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Cody's force presence, usually a soft and gentle sunrise, narrows and focuses. A lens in the rays of the sun, about to burn everything in its path.
Cody's steady sunlight had weathered all manner of atrocities through the course of this war. Whatever has caused this change must be terrible on an unimaginable scale. Obi-wan registers his own rising dread, then breathes it, and the nausea that comes with it, out into the force.
Without opening his eyes or turning his head, Cody reaches back to hand him the datapad.
Chips. Control chips. In their heads.
"There's a Sith high up in the senate." Obi-wan says, voice hollow, echoing what his own Grandmaster had told him so long ago.
"Yes." Cody agrees.
It's the only thing that makes sense, given the orders on the pad.
"Oh kriff." Ponds says as he approaches the table. 79's is the last place anyone would have a secret military intelligence briefing, which makes it perfect. Obi-wan looks up at the uncharacteristic swearing. He sounds weary and resigned. "Cody's got his murder face on again. Do I have time for a drink?"
There's a loud sigh from behind Ponds, as Fox peers over his shoulder.
"Who activated Cody's danger mode? I'm up for shooting someone, and you won't believe the experience I have in hiding bodies."
Bly snorts and slides two drinks across the table towards the newcomers.
Ponds slips into the seat next to Obi-wan, and must pick up on his confusion, because he starts to open his mouth, only to pause as Cody flicks a jammer into the middle of the table. No one seems surprised by this.
"The last time Cody had that look on his face," Ponds explains quietly, "he got that scar."
Fox scoffs from across the table, and adds "When danger mode is activated, his priorities twist. Self-preservation drops right down the list."
"Vanishes entirely." Bly mutters into his drink, and Obi-wan feels his stomach clench in worry.
"You ever wonder why we all follow him?" Ponds asks. "Even though we're all created identical, even though we're all CC's, even though we all started as Commanders with equal rank?"
Obi-wan shakes his head. "I'd assumed it was just because he is... who he is."
Fox snorts, and Bly pulls a face. Ponds just rolls his eyes.
"No." He says shortly. "He's not near as much of a bastard as Fox, but it's definitely not his charming personality."
Cody doesn't flip him off. Obi-wan marks another worrying symptom in the change that has come over his Commander. Too lost in his focus to even flip off his brothers.
"He stood up." Bly says from across the table. "Did what nobody else would do. What nobody else could do. Knowing that he would pay the price for it."
"Only survived because Prime saw what happened." Fox spits bitterly. "Thought it was funny."
"About time one of you grew a little backbone." Ponds quotes, with a level of venom Obi-wan has never heard from him.
"Stepped in and named him." Bly growls. "Only reason he didn't get decommed."
"Knew Prime was there, though." Fox muses. "Weighed his odds, even then."
"Saved more brothers than anyone other than a Jedi." Bly says. "When we needed it."
And that would explain the unquestioning, unhesitating loyalty and respect the other troopers show him.
"Even the alphas listen to him." Ponds says.
"That's how we knew Seventeen likes you." Fox says with a vicious little grin.
Obi-wan had worked out that Cody was one of Seventeen's favourites. That had been clear when the alpha had explained to Obi-wan, in significant detail, exactly what would happen to him if Cody died in any way Seventeen viewed as preventable. And only some of those threats were based on the apparent fact that without Cody there to look after him, his own stupidity would get him killed sooner rather than later. But for Seventeen to trust him with Cody, a Cody who was apparently the de facto leader of the Vode, that's an unimaginable honour.
"A couple of trainers had set up a fight ring." Ponds says, voice eerily calm. "Placed bets on which cadets would survive."
Obi-wan takes a slow deep breath to try and calm the sudden furious nausea. The idea of these men, his men, as children...
"They're dead now." Fox says, and takes a casual sip from his glass.
"Jango named you?" He asks. Because something about that doesn't feel right. Cody isn't the sort of name -
Cody's focus turns slowly to rest on Obi-wan, and he fights down a shiver.
"Kote." He says, a quiet furious disdain dripping from the word.
"Ah."
Because, yes. Cody doing what was necessary to save his siblings, knowing he would die for it? Cody doing what should clearly never have to be done in the first place? Then being saved and named glory on a whim by the man who put them into that situation? Well.
"So you twisted it and made it yours." Obi-wan surmises. The same way the clones do with everything. They have nothing except the scraps people drop for them, what they can pick up, discarded, what they can steal. And then they mould it to fit them, shape it into something unique. Something precious. Something with worth and with meaning.
Cody places the datapad face down on the table. Ponds is the first to reach for it.
"Kriff." He says, after a minute, then hands the datapad to Bly.
"That would do it." Bly says, once he's finished reading, and hands the pad to Fox.
"Would explain the blackout missions." Fox says, once he's done.
They all turn to face him. He smiles at them, far too calm. "I can't tell you about them." And while there's no emphasis at all on the words, Obi-wan is suddenly very sure that he means he can't tell them about the missions.
