept his DC.

“Sorry,” Cody says as Rex relaxed beside him again, waving off Cody’s apology. “And I don’t mean that. I’m just being a miserable asshole." He is being a miserable asshole, but he thinks he means it a little, as much as he doesn’t want to.

“What’s she like?” Rex asks, and it’s not the question Cody is expecting. 

“Blonde,” Cody says, because he’s never really thought about it. He hadn’t liked her, he found her philosophy infuriating, but that had gotten all tangled up with envy so quickly he wasn’t sure what she was actually like versus what traits he’d assigned to her to make disliking her easier.

Rex snorts. “At least you didn’t ask Crys if you could borrow his hair dye. It takes a rare man to pull off blond hair.”

Cody smiles faintly, but he’s still trying to think of a real answer to Rex’s question.

“She’s a pacifist, and she and Kenobi argued about it constantly. I found her rather pompous, she talked down to people in a way a lot of us didn’t like.” A very petty part of himself he tried not to indulge had been thrilled that it was Wooley who had made the first negative comment in their helmet comms. It’s not a complete assessment of her however, and he tries to be fair. “But she was stubborn and utterly committed to her people. It’s brave to stand up for what you believe in like that, especially in the face of pressure she was dealing with.”

Rex tries and fails to stifle a laugh.

“What?”

Rex looks at Cody and bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry. This doesn’t help at all, but Cody you are at least most of those things, the good stuff anyway. 

He bristles. Rex is right, it doesn’t help. “I’m nothing like her.”

“Brave, stubborn, committed to your people,” Rex says, checking them off on his fingers. “Sounds like you.” 

“That’s not- She’s not-” He clenches his jaw. “We’re nothing alike.”

“I’m just saying, Cody, I think this has more to do with Kenobi than it does with you; he was in love with her when he was Ahsoka’s age. You can’t just change who you are so he’ll like you more. You said it yourself, he doesn’t even do romance anymore,” Rex says, and while he’s probably not wrong, Cody isn’t sure he’s ready to admit it.

“He still has feelings for her.”

“Maybe, but he also hasn’t seen her in years,” Rex pauses and there’s a glint in his eye that spells trouble. “And you wouldn’t act a little dumb if you ran into Gilamar even though you’re not really into him anymore?”

Cody narrows his eyes. “Who told you about Gilamar?”

“I was sworn to secrecy,” he says.

“Bly?”

“Bly,” Rex confirms. 

“He’s into his general too,” Cody says sullenly, as if it’s not the worst kept secret amongst the ranking officers and therefore terrible revenge.

Except, at least according to Doom, General Secura returned Bly’s feelings. Cody didn’t tell Rex that, it was enough to push it from gossip into something more serious. He also doesn’t want to risk having to talk about how bitterly unfair it is that Bly’s impossible crush might be willing to overlook her commitments to the order for him, while Cody’s isn’t.

Maybe Rex is right, maybe this is more about Kenobi than him. And besides, if it takes becoming more like the Duchess he’ll pass, because despite Rex’s insistence, they have nothing in common. 

He’s moping again, and Rex notices.

“You want me to stay here tonight?” he asks, as if they don’t share a bunk most nights they are on the same ship. But Rex is smart, and the phrasing gives Cody the option of taking his own space to brood on his own without making a thing of it. He considers it for a moment.

Cody sighs. “Yeah, but don’t make fun of me if I cry.” 

Rex puts an arm around Cody’s back and Cody lets his head fall onto Rex’s shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t.”

Cody knows that, he doesn’t think any of his brothers would. Perhaps Fox who is made so deeply uncomfortable by crying that he panics.

They are quiet for a moment, Rex’s thumb rubbing back and forth across his shoulder. He feels like he’s going around in circles, trying to find a way he could have changed the outcome, rationalising that there was no changing it, blaming himself, thinking about what he could have done differently, over and over. The real crux of the matter is simple at least.

“I don’t know how to stop wanting him, Rex.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rex says and rests his head on top of Cody’s. He feels like a cadet again, crammed into a pod with Wolffe, sniffling over a fight with Bacara. A tear streaks down his cheek and he squeezes his eyes closed against more. True to his word, Rex doesn’t comment.

He shouldn’t have let it get this far. He really should have listened to everyone in his life warning him how this would end. He likes to think he would have listened if he’d known how much it would end up hurting but he doubts it. 

Rex rubs his thumb back and forth over Cody’s arm mercifully not commenting Cody continues to sniffle quietly. He feels heavy and achy and doesn’t know what he would have done if Rex hadn’t been here for him.

“You can do better than him anyway,” Rex says suddenly, and it’s so ludicrous it almost startles Cody enough that he forgets how miserable he is.

“Oh yeah?” He wipes at his face with his sleeve. 

“Yeah. The man can’t even keep a hold of his own lightsaber. You would never settle for someone with such poor weapon discipline.”

