Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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[ the silence sings to me with you by my side ]

Clones didn’t have things to call their own. And why would they? They grow in tubes, only need half the time to become functioning soldiers and again half the time to die in the field. There was no time to acquire personal belongings because they would be of no use; the long necks have made sure that no clone would feel intitled to own something, to call this something, “mine."

Cody and his brothers graduated command class a little less than a week ago. The final test had been brutal, even more so than the others before, and even though the bacta tanks healed most of the nerve damage caused by high voltage shocks and ripped organs, Cody couldn’t help but wonder where the limit of violence the kaminii were willing to inflict in the name of training was.

It should have been the most glorious feeling in their short lives, and it was, in a way. Making it through all these years of training, surviving whatever the long necks had thrown in their path, making them walk on a highwire with the threat of decommissioning looming over them every step of the way was an act of spite.

Most of the time Cody was proud of being a commander, being in charge and giving orders instead of just following. It made him feel less like a puppet and more like someone that matters.

But sometimes, when Wolffe was snoring too loudly above him and Fox tossed and turned because of it, he couldn’t help but wonder what his life will bring him as commander, as a superior officer. He envied the CT-batches, because they will stay together even after they find their place in the GAR. Jango Fett himself had made sure that the clones grew up in batches, and Cody assumed it was to imitate the clans of Mandalorian culture as well as giving everyone a sense of belonging in the midst of people who looked exactly like them.

Clones like him, though, who are specifically created to be commanders, medics or otherwise higher ranks would, after leaving Kamino, be scattered around the galaxy with none of the brothers they had spent every minute of their non existing childhood with.

The thought of being separated from his batch, maybe not seeing them ever again depending on where the GAR would send them was a hollow thought in his heart. It sounded lonely and isolated, because, yes, his subordinates were his brothers and he loved them with all his heart, but the rift of rank and the chain of command will prevent them from connecting the way his vode will with one another. Cody was afraid that he’ll never have the same kind of companionship he felt with his, his, brothers ever again.

One and a half week after Cody had graduated from command class, Alpha-17 found him.

He hated Seventeen almost as much as he loved him. It had to be like that, when one of your first memories is the man sitting on a cheap plastic chair, telling the children around him old Mandalorian tales with such pride in his eyes that every last one of them was proud to come from the same blood line; and the other memory, never far astray from the first one, is him telling you that you’re pathetic and weak, that you’ll never survive the training and forcing you to stand up again even when your shoulder is broken and your rib is cracked and the darkness in the corner of your eye is creeping closer and closer.

He straightened his spine as he watched Alpha-17 approach him, the instinct to avoid eye contact with his oldest brother long since beaten out of him.

Normally, Seventeen kept a tight leash around his expression, giving no insight into his thoughts before it’s too late. Now, though, Cody could see a shimmer of something shining through the impenetrable armor.

It was a mixture of seriousness and pride. Cody could see it, even though Seventeen tried his best to school his expression. It would’ve worked with other clones, one of the CT-batches, but the command ones were specifically bred to look behind the masks, to read what is not told from the lines between eyebrows and twitching movements alone. Alpha-17 had made sure that they knew what to look for.

“Kote.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody saluted perfectly, hand snapping to his visor with the crisp clack of Plastoid hitting together. The sound gave him a little serotonin stim, exactly as the kaminii intended it to be. Following orders, marching in union, a well cleaned weapon – all of this designed to keep them happy, to give them just enough serotonin to want to do it again. He despised it with a burning passion, how not even his mind was his own.

He could feel his heart starting to beat faster as Alpha-17 eyed him up and down, cruel brown eyes mustering him. Then, after just a moment longer than strictly necessary. “at ease, commander.”

It was still strange to hear someone refer to him as commander after being nothing more but a cadet for all of his short life, but the part in him that was proud of having earned that title with blood and scars and broken bones outweighed it. A little voice in his head sneered, they even managed to convince you that these are really your own thoughts. But are they, Kote? Are they?

Cody settled in a parade rest, foot shoulder wide and hands behind his back. He knew what his ori’vod was going to tell him, has anticipated this even more that graduating from the hell that command class had been.

“They have selected you a jetii.”

If he didn’t know that he couldn’t possibly hear his heartbeat, Cody would’ve been sure that Alpha-17 heard it pounding even louder behind his rib cage. From the way Alpha-17’s scarred eyebrows rose, he knew anyway. A jetii. For him.

“Yes, sir.”

