Archive of Our Own

“A press conference?” Cody asks dubiously.

The dark circles under Obi-Wan’s eyes are lighter than they used to be, but still dark enough under the harsh lights of Cody’s quarters on the Negotiator that it looks like he’s smeared himself with blaster oil. “That appears to be what Senator Amidala has requested,” he agrees, briefly scanning through the message on Cody’s datapad. He hands the datapad back, eyebrow raised. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. Part of the senatorial creed is to be answerable to the public, and speaking to the Free Republic Press is a part of that.” His expression darkens, just a little. “In fact, it was a practice that Sidious did his best to get rid of when he was Chancellor. Personally I think that’s all the more reason to make sure that it continues.”

The edge of Cody’s datapad is a little scuffed, and he’s pretty sure it’s from when Obi-Wan shoved him against his desk and kissed him senseless two days ago. He vaguely remembers a whole stack of datapads and flimsis getting knocked onto the floor. “I understand that,” he says, scratching at the scuff. “What I don’t understand is why Senator Amidala wants me there.”

Obi-Wan tilts Cody’s head up, a finger pressed lightly under his chin. “Why wouldn’t she want you there?” he asks, soft and warm, and leans forward, presses a kiss to his lips. “Every time I have to speak to reporters, to senators, to officials or administrators or any of the busybodies that populate every level of Coruscant – every time, I wish you were by my side.”

“For very inappropriate reasons,” Cody says dryly. “Reasons that I hope Senator Amidala doesn’t share.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twist in amusement. “A good point,” he says, his hand skimming down Cody’s side, fingers digging into his hip. “I’d be rather unimpressed if she did. For one thing, Anakin would be very displeased.”

“And we’ve already pissed General Skywalker off enough,” Cody observes, setting the scuffed datapad down on his desk. “I survived one lightsaber stabbing. I don’t want to have to survive another.”

Obi-Wan winces. “An excellent observation,” he says, his wryness a deliberate tactic to hide how much it still terrifies him when Cody jokes about his injury. Cody can feel it, his fear, his grief, and he reaches out instinctively, takes Obi-Wan’s hand, brings it to his lips, kisses his knuckles in reassurance. Obi-Wan smiles, his eyes bright, and frees his hand, skates his fingertips across Cody’s cheekbone, the scar around his eye. “But I stand by my original point,” he says quietly. “You are an excellent representative of the GAR and of your brothers, Cody. You are intelligent, articulate, and exceptionally brave. You know more about strategy and combat tactics than anyone I have ever met. Your loyalty is second to none. I could not think of a better man to stand at Senator Amidala’s side and represent the vode in the eyes of the Coruscanti press.”

Cody catches Obi-Wan’s wandering hand and narrows his eyes in his direction. “You recommended me for this, didn’t you?”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitch. “Perhaps,” he says. “The senator asked who might best act as a representative of the clones. I gave her your name, along with a few others.”

“A few others,” Cody says flatly. “I’m flattered, sir, really.”

Obi-Wan snorts, leans forward, steals a kiss. “A significant amount of Padmé’s work at the moment focuses around promotion of the Clone Rights bill,” he says. “While this press conference is ostensibly about the clean-up from the war and the reassignment of GAR forces, what it really is is an opportunity for her to show the public who the clones really are.” He touches Cody’s cheek, his fingers warm. “It’s a chance for the people of the Republic to see that you aren’t just copies,” he says quietly. “It’s a chance to show the galaxy who you are, Cody, and who you could be if the Senate recognises you as people rather than cannon fodder.”

Cody doesn’t know how he ever managed to deny exactly how much he loves this man.

Obi-Wan smiles softly. “I do rather love you too,” he murmurs, and kisses him.

Cody kisses back, harder, deeper, and he feels a quiet thrill of want flood through Obi-Wan. He grins against his lips, still amazed that this is something he gets to do, still delighted that Obi-Wan wants him to do this, and pulls Obi-Wan against him. You got anywhere you need to be for the next thirty minutes? he asks into the bond.

He can feel Obi-Wan’s amusement, his affection, his want. Nowhere important, he answers.

Cody wraps his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist. “Better get that training bond shielded, General Kenobi,” he murmurs, one hand sliding down, squeezing his arse. “Don’t think General Skywalker’s gonna want to feel this.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, laughs, and pulls Cody into another kiss.

Two days later, Cody finds himself in his dress greys, helmet in his lap, sitting in a tall chair as a Rodian make-up artist brushes some kind of powder across his face. Cody’s nose wrinkles as the powder tickles his nostrils and the Rodian studies him critically, tapping the handle of the brush against her chin. “Some liner might help to bring out your eyes,” she says. “Maybe in the same yellow as your armour paint?”

“Uh?” Cody says, because he’s got no idea how to respond to that.

Senator Amidala appears out of nowhere and studies him as critically as the Rodian. “No, I don’t want anything too showy today,” she says, shaking her head. “After all, I don’t imagine that you wear eyeliner in war, do you, Commander Cody?”

“Uh,” Cody says again, and then, “Uh, no, sir.”

“I thought not,” Amidala says. “No eyeliner.” She pauses, studies Cody in a way that’s worryingly reminiscent of the way Skywalker studies a battlefield before doing something exceptionally stupid. “Just a little mascara, Kimiya,” she announces. “And then the same for the others.”

“Of course, Senator,” the Rodian says, and approaches Cody with a tiny brush that looks distinctly like the wire brush he uses to clean the barrel of his rifle. “Look up,” she orders, and when Cody reluctantly obeys, she brushes something dark and sticky onto his eyelashes.

Cody’s too bemused to object.

Senator Amidala disappears again, and after another powder, another round with the tiny brush, and some kind of oil rubbed into his hair, the Rodian shoos Cody away, too. “Send the next one in,” she says, distracted, and consults the flimsi pinned on the wall next to the make-up chair. “Commander Wolffe, this says.”

Cody’s eyelashes feel strange. He blinks a few times, says, “I’ll send him in.”

The Rodian waves him away with another large brush.

