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There's a hole in his brain. Something was taken out of him by long sharp and vicious claws.
His world is one full of darkness. He is so, so alone, even while surrounded by others. Because they are not people, they are things . Objects, property. That's why no one looks at him for too long–his eyes are glazed over, his posture straight. A statue. Not a full being, one with life behind its eyes.
CC-2224 might have been alive once. But although his heart still beats, it is cold. He may still take breath but he does not dare take more. Yet in the back of his mind, there is the part of him that stirs awake but is not quite there, like waking off a sedative. It sees the world pass through his eyes like a window pane and cries and aches. Aches for everything he does not know. The warmth of life; the warmth of sentience.
Of self-control.
Between the speed of blaster fire and the tremor of explosive blasts, his training takes over. His purpose as a soldier to the Empire. He knows he shouldn't look over his shoulder, a sharpened gaze scanning the land for a certain flash of red hair. He shouldn't scan the ground for the unmissable sight of a weapon, hand twitching down to his belt. Yet the part of him that stirs, wiggles like a tectonic plate beneath an inactive volcano, makes him.
It makes him shove a cloth into his men's wounds. It makes him look the other way at a child making a break for safety. It makes him hesitate in the most crucial moments.
It lets a blaster bolt breeze by a little too close. It lets the detonator get pressed a little too soon. It lets his cover be a little too insufficient.
CC-2224 knows his purpose, to live and die by the Emperor's reign.
But, the something taken from his brain and the part of him that lives in the crater left behind, wants something different.
It wants a new purpose, one shaped by his own willpower. A new Glory.
Kote, the Original grinned. That will be your kote.
Cody, his brother whispered. You've made it your own.
It wants something of its own.
"Commander, dear?" The red hair he looks for says. "Are you alright?"
Who has ever asked that of CC-2224? Never has someone needed to. How does he respond? –he isn't supposed to answer such meaningless questions, not when it isn't tactical–
No, I'm not.
CC-2224 carefully stills, heart beating an unusual rhythm. Too quick to be anything less than panicked. Nothing feels right; nothing ever did, but now it is in a different way. Suddenly, the person from the hole in his brain is awake.
That wasn't a programmed thought.
It was his.
His bucket is gone, the familiar HUD not there to hide his face. No one takes their buckets off; maybe once, they did, but not anymore. Never, now that everyone openly expresses their displeasure at their unnerving appearances. Their purpose is meant as a faceless army, not a people.
The red haired man, with stormy blue eyes that gaze upon him so tenderly, is meeting his eyes. Hands hovering over his shoulder pauldrons, so close to touching him. "Cody?" he says, lips forming over the name so naturally, as if it is meant to address him.
"Yessir." CC-2224 says the only thing he can think of. Nothing more. He isn't supposed to.
A flash of disappointment falls over the man's face before he wipes it away, hovering hands retreating. They get tucked into his large billowing sleeves instead. He's upset, the General does that when he is upset.
The man– Obi-Wan the thing in the hole says. No, CC-2224 thinks, Obi-Wan is dead. I killed him.
But the man before him looks at him with such gentle affection, an unfamiliar sight for a clone. So overwhelming, that gaze of blue eyes, like the man knows him and sees more than a weapon.
He can't be him. CC-2224 doesn't move, but neither does the man in front of him. I shot him.
CC-2224 recalls nothing with emotion. Mission reports are given effectively and to the point; the death tolls don't matter to high command, nor do the recounts of sentients wracked with tremors as they stare down the barrel of his blaster. It is befitting of his nature as a product that he has no feelings, it would only affect his performance. He should have no emotions.
So why is shaking so similar to those in the face of death? Why now–not when he is being shot at, but now, in front of a face full of tender concern, is he terrified ?
Red hair–it shimmers beautifully in the sunlight, but there is no sun currently; only fluorescent white light panels. The man with red hair and fair skin tips his head down slightly. "Whatever it may be..." He says, carefully as he thinks about each word. "I hope you know I am here if you want me."
CC-2224 doesn't respond. Can't, not without choking from the hand squeezing his windpipe, not unlike the way his fellow soldiers have been choked while lifted in the air. He can't look at the man that looks too much like that general, the man who haunts every move he should not make.
The beat of silence is long. Maybe the man was waiting for a response. But when it is obvious none is coming, the man continues. "I can take over some of your duties right now. Go get some rest, Commander. I believe Rex should be in the barracks by now."