Another brief pause. The silence was so deafening in his ears that not even the hustle of cadets entering the canteen or coming from one of the rooms for combat simulation could fill it.

“Take this,” Alpha-17 said eventually after torturing Cody for just a moment longer than necessary (because he was a dickhead) and held a data stick out to him. “This contains all the necessary information to get yourself familiar with your jetii.”

Your jetii.

“Yes, sir”, Cody answered like the good solider he was trained to be and went for the little stick – when Alpha-17 flicked his wrist back and held it out of reach. That bastard.

“Join me”, his ori’vod ordered, turned around and started to walk along the bridge connecting one of the bigger training rooms and the sleeping area for the vod’ika. Cody fell into step with the other, not even trying to question his oldest brother. Somewhere in his brain the words your jetii spooked around, and Cody knew with absolute certainty that they would follow him even in his dreams. It felt surreal.

“I have served your jetii before, Kote,” Alpha-17 began after crossing half of the bridge. At the words Cody felt a small pang of jealousy in his heart. It didn’t help that he knew that’s exactly what his ori’vod had wanted him to feel. Fucking asshole.

Seventeen looked straight ahead, head held high and not bothering to check if Cody was listening to him. He knew he was because, like every other freshly made commander, Cody had been waiting for the kaminii to inform the GAR about a new batch of clones that had survived their gruesome training to give them a position in one of the platoons.

“He is a skilled fighter. A high general of the Grand Army of the Republic and a jetii master.” He paused for a moment, likely for the titles to burn themselves into Cody’s memory. They did, and he welcomed a strange feeling of proudness for his soon to be general. “He is also an idiot.”

Now Codys head whipped around, staring at his ori’vod – to talk bad about a jetii was reason enough to get decommissioned. The long necks had tight regulations and they didn’t tolerate badmouthing the ones they were, quite literally, created to serve. Also, the way the kaminii and their trainers had described the jetii, the stories they had told them – beings of eternal wisdom that could move entire ships with nothing more than the power of their will - it made the jetii look like gods. Cody had never met any jetii other than Shaak Tii, and the tall Togruta was the embodiment of sagacity and calmness.

Alpha-17 smirked at his sudden head movement. “Stop moving your neck that fast or you will snap it before you’ve even got the chance of seeing him with your own eyes.” The amusement was clear in his voice, but even after all this time Cody didn’t know if he was laughing with him or at him.

He didn’t quite know what to answer, so he went with the number one handbook response that has been drilled into their genetically thickened skulls. “… yes, sir.” That felt safe.

Alpha-17 came to a halt on the middle of the bridge that hung over one of the bigger training rooms (the one where Seventeen had once thrown him so hard on the mats he had an aneurysm that took more bacta to fix than the long necks would have liked). Cody stopped right next to him and settled in a parade rest once more when his older brother spoke again.

“Your jetii-“ your jetii, his brain unhelpfully supplied, and, oh, Cody couldn’t wait to be alone to speak these words out loud, bring them into existence and to pronounce every syllable like the holiest thing, “-is one of the bravest men I have fought with. Side by side. He is strong, and good natured in the way all jetii are, and also very capable of protecting those he cares about.” Alpha-17 turned to the glass windows, eyes far away for a brief moment before blinking once; memories of whatever time and place gone like the short mid-year storms of Kamino.

Seventeen’s focus turned back below them where about fifteen of his vod’ika sat on blue mats while their instructor went over the basics of hand-to-hand combat.

Cody was very glad he didn’t had to prove himself anymore, mainly because more often than not his partner on the mats had been Alpha-17 himself. Needless to say, he landed on his back more times than not with his ori’vod looming over him, face twisted in displeasure.

‘No enemy will show you mercy, Kote (most of the time Seventeen spoke his name with a mocking undertone that made Cody’s teeth clench so hard it hurt), so stand up and fight until your dying breath. One day you will thank me for it. Maybe even enough to overcome your hatred for me.’

“But getting him to take care of himself was a rather challenging endeavor. You see, vod’ika – “Only Cody’s superior control over his bodily reactions prevented him from flinching in surprise at the endearment. Alpha-17 was not known for being generous with his affection, especially not to Cody. “- this jetii is batshit crazy. Both he and his vod’ika, or padawan or whatever the jetii call it, are masters at pulling off plans that are set for failure. I have no idea how they manage do to it, but they work.”

The cadets under them have started to get into pairs of two, hands formed into fists and held more or less correctly. One of them has his thumbs on the inside of his fist though, and Cody could practically feel the sensation of them breaking while fighting. Well, they’ll all have to learn it somehow, and pain is the best teacher.

