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The 212th was a few months into the war and Cody had thought he had gotten to know his General fairly well. General Kenobi was an excellent strategist and fast learner. He liked tea --with way too much sugar to be healthy much to Triage’s despair-- to caff. He preferred to call vode by their name, learning them at an alarming rate. He would look the other way or comfort the shinies who needed it after their first battle. He seemed almost too kind-hearted to be a High General in an intergalactic war.
And he would never show anyone his wings.
After the first few weeks, the 212th had just assumed that this was how the other generals were as well.
That was before they met up with the 501st for their first joint mission. General Skywalker had no such reserves about his wings and had them out for show no matter who was around to see them. They were each a type of eagle's wing, colored a rich dark brown color, and by all means large and powerful.
Even Ashoka, who was new to the 501st and General Skywalker, had eventually shown them her wings and followed in her Master's lead, showing off pure white dove feathers with speckled blue at the edges. The rest of the 501st were overjoyed and nearly insufferable that their little Commander had the legion colors.
When Cody had asked Rex about it he replied, “I think she was just uncomfortable having her wings out on the battlefield, or she didn’t quite trust us yet. We’re very different from Jedi at the Temple after all.”
And General Kenobi at some points seemed almost too comfortable on the battlefield.
Cody never directly asked, none of the vode did, as that would have been insensitive. But the question hung in the air.
'Why won't you show us your wings?'
As the weeks went on, stories from other armies started coming in. About the crazy things their generals did or tried to do, much to the headache of other commanders and their CMOs. Cody knew Rex was going to get premature grey hairs from the crazy osik both General Skywalker and Commander Tano put him through on a daily basis. That or he was going to adapt to their craziness and pass the headache over to Kix.
Still, it hurt the men when other stories started coming through. How the Wolf Pack was in awe of General Koon's sweeping and silent owl wings. That General Windu would frequently put his falcon wings to use and incorporate his speed into battle plans. And Bly was practically waxing poetry for General Secura’s who were, “the deepest and most stunning shades of blue I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing.”
That statement had earned him a wack to the back of the head, courtesy of Fox, the last time Cody and some of the other commanders were on leave.
So whenever Cody was asked about his General’s wings, he simply put on a small smile and said, “I don’t know, he’s never shown us.”
The 212th General. The one who never showed his wings. Some rumors had even started up that their general didn’t even have them. But Cody knew otherwise. They were most definitely there but always concealed under thick armor platting or Jedi robes. Though Cody supposed he should be grateful his general even wore that much armor. Other generals sure didn’t.
At times Cody thought the thick robes would impede the near graceful gait the General always seemed to have, both on and off the battlefield. He knew they were heavy. There had been several instances where Cody and other vode found them wherever the General dropped them, much to their quartermaster's dismay. But even when those robes were shed, underneath was either armor or more binding robes.
Cody had asked the General only once during a long night with tall piles of paperwork if he wasn’t hot under all that fabric. The thought of asking the General why he didn’t take his outer robes off made his face start to flush. Such a question felt far more personal than whatever comradery he and the General currently shared.
The General had answered with a kind smile, explaining that no, the fabric the robes were made out of did wonders for heat regulation.
Cody never asked about the robes again, but he couldn’t help to think that his wings must have been severely uncomfortable, bound up and crammed against his back. So he resorted to giving the General as much alone time as he could. It seemed only then would the General feel comfortable to stretch out his wings. He must have since he never did in the presence of other vode.
The distance was noticeable, but thankfully didn’t much affect their ability to work seamlessly together. But other vode started to follow in Cody’s stead, also giving the General space and privacy. Giving time to a general who didn’t yet trust them.
Only when the General was comfortable around them would they purposefully seek him out to join them in their downtime again.
The question in the air changed into a different one.
'Why don't you trust us?'
~-~
Boil like General Kenobi. He was a great general and always made plans that emphasize making sure the most vode would survive the incoming skirmish. He put more care into planning than he knew other generals did. Not to say they were bad, but General Kenobi always seemed to put in a little extra effort.
That being said, there were some points where Boil wanted to grab the General by the shoulders and ask what the hell he was doing. He wouldn’t be the only one either.
Currently, the 212th was on a dustball of a planet, trying to capture a separatist base. Said base on a peninsula mesa with only one land bridge to get on or off it. The rest of it was surrounded by a cliff face that spelled certain doom to anyone who fell off.
