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It’s Alpha-17 who first teaches him. In the same way that he taught Cody how to assemble and disassemble a DC-15 before he was four standard, he teaches Cody and his batch how to preen their wings.
“These wings are your lives,” he tells them as he combs through Bly’s wings. The only time Cody’s ever seen the Alpha Class clones look even remotely gentle are when their fingers have tiny, brown feathers between them.
Cody watches with a keen eye, same as any other training exercise— the way Seventeen arranges and slots any wayward feathers back into place, carefully realigning the barbules, removing any molted feathers trapped between the various layers.
“They will save your lives, but only if they’re properly maintained for optimal flight. And unlike a blaster, broken and useless ones cannot be tossed out and replaced… ”
Alpha-17 turns and gives the lot of them one of his most severe looks. Cody looks up and meets it, unwavering.
“Not without replacing the entire unit. So don’t give them a reason to.”
--------
They practice, like most all clones do, on their batchmates.
It’s an imperfect process, especially at first. They learn that as much as they were bred to be identical, preening is not. For one, Cody quickly finds out that Fox requires a more gentle hand than most. He says nothing, but he grunts when Cody tugs too hard on a few of his long flight feathers the first time Cody preens him. Cody soothes them over in a silent apology, and does his best to use a softer touch.
They don’t have glands for preen oil unlike most feathered species, so instead they’re provided seed oil in bottles— they’re sometimes too liberal with it, drenching the feathers rather than applying a light, protective coating, but like most things in their accelerated lives, they learn quickly.
This, however, is different for Cody. So much of what he does requires the same careful, learned precision, be it firing a blaster or knowing just which pressure points to hit on a B1 battle droid, but there’s a gentleness to preening, a gentleness he’s rarely afforded in his life.
And as much as he sometimes feels like he shouldn’t— that as Seventeen has always said to him, preening is about maintenance of the weapon that is his own body, a preventative measure to ensure their lives in this war. But the soft comfort it brings him, and to provide that soft comfort for another vod— it's immeasurable.
Cody knows he isn’t the only one who feels that way. He learns, just as they all do, how to care for each other— care that goes beyond the physical maintenance of war.
--------
Cody is six years old when he first meets Rex.
He’s the last to the cadet locker room that night, after a personal sparring session with Alpha-17. He’d lost, obviously, but that was never the point, it was more about Seventeen giving him pointers over his form— as infuriating as Seventeen can be, Cody already knows his advice in this is invaluable.
So when he walks in, he isn’t expecting to see anyone— and clearly neither is the cadet with the blond hair, blood dripping down one of his equally blond wings, staring up at Cody with wide eyes.
Cody thinks he’s seen him around before, despite the cadet being at least a year younger than him. It’s a bit hard to miss, what with his brightly-colored wings compared to almost everyone else’s deep brown.
“I can take you to medical, if you’d like,” Cody says in lieu of a greeting.
The cadet holds his gaze for a few seconds longer, before he looks away and shakes his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Given the way he’s still struggling to reach the bleeding feather, he’s clearly not fine. Cody frowns, and sits himself on the bench beside him.
“What’s your name?”
He pauses, before he starts in a monotonous voice, “It’s CT-7— ”
“No,” Cody cuts him off, “I asked for your name.”
It’s possible he doesn’t have one yet, but Cody can tell by his pause that he almost certainly does.
“ …It’s Rex.”
Cody smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Rex. I’m Cody. Now, if you won’t let me take you to a medic, will you at least let me help you?”
Rex needs the help regardless, lest he start to bleed out, but Cody knows that unless it’s a true medical emergency, it’s always pertinent to ask before touching another vod’s wings.
“ …Fine.”
Cody holds out his hands, and Rex hesitates for only a second before handing over his medical supplies. Cody nods, and waits for Rex to turn around before getting to work.
“Are you going to have to pull it?”
He’s clearly trying to keep his voice carefully neutral, but Cody can still hear it waver. He understands— Cody’s had a pin feather pulled before, and it’s a rather terrible experience.