Cody steps out of the Rodian’s make-up room into a larger room that he’s been told is called a green room. The walls are a deep velvety red rather than green, though, the same colour as the plush armchairs and sofas scattered around the space, and there’s a table along one wall covered in trays of snacks and large canisters of hot drinks. The food is fancier than anything that’s served in the GAR so it’s not surprising that the other invitees to the senator’s press conference are all clustered around the snack table.

“Wolffe,” Cody says, fighting the urge to touch his powdered face. “You’re up.”

His brothers turn to face him as one—Wolffe, Fox, Bly, Rex, Ponds, Gree—and Bly blinks. “Wow, Cody,” he says, startled. “You look… actually pretty good.”

“Makes a change,” Fox drawls.

Cody jerks his thumb towards the Rodian’s door. “Go on,” he says to Wolffe. “She wants you next.”

Wolffe grins at him. “If I come out looking as pretty as you, vod, I’m looking forward to it.”

Cody slaps his shoulder as Wolffe goes past, eyes the others. They’re all still staring at him. “What?”

“It’s just weird,” Ponds says, squinting. “You look like you, just… different.”

Cody’s stared down droids, Separatists, Sith Lords and, on more than one occasion, his own recalcitrant Jedi general. He’s not about to wilt under the stares of his own brothers. “You’ll all look the same before you know it,” he says dryly, ignoring the strange heaviness of his eyelashes, and goes to shoulder Rex out of the way of the snack table.

It takes the better part of an hour for the Rodian make-up artist to get through them all. Cody spends that hour milling awkwardly around the snack table, watching his brothers go into the Rodian’s lair and come out with equally bemused expressions and subtly enhanced facial features. He’s strangely satisfied by the fact that the Rodian’s work differs for each of them—there’s a faint shimmer around Wolffe’s eyes that highlights his cybernetic eye, Rex’s eyelashes are as pale as his hair, Ponds’ lips are a darker colour than usual—because the whole point of this is that they’re not just carbon copies of each other, isn’t it? They might have the same face but that doesn’t mean they’re the same person.

“Don’t worry, Commander,” Senator Amidala says, appearing out of nowhere at his elbow. “I promise it won’t be as bad as Obi-Wan has threatened.”

Cody carefully ignores the way his heart beats harder at the mere mention of his Jedi’s name. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” he says, folding his hands behind his back.

“Obi-Wan hates doing press,” Amidala says, almost conspiratorial. “Always has, despite how good he is at it. I imagine he’s told you all kinds of horror stories.”

“But he’s the Negotiator,” Cody says carefully. “I would have thought that speaking to the press would have been a part of that.”

“It often is,” Amidala agrees. “I think that’s why he hates it so much. He spends days hashing out the details of treaties, arguing over every tiny point, every scrap of minutiae, getting the perfect phrasing and the perfect wording – and then he has to listen to reporters mangle all his fancy words and question all his hard-fought decisions.”

Cody raises an eyebrow. “You make it sound so appealing,” he says dryly.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Amidala says, patting his arm. “This won’t be like that. The reporters coming today are handpicked – they’re all good people, good at their jobs. They can be trusted to not misrepresent your words.”

Cody’s not particularly reassured by that. “And the questions about our decisions?”

Amidala’s lips twist. “You’re an experienced military commander. I’m sure you’re used to your decisions being dissected.”

Cody supposes she isn’t wrong. “Yes, sir.”

Amidala pats his arm again. “Just think about it this way,” she says brightly. “It can’t be worse than getting stabbed by a lightsaber.”

“Thanks for that,” Cody grimaces.

Amidala chuckles, light and sparkling. “Come on,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “I think we’re just about ready to get started.”

The press room is circular, a long sweeping table on one side, several rows of chairs and seats for non-bipedal lifeforms on the other. They’re down in the depths of Coruscant so there aren’t any windows, no natural light at all, and the artificial lighting is harsh, bleaching. Looking at the faces of his brothers, Cody thinks he understands the point of the make up a little more. He’s pointed to a seat in the middle between Fox and Wolffe, cups of water in front of them and their buckets propped on purpose-built stands behind them. As the reporters file in, nearly two dozen of them, eyes and eyestalks and visors and visual readouts scanning over Cody and his brothers, Cody wishes he had his bucket on his head rather than behind him.

Next to him, Wolffe shifts in his seat. “I’d take an army of clankers any day over this,” he mutters under his breath.

On his other side, Rex grumbles something that sounds like I miss the war.

Cody wouldn’t go quite that far, but he understands the sentiment.

Senator Amidala sweeps in once the reporters have settled themselves down, stations herself at a podium next to the clones’ table, and smiles broadly. “Welcome all,” she says, expansive, warm, open. “I hope you will agree with me that this is a historic moment – the first time that the Free Republic Press has been permitted to interview representatives of the Grand Army of the Republic.” She smiles, a small smile, a smile that’s somehow comradely. “It is my hope that this is the start of a new era of openness and trust for the Republic, one where we are not divided by the lies of those who claim to act in our best interests.”

Cody fights the urge to shift in his seat. He’s not sure that a couple of hours of press training is enough to prepare him for bringing about a new era for the Republic.

Then again, he supposes he did start all this by cutting off Palpatine’s head. He can’t really complain.

Senator Amidala talks a little longer. She introduces them all by name, gives a brief summary of their achievements and military background, then starts to get a bit more abstract, something about free exchange of ideas, something else about the brave men who fought and died for the safety of the Republic. Before the gathered reporters have a chance to get restless in the face of all her optimism, she says with a smile, “I believe it’s time to open the floor to questions.”

A forest of hands, tentacles, droid-limbs, and assorted extremities flies up.

“Kriffing hells, here we go,” Fox mutters under his breath.

“Yes, Mister Likimena,” Amidala says.

A heavyset Twi’lek gets to his feet, his lekku bound with lengths of silver cloth. “Thank you, Senator,” he says, his voice grave. “This is certainly an interesting opportunity – although it remains to be seen if it is as valuable as you believe.” His gaze roves across the table. “I have a question for Commander Cody.”