"You know who gives them to you?" Cody asks.
"Yes." Fox says, meeting his eyes in the flashing lights of the bar.
"I should head back." Fox says, pushing away from the table. "Unless there's anything more you need from me. It'll be better if I don't know anything else."
Which is another horrifying thing on top of all the others. That the Sith could, and, Fox was implying, regularly did, rummage around in Fox's brain.
"Intent is key." Obi-wan warns, "thoughts are one thing, but intent is much easier to read."
Fox grins that sharp little grin again.
"Oh, don't worry. I overflow with murderous intent on a good day. He's not going to notice a little more."
It's the being trapped, Obi-wan thinks, that might be the worst of the horrors. Knowing what's going on but being unable to stop it.
Obi-wan places his drink carefully down on the table, interrupting the planning session.
"When I was a padwan, I spent some time on Mandalore as protection detail for Duchess Kyrze." He meets each of their gazes. Cody knows this already, of course, but it may be news to the others. What Cody doesn't know is that - "During this time, I met a particularly persistent Goran, who insisted I take with me a souvenir when I left." Cody goes completely still, his entire focus narrowed on on Obi-wan. Intense. Obi-wan swallows. "It's completely useless to me of course." He states. Suppresses a shudder at the remembered feeling of being cut off from the force, surrounded by beskar'gam. He looks up to meet Cody's eye. Holds it. "But the force was clear that I should take it anyway. It's yours." Obi-wan says. "If you want it."
They're about to fight a Sith Master. Wrapping Cody up in armour that will hide his force presence and block lightsabers is essential. Plo isn't back on Coruscant, so they can't test it, but as far as they can work out, it should hopefully block Sith lightning as well.
Obi-wan is knelt on the floor, carefully strapping a piece of the armour to Cody's leg. Obi-wan hadn't ever had it fitted to him, and it fits Cody much better than it ever did him. Obi-wan thanks the force, again, for giving him this all those years ago. Why else would it have done so but to help protect this man?
The straps and fixtures all need adjusting and loosening, they might be of a similar height, but Cody has significantly more muscle than him even now, let alone when he'd been a scrawny half-starved padwan.
"Paint." Obi-wan says, and Cody nods.
The room in the barracks where the paint is kept is dark and empty. Cody flicks on a single light, and Obi-wan heads straight for the pot of 212th gold. They don't have time to strip and repaint the entire armour, this will have to do.
"May I?" Obi-wan asks as he steps towards Cody, open tin of paint in one hand and paintbrush in the other. His heart is beating fast and loud in his chest.
Cody nods.
Obi-wan takes the last step forwards, right into Cody's space. He dips the paintbrush into the paint, and draws it in a careful stripe down the front center of his Commander's chest. He works carefully, blocking in the intensely familiar patterns of Cody's armour directly on top of the faded and scratched paint that's there already. The silence around them is heavy, thick with tension as he works.
When he steps back, finished, to check over his work, Cody reaches out slowly, deliberately, and swipes his thumb through the paint still on the end of the brush.
All Obi-wan can hear is their breathing. Just that fraction too fast.
With his other hand, Cody reaches for Obi-wan's forearm. Tugs the sleeve of his robes back, just the tiniest amount. Then he drags his painted thumb over the inside of Obi-wan's wrist, drawing three separate, distinct lines. In a pattern Obi-wan would know anywhere. A pattern Obi-wan had just painted onto the center of his Commander's armour.
Cody looks up to meet his eyes, hands still cradling his wrist.
The air feels thick to breathe.
Either or both of them will likely die tomorrow.
And this is the most they can have.
Obi-wan feels his lips twist up into a wry smile, and Cody huffs a laugh.
"I'm glad to have met you, sir." He says.
"Likewise, my dear." Obi-wan lets his lips fall into something a little softer, a lot more genuine. "It's been genuinely an honour to have worked with you. And a delight to have known you."
If either of them die tomorrow, well. The force is in everything, and it won't be the first time they've marched on opposite sides of the galaxy. This will just be a bit further, and for a bit longer.
Cody smiles back, fond, and reaches up to cup the back of Obi-wan's neck. Obi-wan can feel the slight coolness of the still wet paint. A single golden thumbprint on his neck behind his ear. Cody's fingers press, firm and gentle, until their foreheads just brush.
They stay like that for a long minute.
Then "lets go kill a sith." Cody whispers into the air between them.
Obi-wan smirks.
"Oya!"
Obi-wan's role in this scheme is to be a distraction. To take up as much of the Sith's attention as possible. Or as his Commander put it "making his usual nuisance of himself". Obi-wan is very good at drawing attention.
"Master Kenobi." The Chancellor greets as Obi-wan storms towards him across the crowded senate atrium. "Whatever is the matter?"