And their general still refused to show his wings. Never mind the fact that the General still didn’t trust them, but in war, Boil liked to think that assuring one’s survival came above any sort of self-consciousness.
Apparently not.
General Kenobi was leading the frontal assault while General Skywalker was supplying air support. In Boil's humble opinion it should have been the other way around, but no one ever listens to his advice.
The General was a great help though, deflecting the majority of the blaster bolts which came flying towards them while the 212th laid down firing support and advanced at a steady if creeping pace.
Everything was going well and going to plan until it wasn't. Missiles started to rain down on their heads. Immediately the order went out for a full company retreat. To turn back and head for cover while they still could before the land bridge they were on was effectively reduced to rubble.
Boil was just behind the General and continued to fire even as they were pulling back, making sure those that were behind them had time to move. But even a Jedi, when occupied by dozens of blaster bolts, stood little chance against a missile. It hit just to the right of the General and the resulting shock wave sent him flying over the edge of the bridge.
And Boil didn’t even have time to think about whether or not this was a good idea before diving after him.
All Boil knew was that his general was going to die because there was no way he could extend his wings under the platted armor of his back.
Boil had dropped his blaster as he dove for the General. He was just able to grab the General's arm and the grappling gun on his belt, shooting a wire into the cliff face and stopping their uncontrolled dissent.
He had little time to brace as he slammed into the rock wall and nearly dropped the General as the wind was knocked out of him.
Luckily there was a small ledge he could stand on that just barely fit his feet. He dragged the General up so he could stand on the ledge with him and a distant part of his mind recognized that the General’s body was abnormally light, even for him not being a vod.
“With all due respect sir,” Boil gasped out as his ears stopped ringing. “What the kriff were you thinking.”
“Apologies Lieutenant, but being shot off a cliff wasn’t exactly something I chose,” General Kenobi replied with an eyebrow raised, as he dusted himself off.
“Not that,” Boil huffed as he sent out a rescue ping to Cody. “Your wings sir, there’s no way you could fly with them all bundled up under your armor. You could have died.”
“Ah, that’s not an issue,” the General waved dismissively. “I would have caught myself with the Force, though I do appreciate your commitment to saving me, my dear.”
The General was smiling and at ease way too much for someone who was being shot at mere moments ago. He was no doubt hiding a myriad of blast injuries.
Boil grumbled under his breath, complaining about stupid Jedi force osik. Meanwhile, the General was perfectly content to stand there and act like nothing was wrong until a LAAT/i was able to discreetly pick them up off their little ledge.
As they were in transit, Boil was sure to inform both Cody and Triage about the incident for when the General inevitably tried to skip out on Medical PostOP. This way the general would be forced to go one way or another.
Boil was sitting on his bunk, shaking out the fine sand that had gotten everywhere when he realized he would have to get a new blaster.
~-~
Waxer was happy with his general. He was kind of heart and did his best to make the other vode feel comfortable.
Well, as comfortable as they could be knowing that their commanding officer didn’t trust them. It was still a mystery as to why he didn’t but the vode respected their general's choice to keep his wings hidden.
Waxer just couldn’t find a reason why their general would still think that. As far as he knew, there hadn’t been anything that would warrant such a reaction. The vode gossip mill --while not always the most reliable source of information-- typically held some type of truth to it. But there was never anything about a mishap with the General.
Waxer knew that the vode would jump at any chance to invite the General to join them. Whether it was a game of sabacc, mid-meal, or a holonight with the most recently bartered for holo. And on occasion, the General would in fact join them.
Though the invites started to slow as the Commander stopped spending a great deal of time with the General. Cody claimed that if the General was not yet comfortable with them, they shouldn’t be asking him to spare his time for them. Especially since the time the General spent alone was typically in his quarters where he was most likely stretching out his wings from being restricted for so long, away from any prying eyes.
And it made sense.
So slowly the invitations slowed down. No longer were vode as eager to ask the General to join.
Something about that though didn’t sit right with Waxer. Their general seemed more withdrawn now than he was before. A little more melancholy. Waxer even thought he caught a wistful expression a few times on his face as he watch other vode socialize with one another.
If anything, now on the rare occasion a vod did ask if the General did want to join in, he seemed to say yes more often than not.
Waxer unintentionally grimaced at the memory that popped into his mind. It was movie night on one of the decks and there were several vode crammed into the room. The movie wasn’t even a good one, but it was new and they very rarely got ahold of new holos.