Alpha-17 made a tsk-sound at the incorrect stance of a cadet at the very end of the mat but continued to speak anyway. “I have recommended you out of all your batchmates because I believe that your love for regulations and rules and his non-existent sense of self-preservation and willingness to sacrifice himself will make a good mixture.” He turned to Cody once more. “You´ll find middle ground.”

Cody watched the cadet with the thumbs go down, holding his left hand with his right one, face twisted in pain. A small smirk formed on his lips before turning to his older brother.

“I will make sure the jetii will stay in one piece, sir. It is my duty to protect the general with my life.”

Alpha-17 watched him for a long moment, eyes flickering over his face, searching for something, before holding out the data stick once more. This time, as Cody reached for it, he didn’t pull away, but didn’t let go either. Kriffing-

“Kote,” he said, tone suddenly softer than he´d ever heard him before. Cody swallowed. “Yes, sir?”

His older brother looked as if he wanted to say something else, a warning of some kind. Cody could imagine what laid on his tongue, words along the lines of he is a jetii, Kote, and you are a clone. A commander, yes, but a clone nonetheless. We do not have the right to call something ours. Or someone. So, whatever goes through that screwed up brain of yours, don’t.

But he didn’t say any of these things, and whenever Cody looked back on that moment, he imagines Alpha-17 having looked into his eyes and, with a sigh, decided that there is no use for whatever he was going to tell him. Cody wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. Because, even if he wasn’t able to pinpoint it exactly back then, the need to call something his had settled deep into his bones already, made itself right at home.

Cody’s mind would never be fully his, not with the way the long necks had carefully selected everything that made him him, with no room left for chance. To them, it was a twisted form of art.

His body wouldn’t be his, either. He shared it with more than one million men, all coming from one single person. To them, it was convenience.

To Cody, it was a loss of identity he wouldn’t learn to mourn until way after he had met his jetii, until after he would show Cody what he is, what potential lies within him under all the methodically constructed identity of a solider the kaminii had given him.

Cody didn’t know if this was solely a command class thing, if their modified genes that made them even more protective and loyal to those they trusted were responsible for how he and his general would be in the future, how he would look at him and think ‘ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, cyar’ika’, and, ‘I would gladly lay down my armor in front of you if only you asked it of me’.

Cody didn’t know, but the fact that Alpha-17, his ori’vod that he loved almost as much as he hated him, had, even back then, deemed it fruitless to even try and warn him was enough for Cody to not rack his brains.

“K’oyacyi,” he said instead, with the tone one would use to issue an order. Stay alive. The words hung in between the space that had never felt closer and farther way than in that moment.

At last, Alpha-17 let go of the data stick and without another word turned around in a brisk turn, leaving him to stand alone on the bridge. Under him, the young cadets were still fighting against each other, the occasional shout of pain reaching him. Cody stared at the little stick in his palm.

Later, when all his batchmates had gone to sleep after long conversations about everything and nothing, Wolffe still snoring loudly in the bed above him, Cody sat on his bed cross legged with a datapad in front of him, the information on the stick uploaded.

‘Obi-Wan Kenobi.’

The name was like a beacon of light to him and he couldn’t stop starting at it, carefully pronouncing it again and again, mouthing the sounds and feeling theway the name settled something in him. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

A soft rustle came from the bunk next to him and Cody knew without looking up that was Bly turning to face him.

“W’you d’ing?” Bly’s sleepy voice was barely above a whisper, careful not to wake his brothers. Cody just gently shook his head and waved him over. His vod made an unhappy noise but still pushed himself up from where he was cocooned in the thin and scratchy blanket.

Cody moved over a bit to make space for Bly who silently wandered over with his blanket thrown over his shoulders. He knew it was stupid, but Cody didn’t want to let go of the data pad, didn’t want to share his general, his future, like that just yet, so instead of giving Bly the blue screen he simply held it just so that he could read over the words.

Bly didn’t even try to reach out and take it from him, for which he was very thankful. Instead, he merely rested his head on Cody’s left shoulder, leaning into him.

For a while it was only the soft breathing of them and the ungodly sound of Wolffe’s snores (Fox and Cody had once joked that they should measure the decibel of his snores and that it would probably be good enough reason to get him decommissioned. Wolffe had simply squinted his eyes before pouncing and biting them. They hadn’t made that joke since.)

“I am happy for you, brother,” Bly said at last, “he sounds like a really good person.”

