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literallyjustanerd · 7 months

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Chapter 4! It's exactly 5000 words! It's Codywan fluff and angst! It's got a clone OC cameo!

Cody divider by @freesia-writes with gorgeous helmet art by @lornaka

Summary: Brothers, reunited at last. As Cody and Rex fill in the blanks of their time spent separated, memories from before the end of the war float closer than ever to the surface. Memories of his general. And though he's overjoyed to be with Rex again, all is not well, in a way Cody can't quite understand. Will he be ready, when everything that has been hidden comes to light?

Words: 5000

Read it on AO3 or below! Hope you enjoy. Any and all comments are loved and appreciated and metaphorically printed out and pinned up with heart magnets on the little fridge in my mind :)

Obi-Wan moves like a ribbon through wind. Fluid and graceful, slick and sharp. Beautiful and devastating. The bright Kashyyyk sun turns his tunic translucent and sets his silhouette aflame as Cody watches and awes from below. It would be a death sentence to anyone else, yet Obi-Wan makes a dance of it. He’s an artist, each gleaming blue brushstroke leaving trails of elegant carnage in its wake. Around Cody the men cheer, an orchestra raising an accompaniment to their general's display. He loses grip on his saber when a droid knocks him forward, sends it plunging to the bottom of the canyon where his men had been cornered. Cody doesn’t fret, he has no need: it doesn’t slow his general in the slightest. Droidekas are airborne, then minced to scrap metal on the rock face with a regal wave of Obi-Wan’s hand. SBDs explode into blue and orange starbursts. They’re all but ignored by their destroyer, as though their purpose is merely to provide the gust of wind that artfully ruffles Obi-Wan’s auburn hair. He’s a poet. He’s a cyclone. He’s a force of nature. He’s Obi-Wan .

The last droid falls, tumbling gracelessly from the cliff face above. Obi-Wan descends after it to the whoops and hollers of the 212th. With impossible lightness and an ethereal calm, he meets ground, mere feet away from Cody. Close enough that Cody can see how his pale cheeks have pinked with exertion. It’s the only hint that he has expended any effort at all, and somehow it only makes him look more radiant. His breath still eluding him, Cody steps forward and presents Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to him like it’s an offering at an altar. Fingers brush with a jolt of electricity, and he isn’t ready for the look in Obi-Wan’s eyes when their gazes meet: he’s looking into a mirror, seeing his own awe and adulation reflected back at him. Obi-Wan looks at him like he’s the rising sun, like he’s the one defying odds, gravity, and logic. The smile on his face as he takes the saber lights a fire in Cody’s chest, his next words fuel to the flame.

“Wherever would I be without you?”

“Your message… I couldn’t believe it. Thought I’d–” Rex chokes on the last word, his smile trembling, fighting to stay on his lips. He breathes a slow breath, and finally, the giddy haze around them begins to lift. “When I heard you’d gone AWOL, I thought it was just another Empire cover-up. I… I thought they’d killed you.” Cody reaches forward again to grip Rex’s forearm. Their foreheads collide with a comforting bloom of pain, a few more seconds lost to silence as Rex’s words sink in. Cody means to speak again, he does. But he can’t seem to find enough air in his lungs for any of the things he wants to say, nor does he think his ears could stand to hear the answers to his questions. Seldom has he ever felt so weak, and the feeling grits on him, sandpaper against his skin. He shudders to imagine what his men would think of him, had they ever seen him in such a state. A man reborn, stripped of his rank, his identity taken with it. For the first time in Cody’s life, he feels nothing like a Marshal Commander. As disquieting as it is, as untethered and formless as it makes him feel, it does little to dull his joy at the familiar face before him. He may not be Marshal Commander anymore, but for the present moment, at least, he thinks he can settle for being a brother.

Cody and Rex stay on the floor of the transport, gripping tight to each other for longer than Cody cares to count. They’re both breathless through tears and laughter, their embrace so vigorous it’s almost violent. Cody doesn’t care: Rex could break his ribs and Cody wouldn’t blame him one bit. It’s a small eternity before either of them can speak. When they do, it’s both of them at once, their words tripping over boyish giggles, jostling and shoving each other playfully, like children.

“Where’d you get this bucket of bolts?”

“–missed you so kriffing much–”

“You looked like a maniac back there!”