They had to have been about halfway through the movie when the door opened. Instantly a hundred or so eyes were on the General who just stepped in.
Immediately he froze as he became the center of attention for the room and Waxer saw the slightest bit of shifting indicating he was nervous.
After a brief moment of silence, he hesitantly asked for Cody, who untangled himself from the group of shinies that had latched onto him throughout the first half of the movie.
Waxer saw the briefest flashes of what looked like pain and longing before the General settled on a blank expression. But that wasn’t right. The General didn’t trust them yet so why would he long to be with them?
Waxer didn’t remember the last half of the movie as his mind kept replaying the expressions that were on the General's face.
But while the vode were giving the General space, Waxer included, there were still times when he would go to him unannounced.
Like right now.
Waxer was carefully walking to the General's quarters carrying a full cup of tea, which had more sugar than was probably healthy for just about any living thing. Normally it would be the Commander who would bring it, but Cody was currently busy so Waxer appointed himself.
Well, that’s what he liked to think. It was a better alternative than the truth which was being grabbed by Flashover --the 212th’s head chef-- and having a cup of tea thrust in his hands with strict orders to bring it to the General. Waxer would have done it voluntarily if asked thank you very much.
The hallway was rather empty for it being the middle of the day cycle.
Once Waxer reached the General's door, he knocked on it softly. He heard a quiet ‘come in’ almost immediately after and entered.
The General was curled up in his heavy robes staring intensely at a data pad. His desk was covered with them.
“I have tea for you general,” Waxer said hesitantly, as he walked closer to him and placed it down on the desk.
The General looked up and gave Waxer one of the kindest and brightest smiles he had seen in a long time come from the General. It made Waxer happy and smile back. “Thank you Waxer.”
Waxer just nodded turning back to the door to head out but the General's voice stopped him.
“Would you like to stay for a few moments Waxer? I seem to be in need of a break from these dreadful things,” the General asked kindly, gesturing vaguely at the data pads.
Waxer was tempted to say yes. He really was. And if the general was inviting him it had to be okay with him too. But Waxer was a soldier. And unfortunately, there were things he needed to get done. So he gave the general a sad little smile and apologized. “Sorry sir, I have a briefing with the rest of Ghost Company.”
The General, ever polite, just nodded in understanding. But then ask in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “I don’t make you uncomfortable do I Waxer?”
And Waxer looked back with what was probably poorly concealed shock if the small flinch from the General was anything to go by. Never had the General made Waxer uncomfortable. He couldn’t think of anyone saying that the General had made them uncomfortable either. If anything Waxer should have been asking the General that.
“No sir,” Waxer replied truthfully. “You don’t and you never have.”
A small smile reappeared on the General's face. He looked more vulnerable than he should have at that moment. “Ah, good. That’s good... Have a good briefing then.”
Waxer nodded and left his general’s quarters in happier spirits, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
~-~
Flashover liked to understand the reasoning behind things. He liked logistics and order. A plan that he could follow or steps that made sense. And perhaps that’s what made him such a good chef.
So when there was a discrepancy in the amount of cane sugar that was being loaded onto the Negotiator, he double-checked and then triple-checked the order.
It was, for all intensive purposes, correct. But Flashover just couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it and it frustrated him to no end when he realized that no one else had an answer either.
With the exception of the General's love for the stuff, there was nothing that would warrant there being so much. And even the General didn’t use that much.
So very quickly Flashover had to come up with a use for all that sugar, lest it start taking up space that was truly needed for other foodstuffs.
As a result, he and the rest of the 212th cooks started looking up various recipes along with different ways they could incorporate sugar into their daily meals. Enough so that the sugar stock was going down, but also not giving them so much that Triage would decide to rain hellfire on them for compromising vode health. Not that it mattered with their metabolism.
It was also watched and limited for the shinies the 212th would pick up. A change that came about after the first batch started almost bouncing off the walls with the influx of sugar their bodies weren’t prepared for. Luckily nothing bad had come out of it asides from a few sugar crashes.
Several new recipes evolved out of trial and error, trying to put the sugar to use. Not that any of the vode were complaining.
But Flashover never got an explanation for why there was so much sugar onboard the Negotiator in the first place. And when talking to the other head chefs, they didn’t have a problem with extra sugar. It seemed to only be a 212th problem.
