Chapter Text
Cody is quiet as he lets himself into Fox’s apartment, because he knows that the Corrie commanders have weird schedules and, according to Jayme, have “seventeen years of sleep debt to recuperate.” Though how that math works, Cody doesn’t pretend to understand, and he’s certainly not going to ask Jayme for clarification. He values his life.
He still feels slightly dazed, somehow managing to get a cab back to the loosely-organized clone district on autopilot; his mind is still caught up on that final conversation with Kenobi.
I suppose, then, that there really will never be an opportune time to confess that I’m rather in love with you, hm?
What the fuck is Cody supposed to do with that.
He stumbles his way to Fox’s room – also currently Cody’s room – and allows himself to linger briefly in the doorway, watching the silhouette of Fox breathing. When he’s on his back like this, Fox has these adorable, snuffly little snores that Cody has always found helplessly endearing. It’s good to hear them again.
Cody strips off his civvies with more difficulty than he cares to admit, tripping over his feet in a way he hasn’t since he was a cadet in his first set of training armor. He finally got a pair of those spacer pants he’s always wanted, the ones with all the pockets, and they are even better than he’d imagined. They also are looser at the ankles than his bodyglove was, and he keeps stepping on the edges and losing his balance when getting dressed and undressed. It’s very undignified, and if Fox were awake he’d never let Cody hear the end of it.
Down to his undershirt and shorts, Cody tiptoes toward the bed and stands over Fox, contemplating his options and angle of attack. Aiming carefully, Cody leans and leans and finally lets himself fall, landing perfectly with a thump on top of Fox and knocking the wind out of them both.
Fox wakes immediately, body tensing as if to throw Cody off before he seemingly realizes who is attacking him in the middle of the night. Instead of launching Cody out of the bed, he wraps his arms around Cody’s back and snuggles him close like a Cody’s a stuffed tooka, wriggling around until he’s comfortable again.
“The hell, Kot’ika,” Fox grumbles blearily. “’s wrong with you.”
Cody tucks his head more thoroughly under Fox’s chin, nuzzling his cheek against the soft knit sweater Fox has taken to wearing to bed. It’s nice. Cozy.
“General’s in love with me,” Cody tells him.
“Yes,” says Fox, and then…silence. He seems to be waiting for Cody to say more. After a solid minute or so, Fox huffs a breath of annoyance into Cody’s hair. “Is there more to this?”
Cody frowns into Fox’s chest. “Isn’t that enough? General’s in love with me.”
“I am aware,” Fox says, dry. And then, finally understanding, “You didn’t know?”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know?” Cody demands – not whines, he’s definitely not whining.
“Codes, everyone knew. Knows. Whatever,” Fox tells him with the tone of someone explaining something very simple to someone very stupid. “It’s not like Kenobi’s been subtle about it.”
Cody moves to sit up some, though Fox doesn’t let him get very far, arms like iron bands around Cody’s torso. Eventually, he manages enough space to be able to look Fox in the face, squinting through the dark to try to read his brother’s expression. From the crinkle of his brow and the pinch at the corner of his mouth, Fox is giving Cody the face that says, someone is being stupid and it is somehow becoming my problem and I am not pleased with this state of affairs. So he’s serious, then.
Cody thunks his head back down onto Fox’s chest. He thinks of Kenobi, of the last year or so: thinks of days spent leaning against one another in ships’ offices and in foxholes; of nights spent back to back, falling asleep to the comforting sensation of someone breathing against him. He thinks of tea and caf and gentle smiles over endless reports, shared humor over Cody’s vod’e’s pranks. Of sitting by Kenobi’s bedside in the medbay after a close call, waiting for him to wake; of waking in the medbay himself to the sight of Kenobi slumped in a chair next to his bed, and of the firm, almost desperate kov’nyn Kenobi had pressed to Cody’s forehead on realizing Cody was awake. He thinks of all the comfort he has taken in Kenobi’s friendship, the sense of safety and something like belonging, feelings he had allowed himself to indulge because he thought Kenobi was safe.
And feels a strange, aching hollowing sort of sensation in his chest where his heart ought to be.
“Have I been hurting him?” Cody asks, voice small and uncertain in a way he hates. “I thought – we talked about it, once, and I thought he was like me. And I let myself – I let myself be close to him. But does – did he think I meant something else?”
The thought is unbearable, the fear and the pain twofold. Cody feels almost betrayed: when he thought Kenobi was like him, he felt so much less alone in this galaxy, and he let his guard down. He allowed himself the comfort of touch and affection, unguarded because he thought it was safe. And now…
The thought of having hurt Kenobi with his – his lack, it’s awful in a way Cody doesn’t know how to articulate, even to himself. And it’s compounded by the heart-stopping terror that he could lose Kenobi over this, that Kenobi might pull away to protect himself from Cody, and that Cody will be left cold and alone. Again.