“–can’t believe it’s really you –”

“You actually found me, you really–”

Both of them join for the final refrain:

“You’re here. ”

Rex stands, reaches a hand out to help Cody off the floor, then leads him down the short hall to the cockpit, all the while speaking with another clone through the comm, arranging a rendezvous point somewhere in a system Cody isn’t familiar with. At Rex’s order, the ship’s other crewmates clear the cockpit. Thoughtful of him, Cody thinks, to give them both some time alone. Once he shakes this strange feeling from his bones he imagines he and Rex will be up half the night catching up. He takes the co-pilot’s seat as his brother sets the navicomputer, watching him work. Pale, shallow shadows roam across Rex’s face from the console lights, dipping into and deepening the lines on his brow and around his jaw, his mouth pulled to one side in focus. Once their course is laid, he releases a breath, and his shoulders lax somewhat into the worn seat behind him. Only then can Cody, too, let his aching limbs go.

Eventually, Rex breaks the silence, laying his words out careful and slow in a way that pricks Cody's ears.

“Cody,” he says, low, “brother, I have to ask.” Cody’s back straightens. “Your inhibitor chip. Do you still have it?”

Memories lurch into his mind, sick and burrowing like Geonosian brain worms. Rex’s grief and panic after Fives’ death. The frantic searching for what it could all mean. Feeling it all the while deep in his bones, knowing there was something big, dark and snarling waiting for all of them just out of sight. The incoming transmission on Utapau that day, and the phantom words that had haunted him, hunted him in every quiet moment since.

Execute Order 66.

Good soldiers follow orders.

In the end, all he can do is nod. Rex stands abruptly, hand moving to the commlink on his vambrace. Beneath him, the storm-grey durasteel presses just slightly colder through his threadbare trousers.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Rex says, though Cody can’t be sure whether it’s directed at him or himself. His brother is a restless nexu pacing the length of the hold, turning sharply on his heel as he keys in a comm frequency. Each swift switchback coils Cody’s guts tighter, wringing a nauseating tension into his limbs.

“I have a medical freighter on standby. We’ll get it removed.”

The questions begin.

It shouldn’t surprise him to learn just how vast the network is that Rex has built. He had read all The Empire’s reports on Rex’s activities, scoured them obsessively in fact, but in reality they barely scraped the surface of Rex’s operations. It seemed he had contacts everywhere, from covert agents lurking in the Coruscant underbelly to runaways-turned-pirates skirting the outer rims, Even on Nal Hutta, which, as it turned out, was the only reason Rex had been able to find Cody at all.

“Sent some men down to the bazaar where we traced your message. Had to bribe a saloon keeper to let us review their security holos, but we saw you leave with the scrapper crew,” he says. Cody nods along. Is it jealousy he feels at such a well-planned, coordinated team effort? “From there, we got in contact with a few clones in the scrapper guild, and managed to work out which crew it was and where you were headed.”

All those brothers. All living outside The Empire’s control. Just scraping by, yes, and by no means deluded enough to consider themselves safe, but out there nonetheless. Free, in a certain sense, certainly more so than they'd ever been under The Empire or The Republic. And all of them, even the ones not directly fighting, not only knew Rex, but respected his orders, trusted his advice, deferred to his command. A familiar pride swells in his chest when he hears Rex speak about it, the kind only a big brother can feel.

It takes hours, or that’s how it feels to Cody: he hasn’t bothered to check the chrono. Rex tells him of their clone rebellion: Echo, Riyo Chuchi, all the missing or presumed dead clones that still have some fight left.

“It’s not easy going,” he admits, as though it bears saying aloud. “But we’ve managed to save a few. We’re getting stronger. Slowly.” Cody is struck dumb when Rex asks for inside information: the Kamino plot, the supposed pension plan, the rumoured clone decomissionings. The wounds of their recent past are even fresher than Cody thought, it seems: the salt of Rex’s questions stings more than he expects. He can’t bear not to be honest, though: he has no new information to share on the subjects, and in fact seems to know less than Rex himself. He had been kept even further in the dark than he’d known, moving hands passing him by in the dark corners his eyes had never adjusted to. A pawn in a game played just to kill time, to keep him busy while The Empire tightened their grip. Marshal Commander in name only, placated and too occupied with his own demons to question what was happening just out of view. The sharp breath punched from his lungs seems to fill the whole cockpit, the space around him shrinking to cage him in. The pains in his head have returned, to corral his thoughts away from where he tries to reach. Rex’s eyes are on him, he can feel it.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he breathes. Cody doesn't reply.