And asking Cody to cut down on the supply didn’t work either as during the next shipment there would always be just as much.
After the first few months, Flashover had resigned himself to never getting a straightforward explanation for it, no matter how badly he wanted one.
~-~
Triage didn’t get nervous. If you got nervous you froze up and if you froze up vode died. So no he didn’t get nervous.
But he was underwhelmed with the situation.
The 212th was barely able to make it back to the Venators and vanish from the system before they were overrun by Separatist reinforcements. It had been a bloody battle that, in the end, wasn’t even worth it. Which meant Triage and the rest of the 212th medics were practically overrun with casualties.
Triage had been so preoccupied with what was in front of him and those in his immediate vicinity that needed care, that it wasn’t until well after the most critical of cases were solved did he think about the General. He let out a string of curses that would make even a hardened spice runner blush and comm’d the Commander. The General was going to get looked at whether he wanted to or not.
Not even five minutes later did the Commander come with a limping and bloodied general leaning on him for support.
Triage swore he saw red. The look on his face must have been truly thunderous as most of the medics disappeared out of view. Even the Commander wasn’t making eye contact.
“And just when, General, were you planning on showing up?” Triage spat with the venom reserved only for greatly pissed off CMOs.
The General smiled meekly, through mild delirium. “You were busy with the others. Besides, I didn’t need to be seen right away.”
Triage snarled but directed Cody to a stretch in the back of the medley which could be separated by a privacy curtain. It was one of the bigger ones which accounted for wing span which... osik, there was no way Triage was not going to be able to see them.
Once the General was situated, Cody was smart and immediately made himself scarce.
Triage sighed but directed Raptor to take charge as he fixed up the General. The private curtain was drawn closed.
While there was a lot of blood on him, the General wasn’t actively bleeding from anywhere vital or at an alarming rate.
“Sit back so I can assess you,” Triage grumbled out, but he caught the wince the General made.
“Ah, I’m afraid that won’t be possible Triage. The armor plating on my back was damaged and it’s been digging rather painfully into my back,” the General explained. Which was a very alarming statement. Quickly, Triage scanned the General's back for any obvious signs of damage or bleeding. The last thing he wanted to do was remove the plating and cause even more damage.
It was several scans and checks later when Triage finally declared that the plating was safe to take off and removed it ever so gently. And as professional as Triage was, he couldn’t help the quiet gasp that escaped his lips as he saw the General's wings for the first time.
Immediately they rose to flutter, and Triage out of instinct grabbed them to keep them from moving and possibly causing more damage. The General gave a small yelp as he did, clearly not expecting Triage's touch. Triage winced at that. So much for gaining the trust of the General with his wings. “Sorry General, but you cannot move your wings until I’ve cleared them of damage.”
“It’s quite alright Triage, you just startled me,” the General hummed.
The General's wings were beautiful. They were much smaller than General Skywalker’s and even Commander Tano’s were. But Triage could feel the power behind them as he let the wings go. They were a mostly darker brown color which shinned with hints of copper orange in the medbay light. At the center of the General's back were the wings fused with the body were several smaller feathers which shimmered colors ranging from magenta to orange to green. Triage had never seen feathers of such color before.
Triage cleared his throat and got to work removing the rest of the General's blood-stained robes, cataloging different injuries along the way. None of them seemed particularly severe, but Triage had little doubt the General was using the Force to hide some of the most pressing issues. Regardless, he was talking coherently and had a pulse. For now.
It took Triage over an hour to get the General in a condition where he felt like he could leave him and not worry about him spontaneously flatlining. He was able to clean up all of the cuts and scratches, bandaging and applying bacta as needed. The armor the General had been wearing, did its job very well. Though not well enough to prevent several of his ribs from being fractured or broken.
Once the general stopped using the Force, the flail segment was worryingly obvious. But it was nothing a few bacta shots wouldn’t be able to fix. In the meantime, a bandage was taped securely over the injury in order the try and keep the loose rib pieces in line.
Miraculously the General's wings were relatively uninjured --once they stopped flapping about and Triage could actually get a good look at them. There were a few snapped and damaged feathers which were promptly taken care of, but no major injuries were present and the wings were in relatively okay health.
They were only okay because Triage had never seen a pair of wings so thin and lacking of muscle.
As a result, he prescribed several exercises for the General to do on his own time. It was one thing if he didn’t want his wings out in the open and another if he wasn’t taking good care of them. “I’m trusting you to do them regularly on your own time general. Don’t make me drag you back here.”