Cody straightens, swallows, and makes a mental note to murder Obi-Wan later. “Go ahead,” he says, nodding.

Likimena doesn’t smile. “I understand from the official reports of the Galactic Senate that you are the clone responsible for assassinating former Chancellor Palpatine,” he says, his eyes sharp and bright, birdlike.

“That’s correct,” Cody says, his mouth dry.

“I’m afraid,” Likimena says, head cocked to one side, “that I find the official report so scanty on the facts as to be completely unbelievable. It makes very little sense that a Force-user supposedly as powerful as the former Chancellor is said to be could be brought down by a mere clone trooper.” He gestures, his hands long-fingered and expressive. “I mean no offence by this question, Commander, but if we are truly entering a new era of transparency and trust between the people of the Republic and the Senate and the Jedi, then there cannot be any doubt about the true course of events in the Temple that day.”

It’s not the least combative question Cody has ever been asked – but, if he’s honest, it’s not the most combative, either. He’s been grilled harder in post-mission debriefings.

Cody folds his hands on the table in front of him, leans forward. “With all due respect, Mister Likimena,” he says, calm and level because a Twi’lek reporter is nothing compared to the combined disapproval of the kriffing Jedi Council, “it’s exactly that kind of attitude that got the Chancellor killed.” He smiles grimly. “Palpatine stabbed me in the stomach but the wound didn’t kill me, and instead of finishing the job, he got distracted by General Skywalker and Commander Tano. He turned his back on me – something any shiny trooper straight out of Kamino would know not to do. But he didn’t see me as a threat. I had General Kenobi’s lightsaber in my hand, and he still didn’t see me as a threat.” He grins. “Because I’m just a clone.”

Likimena nods, a faint smile curling his lips. “I see,” he says, and quirks an eyebrow. “The official report wasn’t particularly detailed. Did you say that the Chancellor stabbed you?”

“With his lightsaber,” Cody confirms. “I was in medical for a month.” And then, because adrenaline is starting to buzz in his veins, he challenges, “I can show you the scar if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Senator Amidala interjects smoothly. “Do you, Mister Likimena?”

“Of course not,” Likimena says, just as smoothly. He studies Cody, the corners of his lips twitching up, and then inclines his head. “Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your candour.”

Cody’s not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.

Senator Amidala doesn’t seem fazed, at least, which Cody supposes is a win. “Thank you, Mister Likimena,” she says. “Parman Indesir, what’s your question?”

Indesir rises, propped up on one thick, coiling tentacle, and inclines their eyestalks in Amidala’s direction. “Gratitude, Senator Amidala,” the vocaliser in their throat buzzes. “My question is for Commander Ponds, regarding the third Outer Rim campaign.”

Cody was on the other side of the galaxy during most of Ponds’ Outer Rim exploits, so he lets himself relax a little. While Ponds is being grilled about the effectiveness of General Windu’s strategies, Cody lets his hand rest over the scar in his stomach for a moment, feeling the weight of his palm through his armour plates.

He can feel it, the lightsaber slicing through him, the heat, the searing pain. He can feel it like it’s happening right now, like the crimson plasma is still buried inside him.

It’s not, Obi-Wan’s voice whispers in his mind. It’s done, Cody. It’s over.

Unlike this press conference, Cody sends back, along with a pulse of warmth, affection, gratitude, love. What’s this about you hating talking to the press, cyare?

Don’t believe a word Padmé says, Obi-Wan answers. She’s a terrible liar.

Uh huh, Cody says, and refocuses on the matter at hand.

He can feel Obi-Wan’s quiet amusement at the back of his mind, his support, his care, but he’s not the one in front of a pack of reporters, is he?

Cody can hear Obi-Wan’s laughter in his mind from halfway across Coruscant.

Ponds finishes answering Indesir’s question, apparently to everyone’s satisfaction, and Rex fields another about some rather complex tactical theory from a willowy humanoid with a Coruscanti accent. The next question after that, from a tiny green Toydarian, is directed at Fox. “You worked the closest with Chancellor Palpatine – or, as I believe he should really be called now, Darth Sidious. How is it, as the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, that you didn’t know of his true identity, or indeed his plans?”

Cody stiffens on his brother’s behalf, indignant, but the only discomfort that Fox lets slip is the faintest flex of his fingers in his lap. “It’s a good question,” Fox answers, carefully neutral. “One I’ve asked myself many times in the days since. Was there something I could have done to put a stop to all this suffering earlier?” He hesitates, so brief it’s barely noticeable. “Was there something I could have done to stop Cody from ending up nearly dead?” His smile is crooked. “I don’t think there was. I think that the Chancellor had everyone fooled. The Senate, the Jedi. I think he put a lot of time and effort into keeping us fooled.”

“That’s your answer?” the Toydarian asks, clearly unimpressed. “That you weren’t the only one?”

“It’s the truth,” Fox says, sounding tired. “Not much more I can give you than that.”

“I would add my voice to Commander Fox’s on this,” Senator Amidala chimes in quietly. “The news of the Chancellor’s betrayal was a shock to everyone.”

The Toydarian arches an eyebrow. “Everyone in the Senate, perhaps. There are a lot of people on the lower levels of Coruscant who weren’t surprised at all.”

Cody grits his teeth at the reporter’s smugness, but Amidala is clearly more practiced at self-restraint than he is. She’d have to be, he imagines. “That, Master Zigbo, is an excellent example of why it is important that we are here today,” she says, her hands resting on her podium, oozing sincerity. “If the Senate had known about such concerns among the people, we could have acted. We could have done something.”

“Do you really expect us to believe that the Senate would have listened to the common people?” Zigbo drawls.

Amidala’s smile is as fierce as any Skywalker has ever worn on the battlefield. “With the Chancellor in charge, most likely not,” she answers. “But he’s not in charge anymore. Thank you, Mister Zigbo.” She scans the room, gestures to a silver protocol droid. “K4-O6, your question?”