When his throat has turned scratchy from talking past the threat of tears, the river finally runs dry, and the questions stop, at least for the moment. Their journey is still far from over, and Cody suspects there will soon be more to talk about, once they have wrapped their minds around all they have covered so far, but for now there is peace. In the interim, Rex works a datapad at his side, brow furrowed over whatever report he’s reading. It's almost rhythmic, the way he keeps sparing glances in Cody’s direction. Every few minutes, attention shifting from the console, his head tilts over his shoulder to look surreptitiously over at his brother. Checking that Cody is still there, like they used to do before a drill test as cadets. A flicker of comfort warms Cody’s chest, fighting off the frost from deep within. It's a much-needed solace to know that Rex has felt Cody's absence just as keenly as Cody has felt Rex’s. It soothes Cody's mind, still aching from the sheer volume of information he's taken in over he and Rex's last few hours together. It’s hard not to ruminate, more on the subjects they didn’t cover than the ones they did, the unspoken questions that seem to take up more space the longer they’re left unsaid, their weight pressing on Cody’s chest as minutes scrape by.

He presses his fingers into his ribs, hard. It doesn’t do enough to hold him together, tendons and sinew unspooling themselves at his nape, in his stomach, through his feet. He answers each of Rex’s questions as plainly as he knows how, despite the growing fear of what Rex will think burrowing deeper into his brain. Each sordid detail laid bare in the harsh, blinding sun of his own words. Every order he followed with unblinking obedience, every awful act overlooked with play-pretend loyalty.

“I wanted to leave. I wanted to stop, I didn’t want to do any of it.”

He speaks of the bitter jealousy that spurned him every time another brother came up missing on the morning ledger, even as he personally recited the warrants for their capture. The jealousy, sometimes, even of the brothers whose obituaries he had read.

“I just couldn’t stop it. Whenever I tried, I– I didn't know where else to–"

Just when he feels he will lose his words altogether, Rex’s hand alights on his shoulder, cool water on a raw burn.

“I understand, brother. I know ,” he says. “We all do.”

When they finally lurch out of hyperspace, it knocks the question clean out of Cody’s lungs.

“What about the Jedi?” he blurts, and Rex’s hands freeze on the console. Both, Cody imagines, from the question itself and from hearing his brother sound so uncharacteristically fragile. His sigh is an answer of its own, in a way. Rex’s thoughts seem to press down on him until they drive a deep crease in his brow. Without the haloed light of hyperspace, the shadows have sharpened into a harsher relief, leaving jagged shapes carved into his face. His expression is resigned: he had been waiting for Cody to ask.

“We’ve… heard of surviving Jedi,” he says carefully. “But they’re few and far between. Most are just rumours. We’ve got almost no reliable intel on anything solid.”

“But there are some reliable reports?”

A long pause follows. Cody gets the sense that Rex is debating with himself, whether or not to answer. Who is he protecting?

“Commander Tano was with you on Mandalore,” Cody presses, “wasn’t she?”

Rex nods, shakily.

“I read the reports. The venator crash… they said it killed everyone. Before they knew you were alive, your name was on that list. How–”

As weak as the shuddering breath is from beside him, it’s enough to cut Cody off. He hangs in the silence that follows, suddenly scared to even move.

“It was all Ahsoka,” he utters. His eyes won’t meet Cody’s. “Without her…”

It’s slow. It’s agonising. It’s like being frozen in carbonite piece by agonising piece . But Rex tells him everything. Every gut-wrenching detail of escaping the crash. And all the brothers who didn’t.

“She’s out there,” Rex finally says, once the storm lets up. “She’s… not ready. Can’t join the fight, not yet. She needs time.” His voice catches, quavering on his last words, and it sends a sharp sting into the corners of Cody’s eyes, too.

“She’s just a kid.”

Seconds pass. Rex allows Cody time to try and voice the question it seems they both know comes next. It remains unsaid, but Rex answers nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, brother. We haven’t heard anything of General Kenobi.” Cody bobs his head in a nod. With searching eyes and analytical intent, Rex watches his reaction, measuring, gauging. Cody shrinks under the attention, unsure what Rex is looking to find and fearing every possible answer.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I wouldn’t have expected it.” What he had hoped , on the other hand…

“And General Skywalker?” Cody says, suddenly as desperate to be off the topic as he had been to address it. Rex’s mouth twitches, head shaking.