Cody hums, carefully inspecting the bleeding feather. He starts dabbing on disinfectant, cleaning the area of blood to get a better look. He’s no medic, but at Cody’s age they’ve all taken lessons on basic field care. “I don’t think so. I should be able to stop the bleeding without having to remove it.”
Rex says nothing, just nods. He’s still so tense— back rigid, shoulders stiff and square.
“It’ll be easier if you relax,” Cody says. Rex huffs, but he does loosen his shoulders ever so slightly, wings shifting with the movement. Once he settles, Cody takes some of the gauze and starts applying pressure.
They stay like that as Cody holds the pressure over the wound, silence easing itself between them. As the seconds tick by he feels Rex start to tense again, and Cody frowns to himself.
“It’s not a weakness, you know, to ask for help. Especially not with this.”
Rex says nothing for a long moment, so long that Cody thinks he’s just going to ignore him completely, before he says, “I don’t need to give them any more of a reason to doubt me.”
Cody stares at the blond feathers in front of him. The hair on Rex’s head is one thing, but his wings— so big, bright, attention-grabbing, different— this too, he understands.
Cody doesn’t respond, just removes the gauze and happily finds that the bleeding has stopped. He takes the tube of bacta, and squeezes a dollop onto the broken tip of the feather, allowing it a minute or so to set.
“There. All done.”
With how tense he'd been, part of Cody thinks that Rex is going to immediately bolt from the locker room, now that he's cleared. Instead Rex turns around, nods, and thanks him.
Cody smiles, and nods in return. “Anytime. Though if you’re not going to go to the medbay, you’re probably better off going to one of our medics in training.”
Gaze ducked, Rex rolls his eyes, but he can’t completely hide his smile. Cody stands and turns, about to head off to the showers, but before he can even grab his towel from his own locker Rex says to him, “Do you need any help? With your wings?”
Cody blinks, and turns. Rex actually meets his eyes this time, and shrugs. “They just look like they could be preened, that’s all.”
He’s right— Cody’s wings always look a bit rough after hand-to-hand sparring. He planned on just asking Fox or Wolffe later that night, but Rex, offering help in return, desperately trying to display a confidence he doesn’t necessarily feel, something Cody knows he did himself at Rex’s age…
Cody smiles and walks back over, seating himself back onto the bench. “I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”
Rex doesn’t smile nor speak in return, but that’s fine. The gesture, the comfort offered, says everything.
--------
“Alright, c’mere, sit down.”
Cody rolls his eyes, but does as Rex says as he’s ushered into the tent. Advantages of his rank means that he’s afforded a private bunk while they’re on the ground on Bakkah, but it's been years since Rex has had any qualms about inserting himself into Cody's personal space— not that Cody minds. They’re currently in stand-down, and it’s one of the rare instances where that actually means the two of them have a real break. As soon as they were freed for their duties Rex took one look at Cody’s wings, shook his head, and started ushering him back to Cody’s tent.
He watches from the edge of his folding cot as Rex digs around his rations for a canteen of water, a cloth, and his oil. Cody takes the time to unclip and set aside the armor that covers his wing radius and bend, interlocking pieces of plastoid that allow for the movement he needs while protecting his largest wing bones. It’s usable, but cumbersome, and he typically forgoes it on campaigns he knows he’s going to be primarily flying and needs to rely on his agility.
Once Rex has gathered his supplies and Cody’s removed his armor, Rex stands at the other side of the cot at Cody’s back and begins dampening the cloth.
Cody sighs as the wet cloth is run over his feathers, taking with it the dirt and dust from this planet’s dry surface. He’s gentle, and thorough, and the repetitive motion eases something deep in Cody’s bones. This hasn’t been their worst campaign, not by far, but it’s been one of their longest and busiest on the ground.
Once he’s done with the cloth he sets it aside and gets to work carefully straightening and realigning his various layers.
Cody loses time as Rex works. The gentle, repetitive motions lull him into a relaxation he rarely allows himself to feel— only during a preening from Rex or his batchmates, does Cody allow this.