The General agreed easily enough even if his expression was somewhat quizzical.
Triage had kept the General in the medbay for half a cycle before letting him out. During that time he told off multiple vode for being just a little bit too curious, going as far as to kick some of them out. But in the end, no one but Triage saw the General’s wings. His privacy was respected.
And when the General left the medbay, one of his heavy Jedi robes covered his wings.
~-~
Wooley sneezed. His head was pounding and his vision was swimming as he tried to remember what happened. He sneezed again as the dust finally began to settle.
Slowly it came back to him.
Ghost company was engaged in a battle and there had been a huge hill --Wooley had argued it was more of a small mountain-- but anyway. They were pushing the separatist droids back and then there was a grenade thrown. It went too high and detonated too close to the rocks triggering a landslide of rubble. Wooley was too close to the cliff face and there was no time to run. He froze looking up at the rock falling towards him. Distantly he could hear someone screaming.
Then something crashed into him and he went flying against the rock wall.
The back of his head throbbed. A rock or something must have hit him.
But clearly, he wasn’t dead. If he were dead he wouldn't be in this much pain.
Gently he reached up and turned on the small light on his bucket. Bits of dust swirled as Wooley made sense of where he was. Which was turning out to be quite literally between a rock and a hard place. Cliff face to one side and dislodged rubble on the other, effectively trapping him until someone dug them out. The small pocket of space that he occupied only existed thanks to a small overhang which caused most of the rocks to roll and land further away when they fell.
He tried to stand up but immediately fell back down as his vision tilted violently to the side. He grunted in pain as his bucket knocked against some rocks. That was definitely the early stages of a concussion.
“Wooley?” A soft voice rasped out. Wooley jolted and slowly turned his head to see the General pushing himself up. He didn’t look particularly hurt thank the Maker.
“Gener’l,” Wooley slurred out. “Hurt?”
General Kenobi let out a breathy laugh as he staggered closer to Wooley and sat back down. “I think I should be the one asking you that.”
Wooley shrugged. Everything was kind of blurry. The few colors there were, were swirling together a little.
A small gasp of pain made him focus back on the General. He might not be hurt, but something was clearly bothering him.
“Wa’s wrong,” Wooley managed out.
“My back platting was damaged by some of the rocks. I’m going to have to take it off,” the General elaborated already fiddling with some release latches.
“‘orry,” Wooley murmured.
“You have nothing to be sorry for my dear,” the General replied. “It happens.”
Wooley made a small and shaky nod before turning away. He heard the armor plates hit the floor and the General sigh in relief. No matter how much Wooley wanted to look, he would resist. The General was not showing off his wings by choice. It was by necessity.
‘He still doesn’t trust you yet,’ a voice in his mind whispered.
“Where are you hurt?” The General asked. Wooley could hear him shift closer.
“Head hurts.”
Wooley wasn’t going to look. He was a good vod.
“Okay, I’m going to remove your helmet to see what we’re dealing with.”
Wooley had to turn his head back but he shut his eyes. Slowly the bucket was pulled off his head. He felt some of his mohawk flop against his face. Gentle hands palpated his head, coming to rest at the base of his skull where they stilled. A feeling of cool washed over him and some of the pain disappeared.
“There, that should help. Unfortunately, I’m not that good at Force Healing,” the General explained, pulling his hands away. Wooley let out an involuntary whine at the loss of contact.
That was one thing that seemed to help vode the most when they were injured. Physical touch.
Blindly he reached out to grab at the General. Later he would claim he only did so because of the concussion.
The General laughed but humored him by letting Wooley grab onto his arm.
He would also later claim that the conversation that followed was also only because of the concussion.
In a hesitant tone, the General asked. “Is the light too much for you Wooley? I can turn it off.”
Wooley shook his head once before wincing. That still wasn’t a good idea. “No, is your wings.”
“Come now, I don’t think they’re that ugly,” the General teased in a light tone.
But Wooley made a sound of protest. “No, you don’ trus’ us. S’why you never showed ‘em to us. Bu’is okay, I unders’and,” Wooley explained patting the General's arm.
There was a pregnant pause before the General asked in a soft voice. “You... you think I don’t trust you?”
Wooley frowned. He didn’t like that type of voice the General used. It sounded too small and soft. Almost fragile. And the General was anything but fragile.