“I used to hope…” He sighs. “The reports all had holes in them. Thought it might mean he’d made it out.” He turns his gaze out the windshield. “But if he had survived, he wouldn’t be hiding. He’d still be fighting with us. I’m sure of it.”

Kashyyyk sings at night. An orchestra of warbling birds, howling pack animals and croaking insects. Even the wind through the forest behind lays a low, haunting melody over the velvet-soft undergrowth. It’s nothing like the stifling soundlessness of Kamino, or the driving, demanding mechanical rhythm of Coruscant. Cody leans forward, knee drawn up, to poke at the fire, embers curling triumphantly upward. Obi-Wan sits beside him, legs folded neatly into his usual meditation stance. On haphazardly scattered bedrolls, their men surround them, sleeping sound. Peace, rare and precious. Especially for Cody.

“Beautiful night.” Obi-Wan keeps his voice hushed, pitched low and gravelly. Cody turns to him. The flickering of the fire throws dappled light over Obi-Wan, glints of light and shadow showering him like golden flower petals.

“It is.”

A particularly mournful bird call sounds from somewhere behind them.

“After the war I should like to return here,” Obi-Wan muses, “and explore it freely. There is so much history in this place. It's a shame to have to see it in such unrest." His words are poignant, he knows, but Cody can’t take in anything beyond the first three.

“Do you think about that often?” he asks, skirting his gaze around Obi-Wan. “About… after?”

Obi-Wan shifts, sighs, leans back on his hands to tip his head to the stars. There’s a faraway look on his face, the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes growing like spring seedlings when he smiles. One of his tabards is slipping free from his shoulder, leaving a pale collarbone uncovered to the night. He does not adjust it.

“I have already picked every old text and scroll I will study, when I finally have the time,” he says in answer. “Perhaps eventually, I will even take on another padawan. But first, I will travel. Until I find somewhere quiet and peaceful to rest.” He pauses a beat before half-heartedly adding, “Should the council allow it, of course.” Cody ponders the words, turns them over in his head like a puzzle, but still he can’t make them fit quite right in his head. The life Obi-Wan speaks of is beautiful. It’s all Cody would want for him. But he’s still trying to cut holes in his own reality to make those words fit when Obi-Wan speaks again.

“And yourself, Commander?” Struck dumb, Cody can only blink. Obi-Wan straightens beside him and tilts his head. “What do you want for yourself, once the war is over?”

And what can he do but be honest, when he turns to meet those dizzying blue eyes?

“I imagine you in a cosy little place,” Obi-Wan tells him, shifting his legs and turning to face Cody fully. His cloak and tunic sway with him, leaves in a gentle breeze. “Somewhere peaceful and green. Somewhere you can make entirely your own. Your whole life, you have given everything you have to your men. It’s one of your most admirable qualities,” and oh, Cody is not ready for what Obi-Wan’s smile does to his chest, how his words reach through his ribs and wring his heartstrings to breaking, “but I wish to see you take care of yourself, too. I want for you to build yourself a home. And I believe I know you well enough to know that somewhere within you, you wish for the same. ”

“I’ve never considered it,” he says, tacking an awkward “sir” to the end. “I’m a soldier. We all are. We don’t know any other way. Without this war… none of us have a purpose.”

With the look that Obi-Wan gives him, Cody may as well have shot his general in the heart. Obi-Wan's mouth falls ajar, but he stifles his instinctual reply and seems to ponder Cody’s answer deeply.

“One’s greater purpose is rarely just to be all that their creator intended,” he says finally, speaking the words like a prayer into the night. “You are more than this war, all of you. You have given so much for The Republic, but that is not your worth. You deserve more, you should want for more than this.”

Insides twisting and pulse stuttering in his fingertips, Cody tries to speak, to give the answer he knows Obi-Wan is waiting for. The fire lends him tendrils of gentle warmth, but its comfort, and Obi-Wan’s raw, solemn sincerity are formidable opponents. When it becomes clear that words are beyond him, Obi-Wan continues in his place. Ever eloquent, ever earnest, ever considerate. Cody’s brow pinches with a soft, tender, beautiful kind of pain.

What was it he had said next?