Cody laughs, sniffing. “You’re right, I can do better than that. Maybe General Windu? I bet he never drops his lightsaber.”

Rex gives him a look but can only hold it for a second before they are both laughing again, Cody hiccuping through the tears still slipping down his face. Cody really hopes he’s done with crushes on men he has no chance with.

The laughing fades out 

“I mean it though,” Rex says after the silence has resettled. “You’re incredible. There’s no one who wouldn’t be lucky to have you.”

The sincerity of the complement sits awkward and Cody can’t find it in him to respond. Rex gets it.

Cody feels wrung out but it’s far too early to sleep. He has work he should probably do, but for once he’s more than willing to admit he’s not up to it. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says, though he really does want him to, and already knows he will. “I don’t think I’ll be good company.”

Rex shrugs with the shoulder Cody isn’t currently resting his head on.

“I brought my datapad, and some holodrama recs from the very best of the 501st. Want to find out what trash they’ve been watching? I know from Kix’s complaining that Ahsoka’s taste has been an unfortunate influence.”

Cody doesn’t really want to watch anything, but he also doesn’t want to do anything else and there’s worse ways to spend an evening than watching teen dramas with Rex. He doesn’t think he can be distracted, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

“All right.” He takes a steadying breath to stop his voice from hitching though he knows he’s not convincing anyone. He’s not sure why he’s trying so hard to pretend he’s fine after everything they’ve already talked about. “But are you really sure if you want to find out if my opinion of the boys in blue can sink any lower?”

Rex laughs, and flicks Cody’s ear with the hand at his shoulder.

“I think you mean ‘one of the most formidable battalions in the GAR.’ You can’t take that back now.”

Cody smiles even as another tear slips down his face.

“The 501st is a battalion of contradictions. They are both incredibly impressive and an ongoing speeder crash.” He gives Rex time to defend his men but Rex can only sigh in defeated agreement. “You might as well put something on then.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” 

Cody mourns the loss of Rex’s arm around him as Rex gets up to collect his datapad. Before Rex can resettle Cody’s comm buzzes from the side table. Rex raises a questioning eyebrow at Cody who nods, and Rex passes him the comm as he sits back down, putting his arm back around Cody’s shoulder.

Wolffe: Are you dying? I love you.

Fox: If he is, I want his liver. You know, as a memento. 

Wolffe: Just fucking go to sleep.

CC-1010 has acknowledged this message. 

“Sithing hells,” he mutters and then offers the comm to Rex to read.

Rex’s eyes widen just a touch. “Fox is a fucking freak, you know that right?”

“It has come up, yes.” Cody smiles fondly at the messages anyway. 

He tosses the comm back to the bedside table. He settles back to watch whatever trash Rex has selected for them and tries to ignore the lead weight in his chest. He’ll work on getting over it tomorrow, tonight he’s just going to let himself be miserable. 

Fox and Wolffe are already waiting outside the bar when Cody and Obi-Wan arrive. In typical fashion something had come up last minute and it was a miracle they were only ten minutes late.

Fox is leaning against a speeder wearing fucking civvies, casual shirt and pants with a frankly rather expensive jacket to round the look of. He apparently wasn’t able to convince himself to completely abandon his roots so he’s still wearing a pair of the heavy combat boots they wear with their greys. He looks annoyingly good; where did he even get the clothes from?

Wolffe is several meters away, arms folded and glaring, like Cody wearing his greys, but unbuttoned which is close to casual clothing as they own.

“Tell him he looks like a fucking asshole Cody,” Wolffe says without breaking his intense stare. It’s almost impressive that Fox found a way to annoy Wolffe so utterly without having to say a word.

Fox smirks and lounges even more casually against the speeder, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Mindful of Obi-Wan, Cody doesn’t do that, but can’t resist some sort of dig. “I hope the Weequay you stole it off isn’t the type to hold a grudge.”

“Jealousy is a bad look on you, Cody,” Fox says and he’s lucky Obi-Wan is here or Cody would have considered pinning him until some of the smug had rubbed off. Wolffe is definitely considering it. 

“I’m always amazed by how sibling relationships seem utterly consistent across so many cultures,” Obi-Wan says, obviously entertained by their bickering. He should be, Cody’s watched him and Skywalker argue just like this.

Wolffe notices Obi-Wan and straightens up, gaze flicking to Cody accusingly, as if he hadn’t asked them if they minded Obi-Wan joining them for a drink, and reminded them this morning. Reminded being a kind term for warning them he’d kill them both when they acted up. 

“General Kenobi, Sir,” Wolffe says, looking like he’s not sure if should salute or not.

“At ease, Wolffe. I promise I’m not going to overstay my welcome, but I would like to buy you all a drink if you’re amenable?” Obi-Wan says. Cody doubts the others can tell, but Obi-Wan is nervous. It’s sweet that he cares about making a good impression on Cody's batchmates, but there’s also something very funny about a Jedi being anxious around a pair of clones.