“I think so, too,” Cody answered, words whispered in the dark, emotions still too raw to be spoken with a firmer voice.

He spent the entire night reading through the data with Bly eventually falling asleep on his shoulder; Cody didn’t mind. He knew that, soon, he and his brothers won’t be together like this anymore. Maybe never again.

He ignored the sharp sting of fear and loneliness that he felt in the deepest place just behind his chest and instead focused on reading the report once more.

It was a lot, and Cody realized that Alpha-17 had, when gathering the information, included more that strictly necessary. He smiled softly against the blue screen as he contemplated the small picture of Obi-Wan Kenobi, blue and grainy in the upper right corner, eyes devouring every piece of information given to him to make the picture come alive; he had red hair, the file said, and blue eyes that Cody imagined to be the same color as the water surrounding him here on Kamino.
After hours of just reading and reading and reading he felt his eyes drooping. Carefully he put the pad aside on the small bedside table and maneuvered a sleeping Bly to lie next on his bed.

“Finally satisfied?” Fox asked, watching him from the upper left bed, a sly grin on his face. “ A man can’t sleep with all the feelings oozing off of you. Karking sap.”

“Fuck off” Cody replied elegantly before carefully curling up next to Bly.

Fox just snickered and opened his mouth, most likely to drive his teasing home, but a gruff “both of you shut up before I climb down and drive my teeth into your fucking throat” stopped him.

“Kinky,” Fox stage whispered. A moment later he squawked, and Cody knew Wolffe had reached over and scratched Fox’s arm with his fingernails.

It was quiet afterwards, but Cody could feel Bly grinning where he was pressed against Cody’s neck.

Gods, he loved his brothers. More than anything in the world.

Clones didn’t have things to call their own, but for the first time in a long while, Cody felt a spark of something warm deep within his heart.

Chapter Text

[ THE UNHOLY TERROR OF BEING ALIVE ]

The violence of the battlefield isn't something they teach the cadets on kamino. The simulations the kaminii use in their training regime is nothing compared to the feeling of shooting and taking cover, cannot come even remotely close to a mine exploding just a few meters to your left, killing one of your brothers instead of you by nothing but pure chance.

Run and stop, shoot and kill, clear and reload; the endless cycle of a soldier's life.

But the worst thing they don’t tell you is how you’ll love it; the weapon in your hand, the giving and receiving of orders, the sound of a shot well placed. The little stims, the serotonin boosts that flood the body and reach the brain will make you want to do it again.

Cody has always hated how good it feels to fire the gun, to be surrounded by the chaos of war, the structured orderlessness of it all. The way the brain of the commander batches are designed calls them to violence like a moth to a flame. He's always seen it in the way Wolffe and Fox have fought each other with a wild glint in their eyes since the day they were decanted.

They loved each other, but they loved with violence.

And because of this, the way his general loved was so unfamiliar, so strange that Cody was completely at odds with what to do. The open affection towards clones was not something any of them experienced before. The kaminii hadn’t shown them any kindness, Seventeen’s way of being an ori’vod meant him preparing you to survive the worst of the worst, and Shaak Tii was kind but too distanced to give any kind of motherly love.

Obi-Wan felt like an anomaly for the longest time. Cody didn’t know how to categorize his behavior because he didn’t fit in any of the known ways people treated him and his brothers.

It fascinated him more than anything in the world when, after days and weeks of brutal back and forth, Obi-Wan sat down worn and tiredly next to the troopers instead of alone in his tent, talking with them and asking them questions, how is your wound healing? Is it still hurting? Oh, don’t get up my dear, I will get you something to eat, don’t worry.

He made an effort to remember each and every trooper’s name and apologizing profoundly in that posh way of his when he didn’t, as if he owed them any effort at all, as if they count as much as any other.

Cody can see the confusion on the shinies faces when they first join the 212th, when they salut their general and recite their number like they’ve been taught to do, and the general tilts his head in that cat-like way of his and smiles softly at them, And your name, my dear?

Cody wasn’t even sure if their general realized the extend of what this meant to them, how, after being taught the language of violence as their mother tongue, the kindness he shows them heals something they didn’t realize was broken, something no amount of bacta will ever be able to fix.

Clones didn’t have much to offer besides violence and obedience and the will to die for the greater good, but when he watched Obi-Wan taking care of his vod’ika, and when the two of them laid together after a gruesome fight that neither of them escaped without scars, he vowed silently that everything he had, he would give it to him, if only to warm himself through the warmth of his general’s love.