Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2025-08-29
Words:
4,119
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
57
Kudos:
298
Bookmarks:
50
Hits:
1,252

Frivolous Little Things

Summary:

He has so many things now, broken things, little things, things that people might miss but that they will probably assume are long gone or forget about in time. Every single one has a memory attached to it for Cody, every little pebble, every broken toy, every ripped or stained piece of brightly coloured fabric that he mends with the thread he is given to keep his blacks going for as long as he can.

Outside of his quarters Cody is the model of a marshal commander in the GAR; calm, collected, highly competent and in possession of a strategic mind to be envied. In his own space, however, Cody keeps a small collection of mementos from the planets he visits.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Like all of the clones, Cody doesn’t really have anything that he can properly call his. His armour, his blankets, even his existence, belongs to the Republic and he is permitted use of it all in order to win the war. They live minimalist lives, sharing space, weapons, even armour on occasion when one is injured and someone needs a replacement piece. Cody has his own space, making him one of the very few who do, but even that room starts out as little more than four bare grey walls, with shelves that remain empty for weeks and a bunk that has a thin pillow and utilitarian grey blankets. 

At the start. 

It begins with a pebble. Cody doesn’t really think about it when he slips it into one of the pouches on his belt. He had been on patrol and needed a quick distraction. Flinging a couple of pebbles to direct attention away from him had been the way forward and although he had picked up a handful, the one he slips into the pouch is a spare. It is smooth, worn that way by a long gone stream, mottled in white and grey. It’s pretty in its own way. He keeps it, placing it on one of the too empty shelves in his quarters. It’s ridiculous, frivolous, just a pebble, but Cody treasures it anyway, because unlike his armour and his weapon, his bed, his quarters, and even his life, the Republic can’t take this from him. The silly little pebble is his.  

It grows from there. It starts with pebbles, then one day Cody finds a large rectangle of soft, patterned, fabric fluttering in the wind. A scarf of material finer and brighter than anything he has ever been permitted to touch, with one of the corners almost entirely torn off. No one will want it, but it's bright and beautiful. Damaged. No one will want it when they return, Cody has learnt that the people in the Republic who have the money for something like that tend to have the ability to replace it. He doubts they will even miss it. He folds it carefully, wary of losing the piece that is hanging on by a handful of threads, then tucks it into the same pouch that he usually slips the pebbles into. The fabric is so fine that it slides in his fingers, slipping into the pocket with ease and leaves plenty of room in case he needs to add anything else. When he returns to the ship, Cody washes it carefully in the sink in his ‘fresher, using one of his water rations to get the muck and grime of war and destruction out of the delicate fibres, revealing the true brilliance of the white, gold, blue and red that have been printed onto it in a geometric pattern. His repair, with the coarse black thread that he keeps on hand to mend minor tears in his blacks when he isn’t in a position to requisition a fresh pair, is rough and ugly, but he hangs the scarf on the wall next to his bunk all the same. 

And it makes the room feel more like his, with his bright strip of fabric carefully attached to the wall and his small pile of pebbles that he sometimes tries to stack in a manner that might be considered decorative. Over time he adds other things, always little bits that he can slip easily into the pouch on his belt, or into the small bag which contains the spare blacks and other equipment assigned to his number so that the GAR can track how much he costs them. His little trinkets cost nothing, always found outside or among the rubble of destroyed houses. People will miss their homes, but things can be replaced by most. Most of the things that he picks up would have needed replacing anyway; a child’s action figure with a missing leg that he replaces with a bit of natural clay dug up from the banks of a river, a broken silver chain, the pieces of a fine china tea cup which he carefully sticks back together and later fills with dirt so that he can plant a cutting of a flower he found which had been growing bright and brilliant in the ruins of a world.