The droid’s question, for Gree and Wolffe, is long and uninteresting, and the next one, something about one of Bly’s campaigns, goes equally over Cody’s head. On the whole, though, as the questions keep coming, what he’s noticing is that the reporters’ queries are well-researched and mostly well-meaning – and that, for the most part, when they take their seats once more, they seem anywhere between satisfied and… well, intrigued. Even the Toydarian is listening intently to Wolffe’s account of one of his missions with General Koon.

Cody glances sideways at Senator Amidala and realises that she’s smiling.

That’s not a smile, Obi-Wan whispers in the bond. That’s her victory smirk.

Go away, General, Cody answers. Don’t you have other things you need to do?

This is much more interesting, Obi-Wan replies. You know I like to watch you work.

I know you like to fuss, Cody shoots back. And I’ll remind you that I don’t need you to protect me.

I know you don’t, Obi-Wan answers, solemn. I’m going to do it anyway.

Cody doesn’t roll his eyes physically because he imagines that would come across as disrespectful to the room at large, but he sends the emotional equivalent very firmly through the bond.

The next question, from a Wookiee with intricately braided fur, is delivered both in Shyriiwook and through an overly-polite translator droid. The droid’s version is: “This is a general question for anyone to answer. You all have serial designations which are freely available in GAR records – CC-1010, CC-2224, et cetera. However Senator Amidala refers to you by names – Fox, Cody, et cetera. You call each other by name, too, but these names are not recorded anywhere official. Where do they come from?”

Wolffe snorts. Rex makes a spluttering noise.

“Ah,” Ponds says, his cheeks darkening. “That’s quite a… personal question.”

The Wookiee makes a questioning noise that the droid doesn’t need to translate.

Cody takes over. “We choose our own names,” he says. “Sometimes they’re nicknames based on our characteristics or personalities that we feel describe us well. Sometimes they’re based on our serial numbers, or other factors, significant moments in our lives. But…” He trails off, fights a grimace. “It’s considered a mark of, uh, intimacy to ask another brother where his name comes from.”

“So you basically just propositioned us,” Fox deadpans.

The Wookiee howls for a few moments, and the droid translates. “My sincere apologies – I didn’t mean to cause offence.”

“None taken,” Cody says dryly. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. Let’s just say that there were quite a few misunderstandings when we all met our generals for the first time.”

I asked you the meaning of your name the first time we met, Obi-Wan groans. Oh, Cody.

Yeah, you did, Cody answers, fighting back a smile. It was a hell of a way to introduce yourself, sir.

“Not a problem all of us had,” Fox mutters under his breath.

The Wookiee speaks again. “Please forgive me if this follow-up question is inappropriate, but why are your chosen names not recorded on the GAR’s public databases?”

Cody glances at his brothers, their faces built from the same mould but all of them different, all of them unique, scars and tattoos and dyes and the history of their lives. He doesn’t need a Jedi marriage bond to be able to read their minds, and he looks back to the Wookiee reporter, smiles grimly. “It’s my understanding that the GAR’s records are drawn directly from the Kaminoans’ initial profiles on their… product.” He’s had a lifetime of experience keeping his anger from his voice. He draws on that now. Calm, emotionless, unaffected. “The Kaminoans never considered us to be people. They still don’t, as far as I know. We’re product, and product doesn’t have names.”

Wolffe shifts in his seat. “A lot of us up here, we were one of the early batches,” he says. “For a while, we were… let’s say actively discouraged from giving ourselves names.”

“I’ve got the scars to prove it,” Gree comments, his arms folded.

“They don’t punish the shinies anymore for naming themselves,” Bly adds, “but the Long— the Kaminoans aren’t about to recognise our names in official documentation.”

“It makes it easier to decommission the ones that don’t make it if we’re just numbers,” Fox says flatly. “Given that ‘decommissioned’ is just a nice way of saying ‘disposed of’.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“Does that answer your question, Bomiron?” Senator Amidala asks quietly, and Cody can’t say for sure but he thinks that there’s thinly-veiled anger in her voice.

The Wookiee howls, and that’s definitely anger. “More than I expected.”

Amidala nods. “Next question,” she says. “Onna Onna?”

A small, squat, purple-skinned humanoid gets up, no higher than Cody’s waist, and props her hands on her hips. “This feels a bit trivial after what you have just shared with us,” she says, her voice squeaky and apologetic, “but I have a question for Commander Bly.” She folds her arms, her bicep muscles bulging. “Concerning what is rapidly becoming thought of as one of the defining images of the end of the war.”

On Fox’s other side, Bly audibly groans and drops his head into his hands.

It’s not particularly professional, if Cody’s honest, but it very effectively breaks the tension in the room. A relieved chuckle sweeps through the reporters, and Onna Onna smiles. “I believe you know the picture I’m talking about, Commander. It features you and Jedi Knight Aayla Secura in a rather… compromising position.”

From the bullying that Bly has been getting recently in the CC chat, Cody’s pretty sure that Bly’s found himself in far more compromising positions with his Jedi recently than just a kiss. Not that Cody’s been participating in the teasing, because he’s well aware that if any of the other commanders talk to Rex, he’ll be the next victim.

“Is there a question there, Onna Onna?” Senator Amidala asks, carefully neutral. “I’ll remind you that we are not here to gossip.”

“My question,” Onna Onna says, “is in fact rather pertinent to our purpose here, Senator.” She arches an eyebrow. “My question for Commander Bly is what that striking image means for the famed Jedi rejection of attachment and affection.” She eyes Senator Amidala. “You spoke of a new era for the Republic, Senator. Are we seeing a new era for the Jedi as well?”

Amidala lifts her chin. “That seems more like a question for the Jedi Council, rather than Commander Bly,” she says icily. “He can hardly be expected to know such decisions of Jedi—”

“I’d like to answer, if that’s alright, Senator,” Bly interrupts.

Amidala looks at him, surprised. “Ah, of course,” she says, clearly thrown. “If you are happy to do so.”

Cody cranes sideways, sees Bly’s wry smile. “It’s alright, sir,” Bly says. “General Secura and I thought this might happen. We, ah, discussed it.”

They discussed it? Obi-Wan wonders in the back of Cody’s mind.