“Yeah, s’why. So pr’mise I won’t look. Won’t peak until you ready.”
“Oh, Wooley, is that what the entire 212th thinks? That I don’t trust them?”
The General sounded so sad. Why was he so sad? He had nothing to be sad about. Wooley was a good vod, he was following the rules.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it never was. My wings, well they’re just very different from most normal wings you see. They’re called flutter-wings or figure-eights, and at some points, they can be quite the inconvenience. It’s a habit I haven’t quite been able to quell and they tend to just start flapping whether it’s intentional or not, most of the time for no reason. They require a lot of energy to do so, and it was just easier to encase them in fabric or armor so they wouldn’t either accidentally hit someone or use up a lot of energy which would be better spent elsewhere,” the General explained as he placed a gentle hand on Wooley’s jaw, tilting his head back towards him.
Wooley only got half of the explanation --his brain wasn’t computing well enough to make sense of all of it-- but he thought he got the gist of it. “So... you trust us?”
“Yes dear, I trust you and every single one of your brothers,” the General reassured, letting go of Wooley’s face.
“Does ‘at mean I can look?”
The General laughed but said yes, so slowly Wooley opened his eyes. The lighting wasn’t great, but he could make out the edges of small and compact wings. The tops of the wings and base of the feathers looked to be a bark brown while the center feathers were a rustic orange, much like the General's hair.
“You’re very pretty,” Wooley mumbled.
The General chuckled. “Why thank you.”
“Of c’rse,” Wooley slurred. His eyes were starting to slip close.
“Hey, none of that.”
Wooley felt the General gently shake his hands. Blearily he opened his eyes. “S’rry sir, I’m just re’lly tiered.”
“I know, I know, but you have to try and stay awake. Talk to me.”
“‘Bout w’at?”
“Anything you want to.”
“Hm,” Wooley thought. There was a lot he could talk about.
The General scooted over so he was sitting next to Wooley, leaning against the wall. His forearm was still encased by Wooley’s hands.
Wooley sighed and shifted ever so closer to the general, pressing up against his side and letting his head rest against his shoulder. Faintly he felt the General's wings wrap around his shoulders.
“We've miss' you during holonigh's...”
~-~
Cody sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed a break. When the words started to blur into one another it was time to put a pause on the reading, lest Cody not process what he was reading correctly and make a mistake. That just meant even more paperwork for the future.
Stretching his legs sounded like a good idea.
Cody grabbed the gallon jug that sat by the corner of the desk in front of Obi-Wan. “Want me to grab you some more?”
“Please if you wouldn’t mind,” Obi-Wan replied not even looking up from the data pad. His wings flapped twice before stilling back in a neutral position.
Cody smiled as he left the room for the mess hall. Flashover should be there to make another sugar water drink for Obi-Wan. The chef had been ecstatic to find out the reason why the 212th kept getting mass quantities of the stuff.
In fact, a lot of the vode were much happier now. Pretty much all of it thanks to Wooley getting his head hit just a little bit too hard. Who knew it would take a concussion to clear up one of the biggest mild misunderstandings in the history of the GAR.
The vode had been delighted to hear that ‘yes the general does trust you’ and ‘no him hiding his wings had nothing to do with you’. More so from Obi-Wan himself who acknowledged the entirety of the 212th when relaying that information. And then again to Wooley personally because he didn’t remember the first time and was out cold during the second.
Anakin had laughed so hard he cried when he had found out, getting unimpressed stares from most of the 212th and Rex. The latter of whom was rather apologetic to Cody for having been the one to first put that idea in his head in the first place, even if it had been unintentional. But Cody really couldn’t blame him. In a way, it was also his fault for not being clearer and checking with Obi-Wan.
Cody also knew word traveled fast and the next time he was on leave with his batch mates, it would be a slue of nonstop teasing and embarrassment. Mostly from Wolffe and Fox.
Through there would also be several greatly exaggerated stories about the first time the vode, or rather Ghost Company, saw the wings of their general. Verses of Obi-Wan gently passing Wooley through the small hole the ghosts had franticly dug and into the arms of a medic before emerging himself. Small strong wings which fluttered so fast they blended into the evening sunset. That the General looked ethereal in the golden orange glow, light making his hair and wings glitter a rustic gold. And then he all but floated down over the rubble to the rest of his waiting and worried men, like a forgotten God greeting his creations in full glory for the first time.