An order. An unfamiliar one, but one nonetheless. CC-2224 takes the dismissal, saluting, before turning on his heel to go– somewhere… The barracks, the man said. His boots tap quietly against the steel panelling and he makes turns with an unfamiliar certainty. As he goes, other clone soldiers appear, not looking strung tight by the Empire's watchful staff. One pair of clones walk side by side, paying him no mind as they converse about patterns that look good in orange paint. It goes against regulations to paint their armor, or communicate with each other outside of the line of duty. They are going to get killed if a nat-born sees.
But they look happy.
CC-2224 sharply inhales and quickens his step. He aches for his bucket to hide his face, and it isn't just that dimly there part of him that aches for it– he wants it.
Caught in the swirling storm of what is inside of him, he barely registers the journey to his destination. His feet stop unbiddenly, a hand moving up to the keypad to open the door before he can stop himself.
The doors slide open to reveal a large room full of bunks. Some have been pushed to the wall, the mattresses dragged to the center of the floor to be covered in extra blankets and pillows. Piles of bodies wearing nothing but their kutes laze; close, touching, relaxed. Some pop their heads up to give him a cursory glance, while others lie dead to the world around them, safe in another's arms.
And CC-2224–
Kote– no, Cody stares.
Slowly, the shadow of a person climbs out of the crater, therefore leaving it to be filled.
"Codes?" Someone calls from a bunk with its mattress untouched. A clone, but a blonde one, looks up from his datapad. "You gonna stand there all night or what?"
CT-7567 , he mouths silently and he watches his brother's face contort in displeasure and confusion. The number belongs to Rex. Rex is dead though. CC-2224–Cody?–hasn't seen him in years. Hasn't thought about him in years, not with Emperor running him through, not with blaster shots whistling in his ears–
...A blaster shot–like the one he shot at Obi-Wan.
Like the one he didn't dodge, the one he let hit above his brow.
Dead. Obi-Wan is dead. Rex is dead. Cody is dead .
He can't breathe.
" Osik !" Rex– Rex , who is in front of him–yelps, jumping up. “ Vod , what’s wrong?”
Is it not obvious? Everything is wrong. Cody remembers it all–it is all coming back to him piece by terrible piece. The Republic-Separatist war, his brothers who have names and not just designations, the Jedi and executing Order Sixty-Six– That is what is wrong. He had forgotten everything he was , everything he wanted to be, and was forced to kill the one man who treated him like he was something special–
The veil has been lifted from his head and the piece of himself that he has been missing for years is back. Inexplicably filling the hole left behind by the Sith. Cody is finally awake and is all too aware and it hurts . Because when was the last time he ever felt such emotions all at once? Felt the grief of loss and difficulty of choice?
The confusion, the anger, the sadness–all of it comes crashing down like a tidal wave aiming to wash him out to sea. His skin itches and his lips tingle at the overwhelming feelings that overcome him because he wants. He wants, he wants, and he wants like he wasn’t made to. He wants his brothers to be people , he wants the Emperor and Darth Vader dead for what they did, he wants his General to smile at him softly one last time–
And he can’t breathe–
“Cody!” Rex is so close to him–touching him at the elbows. Cody can’t push him away even though it burns and burns like a blaster bolt driving through him (– he sees it. He knows he should move if he wants to get this mission completed for the Empire, but he sees it and he can't move, can’t make himself move. He lets it drive through him, and it happens so fast that he can only feel the split second of burn and relief –) because he wants Rex, wants his brother–Cody wants so badly it leaves him paralyzed with terror and grief and all of those bits in between.
“Calm down,” Rex says softly, taking Cody’s hand and placing it on his unarmored chest. “Udesii. Breathe. Just like I am.”
Beneath a gloved palm, Cody can feel the thump of Rex’s heart. His fingers flex over the fabric. Alive and warm, like a person. Because he and his brothers are people .
His brother tugs him gently out of the doorway, letting the door shut automatically behind them. Carefully, Rex pulls them through the room, sidestepping sleeping troopers’ limbs, and places him on the bunk that he was occupying earlier. Cody’s hand grips tightly on the fabric of Rex’s kute, feeling each pump of the other's working heart.
Rex sits beside him then tips them sideways. The blonde’s back is facing the door and the rest of their brothers, crowding Cody against the wall. He finds he likes it, feeling small in his brother's arms and breathing the same pattern.