He’s on the teetering edge of consciousness by the time Rex starts applying the oil, working it into his feathers with well-practiced fingers.
“All set, ori’vod.”
Cody blinks, pulling his mind out of that soft, hazy fog and into the present. He stands and stretches, feathers fluttering as he extends his wings, the tips just brushing either side of the tent. Settling them against his back, he gestures for Rex to sit, and he does.
With a new cloth, Cody begins the same process, carefully wiping down Rex’s wings before he begins the actual preening.
As much as Cody loves the bone-deep relaxation a good preening often gives him, he probably loves this more. The trust being given, holding another vod’s wings in his hands, sifting through their feathers and arranging them in the layers needed for optimal flight, something that has before, and will again, save their lives.
He smiles to himself as Rex relaxes into his own preening, shoulders loose and slumping a bit as he begins to doze.
Once Cody has all of Rex’s feathers in proper shape, he starts with the oil. His blond feathers practically shimmer with it, and Cody can’t help but smile further.
He’d thought for sure that Rex would’ve dyed them, like so many brothers did the moment they left Kamino. Cody has his own dyed— streaks of gold that start in the bend of his wing and fan out like rays, a mirror image to the paint of his chestplate. But Rex has never once dyed his, instead he keeps gleaming blond on full display, unhidden, stark and proud.
He oils the feathers with a gentle touch— a layer of protection against the harsh elements of this planet, keeping them well-nourished. By the time he’s finished Rex is half-asleep, relaxed in that rare way Cody felt moments ago, and still does now.
It fills him with a deep contentment, as it always does when he’s able to help a vod like this— not only helping maintain the integrity of their wings, but helping them achieve a small respite of true, genuine peace in the middle of a raging war.
--------
“Are you busy?”
“Always,” Helix replies, before gesturing to the cot in front of him and retrieving a fresh pair of gloves. “Sit.”
“I can wait, if you’re actually busy,” Cody says, sitting down on the edge of the cot regardless. Helix doesn’t respond, just gives Cody a withering sort of glare and continues gathering his supplies.
Cody recently took a sonic, so Helix doesn’t bother with wiping him down, he just gets to work with the preening.
“I could’ve waited,” Cody says, almost mulishly, as the silence stretches thick between them. Helix just scoffs.
“No, you really couldn’t have.”
That’s… fair. It’s been over two months since Cody has seen either Rex or any of his batchmates. He’s been self-preening (always far less efficient) and going to Helix in the meantime, but not as frequently as he objectively should. It’s not that he’s avoiding it— he knows very well the importance of maintaining his wings.
As sanctimonious as Alpha-17 can be, Cody’s always taken Alpha-17’s lectures to heart— but he also knows the importance first-hand. They all knew the theory it before leaving Kamino, how their wings would allow them to jump from a LAAT/i and charge swiftly into battle from above, offering more agility, speed, and precision than a jetpack ever could. But the true realities of war weren’t something that any simulation could’ve prepared them for, and despite his best efforts, one of Cody’s first campaigns left him far too busy to seek out a preen— that was until nose-diving off a cliff and catching himself on unkempt, uneven wing left his flight all shaky and wrong— a truly terrifying experience that he never wants to repeat.
But just ask Cody himself is too busy for a preen, his CMO is often just as busy, if not more so, and Cody isn’t going to take his attention away from any vode who need more timely medical attention.
“You know you don’t always have to come to me," Helix drawls.
Cody bites back a sigh. “I know.”
Cody watches as a few molted feathers fall to the floor as Helix works.
“Any of the men here would do it for you, if you asked.”
Cody frowns. “I know,” he repeats. It’s a conversation they’ve had before. It’s not that Cody doesn’t trust his men with such a task— he knows his men are exceedingly competent and he trusts them all with his life. It’s just…
The ranks, he’s come to learn, can be sometimes difficult to navigate. Whenever he has the time, Cody offers to preen the new shinies that come aboard. He remembers Wooley especially— keen-eyed and well-trained, but still a bit nervous at the newness of it all, like most shinies are— and the way he lit up when Cody offered to preen him. Having someone of Cody’s rank, offering such a service to new troopers, can help ease them into the battalion and not feel quite so anxious around authority.