Obi-Wan! Cody cautions. Stop eavesdropping!

“And what exactly did you discuss, Commander?” Onna Onna asks.

Bly looks down at his hands, spread out on the table in front of him. He’s outwardly calm, his voice level, steady and solid, but Cody knows him. Not to put too fine a point on it, but he’s bricking it. “I’ve served under General Secura since the beginning of the war,” Bly says, as sharp and relaxed as any trooper being debriefed after battle. “I trust her with my life and, more importantly, with the lives of my brothers. I, um, well.” He breaks off, his cheeks flushing. “I trusted her a long time before I fell in love with her,” he says, head raised, shoulders square. “And for some reason, she, ah, feels the same way. I don’t know what that means for the Jedi, Ms Onna Onna, or for the Republic, but Aayla has told me that she’ll leave the Jedi Order if she has to. For, uh, for me. To be with me. And I don’t know if she’ll have to, no one’s given us a straight answer about that yet, apparently the Council’s being pretty cagey on the topic, but I hope she doesn’t have to because it would be a hell of a waste. Because a lot of people would be very dead if she weren’t a Jedi. Me included.”

“Me too, to be honest,” Ponds agrees.

“And me,” Senator Amidala adds, her smile soft, her eyes warm.

“So I don’t really know if that answers your question, ma’am,” Bly says. “But that’s all the answer I’ve got.”

Onna Onna nods thoughtfully. “I think we will have to wait to see what the Jedi Masters make of that,” she says, “but for now, Commander Bly, I would like to thank you for your honesty.” Her lips twist. “I would like to thank all of you for your honesty, in fact. It has been… refreshing.”

Cody peers over Fox’s shoulder, catches Bly’s eye. Under the stir of Senator Amidala choosing another reporter to ask their question, a weary-looking Bothan this time, Cody mouths, You good? to Bly.

Bly nods briskly, his eyes suspiciously bright.

Cody faces front again in time to catch the tail end of a significantly more mundane question aimed at Gree. He makes a show of listening politely, nodding all the right places, but inside he doesn’t know what to think. That was… vulnerable and honest and kriffing soul-baring, and he can’t decide if he’s in awe or if he’s horrified.

Awe, I think, Obi-Wan offers. Commander Bly is clearly a remarkably brave man. Aayla has excellent taste, and I don’t just mean physically.

And Cody gets that, he does, but there’s still a part of him that’s screaming about illegal fraternisation, about the chain of command, about the consequences of breaking the rules because Fox wasn’t joking about decommissioning. It’s not cushy retirement, it’s not even banishment. It’s disposal.

Cody, Obi-Wan says. Cody, stop. You know I would never let that happen. Not to you, not to your brothers.

Gree is saying something about droid mechanics and LAAT/i refuelling. Rex is chiming in with a list of statistics. Ponds is agreeing, and adding something about battle droid attack patterns.

Cody, my dear, please say something, Obi-Wan whispers.

I’m alright, Cody answers, clenching and unclenching his fingers beneath the table, jittery, his heart beating too hard in his chest. I’m fine.

Obi-Wan is miles away and miles above, closeted in the Jedi Temple while Cody is locked in a room full of journalists and his brothers, but for a moment Cody swears he can feel his Jedi’s hand cupping his cheek, his fingers warm, his palm smooth. It’s just the bond, he knows, some combination of directional thought and sense memory channelled through an excessively strong link in the Force, but it calms him nonetheless.

Stars, Cody wishes he was with Obi-Wan right now.

That feeling of a phantom touch against his cheek flares, warm and bright. Aayla is not alone in her convictions, Cody, Obi-Wan whispers. I would leave the Order for you, too.

“Commander Cody?”

Cody blinks, wrenches himself back to the room. The memory-touch of Obi-Wan’s hand on his cheek fades. “Yes?” he asks.

Senator Amidala is watching him. “A last question for you, Commander,” she says. “From Prenta Bliss.”

Bliss is a tall, lanky humanoid who’s almost as slender as a Kaminoan. Round glasses perch on the end of her nose and long, complicated earrings hang from both of her faintly pointed ears. When she speaks, her voice is whip-sharp. “Commander Cody, I would like to ask you about Rashir II.”

Cody is a professional soldier, trained for the battlefield since birth, literally bred for it. He’s never frozen in the face of battle droids, of Sith, of overwhelming odds and near-certain death. He’s definitely not going to freeze in the face of an earringed reporter and an unexpected question.

“Uh,” he says eloquently, and then, “What about Rashir II?”

Bliss blinks. “I have an anonymous source in the Jedi Temple who claims that, during a routine search-and-sweep of Rashir II, a lost Jedi artefact activated and created a permanent Force bond between you and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.” She blinks again. “Can you comment on this story?”

“Uh,” Cody says again.

Perhaps we should have taken a leaf from Aayla and Bly’s book and discussed this possibility in advance, Obi-Wan rumbles in the back of his mind.

“And before Senator Amidala protests that this is an inappropriate question for a press conference that is supposed to be about GAR tactics and strategy,” Bliss continues, her eyes large and keen behind her glasses, “I would observe that we all know the true purpose of this occasion, Senator. We are here because of the Clone Rights bill, of which you are a vocal proponent. We are here to influence the judgement of our readerships as to whether or not the Republic should consider the clones from the factories on Kamino as sentient lifeforms, or, as their creators do, as merely product.” Bliss gestures to Bly. “Commander Bly has already very ably demonstrated that the Jedi think of the clones as people. However, individuals can be misled. The Force, on the other hand, is well known to be a galactic constant that is drawn to life, and particularly to consciousness. If it were true that a Force bond had been created between a Jedi and a clone, it would imply that the Force itself rather approved.” She raises an eyebrow. “Would you care to comment, Commander?”

There are so many flaws in that argument, Obi-Wan grouses in Cody’s mind. The Force does not ‘approve’ of matters like Senate bills! It is not about what is right or wrong, it is about balance and—

Obi-Wan, Cody interrupts, his heart racing. What am I supposed to kriffing say? The press training didn’t cover this!