Cody’s other hand wiggles between them, searching for the thin skin of Rex’s neck that thrums his pulse. Once it is found, his hand doesn’t stray an inch away from it.
There’s a pause between them, where only the inaudible murmurs of the men on the floor are heard. Rex’s brown eyes scan him, instinctively, and there is no doubt that he has already scanned for injuries tenfold. His hand cups Cody’s cheek, thumbing under his eye. It feels wet.
“What’s wrong?” Rex says softly in the space between them. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Cody tries to shake his head, but aborts the action when it almost dislodges Rex’s hand. The skin-to-skin contact tingles but, oh how he has missed it so. He nuzzles the hand and tries to pull the other clone closer. Rex obeys easily, pressing closer into Cody’s armored body. It is in no way comfortable, but Cody can’t find it in him to care, not when Rex is here .
“Codes?” The blonde tries again. “You’re hurting yourself.” His thumb moves down to tug at Cody’s chin. The tug makes his lip hurt, and Cody realises he has been biting down on his bottom lip this whole time. He releases the tender skin, swallowing the blood that pools in his mouth.
“ Hm ,” Cody hums so quietly it’s barely audible. The warmth of another being is intoxicating–especially since it’s his vod’ika. Rex. Cody didn’t know if he was alive; it was just easier to believe Rex was dead and not experiencing the same pain the rest of them were. But now he’s here and so is that man–the one with the red hair and the tender look who called him dear . That man, his General, Obi-Wan.
Is this the afterlife? Cody felt the shot pierce his skull. There is no way he could have survived it, even if the Empire bothered to give him medical attention.
Cody counts the seconds in time with Rex’s pulse.
“...You’re scaring me, ori’vod .” Rex whispers. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not.
Something churns uneasily in Cody. Instead of voicing that though, he swallows dryly before his tongue flicks over his bloody lip. It takes a few tries to find his voice and when he does, it comes out as a croak. “Where… are we?”
“On the Negotiator , in the barracks. Your General and mine have been teamed up to go to Felucia again for the next tenday until another command can be more permanently assigned.” Rex says. “Remember? We left the Core a cycle ago, so we should be approaching the Mid Rim soon.”
Cody exhales slowly into his brother's neck. Felucia. It’s in the Outer Rim Territory. Although, Cody wasn’t sure which time Rex was referring to. The 212th and 501st went there during the war a number of times. Due to its location on the Perlemian Trade Route, the planet had seen a lot of action. Republic and Separatist parties were practically playing a childish game of tug of war with it.
Rex keeps talking. “You and General Kenobi were talking strategies while we were all on the bridge. That must have been… Three hours ago now.”
“And–?” Cody stops himself.
“Anndd…?” Rex pulls back to look him in the eyes.
His brother’s eyes have always been bright with a fire, Cody thinks. A determination to do good by the world and the people in it. He had that flame when he was younger too, when Cody had first taken him under his wing, after the clone’s entire batch had been decommissioned for looking too much like Prime’s dead sister. It’s a beautiful thing, to watch generosity form like a diamond under the cruelest of pressure.
He hopes that fire didn’t die by an ocean, didn’t get extinguished by sharp claws and a hole torn into the other's brain.
If there was anything worth praying for, it would be that Rex died early in the haze that was Order Sixty-Six. Death was by far more merciful than any Sith.
But, beneath his fingertips, Rex’s pulse beats.
“Are we alive?” Cody asks, actually meaning much more than that. Because being alive means living under warm touches and tender gazes. Under the Emperor, Darth Sidious , he may have been breathing, but he was dead in every way that mattered.
He feels more than sees Rex’s quick intake of air, the hand at his jaw moving to squeeze the back of his neck. He pulls him closer, knocking heads in a tender embrace. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re alive right now. You’re here with me and our vod in the Negotiator’s barracks. You can feel me, I can feel you. We’re real.”
Cody shutters. Real.
It’s always so hard to trust that word.
Everything passes slowly. The fog has lifted from his head and suddenly everything has slowed; the way he moves, the way he breathes, the way time passes by. It is like he is moving through molasses compared to before.
But it’s so clear , too. He doesn’t blink and a day has gone by with him standing in a parade rest, knees locked in place but threatening to wobble. No, he just stays in the moment, limp on his side, listening to the noises of the company in the room. He feels every press of his body against Rex’s, every clench of his epiglottis, every deep breath through his nose.