Some refuse of course, always politely, but Cody never takes any offense to it— rather, he encourages it, encourages them to speak their mind to him, especially about this. While it is still a medical necessity, many of the vode view the act of preening as something deeply personal, and some prefer not to do it with a vod they don’t know well, given the choice.
Cody understands this well. As much as he’ll preen anyone who asks, and as much as he takes pride in providing a good and efficient preen, Cody is a bit more selective about who he allows to preen him. Perhaps it’s a bit irrational of him, but he feels odd asking those ranked below him to preen his own wings. Offering is one thing, as he knows a vod will easily say no to another vod touching their own wings should they not want it— but asking has always felt different for Cody, and he worries about new shinies saying yes out of some perceived obligation of rank, something he never wants a vod to feel when it comes to something like this.
(Rex is his only exception. His batchmates all share his rank, but Rex was his vod’ika well before he ever left Kamino, before either of them were assigned to a battalion and truly fell into the GAR hierarchy.)
Which is why if he goes long periods without seeing Rex or his batchmates, he’ll go to Helix— not only does his CMO somewhat blur the lines of rank, but when he sees Helix for a preening, it’s treated strictly as a medical procedure. Helix is always thoroughly gentle with his feathers, but he always wears gloves and his touch is much more clinical and somewhat detached, similar to how Alpha-17 would preen him when he was still a cadet, rather than that deep feeling of pack-bond that Rex and his batchmates often provide.
It isn’t a bad thing, however— it’s the reason why he goes to Helix, after all. Some vode even prefer going to a medic for all of their preenings given the chance, and that's perfectly fine.
…But also, maybe Helix has a point. He trusts his men enough to tell him no when they don’t want Cody to preen them— he should offer them that trust in the same way, to not feel obligated to preen Cody’s own wings should they not want to. Maybe not with the shinies, but with some of his fellow officers, perhaps. Those he’s already close with, even if they may technically be his subordinates.
He doesn’t drift as Helix finishes his preening, due to his more clinical touch, but it’s still nice nonetheless, and the downtime to just let his mind rest (Helix nearly snapped his datapad in half the first time Cody tried to work while Helix preened him) is something he’s also thankful for.
“Y’know,” Helix starts in that stark tone of his, that tone that never means anything good for Cody. “If it’s an issue of being ranked above every vod on the ship, you could always ask— ”
“Don’t even go there, Helix,” Cody says with a sigh, closing his eyes. Helix just laughs at him.
--------
Cody lets himself into Fox’s office, punching in his override code. Thorn already informed him that Fox shouldn't be in the middle of anything urgent or classified, and he made more than one very overt hint and Fox not taking proper care of himself lately. But it’s Fox, so that’s something Cody could’ve guessed himself.
“Do you assholes ever fucking listen to— oh. Hey.”
Fox looks up from his stack of datapads, and raises his brow at Cody. “I didn’t know you were on-planet.”
“Hello to you too,” Cody says, shoving some of the datapads on Fox’s desk aside to clear a spot for him to perch, minding his own wings as he does so. There are a couple of perfectly good, unoccupied chairs in the room, but the annoyed huff and scrunched expression that Fox gives him is too good to pass up. “Unscheduled maintenance on the venator. We should only be here for a day or so.”
Fox nods, and goes back to whatever file he's currently reading over. Cody rolls his eyes, and snatches the datapad from his hands.
The effectiveness of the glare Cody receives in return is diluted by the dark, heavy bags under Fox’s eyes— not to mention his wings behind them, feathers sticking out in various angles, a complete state of disarray. Cody rises from the desk and walks behind Fox’s backless chair.
“Let me preen you? I know you haven’t been taking care of them.”
Fox turns to scowl at him further, but he doesn’t put up his usual fuss, so even he must know what a desperate state he’s in— the scowl lasts only a moment before he turns back around and lets his wings spread. Cody smiles to himself in quiet victory.