He sniffs, and is mortified to realize he’s leaking tears onto Fox’s beautiful sweater. For his part, Fox is stroking a hand up and down Cody’s spine, making soothing shhhing noises while Cody has a crisis. He’s kind enough to wait until Cody’s collected himself some before he uses real words again.
“Don’t you think he would’ve said something if you were hurting him?” Fox asks, gentle and kindly meant. But Fox – Fox hasn’t spent years living side-by-side with Cody’s idiot Jedi.
“He absolutely would not,” Cody tells Fox mournfully. “Dramatic little shit once told me he’s meant for infinite sadness, my dear. He’s karked in the head, absolutely a suffer-in-silence type, especially if he thinks it’ll help someone else.”
Cody feels the odd sensation of Fox crinkling his nose in distaste where he’s resting his face against Cody’s scalp. “What a fucking weirdo,” he declares. Cody nods.
They’re quiet for a good long while, Cody listening to the steady, comforting beat of Fox’s heart, lulled by his big brother’s warmth and even breathing. It’s been so long since either of them spoke that Cody’s starting to wonder if Fox has fallen back asleep, when Fox takes a deep breath, seeming almost to brace against his own words.
“Kot’ika,” he says, quiet and gentle in a way Fox never is, never with anyone but Cody. “Do you love him?”
It’s like a gut punch, and Cody hears himself make a wounded little sound, too close to a whimper for his own dignity. “I can’t, Fox, you know that,” he says, anguished.
Fox shakes his head, pauses, and then tugs at Cody, rearranging them until they’re both on their sides, facing one another, Fox’s hand buried in Cody’s hair and holding him there. “No, Kote, not love like Bly or like Boil or even like Kenobi. Do you love him the way you love?” A breath. “Like you love me?”
And oh. Cody hasn’t thought of it like that. Because of course he loves – loves his brothers, loves Fox. And yes, loves Kenobi, in his own way. Kenobi is his dearest friend, a partner and a confidant, and like no one Cody has ever known.
“Not – not quite like the way I love you,” he manages to grit out after a minute. “But. Yes. I’m – in the way that I know how, I do. Love him.”
Hesitation. “Do you love him more than you love me?”
Cody rears back, staring at Fox incredulously. Fox’s face is carefully blank, neutral; it’s a face that says he’s expecting a blow, and he doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing that he can be hurt. Cody is offended.
“Don’t be stupid,” he snarls. “You’re Fox. You’re mine. I don’t love him more than you, that’s ridiculous. It’s just different. That’s all.”
Some tension that Cody hadn’t noticed before goes out of Fox, and he relaxes further into Cody’s hold. “Well, that’s alright then,” he says, nonchalant.
Cody rolls his eyes and presses his forehead to Fox’s, taking comfort in the familiar warmth and the scratch of Fox’s overgrown curls. But he can’t help circling back. “I don’t know what to do, Fox,” he admits in a whisper.
“Have you considered,” Fox says, pulling back to look Cody in the eye again. “Talking to him?”
“Horrible, no, other options, please.”
Fox blows out a heavy breath against Cody’s collarbone, and offers, “Well, in that case I suppose you can just pretend it never happened and avoid thinking about emotions until you die.”
Cody considers this. “Yes,” he decides. “I choose that one.”
And honestly? It works, for a while, ignoring Kenobi’s confession and pretending the sentimental idiot never said anything. It helps, of course, that Kenobi also seems content to never bring it up – though, that may just be because he doesn’t want Cody to set Helix on him again. No matter that Helix is half a galaxy away these days, traveling to war-ravaged planets – Republic and CIS alike – with a group of medics and Jedi MediCorps. This is fair, Cody thinks, because medics have mysterious powers unknowable even to Jedi, and Kenobi has clearly decided that mere lightyears of distance wouldn’t stop Helix if provoked.
And so it goes.
Cody pours himself into the work of securing the Vod’e a future and of turning his introductory civics documents into a functioning independent democracy. He convenes a dozen different working groups made of brothers, filled out with the occasional Jedi or another rare trusted natborn. Eighteen Chief Quartermasters start tallying resources, both current and future once backpay really kicks in, and calculating the long-term needs of some three million brothers. Twenty-seven medics partner with a handful of MediCorps geneticists to reverse the rapid aging in the cadets and tubies yet to reach maturity, while medical lawyers (which are apparently a thing that exists; natborns are insanely specialized) ensure that the Vod’e as a collective have full ownership of their modified genome. A group of Alpha trainers and some hand-picked Kamino vod’e start talking with the EduCorps about what a non-military standard education program might entail.
Committees divide into subcommittees, put together reports and proposals and send it all back up the chain to a council of Marshal Commanders and the Commanders of the ten Systems Armies. Ultimately, Cody and Ponds, as Vod'alor and Senator respectively, have the final say in all of it, but that won’t always be the case.