Cody’s mind fills with warmth and strength and love. Whatever you think is right, Obi-Wan answers.

That’s not helpful! Cody snaps.

I thought you didn’t need me to protect you? Obi-Wan murmurs wryly.

Obi-Wan, please, Cody whispers.

That touch brushes across his cheek once more, fleeting, achingly warm. I trust your judgement, Obi-Wan says. Do what you think is right, what you think will help you and your brothers. I will be at your side no matter what.

That’s still not helpful, but Cody’s getting the picture. His general isn’t going to give him orders, not about this, probably because Obi-Wan’s got some funny ideas about individuality and oppression that Cody hasn’t yet managed to kiss out of him.

The good thing, though, is that conversations through the bond take a fraction of the time of verbal conversations, so no one’s getting restless.

Cody clears his throat, straightens in his chair. “I don’t know much about the Force, ma’am, so I can’t comment on that,” he says, “but I can confirm the part about the, ah, Force bond. That’s true.”

Next to Cody, Wolffe twists to stare at him, his cybernetic eye glinting in the artificial lighting.

Cody ignores him.

“And,” Bliss presses, “is it also true that the records in the Jedi Temple suggest that this particular kind of Force bond was once classed as a kind of marriage among the Jedi?”

“Prenta Bliss!” Senator Amidala snaps.

She has done her homework, Obi-Wan muses, wondering.

“Marriage is a fundamental part of sentient society,” Bliss says, unfazed by Amidala’s annoyance. “Again, if the Force has recognised a clone in such a way, it speaks volumes for the clones’ status as sentient beings.” She raises an elegant eyebrow. “Could you comment, Commander Cody?”

Cody doesn’t know what to say.

It’s your choice, Obi-Wan whispers. Half the Jedi know by now – news spreads fast. And I am certainly not ashamed of what we share.

The thing is, neither is Cody. There’s nothing he wants more than to stand in front of the whole kriffing galaxy and declares that Obi-Wan is his and he is Obi-Wan’s, to challenge anyone who dares to try and break them apart because a karking Sith Lord tried and failed. He wants to tell his brothers, he wants to be bullied as much as Bly is. He wants to be that brave.

But this feels wrong. He understands Bliss’ angle, understands the argument she’s trying to make, but if he agrees right now, if he confirms that, yes, in the eyes of a bunch of long-dead Jedi, he’s married to Obi-Wan Kenobi, then he’s not doing it because he wants to. He’s doing it because he has to.

Cody has had enough choices taken from him in his life.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a Jedi historian, ma’am,” Cody says. “I can’t help you with the specifics, but what I can tell you is that yes, I share a Force bond with General Kenobi and it was accidentally created during a routine sweep of Rashir II for a rumoured cache of Separatist weapons.” He takes a breath. “I can also tell you that the bond was a key factor in the confrontation with Chancellor Palpatine. The general and I were able to covertly share knowledge and tactics with each other, and the general was even able to suppress the pain of my injuries so that I could, ah, end matters. And it was through the bond that General Kenobi was able to keep me alive long enough for the healers at the Jedi Temple to save me.” He meets Prenta Bliss’ assessing gaze. “I can’t really speak to the Force stuff, I’m afraid, but I do know that getting bonded to General Kenobi saved my life.” The words spill out without him really meaning to let them go. “I know that he saved my life.”

Bliss studies him, her head tilted to one side, one earring dangling. “Commander Cody?”

Cody straightens instinctively. “Yes?”

Bliss blinks. “Are you in love with Master Kenobi?”

Senator Amidala’s hand smacks down on the podium in front of her hard. “I’m afraid we’ve run out of time,” she says, sweet and diamond sharp all at once. “Thank you for all your questions, they have been very insightful. Good night.”

And without further ado, Cody is hustled out of the press room as quickly as he was hustled into it.

The moment the door to the red green room is closed behind them, Cody finds himself at the centre of a tight ring of his brothers.

“Cody, are you married to General Kenobi?” Ponds asks, his voice remarkably high-pitched.

“Kriff that,” Wolffe interjects. “Are you banging General Kenobi?”

“Yes, he is, and yes, he is,” Rex answers before Cody can get a word in edgeways.

Ponds throws his hands up. “And how does Rex know?”

“General Skywalker got involved in the whole mess,” Rex answers, shrugging. “You would not believe the reports I got from him and Commander Tano.” He smirks at Cody. “Ask him about Irilis Prime sometime.”

Fox frowns, squints at Cody. “You were cooped up in the Temple’s medbay during the engagement at Irilis Prime, I know you were. What were you doing in there to piss off General Skywalker?”

They’re not in a press conference anymore and Fox isn’t a reporter. Cody doesn’t need to answer that question. “Are you all done?” he asks, trying in vain to shove his way out of the circle.

Gree grabs him by the shirtfront and holds him in place. “Codes,” he says, deadly serious. “Don’t make me sit on you. Because I will sit on you.”

Cody knows he’s not exaggerating.

“Seriously, though,” Wolffe says. “Are you shagging Kenobi?”

“And also married to him?” Ponds adds.

Cody winces, reaches over Gree’s hands to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan’s presence in his mind is warm and amused. They’re your brothers, my dear. Tell them if you want to. He laughs, and Cody knows in his bones that his Jedi is laughing out loud as well as in the bond between them. At least they won’t find out like Anakin did.

Fox waves a finger in Cody’s face. “See his eyes?” he says, excited. “When they go all faraway like that? Means he’s talking to Kenobi in his head.”

Cody rolls his eyes. “Fox.”

“Don’t ‘Fox’ me,” Fox fires back. “You were doing it in the press conference too, I saw you.” He smirks. “If you’re going to use your Force bond to gossip with your Jedi husband when you’re supposed to be working, you could at least try to disguise your tells.”

Cody didn’t even know he had tells, so that’s actually useful advice.

“So you are married!” Ponds exclaims.

Cody winces. “We’re not married,” he sighs. “It’s an ancient form of Jedi bond that’s described in some of the Temple records as being like a marriage.” He can feel his cheeks hearing. “And, uh, it can only be formed between people who, ah, care for each other.”