“I know both Thorn or Thire would help, if you just asked.”
If Cody is particular about who preens his wings, Fox is absolutely anal— given how sensitive his wings can be, Cody doesn't blame him for being so particular. As far as Cody knows, he’s never let another person touch them who wasn’t a medic, Alpha-17 when they were cadets, or any of their batchmates. Which is his right, of course, and every time he or Wolffe or Bly or Ponds is on Coruscant they always make a point to see Fox for a preening— but it does make Cody worry for him, to know how long he goes without. It’s not like I’m flying around the senate chambers, I barely use them, Fox had grumbled to Cody one time, and while it may be true, he still needs his wings in proper working order.
“A bit hypocritical of you. I know you always wait until Rex is around.”
Cody rolls his eyes. “Not true.”
He can’t see Fox’s face, but Cody just knows he’s rolling his own eyes in return. “Besides going to your medic.”
Cody pinches the thin skin of his neck, and smirks when Fox whips his head around to once again scowl at him, before hunching back over his desk. “You’re still wrong. I asked Wooley to preen me the other day, and he did.” It was sweet, honestly, how happy Wooley was to be asked, no tension of duty or obligation between them like Cody had feared.
This seems to actually surprise Fox, given that he goes silent for a few seconds and mutters a “Well, good for you,” instead of some snide retort.
Cody hums. It’s really only been the one time, and despite his age, Wooley is far from a shiny, now an officer and a member of Ghost Company.
“Everyone on my ship is my direct subordinate, it’s… hard to ask. But Thorn and Thire are also commanders.”
Fox huffs. “I’m still the one who bosses them around,” he says, and Cody snorts. He is correct about that.
“ …They do offer,” Fox concedes, shaking his head. “I just don’t have the time for it.”
“Uh huh, right.”
It's not like Fox is necessarily wrong— stuck in his office but arguably more busy than any other commander who Cody knows, and that’s saying a lot. But just the same as he knows when Fox is obviously lying or making excuses, he also knows how personal preening can be, especially for Fox, and he decides not to push.
He continues his work in silence, adjusting as Fox’s shoulders loosen and droop, his wings along with them, his breathing evening out. It fills Cody with that gleeful sort of pride that he can get Fox of all people to relax so deeply into a preening.
“Not everyone‘s ranked below you, by the way.”
...Cody doesn't like how familiar this conversation feels. Instead of replying he just raises a brow, despite the fact that Fox can’t see his face. Given his even breath, he actually thought Fox was asleep by now— he’s likely almost there at least, given the way he’s nearly slurring his words, voice thick with exhaustion.
“You should ask Kenobi. You’re already in love with him, ‘m sure he’d help.”
If Fox weren’t seconds away from nodding off and stealing a bit of sleep he so desperately needs, Cody would thump the back of his graying head. Instead, he just continues his preening while trying to will away the heat in his cheeks.
As predicted, it’s only a minute later that Fox slump completely against his desk, already snoring. Cody finishes the preen before he carefully removes his fingers from Fox’s feathers. He’ll have to let Thorn know not to let anyone disturb Fox from his much-needed nap.
--------
It’s not like he hasn’t thought about asking Obi-Wan to preen him— admittedly less in a mechanical sense, but more so what it’d be like just to feel those long, careful fingers in his wings… just like he’s thought about the many, many ways he’d like to feel his General’s hands on him.
A year ago he would’ve balked at the idea of having anyone who wasn’t a vod even touching his feathers, but after getting to know his General, seeing the respect he treats both him and his brothers with, treats their wings with…
But those types of thoughts that Cody has about his General can be dangerous, a very fine line to walk and navigate. Not that Cody asking Obi-Wan to preen him would be any sort of declaration, given the nature of preening— but it feels too close to one, given the breadth of Cody’s feelings. So as much as his vode love to tease him, he’ll be keeping that one close to his chest.
Or at least, he means to.