“Don’t mind him, general, he was left in his tank too long, no manners at all. I’m Commander Fox of the CG, Cody and Wolffe’s older brother,” Fox says, pushing himself off the speeder. “We’d be honoured to have you join us for a drink.”

Wolffe makes a sound of disgust that Cody thinks is loud enough to cover his own matching, albeit more restrained annoyance. 

Obi-Wan smiles and gestures to the bar. It was Obi-Wan’s suggestion, more upscale than Cody has ever been to before, but that really isn’t saying much, but it’s small and quiet, tucked into a corner Cody probably wouldn’t have noticed if Obi-Wan hadn’t pointed it out. It’s not the sort of place someone would pick to get wasted, dance, or pick someone up for casual sex, and therefore not somewhere that has probably ever hosted a clone before.

He might worry about the reception they’d get if it weren’t for Obi-Wan. Sure enough, the woman behind the bar gives Obi-Wan a cheerful wave when she spots him. Obi-Wan smiles back before turning to Cody and his brothers.

“What can I get for the three of you?” 

“Cassandran brandy,” Fox says, without hesitation, which Cody has heard of but never tried. He thinks it’s been served at some of the fancy dinners Obi-Wan seems to find himself in.

Wolffe rarely actually drinks but he’d picked up a taste for some non-alcoholic fruit drink since leaving Kamino. Cody knows because he’s seen Wolffe put Bly in a headlock for teasing him about it. But Wolffe is a man who likes his reputation. 

“I’ll have a beer, thank you, Sir. Whatever the bartender recommends,” Wolffe says and he glances at Cody as if to check he said the right thing; as if Cody knows.

“I’ll trust your judgement,” Cody says, because he supposes like Wolffe he’s unsure of the social rules in a place like this and doesn’t want to accidentally make a fool of himself. If Obi-Wan guesses at his motivation he doesn’t call him out on it. 

“Go take a seat, I’ll get our drinks,” Obi-Wan says, and claps Cody on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” Cody says.

“Obi-Wan” Fox mouths at him, looking positively gleeful. Wolffe’s also at risk of forgetting he’s meant to be scowling at Fox.

Cody glares at both of them behind Obi-Wan’s back. He’s already regretting agreeing to this, there’s no way he’s living with his pride intact. 

“Where did you get a taste for brandy?” he asks Fox instead, trying to change the subject as they slide into a booth that is suspiciously not sticky. Cody takes the corner and Wolffe boxes him in, meaning Obi-Wan will be next to Fox. Cody isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“I haven’t, but I’m not paying, and I want to know what the fuss is about. The senators are all very into it, and you know me. I’ll just do anything to earn their respect.” 

“Maybe I should have gone more fancier too,” Wolffe says, looking over to where Obi-Wan is leaning against the bar.

“It could be worse, Wolffey. You could have had Obi-Wan order for you.”

“Good point. What the fuck, Cody?” Wolffe is cheering up, typical that it’s at Cody’s expense. 

“Fuck both of you. He’s only buying you assholes drinks because I invited him and this is the thanks I get?”

“Good point. You should get rejected by Jedi more often, Cody. If it gets us free drinks out of it.” Fox says, but he’s watching Cody closely, carefully testing the water.

Cody throws a coaster at him, which bounces harmlessly off his shoulder.

Fox smiles then, small and calculating. Cody should have played up that he was still utterly devastated just to avoid the bullying.

“Take it easy though,” he says, because he is trying to be better at talking to Fox, before lines are crossed.

Fox nods and Wolffe kicks his boot under the table.

Obi-Wan returns with a smile and a tray with four drinks, passing them out. He places a tall glass in front of Cody, filled with a pale amber liquid with bubbles rising from the bottom and clinging to the sides. Obi-Wan puts a matching drink down beside Fox and sits down.

Cody takes a cautious mouthful. It’s much better than the shit he normally drinks, and better than whatever Fox had forced on him.

“This is good,” he says, trying not to sound surprised.

Obi-Wan looks pleased. “It’s from Chandrila. I developed a taste for it while working there in the early days of my knighthood.”

 Cody takes another drink and looks over to Fox whose eyebrows have raised just a fraction; at least he’s pleased with what Cody suspects was a very expensive choice.

“Thank you, Sir,” Wolffe says, taking a sip of his own drink.

“Please, Obi-Wan is fine.”

“You’re not going to win that argument,” Cody said, sparing Wolffe the awkwardness of deciding if it was better to disobey or not.

“I won with you,” Obi-Wan points out rather smugly.

“That isn’t the point,” Cody says.

Fox talks at the exact same moment and louder. “Cody has always been the pushover of the three of us.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Obi-Wan says, and Cody has never wanted to know more what impression Obi-Wan is getting about someone from the force than in that moment. Well, he supposes he’d like to know what impression he gives off, but Fox is a close second. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Fox.”