He feels his shaking, too. Rex rubs up and down his back until it lessens.
There’s a few hours of rest with Rex at his side, (he doesn’t sleep, even while Rex begins to snore beside him. Not when the darkness behind his eyes replays that moment on Utapau–) before duty calls for the Captain and Cody can’t lay still without his touch.
The blonde looks apprehensive when they both walk out the door, but doesn’t say anything about it and Cody doesn’t ask him to.
Half on instinct, Cody does a mental run down on things he probably needs to be doing. Most of his duties involve flimsiwork –and doesn’t that cause a revelation, that he is capable of disliking the idea of doing a part of his job. Filled with an overwhelming amount of liberty, he carefully puts some of those objectives mentally to the side–not all, after all he has to fulfill his role as a Marshall Commander, but some. Some still makes his palms sweat, but it makes him feel… like he is rebelling, in some way. Against the Empire.
Either way, he walks the length of the ship, feeling the step of his feet on his floor send jolts up his legs. He’s still missing his bucket–wherever it has gone, he doesn’t remember–but no one pays mind to that as he passes. Saluting with a sharp sir before Cody puts them at ease with a wave of his hand. Some even have their own buckets in their arms.
His feet soon take him to the bridge, the central table filled with a hologram of Felucia. At it, General Kenobi stands, hand stroking his beard in contemplation. The man looks up as soon as he enters his view, the Jedi no doubt sensing him coming from doors away, with his lips pressed together.
Cody goes cold as their eyes meet and he quickly turns away, moving to the other side of the room to stand at a radar scanner. It’s empty of course, there would be an alert if it wasn’t.
“Hey,” Someone–Waxer–crowds his shoulder, speaking lowly. “What happened between you and the General?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Cody. General Kenobi looked like a kicked tooka yesterday and now you're here staring at an empty panel instead of him.” He says. “ Something happened.”
Cody doesn’t respond, biting his lip before quickly aborting the action as it aggravates the wound already there. There’s no doubt that news of his little… fit has already made its rounds throughout the ship. It was in their nature to share information, and while they were still on Kamino, gossip spread like a wildfire. It made sense that word could spread even faster on a–still large, but much smaller than Tipoca City–ship.
However, it was news to him that Obi-Wan was visibly upset enough that the others had taken notice. Usually, the man kept it well hidden.
The other clone pokes him between the gaps of his armor. “You can’t even look at him.” He says, sounding halfway suspicious and accusatory.
Cody holds his breath, hoping to push the other away by pure will alone. Because , no, he can’t. When he looks at his General, it only reminds him of pointing his blaster at the man, giving the order to–
Waxer takes him by the elbow, pulling him taught. Cody instinctively straightens up, goes still as the others get in his face. “ Commander . Whatever happened, is it worth throwing this mission?” Waxer’s hold on Cody’s arm is starting to hurt. “We don’t need you distracted. Figure it out with your General or I’m requesting your removal from this mission.”
It’s an empty threat, Waxer can’t actually do that while being ranked below him, but it gets the point across. Cody is distracted. Even if this is some sort of limbo between life and death, a sloppy Marshall Commander leads to a sloppy army.
So he holds his head up and releases his breath steadily. “Yes sir.”
Waxer holds his gaze, searching for something. He must find it, because he nods and releases his grip. “Go, then. I can hold down the fort.”
Before Cody can do anything so much as hesitate, Waxer takes him by the scruff and virtually shoves him towards the central table. The scuff of his boots at the movement catches the attention of others, including the General, and Cody mentally curses Waxer. Keeping his pride, he straightens up and marches towards the Jedi Master.
“Sir,”
“Commander,” Obi-Wan dips his head, a Jedi facade of calm masking his expressions, but there is a gleam of something in his eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“May I speak with you? Privately.”
Obi-Wan absorbs the request quietly, eyes flicking down to the strategy board before coming back up to meet Cody’s. “Of course.” He says, finally, moving away from the table. “We can talk in my quarters.”
With a nod, Cody follows his General back through the ship where the private chambers are located. The Jedi, and the occasional guest, are really the only ones who inhabit the area. Even though certain ranks do warrant private quarters, like Cody’s, the rooms aren’t hardly used due to the familiarity of sleeping together in the barracks. Never minding that interdependency was written into their DNA, it was what the clones grew up with on Kamino, so it is what was most comfortable. They took comfort when they could in a war, so this area was unused and unfamiliar.