--------
Cody looks around the room, and is shocked at how… nice it is.
Two beds, both of them with a seemingly real mattress, nothing extravagant but also much more appealing than the standard GAR-issued one in his quarters on the Negotiator. There’s a small desk with a lamp, a dresser, and even a tiny conservator.
They’re together on some no-name Mid Rim planet, technically on Jedi business rather than GAR. Apparently, some local archaeologists at a nearby digsite uncovered a sort of artifact that started, quote “kriffin’ glowing and levitating off of the ground,” and so the archaeologists decided to— again, quote, “contact the magic wizard generals they keep hearing about in all this war propaganda.”
Cody has long since mastered his own sabacc-face, but even he had difficulty keeping his lips from twitching while listening to that holomessage. Obi-Wan, however, seemed to take the whole thing in stride, with the air of someone who’s seen such a thing a thousand times over. Cody supposes he never really gave much thought to what the Jedi did pre-war, but magic-artifact-retrieval seems plausible enough given the… everything he knows about the Jedi.
They’d left as soon as they’d received the message— Obi-Wan insisted he could handle it alone, and Cody believed him, but he also knows that as simple as these Jedi-business missions can seem, they tend to go even more haywire than some GAR campaigns, so Cody insisted that he at least bring Cody along should he not want to take an entire platoon.
Obi-Wan agreed easily enough. By the time they arrived it was late into the night, local time, and the archaeologists agreed to bring them to the digsite in the morning. The digsite was currently abandoned and far enough away from any populated area should the artifact start doing something actually threatening, so Obi-Wan seemed unbothered about leaving the situation alone until then.
Which is how Cody finds himself here, in a clean and comfortable hotel room, looking forward to a night spent in a moderately soft bed.
Cody sighs, glad there’s also room enough here to quite literally stretch his wings. His feathers flutter with the motion, and Cody grimaces— he knows he’s overdue for a preening, feeling how out-of-sorts his wings are. He should’ve gone to Helix, or Wooley, or Waxer as he’s done a couple times now, but he’d thought they’d be meeting up with the 501st soon for their next posting, so he’d been waiting for Rex.
He should’ve just had them preened earlier regardless, and he knows Rex would’ve scolded him for waiting so long. He can do it himself, he has the time, but preening his own wings is always a pain, and he can never even do a proper job of it alone.
He folds them back and turns around to find his General staring at him with open admiration— and a fast-rising blush at being caught. It’s horribly endearing, really.
Cody is nearly certain that Obi-Wan is going to look away, perhaps start heating up some water with the provided kettle so he can make some of the tea Cody knows he brought with him, but instead he clears his throat, and holds Cody’s gaze. “Forgive me Cody, if this is out of line, but I’ve noticed your wings look like they need to be preened. Is that… something I could help with?”
Cody blinks, mind reeling over the question. Their General has always had respect for their wings. Even though it’s not his job, Obi-Wan always makes sure there’s enough seed oil requisitions at all times, as well as feather-safe dye— something not essential, but deeply important to his vode, their dye patterns being something that can mark them apart and offer some often-craved visual individuality, or another way to bond with their battalion should they choose matching designs, same as their armor. Obi-Wan has also asked various questions about their wings— how they operate, what it feels like to fly— always asked in a respectful manner and answers given freely and happily by troopers eager to share with someone so clearly interested in their culture.
…But for Obi-Wan to not only notice how in-need Cody is of a preening, but to offer to help—
“Do you even know how?” Cody can't help but ask. As blunt as it may be, it's a necessary question— he respects Obi-Wan deeply, and he knows the sentiment is returned, but Obi-Wan helping isn’t going to be actually helpful if he ends up doing it wrong.
Obi-Wan, however, takes no visible offense, merely smiles instead. “One time, when I was working with Alpha-17, the two of us were temporarily stranded on Haidoral Prime. Eventually, he begrudgingly admitted to needing help with his wings, so I provided assistance. He helped guide me— and after he finished telling me what a passably adequate but objectively terrible job I did, I started researching over the past year how to improve. Just in case another trooper needed the help.”