And Fox, the utter piece of shit that he is, curls his lip. “We’ve met before, General Kenobi. During the Cromas Investigation. I suggested you allow my people to help but you assured me the Jedi had everything under control. I believe it was right before you fell off your speeder.”

Wolffe stares at him with slightly wide eyes while Cody chokes on his own saliva.

Fox maintains perfect eye-contact, blinking innocently.

And Obi-Wan is grinning in response. “Quite right, Commander. My apologies.”

Cody kicks Fox under the table, and he doesn’t yelp but it’s close. It does nothing to wipe the expression off his face though.

Obi-Wan looks between them, eyebrows carefully raised. “Something wrong, Fox.”

“Nothing, he’s fine,” Cody answers for him. 

Wolffe rolls his eyes with a sigh, apparently wanting to pretend he’s the voice of reason in front of a superior officer. 

Obi-Wan continues to take it all in stride. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance more informally too, Wolffe. Master Plo sings your praises very highly.”

Wolffe shifts a little and scowls down at his drink. Cody knocks their knees together under the table. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says, sounding about as surly as Cody has ever heard him. Obi-Wan at least seems unperturbed. How long had it taken General Plo to get Wolffe comfortable accepting praise? Cody wishes he could have been around for those early days. Fox smells blood in the water.

“He’s not wrong,” Fox says, swirling his bandy like he was born to mingle with the elite. “With your record if the General was willing to give you up you’d have Cody’s job by now.”

Wolffe switches his glare from his drink to Fox.

“You aren’t in line, Commander?” Obi-Wan asks, seeming delighted by their antics, looking between them all.

“Who says I wasn’t asked first?” Fox asks. “I turned them down and put in a good word for Twenty-Four.”

“Banthashit,” Cody says. 

Fox smiles wider and Cody knows he’s lying but raises to the bait anyway, because he can, because it’s fun, because it makes Fox happy to have someone to argue with.

“Want to compare military records, Fox’kia ?” He asks.

“Only one person here wasn’t at Geonosis,” Wolffe points out.

Fox turns to Obi-Wan, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “He had a broken finger-” 

“Arm,” Cody interjects.

“-tripped over his own feet while sparring.” Fox says, not even pausing for Cody’s interruption.

“You hadn’t told me that story, Cody,” Obi-Wan says, and this was a mistake. He’d been so concerned with them not getting along he hadn’t considered the far more terrifying prospect of them getting along too well.

Balls.

“It’s a boring story,” Cody insists.

“Fox tells it best,” Wolffe says and he isn’t wrong, but it’s not helpful.

Fox has Obi-Wan’s full attention and Cody sinks in his chair sulking dramatically, fighting back a smile. It’s been way too long since the three of them were together.

***

“-So Cody tackles her,” Obi-Wan says, gesturing animatedly. “She’s mid-speech, Cody and I are still unarmed and I have a concussion, and Cody just throws himself at her. There were a dozen guards in the room but no one had really predicted this and by the time they have reacted to what’s happening, Cody has wrestled away my lightsaber. He just spins it around like it isn’t his first time holding one and they surrender on the spot.”

Cody laughs, even as he flushes. He almost cut off his darm head with that. He’d expected it to feel like holding a staff but hadn’t at all prepared for the unique weight to the blade.

Fox snorts. “You better hope Seventeen never hears that one, Cody. He’d have you run laps until you died. Flashy is just stupid and lucky, and not a damn one of you will be lucky for long.” 

Wolffe and Cody share a look. That sounded far too much like Seventeen for comfort.

“Have you been practising that impression?” Cody asks.

“I use it on the shinies,” Fox says. “I like to keep them on their toes.”

Obi-Wan laughs and drains the dregs of his second drink.

“Thank you for letting me join the three of you, but  I think it’s time I left you to it. Enjoy your night, commanders.” He pulls a card from his tunic and places it down on the table. “Please, on me.”

“Obi-Wan, that isn’t necessary, I assure you.”

This time Fox kicks Cody, catching his shin. Between stifling down a curse and trying to kick Fox back, Cody realises this was why Fox had chosen to keep his boots on.

“I insist, you’ve all earned some fun.” Obi-Wan stands, cutting off any further argument, and apparently aware enough of sibling dynamics to be unconcerned about two of the most decorated clones in the GAR squabbling like children. 

Obi-Wan claps Cody’s shoulder as he passes, leaving three brothers alone with access to more money than any of them had ever had before.

The card sits in the middle of the table between them and the tension between them is suddenly heavier than any standoff with guns Cody has ever found himself in. He knows what Fox is planning, and he knows he has to stop it. Wolffe is the wild card.

“Wolffe,” Fox says, utterly confident.

Fucking shit balls.

Cody lunges for the card at the same time as Fox does, and only a faction behind them Wolffe tackles Cody. Wolffe sends them both hard into the corner of the booth. Cody curses and squirms but by the time he pushes Wolffe off him it’s too late.