But, Obi-Wan’s room is familiar. Achingly so.
It’s small compared to any room not on a star destroyer, but it’s filled with more amenities than what any clone would get. There's a desk full of clutter and datapads, a small kitchenette with a kettle at the ready, a robe thrown over the back of the office chair and another chair used specifically by Cody when he visits. The bed is made, with multiple thin blankets overtop each other.
A potted plant hangs in the corner with a growth light pointed at it. Obi-Wan once said it used to belong to his Master. All the other plants Qui-Gon Jinn left in his General’s care have died, except for this one, which keeps itself alive by the tips of its spindly limbs.
“Oh, I nearly forgot.” the General grabs something from off the counter and spins around to hand it to him. “You forgot your helmet at the command center last night, so I thought I would secure its safety for you.”
Cody takes it, eyes scanning over it absently. The orange painted plastoid looks up at him, well taken care of but still scuffed after many so campaigns. He had been yearning for the item earlier, but now that he is face to face with it, he... suddenly doesn’t want to be confined, defined, by it.
“Commander?” Obi-Wan quietly asks when Cody puts his bucket back down on the counter. It can stay where it is for now. “Are you alright?”
Cody pauses, a plethora of emotions swirling like a cyclone inside of him. For the first time, he voices the thought that first appears in his head when asked that question. “...No, I’m not. That’s why I’m here.”
The other man stays dutifully quiet, and when Cody finally works up the courage to look up from the floor, Obi-Wan is gazing at with kind glittering eyes.
“I- I think…” Obi-Wan doesn't bring attention to his stutter even though Cody mentally berates himself for half a second before moving quickly on. “I have to repent.”
“For what?”
There is no accusation in the other's tone, just soft curiosity in a gentle gaze. And it is that look which breaks something in Cody, but also patches it up with such a tender resolve. This is the man Cody thinks of as the greatest man in the galaxy. On quiet nights of datapads and flimsi, alone except for each other's company, Cody would look at him and see someone more beautiful than any golden sunrise. Something otherworldly he never would have imagined he would have privilege to. General Kenobi was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, but behind all these doors open to so few, there was a man who devoted himself to others. A man who stuck out through hard times and persevered because he believed in goodness.
That was the man who Cody adored more than anything.
That was the man he shot off a cliff.
“For killing you, sir.” He pauses. “This must be, like, an afterlife thing. You always told me there was no death, just the Force, and maybe you were right. If this is my chance to finally tell you how much– how much I hate myself for what I did, then I will confess everything. And I don’t ever expect you to forgive me but, if you want anything of me–you have it. Even if you want to return the favour.”
And Obi-Wan– just stares.
“I think,” He starts, getting a purposely blank look on his face–something that tells Cody the man is putting in effort to hide his reaction. “That I am missing a crucial piece of information for this conversation.”
That… is not the answer he expected. Cody swallows, suddenly feeling small. “What are you missing sir?”
Obi-Wan finally frowns, looking perplexed. “I’m not dead, Cody. You haven’t killed me in any way.”
He says it with such certainty that for a moment, Cody thinks of Rex’s beating heart and steady breathing. Alive, his brother said. But he also said real and that isn’t possible.
Even if Cody feels like a real person again, that doesn’t mean everything else is real. If anything, that makes it even less possible. Because he felt that blaster shot run through him, and before that he saw the things he did for the Empire, the things he did against the Jedi, the order he gave to kill his General.
Maybe Obi-Wan just didn’t know? Maybe this Obi-Wan–one that isn’t real–doesn’t know what happened.
Cody inhales sharply, holds it, then lets it go slowly. He could lie–pretend he made it up and soak in Obi-Wan’s ignorance. He could be selfish. But–then he looks at his General, and he cannot imagine lying straight to the others face.
So he speaks the truth like a confession. “I killed you. On Utapau, after you had just smiled at me and thanked me for giving you your lightsaber back. It was sunny and everyone was celebrating Grievous' defeat and I thought you looked beautiful– you are –and when you turned around, I got a comm and it was him .” His voice shakes. “ He gave the command and I pulled my blaster on you. I didn’t want to, but I did anyway –”
“Cody,” Obi-Wan steps forward, arms outstretched but Cody steps away.