Bly puts his hands on his hips. “And I’ve been getting all this shit from you lot because Aayla kissed me. Cody’s general married him!”

“It’s not actually a marriage—” Cody tries.

“I hope your husband’s treating you right,” Wolffe interrupts, grinning. “Otherwise I think we’re going to have to have words with General Kenobi. Can’t have him neglecting our brother.”

“Seriously, ask General Skywalker about Irilis Prime the next time you see him,” Rex says to Wolffe.

“Please don’t,” Cody groans.

Wolffe’s grin widens. “Well, I’m definitely going to now.”

Cody should really have seen that coming.

Gree’s hands tighten in Cody’s shirt. “Codes,” he says, his voice serious. “In there, you said this happened by accident.” His gaze is searching. “Do you actually want this, vod? To be bonded to your general?”

In the back of his mind, Cody feels Obi-Wan’s attention turn to him. He’s pretty sure his Jedi is trying to be subtle about it, but they’ve spent far too much time inside each other’s minds by now for him not to notice.

Which means he’s got two audiences to placate.

Cody sighs and covers Gree’s hands with his own. “Yes, I do,” he says simply, forcibly detaching Gree’s fingers from his shirt. “To start with, it was kriffing horrible. But now I think it might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Wolffe punches Cody’s shoulder and crows, “You are in love with him!”

Cody feels his cheeks flush, feels the instinct rise to retreat, to deny, to walk away, but these are his brothers. And it’s true. “Yeah,” he says, his voice unexpectedly rough. “Yeah, I am.”

Fortunately, he’s saved from further bullying by the door to the green room opening again. It’s Senator Amidala, her expression calm and serene, and it only takes a moment for Cody and his brothers to manage to scrape themselves into a passably good impression of military professionals. Cody imagines they’re going to need it, considering that her attempt to present the vode in as positive a light as possible somewhat disintegrated towards the end. He draws himself straighter, tucks his hands behind his back.

Amidala waits for the door to close behind her, then her serenity cracks into a beaming grin. “Well,” she says, sounding delighted, “I think that went very well indeed. You should all be exceptionally proud of yourselves.”

Wolffe puffs out his chest. Fox grins. Bly mostly just looks relieved.

Cody wonders if the senator attended a different press conference to him.

Amidala grimaces. “Although I must apologise to you, Cody,” she says, taking a step towards him and lightly touching his arm. “I warned Commander Bly that the questions aimed at him may stray into the intimate, but I didn’t know that there were so many loose lips at the Jedi Temple.”

Cody blinks. “There’s no need for you to apologise, Senator,” he says gruffly. “I think I should be the one apologising.”

Amidala looks surprised. “For what?”

“Things got a bit derailed in there, sir,” Cody answers. “That was my responsibility and I’m sorry.”

“ ‘Derailed’?” Amidala echoes, her smile surprisingly warm. “No, no, Commander, that was perfect.” She squeezes his arm, lets go. “I’m only sorry that you were unprepared.”

Cody exchanges a brief glance with Fox, who looks as confused as he feels. “Ah, sorry, sir, but how exactly was that perfect?”

Amidala grins. It’s concerningly feral. “Most people aren’t interested in field tactics and deployment strategies. What most people are interested in is the personalities behind those tactics and strategies – your personalities. And I think those were demonstrated ably.” She kriffing winks at Bly, who looks abashed, then grins wider at Cody. “Everyone loves a love story. I just didn’t anticipate that we’d get two.”

She’s an utter menace, Obi-Wan sighs.

“General Kenobi says you’re a menace, Senator,” Cody reports.

Cody, you traitor!

Amidala snorts inelegantly. “Tell him that he still owes Anakin for Irilis Prime.”

Cody thinks he hears Wolffe mutter something along the lines of, What kriffing happened on Irilis Prime?, but for his own sanity he’s going to ignore it. “I’ll pass the message along,” he says, nodding.

“Excellent,” Amidala beams. “And sincerely, Commanders, Captain, you have all done wonderfully today. I know this is not exactly what you were trained for, but it seemed like you’d been doing this all your life.”

“I’d rather take on a full squad of clankers by myself than have to do this again,” Gree says brightly.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Amidala laughs.

Ponds raises a hand. “Senator?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“Any chance we could maybe let those guys out there know that not all of us are mooning after our Jedi?” Ponds asks with a wince. “Cody and Bly just have… problems.”

“Hey!” Bly protests.

Wolffe snorts a laugh. “What’s wrong, Ponds?” he asks. “General Windu not good enough for you?”

Ponds rolls his eyes. “Just because you want to be adopted by General Koon, Wolffy.”

“I do not!” Wolffe blusters.

Rex chuckles, Gree brays a laugh, Wolffe tries to get Ponds into a headlock, and it all starts to descend into the kind of chaos that’s more appropriate for 79s at the end of an evening rather than the company of a Republic Senator. Amidala, however, seems like she’s loving it – which, now that Cody thinks about it, does make sense for a woman who spends quite so much time with General Skywalker.

Cody? Obi-Wan whispers.

Yes, Obi-Wan?

If you’re finished winning over the press, Obi-Wan murmurs, there’s a matter I would like to discuss with you in person in the Temple.

Cody’s lips twist. You know, you can just say that you miss me, cyare.

I do miss you, Obi-Wan agrees. I also want to discuss exactly how attractive I apparently find you when you’re being emotionally open.

Cody suppresses a shudder. I can feel exactly how attractive you find it, sir, he answers. We don’t need to discuss it.

Cody?

Yes, Obi-Wan?

Get back here.

Cody grins, makes his excuses—Fox gives him a knowing look, which he ignores—and goes.

The next morning, Cody drowses in the sunlight streaming in through the windows of Obi-Wan’s quarters in the Jedi Temple. He’s mostly still asleep, sprawled across Obi-Wan’s bare stomach, pinning him to the mattress, and he lies there, warm and sated, happy and content, feeling Obi-Wan’s fingers card slowly through his hair.