Across the table Fox grins triumphantly, holding the card between his fingers.

“You’re going to get us all decommissioned,” Cody says, shoving Wolffe again for good measure.

“Have a little faith, Cody,” Fox says, in a way that inspires exactly none. “I’m just gonna buy us a few drinks, as Obi-Wan said we could. Your general trusts us, 

“He trusts me. ”

Fox stands up. “Hmm? Guess We better hope you don’t betray that trust then.”

Cody glares at Fox’s back as he heads up to the bar.

“When I get hauled up to explain myself over why we bankrupted a Jedi, I’m bringing you down with me Wolffe. I’ll tell General Plo what you did here.” He’s joking. Mostly. Obi-Wan is a smart man, you didn’t need the force to know that leaving Fox with a line of credit was a costly affair, but he’s still worried that Fox will find a way to exceed all risk assessments. 

Wolffe grins, and it’s nice to see him so carefree for once. “I’m a good boy these days. He wouldn’t believe you.”

Cody laughs at that. Wolffe certainly has come into his own, but no one would ever mistake him for being above a little chaos.

“You complained so much when you were assigned to him. Thought you’d been stuck with the boring Jedi.”

Wolffe shrugs, looking a little embarrassed at his initial judgement. 

“He’s exactly what I needed. I’m happier than when I was constantly butting heads to prove myself.”

Fox sits back down opposite Cody, placing down three glasses but not giving up the bottle of wine or Obi-Wan’s credits.

“Happy’s a nice look on you,” Fox says.

“Well slept is a good look on you,” Wolffe says back with a grin that’s all teeth.

“Like we know what he looks like well slept,” Cody points out.

“I’m just levelling the playing field. I get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep and it’s over for all of you.” Fox says and fills the glasses while Cody glares at the bottle. It looks expensive.

“How much did that cost?” Cody asks, dreading the answer.

“Don’t ask questions you do-”

“I swear, Fox, I will kill you in this bar. How much?”

“I didn’t ask.” And Fox looks so pleased with himself it takes every ounce of strength in Cody’s body not to make good on his threat.

Wolffe snorts.

“I hate you so much.”

“I have comm messages to the contrary, baby brother. Saved and backed up,” Fox says gleefully. “Thorn has orders that if I die under suspicious circumstances they are to be forwarded to every CC in GAR.”

“I don’t remember him being this much on Kamino,” Cody says.

“I do,” Wolffe says and Fox laughs.

There’s a single beat of silence.

“He seems nice enough,” Fox says, tilting his head at Obi-Wan’s empty seat.

“I can’t believe you insulted him,” Cody groans. The full glass of wine is still sitting right in front of him and is tempting enough that only his innate need to avoid giving Fox any kind of satisfaction prevents him from drinking it.

“He liked it,” Wolffe points out unhelpfully.

“Cody, my boy, I read his full file the day you got assigned to him, again when I heard you were pining, and again this morning. The man flirts with the enemy, I figured he’d appreciate a little friendly shit talking.”

“You prepped for this?” Wolffe ask

“I prep before going on a caf break, Wolffe. I will never be caught not knowing what the fuck is going on.”

“You’re so fucking weird, Fox,” Cody says.

“You’re the one who invited your crush for drinks with me, if anyone’s a freak it’s you,” Fox takes a swig of his drink.

“Former crush,” Cody corrects a little too fast.

Fox manages to drag up whatever shreds of tact he has swilling around in his brain and doesn't push it. Wolffe is less generous, his eyebrows coming together in a frown.

“Really?” he asks.

“Mostly,” Cody says because lying would get him nowhere. “Sometimes it sneaks up on me, but we’re getting there.”

He thinks it‘s true. It feels true. There’s a lingering something that still has a grip on his chest but it’s manageable. Certainly he and Obi-Wan are closer now than they were before. It’s nice.

“And you’re what, friends now?” Wolffe scrunches up his nose a little.

“Something like that,” Cody says.

“Friends are people who like to spend time with you,” Wolffe says to Fox.

“Did you Dadtell you that?” Fox drawls and has his second coaster of the night thrown at him.

Cody smiles but it’s too sincere to match the mood his brothers are setting. Fucking idiots the pair of them. All three of them if he’s being honest. The Kaminoans couldn’t have had a single hand finger in any of this. They’d wanted soldiers and instead they’d got people, wonderful, dumb as fuck, people. Cody loves them both so much.

“Aren’t you two going to even try it?” Fox asks, taking another sip of his wine. “It’s good, worth every credit your general paid for it.”

“This isn’t what he meant when he told us to enjoy ourselves.” Cody stares at the drink. It would be a shame to waste it.

“If you don’t I’ll just have to drink it myself.” Fox reaches for Cody’s glass.