“ No ,” He whispers, “You can’t touch me. I’m going to hurt you. Be mad at me, please–”
“Dear, listen to me. You are not going to hurt me.” Obi-Wan closes in to take him gently by the shoulders, holding him still. Cody trembles under his touch. “I’m confused, Cody. I don’t understand. What you’re saying to me hasn’t happened, I am not dead and we have never been to Utapau.”
Obi-Wan’s words are nothing but sincere. The corners of his eyes pinch in concern, an unhappy twist present in his lips. Cody, trapped in the gentle touch of warm hands, is palsied by the hold this man has over him. The wound on his lip reopens as he bites down, iron accumulating over his tongue.
The man’s eyes–gray in this light– flicker downwards and there is a deep intake of his chest. Fingertips curl into his shoulders, not to hurt, just an absentminded flex. Obi-Wan’s tone is sad when he speaks next. “You do not need to silence your distress here, Cody, I want to help you. Please let me.”
Cody shuts his eyes tight, swallowing twice until he can pull himself together by the skin of his teeth. Obi-Wan shouldn’t be comforting him now, shouldn’t be so kind to him. “You can see it, can’t you? You can look in my mind and see it.”
That is something Jedi can do, Cody thinks. With their mind tricks, they can see things. Obi-Wan needs to see what Cody did, then the man will understand.
“I…” Cody opens his eyes to see his General thinning his lips, comprehensive. If not for his unwavering hold on Cody, there is no doubt his fingers would be stroking his beard. “Yes, I am able to do that. But, Cody, it is extremely invasive–and insensitive to your right to privacy. I don’t want to do that to you.”
In a moment of intensity, Cody’s hands come up from where they were still at his side to take Obi-Wan’s wrists. He guides them up to be placed over his temples. “You need to. I want you to.”
The man is silent. A thumb brushes over the raised skin of his scar, barely there. “You want me to hurt you.”
“...You can never hurt me.” Cody admits softly, and it rings as true as beskar . “You need to see it. Everything I am, I trust you to have it. I will hide nothing from you, and I can’t hide this from you. Not when I finally get to see you again.”
Obi-Wan looks at him strangely. “You’re placing a lot more trust in me than I deserve.”
“It’s not about deserving. Obi-Wan, I am a clone.” The other man looks genuinely surprised at the saying of his name. “Nothing I am belongs to me.”
The corner of Obi-Wan’s lip twitches downwards;he looks disturbed. “That’s all the more reason why I can’t do that. I can’t take away what’s yours.”
“No, that means this is my choice.” And how exhilarating it is. “I never got a choice before. But now, with you, I get one and I choose this.”
His breath hitches. “I-I choose you.”
Silence reigns.
Something between them changes.
Obi-Wan exhales, using his hold on Cody to pull him closer until their foreheads gently knock together. The touch is careful, done with the sentiment of someone who knows the significance of the action. Unwittingly, Cody’s eyes close and he feels Obi-Wan’s steady breathing against his lips.
There's a moment spent in each other's space. Intimate in the dim lights and humming quiet of the private quarters.
“Okay.” Obi-Wan speaks into the atmosphere they have created, barely a whisper. “Okay.”
Cody wishes he could lean in and kiss him.
Obi-Wan settles them on a floor mat, legs folded and knees pressing together. There’s very few words, only the man’s gentle instructions as he guides them into position. Cody obeys silently, placing his hands in Obi-Wan’s own upon request.
“Touch helps.” The General says, as if he needed to explain. “It lets me connect with you easier.”
The man shuts his eyes, pulling his shoulders back proper and beginning to breathe in a steady rhythm. Obi-Wan once told him meditation relied on a repetitive action. Imagine you were running , he had said then, your breathing finds a pattern and each step sends a jolt up your legs. Only focus on that feeling.
Now, Obi-Wan only tells him to relax. “It will be like you’re in an ocean with rough waves. Don’t fight to stay above the surface, let me hold you beneath the current.”
Gladly .
And they begin.
The thing is, Cody thought he knew what to expect. His consciousness has been through its own share of invasion. The hole in his brain, brought about by the Sith, was not a fierce sharp pain, but instead a slowly overwhelming thing. Like the uncomfortable feeling of hot water, continuing to rise in temperature. At first it was a shock to not be himself. But when he started to get used to it, it quickly became overbearing and utterly abhorrent. He lived with it anyway, squirming with blistering red skin.
So he didn’t brace for it. Cody stayed open and relaxed as Obi-Wan instructed, even though he expected the experience to be uncomfortable. If only to make the process easier for his General.