Obi-Wan is more awake, sitting propped up against the headboard, his datapad in one hand. Cody can feel the hum of his mind but it’s fainter than it usually is, which suggests that Obi-Wan is shielding so he doesn’t disturb Cody’s dozing. He can hear the soft tap of Obi-Wan’s fingertips against the datapad, the rustle of the sheets as he shifts, the muted rumble of Coruscant outside, the whisper of his Jedi’s breathing.

The sun is warm and gentle.

Cody has nowhere to be, so he drowses a little longer.

A while later, he isn’t sure how much, he feels Obi-Wan’s stomach tense beneath his cheek, hears a stifled chuckle. He’s radiating amusement in the bond, too, despite his lacklustre shielding.

Cody reluctantly peels himself up, peers groggily up at Obi-Wan. “What are you laughing at?” he asks, full of sleep.

Obi-Wan’s hair is messy and there’s still the imprint of the pillow on his cheek. “Good morning,” he murmurs, pushing his hand through Cody’s hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Cody stretches out, crawls up the bed, kisses Obi-Wan gently. “You’re forgiven,” he rumbles, collapsing back down again, blanketing Obi-Wan completely and burying his face in his neck. Obi-Wan laughs, wraps his arms around Cody’s shoulders, kisses his temple, and Cody closes his eyes, breathes in the smell of his skin, his hair, his body. “What were you laughing at?” Cody asks into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, nuzzling deeper.

Obi-Wan’s fingertips weave into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Padmé’s press conference has made its way into the news bulletins,” he answers, tugging Cody’s hair, scratching his scalp like he’s a kriffing tooka. “Some of the coverage is rather… entertaining.”

Cody groans, buries himself deeper in Obi-Wan’s neck. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad at all,” Obi-Wan replies, and Cody hears the soft tap of his fingertips against the datapad again. “In fact, the coverage is rather overwhelmingly positive – Commander Bly in particular is receiving a lot of attention. The phrase ‘star crossed’ has been thrown around quite a lot in reference to him and Aayla.”

Cody hums. “He can keep the attention. I don’t kriffing want it.”

Obi-Wan chuckles quietly. “I’m afraid you haven’t escaped wholly unscathed.”

Cody groans.

“Wolffe is described as ‘commanding’,” Obi-Wan reports, “and Ponds as ‘authoritative’. Gree is ‘charming’—”

“Gree?” Cody asks, looking up at Obi-Wan with a frown. “Charming?”

“That’s what Mr Likimena writes.”

Cody flops back down. “Must have mixed him up with one of the rest of us. We do all have the same face. It’s easy to do.”

Obi-Wan tugs his hair lightly. “Meanwhile Commander Fox is ‘sardonic’ and ‘witty’.”

“He’ll enjoy that,” Cody mumbles into Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“And Captain Rex comes out of it very well,” Obi-Wan says. “He is ‘intelligent’, ‘quick-witted’, and ‘adaptive’.”

“He has to be to keep up with General Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Yes, Anakin does rather keep him on his toes.” His fingers run through Cody’s hair. “Would you like to know what they’re saying about you?”

“Not particularly,” Cody mutters.

“According to Mr Likimena, you are passionate and driven,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “According to Bomiron, you are a lone voice speaking out against injustice. According to K4-O6, you are an indifferent, glacial presence, as intimidating as you are insightful.”

“Rich coming from a droid,” Cody mumbles into Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Do you want to know what Prenta Bliss has written about you?” Obi-Wan asks.

Cody groans. “I really don’t.”

“The word ‘lovelorn’ is used.”

Cody groans again.

“And ‘pining’.”

“Stop,” Cody protests, but doesn’t move.

“You ‘ache’ for me, apparently.”

“Only when I haven’t stretched enough,” Cody grumbles, and with a single flailing flap of his arm he knocks the datapad out of Obi-Wan’s grasp. “Enough. I don’t need to know this.”

“The first time I spoke directly to the Coruscanti press, they called me an arrogant relic,” Obi-Wan muses. “Really, my dear, I think you’ve done rather well. Although I am a little offended that Bliss has apparently decided that I am either ignorant of or uncaring of your affections.”

“It’s the whole arrogant relic thing,” Cody mumbles into his throat.

Obi-Wan swats his shoulder, but Cody can feel him vibrating with laughter so he figures he’s not too annoyed. “You did well,” Obi-Wan says, quieter, fingers carding through Cody’s hair. “You all did. I only hope that the rest of the Republic can see what I see in you.”

Cody shifts, leans up, kisses Obi-Wan. “I hope not,” he says dryly. “I’ve already got one Jedi rattling around inside my head. I don’t want the whole Republic doing the same.” He pauses, grimaces. “Oh, I don’t want to know what my comm’s like this morning. The whole kriffing GAR will know by now.”

“Maybe it won’t be that bad?” Obi-Wan offers, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

Cody shakes his head. “You wouldn’t think it, but Wolffe is a massive gossip. He won’t have kept this quiet.”

Obi-Wan’s fingertips trace the scar around Cody’s eye. “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, quiet, reserved, not quite meeting Cody’s gaze.

Cody grabs his chin, holds him still. “No,” he says firmly. “No, it’s not. But the shit I’m gonna get from every single one of my several million brothers will be.” He plants a kiss on Obi-Wan’s lips. “You’ll be fine, General Kenobi. They won’t bully you.”

“You’re a Marshall Commander, Cody,” Obi-Wan points out. “How bad can it be?”

“Bad,” Cody says glumly. “You should see the shit they’ve been giving Bly since Irilis Prime.”

Obi-Wan pulls him in, kisses him again. “In which case,” he murmurs, eyes bright, skin warm, his hand curled around the back of Cody’s neck, “I am truly grateful you chose to tell your brothers, knowing that that would be the consequence.”

“The tooka was kind of out of the bag by then,” Cody deadpans. “Prenta kriffing Bliss saw to that with all that talk about the bond.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze is soft. “You didn’t have to tell them that you love me.”

Cody smiles. “Yeah, I did,” he whispers, leans in, and kisses him.