“The bottle is already open,” Cody concedes, pulling his glass out of Fox’s reach. Fox smiles broadly, and Cody should really know to take that as a warning.

But one drink can’t hurt.

***

Cody wakes as the surface under him shifts. He tries to fight it, nuzzling into the warmth with a sleepy grumble but the movement becomes more insistent.

“ Cody,” Rex hisses, poking his shoulder. “I know you’re awake.”

“’m not.” Rex’s shoulder is a little damp under his mouth. Oops.

Rex continues trying to extract himself from under Cody cursing as Cody tries to cling to his heat source. Someone else grunts from behind Cody and it’s his turn to be pulled into a sleepy cuddle. More awake now, Cody can recognise Fox by that new soap he’s using. Which means the other person in the bed, who Cody can only tell is there because of one hand tangled in his shirt at his waist must be Wolffe. That mostly adds up, he remembers going out with Fox and Wolffe. Why is Rex here though?

Fox is also waking up, and moving around behind Cody.

“Cody,” Fox asks, disdain dripping from every word. “Why is there a CT in my bed? Do you even know where he’s been?”

“Where I’ve been?” Rex finally manages to slip from Cody’s grasp and escapes the bed entirely. Cody flops into the warm patch of mattress he left behind. “I practically have to scoop the three of you out of your own vomit and you’re worried about where I’ve been.”

Fox’s grip on Cody tightens and Cody is too tired for any of this.

“Why are you here?” Cody asks, trying to cut off an argument before it starts. Now Rex mentions it, he does vaguely remember Rex showing up towards the end of the night, but that doesn’t explain why he stayed.

“Someone wouldn’t let me leave after I poured your sorry asses into bed.”

“You’re so needy, Cody,” Wolffe says, voice muffled by whatever his face is pressed into, either Fox’s pillow or Fox himself. “Can’t sleep without your little comfort Trooper.”

“It wasn’t Cody that insisted I stay, Sir .” 

Cody frowns.

“Wolffe said my hair was soft and wouldn’t stop petting it,” Rex sounds painfully embarrassed, already regretting bringing it up.

Fox makes a delighted sound while Wolffe groans.

“Awh, you wanted to share your big brother’s CT, Wolffey?” Fox taunts. 

“Shut up!” The mattress bounces as Wolffe throws himself on top of Fox with a growl. Any chance of Cody going back to sleep is shattered as the pair wrestle clumsily behind him. 

“Wolffe if you bite me I’ll piss in your boots!” 

Cody winces; Fox should know better. Wolffe hasn’t seriously bitten anyone since that incident in training that helped him earn his name, the only time he does it now is when-

Fox yelps. 

-Is when he’s actively goaded into it.

Cody groans and scrambles out of bed away from the nonsense. His blacks are pushed to his waist, the upper half tired in the most pathetic attempt at a knot he thinks he’s ever seen. From the light streaming in the small window it’s at least midday, possibly already into the afternoon. They must have gotten trashed last night.

He undoes the knot and pulls the upper part of his blacks over his arms, resealing them over his chest.

Rex is watching him like he’s considering abandoning the last shred of respect he still had for Cody.

“Here.” Rex passes Cody a comm. Cody’s comm. “You kept messaging people. Trust me, it was for your own good.” 

Fuck.

“Do I want to look?” Cody asks.

There’s another yelp from behind them, Wolffe this time, and Cody turns, sees Fox straddling Wolffe beating his face with a pillow, and turns away again. 

“Oh, you’ll find out what was sent whether you want to look or not. Waxer was vibrating off the walls in excitement when I saw him.” But Rex is smiling, and not in the way Fox smiles, but like how this might be embarrassing but Cody probably hasn’t done anything truly mortifying.

Unless.

A bone chilling thought occurs.

“I didn’t comm Obi-Wan did I?”

Rex laughs. “Not that I can tell. You were very proud of your restraint. You talked about it at length.”

Cody is never drinking with Fox or Wolffe again.

Fox escapes the bed, leaving Wolffe laughing in his wake. Rex swears under his breath as Fox brushes past Cody, naked as the day he was decanted, and starts digging through his drawers for some fresh clothes.

“Why are you still here, Trooper?” he asks, not turning around.

“Do not engage,” Cody hisses but the events of the previous night have apparently changed Rex.

“Thorn says you’re even, Fox.” Fox. Not sir, not even commander.

Fox scoffs. “Like hell we are.”

“The three of you almost got arrested by both the CSF and by your own guard. Thorn and I pulled off a fucking miracle avoiding the scandal of you three fuckers ending up in a cell.”

“Huh.” Fox considers the new information while Cody and Wolffe exchange horrified glances. “What did we do that was worth arresting us?”

Cody doesn’t want to know. The comm burns in his hand.

“Vandalism, public nudity,” —Rex marks them off on his fingers— “resisting arrest, theft, breach of the peace,  assau-” He spins to face Wolffe. “What the fuck is your problem with Ponds?”