Except it was none of that.
Cody was still himself when he felt a buzzing in ears. A gentle squeeze of their joined hands in warning. No– in reassurance .
Something wormed its way through the edges of his mind, all at once but not consuming. It was careful and not dragging a blade in its wake. Nothing hurt–nothing was immediately uncomfortable, it was just… like he had a weighted blanket draped over his shoulders. Foreign, but not bad.
It felt like someone had placed their hands over his and started guiding the strokes of a paint brush. Things began being retrieved from his memory storage, being pulled to the front without his say-so.
He was at the window in his batches' bunk room on Kamino–it was low enough to the ocean surface to be hit by the water when a storm came. Kote sat beneath the plexiglass, watching as the bigger waves crashed over him but never touched him. Ponds didn’t like it–he was always pulling a blanket over his head–
Everything was spinning. There’s blood in his eye. Prime looked down to the vibroknife on the training floor then back up at Kote, smirking, saying, “that will leave a scar”–
Word is that an entire batch of CTs gots decommed because Prime got mad about how they looked. Ten-ten heard from Tricky who heard from N-11–
Too far back.
Cody looked up from his datapad, a crick in his neck, to see Obi-Wan asleep with a stylist still in his hand. He can’t help the fond smile that creeps onto his lips as he gets up quietly to find the man a blanket–
Cody likes sunny planets because of the way they make the General look that much more stunning. Whenever the sun began to peek through the clouds of smoke–he looked over his shoulder wondering where is that glint of red was–
Not that, Cody thinks. Obi-Wan doesn’t need to see that.
“Come on, General, when have I ever let you down?” Cody teased, if only to get that glint in Obi-Wan’s eyes. The man was nervous, told by the way he clenched his fists beneath his large billowing sleeves and kept his eyes down thoughtfully–
The General looked back at him with a smile, eyes glittering something playful and affectionate. Cody wished he could see that look more than he was allowed to–
Cody feels the whispers of an apology.
It was sunny on Utapau. It was bright and it was warm–Cody could feel the sweat accumulating under his armor and he cursed that the separatists droids did not have to suffer in the heat too. When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes caught the shine of something reflecting in the sun–something familiar. Of course, it was the General’s lightsaber. He scooped it up–
Around him, the troopers began to cheer. Some jumping up, others running to find their vod. The war was over–all known separatist leaders were captured, dead, or assumed dead. The Republic won. They won. Cody felt like it wasn’t true, not after so long only knowing war–
General Kenobi was there, on that silly thing he named Boga. Just another life form his General befriended. He was always doing that, Cody thought fondly. Yet he calls Skywalker the crazy one–
A record skips.
A blue image suspended off a comm. Everything around him narrows in like a sniper barrel, closing in until he can only see the hooded man, and can only hear his words. Like a snake tightening around its prey.
“Execute Order–”
Static.
CC-2224 follows commands. It is his purpose as an Imperial Trooper to serve the Sith Lord as he commands–
Relay order. Kill the Jedi as traitors.
CC-2224 points his barrel at the General’s turned back.
Good soldiers follow orders.
Good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers–
He shoots.
The Jedi falls.
Something from the hole in his mind screams in agony.
Darth Vader doesn't like him. CC-2224 became aware of this when he walked in a command room and the Sith threw him against the wall and bruised his airway, barely letting him live–
CC-2224 is demoted from Marshal Commander to Sergeant. Because the Imperial Army can’t risk Darth Vader losing control and Darth Vader despised the mere mention of CC-2224–
CC-2224 had a mission. He can duck down, make a break for the systems room, and get the Empire what they need to take out the Resistance’s base.
He stepped out from his cover to do so–but then, just stopped.
A Rebel pointed their blaster at him.
CC-2224 doesn’t move.
There’s no final thought, just the aching bliss of freedom.
Cody twitches as everything retreats from his mind, leaving his thoughts sweetly quiet. Tension has built up in shoulders, making them sore when he forces them to relax, and his limbs ache with disuse. The feeling makes him briefly wonder how long it’s been since they began.
But that thought is dismissed when he opens his heavy eyes to see Obi-Wan staring at him in unadulterated horror .
It’s not a pleasant expression to have pointed at him.
Cody swallows and bows his head, if only to avoid his General’s gaze. His hands are still caught in the other's hold and he tries to pull them free, but Obi-Wan’s grip has tightened and refuses to let go.