The stars blur when Cody looks up at them, blinking back the mist that gathers in his gaze. His pulse beats like battle drums as he takes a breath, steels his nerves, and meets Obi-Wan’s eye with the resolve of something more than a soldier.

“Do you imagine yourself there, too?”

The simple, sweet curve of Obi-Wan’s lip tears Cody into shreds, burns him to ash and pieces him back together in an instant. He sighs, soft and perfect, and leans in close. Around them, Kashyyyk’s gentle hymn reaches a soaring crescendo as Obi-Wan presses a lingering, reverent kiss to the scar below Cody’s eye.

Cody strains to finish the memory, until the now-familiar pain lances through the back of his skull. He flinches with it, lurching in his seat and drawing in a sharp breath, defences already worn down. A quick movement in the corner of his vision draws his attention, and when he looks toward it, his heart plummets through his feet. Rex’s eyes bore into Cody, wide, alert and searching. Rex tries to cover it up, to disguise it, but Cody had already seen: Rex’s hand had twitched toward his blaster. The curtain is pulled back, and the truth looms bright and terrifying behind it.

Emptying the cockpit. Treating him so carefully. The reluctance to speak of the Jedi. The constant, furtive glances in his direction. They hadn’t been for Cody’s comfort.

Cody almost throws up on the spot.

Rex is scared of him.

He’s crushed by the weight of a dozen atmospheres as he realises fully just what his brother has been through, why he was so insistent on removing his chip as soon as possible. The rest of the journey, he can barely bring himself to breathe, determined to make himself as still and quiet as possible, desperate to keep from making things worse than they already were. He will get his chip removed, and everything will be okay. He won’t ever again have to see his brother look at him like an active landmine or a rancor set to charge.

They reach their rendezvous not a moment too soon.

Cody is brought on board, walking two steps behind Rex, nearly tripping on his feet. The waiting ship is as jerry-rigged and cobbled-together as its crew, and its medical bay is no different: all the supplies look stolen or salvaged, a far cry from the cold, pristine sterility Cody is used to seeing from medical bays. Needless to say, he’s apprehensive at the thought of surrendering his brain to the subpar equipment. But it’s easily overshadowed. For Rex. And for himself, as well. In truth, he’s been just as afraid of his mind as Rex for months now, and the thought of an end to the torment is enough to lure him through the seven Sith hells and back again. Rex explains the procedure as he half-listens, and as he’s positioning himself on the table, the doors hiss open and a medic enters. Much to Cody’s surprise, the clone’s scars and tattoos are familiar.

“...Lieutenant Finch?”

The clone above him meets his eye, then lifts his fingers to a lazy salute, grazing the winding serpent tattoo coiled at his hairline.

“Commander,” he says blithely. There’s a dry smile in his voice that just barely reaches his lips.

“You two know each other?” Rex’s voice rises, confused, from behind.

“I was decanted to the 212th,” Finch explains over his shoulder, foregoing eye contact and instead booting up and programming the surgical droid. “You know, before–”

“Before you deserted,” Cody finishes. Finch snaps his fingers into a point in Cody’s direction, giving a single, curt nod.

Breathe. In.

Tension ekes into the room, like static electricity before a storm. Cody can feel Rex’s eyes on him. He can imagine how his brother’s mind turns, mapping out every direction this could go. Possibilities like trails of water carving a fractured, splintering path through dust. It was years ago, early in his career, but Cody can remember clear as day how he had felt when he’d received the report of the lieutenant’s desertion. All that hurt and righteous anger. The confusion as strong as the scorn at how one of his own could leave their ranks. He had felt so personally betrayed, as though the desertion was a black mark over his own head. In a way, he supposes, it was: never before had he been forced to confront the possibility that he and his brothers might disagree with their programming, were capable of taking their fate into their own hands. He’d blamed Finch for the fury that followed in himself. In retrospect, he’s not so sure that that is who, or what , he was really angry at. Cody lays his head back flat on the table. A sharp breath leaves him in what could almost be mistaken for a laugh.

“Guess you were smarter than all of us in the end, huh?” is all he says.

There is no response from any of them, each listening in their own silent reverie as water trickles past them down an unfamiliar path.

A few minutes later, Finch has finished setting up for the procedure. Rex grips Cody’s arm tight before he goes under, tells him it’s going to be alright. As darkness seeps in from the edges of his vision and Rex’s voice grows distant and muddled, Cody tries to believe him.