Cody and Ponds are agreed that the two biggest and most immediate problems are their physical statelessness and their long-term economic viability. For all that there are brothers chasing new opportunities across dozens of Republic planets, not every planet has been as welcoming as Alderaan or Chandrila. Some planets have strict caps on the number of the Vod’e they’ll allow in, and nearly a third of Republic planets have a total embargo on immigration and refugee intake as they try to rebuild. Cody personally thinks the latter is an especially stupid policy choice, but then, it’s not really his business. Instead, he focuses on figuring out where in this broken galaxy his people can call home.
It turns out that Master Archivist Jocasta Nu took the erasure of Kamino from her records extremely personally, and has spent much of the last three years hounding the members of the ExploraCorps for updated star maps. She has a small army of vod assistants (and they all worship the ground she walks on; Master Nu has more mandokar than most anyone Cody’s ever met), and one mentions in passing that the Vod’e are considering a planetary settlement of their own. Hardly missing a beat, Nu summons the governing body of the Vod’e to her domain and presents a veritable feast of options.
The Jedi, too, are making changes. The presence of a Sith in the middle of Coruscant has rattled them, as has the fear and hatred of Jedi they often encountered on planets outside the Core. But the Jedi Order, Master Nu explains, wasn’t always so small and concentrated in the Core. In fact, there are easily a dozen planets reasonably accessible by hyperlane in the Mid Rim with ancient, abandoned Jedi temples. Nu has apparently already set the ExploraCorps on them to see which ones might be restored and habitable within a year or two. And after all the years spent fighting side by side, after the bill that formally integrated the Vod'e as a branch of the JediCorps, it only makes sense for the two peoples to build their post-war home together. Cody and Ponds start up yet another committee, stick Gree at the head of it, and start talking about economic infrastructure.
And so it goes.
Cody spends his days reading reports and proposals and legislative drafts -- and meeting with brothers and chairing committees and lobbying lawmakers at every level of the squishy, half-reformed hierarchy of the Republic. He plots and plans and schemes with his vod'e, and builds them a future piece by piece from the nothing the galaxy gave them. It’s a mind-boggling amount of work, and no less exhausting for the fact that almost none of it is physical. But it’s good work. He’s building something here, something that will hold Cody's brothers – veterans and cadets and tubies and those who have yet to be decanted – through the coming years and, if Cody can get this right, generations.
Generations of the Vod’e. Imagine that.
He still makes the time for his brothers now, though: Cody has weekly holocalls with Rex, who is usually accompanied by at least one of the Skywalker-Amidala twins and sometimes Ahsoka. He makes time to hit the gym or the training salles every day and spars with one or other of his batchers a couple times a week, if only to keep himself from going blind staring at tiny text on datapads. As it is, Jayme has been making noise about getting him reading glasses. Cody has thus far refused to entertain the idea, if only because Fox will be utterly insufferable.
On his days off – because he has those now, karking wild – Cody goes out with his batchers and reads in the Temple Archives and goes to the theater with Mace Windu. Cody knows fuck-all about art, but he discovers quickly that he has Opinions about it. And Windu, small gods bless, matches Cody with the bitchiest little nitpicky takes about everything they see – especially the ones Windu likes. Cody was right, Windu is karking hilarious, and Ponds doesn't deserve him. Windu also confesses to Cody that he’s auditioned some recently himself, the first time in years, and he’s been cast in a Serennian opera. He invites Cody to come see the show opening night, and Cody promises to be there with bells on.
And so it goes.
At the end of every day, Cody goes home to Fox and Fox's Corrie Commanders; he cooks and burns simple dishes, bickers with his vod’e, sleeps in a real bed. He spends some nights curled around Fox, and some alone in Fox’s bed while Fox sleeps with his Corries and they take care of each other.
It is everything Cody told Bly he might want for after the war, and more. Cody had never let himself imagine that life could be this good, this full.
And through it all is Kenobi. It’s strange and disconcerting, at first, to not be living in each other’s pockets. Cody has grown so used to looking over and finding Kenobi looking back, to reaching and finding Kenobi reaching back, that he’s thrown off-kilter by the struggle to find a new balance. To build a real friendship, outside of duty.
Cody is preoccupied with the work of Vod’alor, and Kenobi – well, Kenobi is basking in his relief of shedding the title of General, of just being a Jedi again. He bounces between Coruscant and Naboo, alternating between spoiling the Skywalker-Amidala tubies and starting low-stakes fights and prank wars with the Council just to keep from getting bored. Kenobi tells Cody about all of it over tea every week, tucked away in Kenobi’s rooms in the Temple on opposite ends of the couch. It’s not nightly flimsiwork sessions over too much caffeine, and it takes Cody some time to realize that the frequency of their meetings and the subject of their conversation aren’t the only things that have changed. That there’s a cold, empty foot of space, minimum, between their bodies at all times, now. That Kenobi is keeping him at arm’s length. It’s all soft smiles and conspiratorial grins and warmth and safety – and light-years of distance.
It almost hollows Cody out, some nights.
“I miss him,” Cody confesses quietly into Fox’s shoulder one night. He doesn’t need to specify who he means. Fox says nothing, and pulls him closer.
So it goes.