That, Cody had no idea about. He already knew Seventeen worked with Obi-Wan before Cody joined the battalion— Cody having took over his posting on Seventeen’s own recommendation— but he’s pretty sure there’s no known torture in the galaxy extreme enough to have gotten the story out of Seventeen’s own mouth.
The bit with Seventeen itself isn’t necessarily shocking— Cody knows, of course, how well Seventeen knows the importance and need for wing maintenance, his only annoyance would’ve been having to ask Obi-Wan specifically for help— but the rest of what he says does surprise Cody. Obi-Wan, having studied and learned how to preen, just on the off-chance a vod might need the assistance…
It touches him, deeply, the bounds of Obi-Wan’s care, not just for him but for all his vode.
Still, though, he hesitates. As much as he’s thought about Obi-Wan’s hands in his wings, it’s always been imagined as comfort from the act itself, not necessarily for its practicality. But he trusts Obi-Wan, trusts his eagerness to learn, trusts his competence, and trusts that he would not offer should he not think he was actually capable.
There is, also, the hesitancy that once he knows Obi-Wan’s hands in his feathers, it’ll be impossible to forget and difficult to go without. But given the way he’s caught Obi-Wan looking at his wings on more than one occasion— and the way he sometimes looks at Cody himself, long glances shared over even longer nights of filling out formwork together— he has uncharacteristic hope that this could be the first time, but not the last.
In the end, both genuine practicality and Cody’s own personal desires drastically outweigh any lingering uncertainty.
“Alright then,” Cody says, walking over and sitting at the edge of Obi-Wan’s bed, Obi-Wan’s eyes blinking and widening as he stares. Cody turns and rolls his shoulders, relaxing his wings. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Obi-Wan says, before huffing out a laugh. “Hopefully it goes better with you than it did with Alpha-17.”
“I’m sure you did fine with Seventeen, he’s always been a harsh critic. And he’s just a pompous jackass.”
Obi-Wan snorts, and Cody is almost glad that Obi-Wan can’t see what Cody knows is a rather embarrassingly toothy grin he makes in return.
Cody feels the mattress rise, and a moment later, the sound of running water. When the bed dips again, it’s accompanied by a warm, wet rag to his wings. He doesn’t necessarily need it today, but the gentle, repetitive motions are soothing nonetheless.
The moment passes in a surprising quiet— given that it’s Obi-Wan— but it’s not stiff or stilted. Instead, it allows Cody to focus on nothing but Obi-Wan’s hands as they run the cloth over his feathers with a careful firmness, and Cody finds himself leaning into the movements.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Obi-Wan says, setting the cloth aside. Body bowed forward, Cody glances from the corner of his eye and sees Obi-Wan rustle through his bag and pull out a bottle of GAR-issued seed oil.
Cody blinks dumbly at Obi-Wan, watching as he returns to the edge of the bed. “You brought seed oil with you?”
Obi-Wan nods, and again settles himself at Cody’s back. “I always carry some on my person.”
Cody just nods, his heart growing somehow, impossibly fonder.
As Obi-Wan starts mulling through his feathers, he starts speaking with an unusual hesitancy. “I did want to ask… well. It’s probably a terribly personal question, if you don’t mind?”
Cody rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know how to say that Obi-Wan quite literally has Cody’s life woven between his fingers, already an act that’s often so terribly personal. Instead he just says, “Go ahead.”
“I’ve wondered— why the seed oil, specifically? While I was studying up on preening I did a fair amount of research into avian species, and I found no mention of it being used so regularly. Alpha-17 never kept any around, or at least never mentioned it in his personal requisitions, but all of your vode seem to use it.”
That was… not the question Cody was expecting, but it really should’ve been. As long as he’s known Obi-Wan, the man has always been eager to better understand the worlds around him, no matter the situation.
“It’s because none of us have a preening gland. The Alphas do, but no other batches. Supposedly the Kaminoans found it too messy and off-putting, for us to make our own oil, so they removed it from the genome. Probably also didn’t hurt that they made a good chunk of credits by sourcing the oil and selling it to the Republic in bulk, as a necessity alongside the armor.”