Breathe. Out.

Black. Thick, coddling, a woollen blanket muffling all his senses. Space, empty. Cavernous. The implication of an echo. No sound. Toes edge toward a precipice. Nothing, nothing, nothing, all the way down. A perfect nothing. A mollifying nothing. A final nothing. Toes over. Falling. Peace, relief, absolution. Mercy. Silence, finally, gods almighty, silence. Light on the horizon. It’s over. Rest. It’s done. Limbs move fluid, unchained. Unbound for the first time, feather-light and rejoicing. More light, bigger, brighter. Then colour. Shape. Then sound. Voice.

Cody’s eyes open in small, seeking movements, attuned to absence. To beautiful, exultant, glorious absence. For the first time since Order 66, perhaps for the first time since the moment he’d been lifted from his incubation tube, Cody’s mind is utterly and completely clear, empty. Quiet. He wallows in it, drinking in the fleeting euphoria. A split second later, he hears it. Words unburied, memory unshrouded.

“Cody, my love… I can’t imagine myself anywhere else.”

To break that vow.

It’s only the first drop of the storm that follows, a single blade of grass in an endless, sprawling meadow. A million more memories follow in its wake: a private moment stolen together while working late, a surreptitious glance shared across the war room. A warm hand in his, holding tight but always gentle. His fingers smoothing through autumn-coloured hair. Tender words and hushed laughter. A single beam of light through a window, a single perfect morning. Waking slow, tangled in sun-warmed sheets, with the whole galaxy held sound in his arms. A whispered promise, a vow sealed with his lips against the gentle, curving valley between neck and shoulder.

His arm, heavy as stone, raising a blaster. To follow orders.

Great, flowered vines grow from the cracks in Cody’s psyche, probing, pushing at his mind. Too big, many for how small he has become.

His skull splits open. A sob tears itself from his throat, rattling his chest.

With graceless limbs he pitches himself upward, only to be held down by firm hands. He tries to cry out, but all that comes is the barest whimper.

“I fired at him. I tried to– Rex, brother, I– Maker, I ordered it all .”

He feels the embrace moments before his flagging senses catch up, vision plunged into darkness when he buries his face in Rex’s shoulder.

“Breathe, vod.” He obeys without thought or question. “Just breathe. It’ll pass.”

The sight of Rex still there, still by his side, barely disguising his concern, sets a fresh, raging flood over his mind, dragging more memories like driftwood to the surface. Every traitorous thought he’d ever had before the end of the war. Every restrained conversation he’d had with his brothers, with Rex especially, over what would become of them after the war. Every time they questioned The Republic, the Chancellor, the Jedi Council. Endless, circular debates always coming to the same dead end. Wanting to escape. Not wanting to abandon their men. The chilling, horrible dread in his bones touching down on Utapau, the foreboding feeling that it was already too late.

It’s a long while before Cody regains enough sense to sit and speak. Rex does not leave his side for a moment. He’s given a ration bar and a mug of caf. It’s bitter and burned. He drinks it to the last drop. Finally, mercifully, the silence begins to feel less like oppression and more like peace, as the pounding pressure in his head abates. His mouth quirks in a dry smirk when he finally raises his voice.

“Tell me I’m not the only one who took it that badly.”

Rex’s laugh is a balm to every wound he’s ever suffered, deep, full-chested and free. Leaning forward, he slaps Cody’s back, his shoulders hanging loose, at ease.

“You took it like a champ,” he chuckles. Cody wants to sing, to jump and cry for joy like a child. He has his brother back. But still, lurking behind his relief, the rest of his revelations threaten to drag him back under.

“Come on.” Rex stands and holds a hand out to him, his smile softer now but still stubbornly bright. As though he can read Cody’s mind, he says, “I know we’ve got a lot to talk about. We’ll get to it, I promise. But you need to rest.”

The doors glide open, and Cody doesn’t hesitate before stepping back into the world as himself once more.

“We’ve got our next heading. I’ll fill you in later,” Rex says, walking in step at his side. “For now, I think some of the boys have a game of sabacc going. It'll be a good way to introduce you.”

He cracks a wide, teasing grin in Cody’s direction.

“You still a filthy cheat?”

#dear fellow traveler #codywan #codywan fic #codywan fanfic #sw tcw #sw tcw fanfic #commander cody #clone commander cody #captain rex #drabble

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