If Wolffe had been embarrassed when Rex had brought up his apparent interest in Rex’s hair it’s nothing to how red he goes at that question.

“Commander Ponds is an excellent officer and I have nothing but respect for him.”

“You got into a fist fight with two troopers from the 91st over your apparent long standing hatred of the man.” 

Wolffe glares and says nothing.

“Cody?” Rex asks.

“He and Ponds had a dumb argument as cadets,” Cody says, because he will not be the one to sell Wolffe out.

“Tell him what the argument was about, Wolffe,” Fox says. He’s dressed now and digging through his kitchen cupboards instead. “Tell him or I will.”

“He said wolves were lame,” Wolffe mutters, avoiding eye-contact.

Rex looks exhausted.

“We were three,” Cody clarifies but it does nothing to change Rex’s expression.

“Why is there no fucking food, in my fucking kitchen?” Fox slams a cupboard closed and boils the kettle instead, a tub of instant caf now out on the counter.

“The point,” Rex says, “is that Thorn managed to make sure that whole shit show won’t be linked back to any of you, and I got you all back here with all your limbs attached. Fox, you and Thorn are even. Cody, I will be collecting on this later.”

“Thank you,” Cody says, because who the hell knows what he did to end up with a brother willing to go through that for him.

Rex’s face softens. “Course, Cody. I’m glad you had fun.”

“Probably too much fun,” Cody says, and Rex laughs. He really does look tired, he probably got very little sleep, but he also seems happy.

The buzzer for the door goes off and Cody jumps a little.

“That’ll be Waxer and Boil,” Rex says. “They said they were on their way.”

Fox spins on the spot, staring at his door. “Is there any Trooper left in the GAR who doesn’t know where I live? Are they gonna stink up my bed too?”

“We brought lunch!” Waxer yells.

Cody is already opening the door while Fox mutters something about allowing it just this one time.

“Commander,” Boil walks past him carrying a stack of takeout containers.

“Hi Cody,” Waxer says, looking far more hesitant about entering.

“Fox hasn’t had caf yet, he’s harmless,” Cody assures him.

“I hope you both get your dicks caught between your armour plates,” Fox says but noticeably doesn’t move away from the slowly heating water. 

Boil is already passing out food when Cody and Waxer turn around and a minute later all six of them are sitting around the room, Wolffe and Cody on the couch, Rex, Waxer and Boil around Fox’s table, and Fox himself perched on the counter next to his kettle. The food is warm and greasy and exactly what Cody needs. 

There is a companionable silence for several minutes as they all make quick work of their food. It’s so painfully normal and for a while the war outside, the one they will all be returning to soon enough, simply doesn’t exist. 

“Did you know, I’m one of the most talented men Marshal Commander Cody has ever had the privilege of working with?” Waxer breaks the silence, smiling brightly.

It seems like it was time to bring up Cody’s ill advised comm messages.

“He also said your facial hair was the reason he drinks,” Boil says, nudging Waxer’s knee with his own.

“He was talking about yours,” Waxer says.

“I guarantee he was talking about both of you,” Wolffe says around his food. 

“I told you I confiscated your comm for a reason,” Rex says, sounding terribly pleased with himself.

Cody groans. “What else did I say?”

Wolffe is leaning into his side, his eyes half closed, head risking falling on to Cody’s shoulder, but is paying just enough attention to follow the conversation. He elbows Cody with an entertained huff of laughter.

“You apparently think we’re both complete disasters and the pride of the 212th,” Boil says and shoves some more food into his mouth, leaving sauce on his chin.

At least on that assessment, Cody can’t disagree with his drunken self.

“You were talking shit about our armour designs in one message, and gushing about our potential to be officers in the next.” Waxer says.

“Real emotional whiplash,” Boil mostly manages to say around his lunch.

The kettle finishes boiling, finally, and Fox turns on the spot, bringing his legs up to sit cross-legged on the counter, making himself a cup that from Cody’s angle looks to be almost more caf than water. 

“You should have taken my comm sooner,” Cody says to Rex who shrugs, making a poor effort at fighting back a grin.

“You’re going to have to look eventually,” Fox says without looking up from the other mugs of caf he’s busying himself with.

“Did you send anything?” Cody asks.

“I sent one comm to Thire saying he was in charge and if anyone asked for me personally to say I had contracted the plague and was shitting myself to death.” Fox says, slipping down the floor gripping three mugs of caf. “Oh, and one to Hound saying if I could have made Grizzer a sergeant instead of him I would have. But I tell him that at least twice a week.”

Fox holds out the mugs to Cody. “Blue one’s yours, white is Wolffe.” 

“Thanks.”

Wolffe takes his between his hands, staring at it blearily. 

Cody takes a mouthful. It’s warm, and strong, and has just the right amount of cream in it. It also tastes like shit. He drinks some more.