Along with stories of what had happened, word of the General's wings would also finally be getting out, causing many of the betting pools that were, much to Cody’s dismay, active in other battalions as well as the 212th, to finally start wrapping up. He was very tempted to tear Bilk a new one when he found out who organized the 212th’s. Instead, he settled for several rotations of latrine duty. Not that Bilk was terribly upset --he had won most of the bet for putting down ‘new type of wings we haven’t heard of before’.
Flutter wings as it turned out were ridiculously rare, even among force-sensitives. Triage actually had to do some digging to find out a species of bird they were similar to. The closest had been a small zippy and ridiculously agile bird --known as a hummingbird by their homeworld locals-- and it had a ludicrous metabolism.
Triage ran the numbers and whistled when he found out what the average metabolism would be if Obi-Wan used his wings constantly throughout the day. It would easily require over a hundred-thousand calories, which explained the pounds upon pounds of sugar the 212th kept getting as well as Obi-Wan’s obsession for drowning his tea in sugar.
Flashover had ducked into the back of the kitchen when he saw Cody enter and when he came back out shortly after, there was a new gallon jug in his hand. “Make sure the General drinks all of it. I don’t need Triage yelling more dietary requirements at me, he’s under the impression I have some semblance of control over what the General drinks.”
Cody laughed at Triage’s more than annoyed expression but promised he would, and then started on the trip back to Obi-Wan's quarters. Though not before saying hello to several of the new shinies who the 212th had just picked up.
One had asked if he was going to be at the holonight later that cycle. Word was that it was some Mandalorian RomCom but a very popular classic. They rarely got their hands on classics.
Cody didn’t know if he would have time, but assured the eager shiny --Creek was his name-- that he would try.
That was another nice thing about the hold hidden wing debacle clearing up. Now vode left and right were inviting Obi-Wan to all sorts of activities and bonding sessions.
Holonights seemed to be the biggest hit though. Obi-Wan would go, sometimes with a data pad, despite the bemoaning of other vode. Nevertheless, he seemed to enjoy it. It took him a little while to get used to how much and how casually vode would touch one another, but once he was comfortable with it, well, there were many arguments on who got to spend a night curled up next to the General.
Both Cody and Obi-Wan found it amusing. Shinies would fight over a spot only for a veteran member to swoop in and steal it while they were both preoccupied, much to their outrage and the amusement of other onlookers. Those usually ended up in a compromise where the shinies would end up near smothering the veteran. The important thing though was that in the end, everyone was happy.
Cody entered the quarters and had to hold back a laugh. Ever since Obi-Wan had stopped wearing the heavy robes and armor all the time, it fell to the vode to let Obi-Wan know when he was fluttering his wings, as most of the time Obi-Wan didn’t know he was even doing it.
Like right now. Obi-Wan’s wings made a slight humming noise when they were flapping but were otherwise almost completely silent. Never mind that they were almost impossible to make out, instead putting everything behind their pattern in a brown-orange tint.
Obi-Wan would also more often than not float a good few inches off the ground without even realizing it. It seemed that this time he had gotten up to pace before he ended up floating. It was more difficult to start floating out of a chair unintentionally while sitting down.
“Obi-Wan,” Cody called after the doors behind him firmly shut.
Obi-Wan’s wings froze and he dropped the few inches back to the ground nearly falling over forward. Cody though was ready and caught his general against his free arm and chest. The data pad clattered on the floor.
“Ah, sorry Cody, I seemed to have gotten lost in my thoughts again,” Obi-Wan apologized.
Cody laughed and let go of Obi-Wan as he regained his balance. He bent over to pick up the fallen data pad. “One of the shinies asked if I was going to the holonight this cycle.”
“Is it something you want to go to?” Obi-Wan asked accepting the device from Cody’s hands.
“I think we could both use a break. We still have two more cycles in hyperspace and there isn’t too much paperwork left,” Cody admitted, making eye contact with Obi-Wan. They were a special kind of blue-gray that reminded Cody of the rare late sunrises on Kamino where just a thin layer of clouds covered the sky.
Cody’s eyes flickered briefly to Obi-Wan’s lips. “Would you like to join me?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan breathed out. “I would very much like to.”
“Good.”
Cody pulled his Jedi close into a hug, mindful of the wings which shuddered at his gentle touch. Obi-Wan sighed from where he was tucked under his chin, gripping onto Cody’s chest plate.
The Force sang with delight.