Cody feels the hands on his wings still, before Obi-Wan lets out a harsh sigh, and continues on.
“I would tell you precisely how I feel about the Kaminoans messing around with perfectly healthy biological functions for the sake of aesthetics, but I suppose I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”
“ …No, I suppose not. But the sentiment is appreciated.”
“I imagine it was too much to hope that you all just simply found the oil soothing?”
Cody snorts, the sound startled out of him. As if the GAR would requisite something simply because the clones found it soothing, and no other reason.
…But Obi-Wan would, of course, given the ability. Cody knows he would.
“It’s needed to keep the feathers healthy and moisturized, as well as protect from the elements. But… it’s soothing as well. Smells nice,” Cody finishes with a shrug.
“For that, at least, I’m glad,” Obi-Wan replies, and Cody can hear the small smile in his voice.
Obi-Wan continues with the preening, the following silence a gentle calm between them. Cody feels Obi-Wan’s fingers glide across his wings, layering and straightening and adjusting. His movements contain not only a gentle firmness, but a confident sureness— without looking, Cody can tell he’s doing an accurate job. He’s slow, though, but it’s only natural, given how little Obi-Wan has done this.
But the confidence alone, in a task he’s rarely performed but still knows well because he studied it so thoroughly, committed himself to the knowledge should he ever need it, should he ever need to help Cody’s vode—
It’s all Cody can do but relax into his touch, fully assured that he’s in trusted, capable hands.
By the time Obi-Wan moves on to the oil, Cody is near-fully slumped over, limbs heavy and mind foggy in the most pleasant way. The way Obi-Wan carefully rubs in the oil, coating his feathers both carefully and diligently, has Cody relaxing impossibly further into his touch.
He has no idea how much time has passed when he’s awoken from his light doze with a “Cody, my dear, I believe you’re all set.”
He blinks, straightening himself as he stretches. He doesn’t even need to look at his wings to know what a lovely job Obi-Wan did— not perfect, perhaps, but lovely still, his wings feeling so much better now than when he’d first arrived at the hotel.
Cody thinks he should be a bit more embarrassed about falling asleep so easily in front of Obi-Wan, but he can’t really bring himself to care, given how delightfully syrupy both his mind and body still are.
So much so that he nearly just… reaches up to pull Obi-Wan down into the bed with him— but once the thought is fully processed, delightful as it is in fantasy, it sobers him up immediately. He sighs, and sits up further on the bed.
“Thank you, Obi-Wan. Truly.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles. “I’m happy I could help. Hopefully I did an adequate job, then?”
Cody flutters his feathers slightly, and sighs, content. “More than.”
Obi-Wan’s smile only deepens, and Cody gets lost in it for a moment before pulling his gaze and glancing at the bed across the room. “I suppose I should… move to my own bed.”
His General blinks at him, before following his gaze. “Yes, I suppose you should. I fear… I fear we might not get much sleep, were we to share the bed.”
Cody’s heart stutters, and he looks back at Obi-Wan with a sudden sharpness, eyes widening as he meets Obi-Wan’s own keen expression.
“Because the bed’s, ah, well. Too small to share comfortably.”
Ah. “Right. Of course.”
“But,” Obi-Wan continues, still holding Cody’s eyes carefully within his own, that knowing glint saying more than his words ever could. “Were the circumstances different, perhaps. Were we both… afforded a larger bed, later down the line… then I think it's something I'd very much like to try.”
Cody closes his eyes with a soft sigh, before opening them with a smile. “As would I. Obi-Wan.”
Despite spending the night alone in his own bed, the smile that Cody receives in return is more than enough to keep him warm and held throughout the night.
-------
It’s many, many more nights later— months later, and months more since the Chancellor’s swift and sudden death brought an abrupt end to the bulk of the war— that Cody learns what it’s like to fall asleep with Obi-Wan tucked close and held safe within his own wings.