"That." Obi-wan says shortly, "is what I am trying to work out." He draws a breath, makes an obvious show of gathering himself. "Would you mind explaining to me, Chancellor, precisely why you felt it was necessary to take my then underage padwan to a dive bar on the lower levels?" Obi-wan hisses the words out, but is careful to keep them loud enough to be heard by the crowd. "Why it was that you had so much interest in a child only recently freed from slavery?" Obi-wan can feel the pause, the shock, the whispers that reverberate around the room. The High General of the 3rd Systems Army, poster child and hero of the war, apparently accusing the Supreme Chancellor of child molestation? It's going to be impossible to squash the rumours that this will create. The Chancellor's only recourse will be to try and discredit Obi-wan. "I thought you were mentoring him in politics." Obi-wan continues. Relentless. Best not to let the Chancellor get a word in edgeways. "I thought you cared for his wellbeing. Instead, I find out that you were grooming him. That you had plans for him. That you were using him, moulding him, manipulating him." And it all makes a horrible sort of sense. Annakin burns like the sun in the force. What Sith wouldn't want him as an apprentice?
There's a crack of a slugthrower, surprisingly quiet in the vast atrium. The slug whistles past Obi-wan's ear. Extremely close. But he trusts his men. Trusts Cody. Trusts Cody's brothers. Is used to fighting beside them. Knows exactly how capable they are. They won't hit him. He doesn't even flinch. Watches instead as cold realisation seeps into the Chancellor's eyes. He has two choices now. Out himself as a Sith, or get hit by the slug.
Either option will work for them, it's a kill shot.
The Chancellor throws up his hand. The slug spins in the air, and Obi-wan wrestles enough control of the slug in the force for it to hit his shoulder, not his heart, but he's out of this fight. As they all knew he would be. It isn't his.
He's glad he judged that right though. Cody would be extremely annoyed with him if he got himself killed playing bait. And if he has a slug in his shoulder, he has a perfect excuse for not stepping in when -
Cody steps up behind the Chancellor, beskar footsteps loud in the ringing silence. Which must be deliberate, Cody's excellent at sneaking.
"Bounty hunter." The Chancellor snarls, as he turns to face him. Apparently doesn't recognise a clone in different armour. Even though Cody's got his sunburst splashed across his chest. The armour marking of the highest ranking clone in the GAR.
The bounty on the Chancellor is incredibly high. Obi-wan wonders absently if Cody will take it.
Cody doesn't respond. He's got his external mic muted. All the clones should have by now. The Guard are, thanks to some miracle by Fox, mysteriously absent.
Cody draws two blasters as he walks closer, never changing his unhurried pace, and a quick glance shows they're set to stun. Cody knows exactly how easy it is to reflect bolts with a lightsaber and isn't taking any chances. He opens fire, but the blasters are just a distraction. To keep the Sith occupied as he moves steadily closer. It's not quite enough, and lightning skitters over the Beskar.
To no effect.
Obi-wan breathes a sigh of relief into the force.
Watches as Cody, now within the lightsaber's range, holsters his blasters even as he smoothly leans back to avoid a slash of the blade, turns the movement into a spin, and kicks upwards.
His foot connects with Palpatine's face, jerking his head backwards, blood pouring over wrinkled skin.
Without the ability to use the force on his opponent, the Sith is nothing more than a wrinkled old man. If with better reflexes than most. But Cody was made to keep up with the Jedi. Is among the best at hand-to-hand in the entire GAR. The fight was over as soon as Cody got within range.
Cody follows up with his fists, and ancient humans are a lot more fragile than droids. The snap of bone and the wheezing, bubbling, blood filled breaths of the chancellor are loud in the silence of the senate.
Cody doesn't even have a knife. Any weapon you bring to a fight against a Sith can be used against you. It's just as well he doesn't need one.
The Chancellor is nothing more than a broken pile at Cody's feet.
Cody picks up the lightsaber. Cuts through the Chancellor's neck.
Cody looks him over, in the halls of healing. Obi-wan watches as he folds his arms and tilts his head.
"You seem to still be alive, Sir."
Alive, and with gold paint marking the inside of his wrist. A thumbprint behind his ear.
"So do you, Commander."
The sharp focus has left him now. Faded back into soft and gentle sunlight.
"The war is over." Cody states.
"You know," Obi-wan says, leaning back, "I've been thinking of resigning my position in the GAR."
"I had thought that might be an option you would consider, Sir."
Obi-wan can't stop his quick grin, bright and sharp.
Cody smirks, then softens.
"Let me know when you're free of Command, Sir. I have something for you."
That something turns out to be a vambrace. Or, well, something like it. It's some sort of animal skin, soft and flexible. Enough that it won't restrict his saber work in any way. It's a fairly nondescript brown colour, and completely plain, except for three small radial lines, tooled into the inside of the wrist. To sit against his skin.
It's never been used, but it's not newly made. Cody's had it for a while.
Sure fingers, endlessly gentle, strap it carefully into place.
This time when a thumb catches the gold print behind his ear, now just starting to flake, and presses gently, it's not their foreheads that brush.