“None for us?” Rex asks, looking very much like he already knows the answer.

“No, make your own,” Fox asks. Rex sighs and stands.

“Wolffe?” Cody nudges his brother.

“Hmm?” Wolffe looks up from his caf blinking at Cody.

“Did you comm anyone last night?”

“Why would I comm anyone?”

Cody sighs. “Why am I the only person who sent comms?”

“Stop whining and look at the messages, Cody.” Fox says, perching on the arm of the couch a prime vantage point to read over Cody’s shoulder.

With a sigh, Cody opens his comm. He sent a lot by the looks of it.

He opens one at random.

Cody: Sitrep?????????????????????

Gregor: The boys are all accounted for! Having fun?

Cody: My drink is purple.

Gregor: Nice! Drink one for me!

Wolffe makes a noise of disgust. “I remember that drink. I think it made me vomit.”

“Show us another,” Fox says.

“You know I can do this later, in private, without the fucking audience?” Cody says, but he won’t, because Fox is smiling broadly like he’s forgotten he has a reputation to maintain, and Wolffe is leaning heavily into his side, head on Cody’s shoulder, still just holding his caf rather than actually drinking it.

Cody feels a familiar tightness in his chest and he looks down at his comm again before it can show on his face.

How bad can Wooley have been?

Cody: Don’t tell the others, but I like the mohawk.

Wooley: I know, sir.

Apparently very bad.

“You seeing this, Fox?” Wolffe mumbles.

“I have a razor in my fresher,” Fox says, pinching at some of the hair on the side of Cody’s head. Cody slaps his arm away but Fox only laughs, ruffling his hair.

“What are you going to use a razor for?”Waxer asks cautiously, and if Cody didn’t know he was about to be butt of everyone’s jokes, he might have felt a little bad about how successfully Fox has put the fear of Prime into Waxer.

“The Commander likes your idiot friend’s mohawk. We’re gonna give him one to match.”

“ Cody,” Rex says as if he hadn’t once shaved blue stripes into his hair. 

“After you had the balls to talk shit about my moustache,” Boil laughs.

“It was that fucking purple drink.” It isn’t, Cody thinks Wooley is making the mohawk work, but there’s a reason he’s never expressed that opinion where anyone can hear him.

“You sent it about an hour after Kenobi left,” Wolffe unhelpfully points out, half asleep and still causing problems. “Way before the purple drink.”

“Fuck you, and the tank you came out of.”

Fox leans over and selects another set of messages.

Cody: Fox says you should work on your stitches and that the scar’s ugly. Wolffe says it’s distinguished.

Butcher:  If I’m on vomit clean up duty again I’ll make sure the next one comes out even worse. I won’t even use a medical stapler, I’ll find the ones they use to attach cables to walls.

Cody: I like it. You did a great job.

Butcher: Enjoy your night, Commander.

“It’s been almost a year. Why is everyone still so obsessed with my scar?” Cody has vague memories of the conversation, mostly laughing and threatening to give Fox one to match. 

“They’re just jealous,” Waxer says. “It looks good.”

“You think I’m ugly, trooper?” Now caffeinated, Fox is eyeing up an increasingly nervous looking Waxer.

“Uh, no, Sir?” 

Cody nudges Fox hard enough he almost falls off the arm of the chair. He pulls up a new set of messages to distract him, and hopefully spare Waxer.

Cody: Rex

Rex: Yes?

Cody: Rex

Cody: Rex

Cody: Rex

Cody: Rex

Cody: Rex

Rex: What, Cody?

Cody: I love you.

Rex: I’m coming to get you. Stay put. Don’t do anything else illegal. 

Rex: Pass that onto Fox and Wolffe.

“Absolutely sickening,” Fox says but Cody smiles anyway. He meets Rex’s gaze across the room, raising the comm. Rex rolls his eyes but returns Cody’s grin.

Wolffe’s breathing evens out, his whole weight pressed up against Cody.

"Give me his caf before he spills it,” Fox says, and Cody pulls the mug from Wolffe’s unresisting hands, passing it over to Fox who stands, wandering back over to the kitchen. He dumps more caf into the mug and starts on that one too.

Alone, Cody pulls open the one message he has unread from Obi-Wan, sent sometime in the midmorning. 

Obi-Wan: I hope you had a pleasant evening, Cody. The three of you deserve to have some fun. I hope you didn’t cause Rex too much of a headache.”

Cody smiles and closes the comm, tucking it away.

He should feel guilty, or at least embarrassed, but Cody finds himself not caring in the slightest. If they did rack up a bill that’s too exuberant Fox will figure out a way to make it up to Obi-Wan. He’s good at that sort of thing. If Thorn and Rex are even put out that he kept them up all night, Cody will buy them both a drink and they’ll forgive him, and laugh at his dumbassery. 

He’s surrounded by people he loves and has countless more scattered across the galaxy. In many ways, he’s a very lucky man.