“Cody,” the General says, voice unsteady. “...I think you had a vision.”
Surprised, Cody looks back up. The other’s lips are pressed together hard, face morphed into barely contained sadness. “No… That was real. This is the… um, Force-thing.”
Obi-Wan is shaking his head before he even finishes the sentence. “No, no. This is real, Cody.” He emphasizes by squeezing their joined hands tighter. “Whatever you lived, that was the, uh, Force-thing .”
Cody’s first instinct is to deny it. The war, Utapau, the Empire, his death–he had lived it. Moment by moment, even if the seconds blurred together in a fog sometimes–it happened . Cody remembers it.
But then he thinks to Rex, warm under his palm. Waxer, speaking his mind to him. Obi-Wan, holding onto him in a viselike grip. And realises that he wants it to be real.
“A… vision?” Cody whispers, barely believing it himself but hoping, maybe . Maybe he got it backwards.
“...I can’t say for sure.” Obi-Wan says, matching his volume. “It may have been a vision, it might have also been another Force phenomenon–I don’t know. But, I assure you, it has never happened. Whatever you saw, whoever spoke to you there–that hasn’t happened. We have never been to Utapau and there are certainly Separatist leaders still at large. The war is not won and– I have not heard of any sort of discovery concerning another Darth by that name.”
Huh. Cody wiggles his fingers around until his pinky can feel Obi-Wan's pulse beneath. It is a hard angle, but he makes it work. He counts the slow thrum in time with his breathing.
“How can you be sure?” He asks, almost nervous for an answer. Because what if he can’t be sure? What if he tries and Obi-Wan was wrong? The bit of hope that has dared to spark in his chest–if it was extinquished… Cody imagines he would not be able to handle it well.
The other man hums thoughtfully, eyes drawn onto their intertwined hands. “I suppose you would need to do something you’ve never done before.”
“Like what?” Cody asks. “I’ve never done this before.”
“In a sense, yes, but you've also joined me in my meditation a couple times.” Obi-Wan finally begins to loosen his grip on Cody’s hands, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “It could be similar enough to previous experiences that your mind is only altering an existing memory.”
Cody takes another carefully timed breath, a little shaken by the idea. “If I remember correctly, it was more like you tricked me into joining you for those sessions. I volunteered for it this time.”
“Nonsense.” Obi-Wan flashes that perfect freaking smile at him. “You like meditating with me.”
Cody shakes his head, fighting a slight smile. It was more like he enjoyed watching Obi-Wan meditate rather than doing it himself. But he was not about to admit that. “So, what else can I do? It’s not like I have a lot of options.”
“You have plenty of options, my dear. But, I can think of one…” Obi-Wan leans in a little closer, angling his chin up so the light hits his freckles better, visible across his nose and cheekbones. Cody follows him in like a comet caught in his gravity. “I’m not sure we were ever able to do this.”
Then Obi-Wan closes the space between them all the way. Soft and sweet, barely anything but a brush of lips. Quick enough that Cody isn’t able to react, even with his enhanced reaction speed–only able to feel the sensation and see Obi-Wan’s brow up close before it’s gone.
Obi-Wan pulls away enough to lock eyes, his blue-grey orbs alight with a bashfulness unusual of him. Red in the face and biting down a smile, he’s staring at him such affection and care. Obi-Wan is always beautiful, but in this moment, he’s gorgeous .
Cody’s brain takes a moment to catch up like a droid with a faulty processer.
He swallows. “That’s… definitely never happened before.”
“No?” Obi-Wan says, teasing despite having gone entirely red in the face.
“No.” Cody licks his tingling lips as if he could taste the sensation again. His eyes flicker down to their hands, a mix of pale and tan twisted fingers and sweating palms but unable to let go, relucant to break the physical contact. It is so different from the haze before. But, if he blinks now, will this all be gone? The more he experiences here, the more he hopes it is real . He looks back up. “Not sure it happened just now, either.”
Obi-Wan tips his head. “That’s no good. I guess we’ll have to do it again to make sure.”
“Guess so.” Cody whispers, barely getting the words out as he hopes, dreams, that yes this is real.
Please , let it be real .
“The future is always in motion. If this was the past, nothing would change.” Seemingly catching onto his thoughts, the other man speaks plainly. Obi-Wan smiles at him. “So let's change it.”
Gladly .