He has so many things now, broken things, little things, things that people might miss but that they will probably assume are long gone or forget about in time. Every single one has a memory attached to it for Cody, every little pebble, every broken toy, every ripped or stained piece of brightly coloured fabric that he mends with the thread he is given to keep his blacks going for as long as he can. For a moment, among his broken and tattered and repaired things, Cody can fool himself into thinking that he is just like so many other people, the people who live in the Republic that he and his brothers are fighting and dying to preserve. It is foolish, a frivolous little daydream that does nothing to help end the war any faster, but it means something to Cody. And sometimes it means things to his brothers too. A small picture frame with cracked glass is given to a shiny who lost the rest of his squad, the water damaged flimsi picture inside replaced with a sketch done by Chip so that the shiny in question has a memento. A small stuffed toy, the arm sewn back on, is given to another brother who is struggling with the horrors of war. A shot glass with a chipped rim is donated to the mess hall for some moral boosting shindig they decide to throw. He never sees it again but he knows that fun was had all the same.

Kenobi notices, because the man is too observant and too intelligent for his own good, watching Cody with gentle eyes as he picks up a small clay figure one day. He continues to watch as Cody carefully wipes dust and water, and other things that he doesn’t want to think about, from the surface, the ghost of a smile peeking out from behind his beard.

“A local deity,” he says. “One of love, and home, and happiness, although I forget her name.”

“She’s broken,” Cody says, holding her carefully, now able to see that she is in two pieces with the clinging muck cleaned away.

 “I have some glue,” Kenobi says. “We can fix her.”

“I should leave it, it’s silly,” Cody shakes his head. “I have no use for it. The trainers taught us to only value useful things.”

“And yet, desiring more than that isn’t a failing, Cody,” Kenobi says. “And I am sure the people who followed her would have been happy to know that she’s being taking care of.”

“It’s just a figurine,” Cody frowns. 

“It’s a symbol of what makes us more than unthinking drones,” Kenobi says, and watches as Cody slips the pieces in his pocket.

She sits on a shelf, now, her legs dangling over the edge as they were designed to, one foot missing after she fell off during an engagement in orbit above a planet and broke for the second time. Cody still has no idea what her name is, but he likes the way she smiles on him when he wakes up in the morning. 

It continues that way, except Kenobi begins to bring things to Cody and it starts with a nut of some kind.

“It’s a seed,” Kenobi tells him. “An acorn, which is the way that the trees over there propagate.” Cody considers the massive trees dubiously. They are truly impressive to have grown from something so tiny. “There isn’t a lot else here, I’m afraid, but I thought maybe you could take this with you. Perhaps in a few years, when all of this is over, you’ll be free to find somewhere to settle down and plant this. Free to watch it grow.”

“What if I'm not?” Cody asks. “What if the next engagement is the one that takes me out?”

“We can dream, Commander,” Kenobi says. “There's no shame in dreaming of a future, a time when this all chaos and death is over.”

“I don't know what I'll do without this war,” Cody admits. “I was created for it, it's all I know.”

“You'll find something, Cody,” Kenobi smiles, pressing the acorn into his hand. “I have great faith in your ability to adapt and overcome all manner of obstacles.”

Cody grins and pockets the acorn. Then he takes his helmet, jams it back onto his head and strides off to check on the progress of their scouts. There's no need for Kenobi to see the hot blush that burns his cheeks, but the acorn sits on the small table next to his bunk after that.

The next thing he picks up is a charm, probably from a bracelet if the jewellery that he has seen some of the local people wearing is anything to go by. It’s missing the funny little ring that attaches it to the bracelet, but it is clearly identifiable as a teapot.

“What have you got there?” General Skywalker asks, making Cody’s breath catch as he clamps down on the desire to flinch.

The Jedi are quieter on their feet than tookas and one of the few beings in the galaxy that can routinely startle Cody and his brothers. Cody has worked hard on suppressing his startle reflex, but that doesn’t stop his heart rate from kicking up a notch.

“Nothing, Sir,” he replies automatically. Kenobi is encouraging of his habit of picking up silly little frivolous things. He has no idea what Skywalker will say about it and isn’t sure he really wants to find out. “Not what I thought it was.”

“Let me see,” Skywalker says, holding his hand out.

Cody could refuse, but he doesn’t see the point really. It’s just a silly little thing, like all of the silly little things he’s collected that have started to clutter up his quarters. So, he hands it over. Skywalker takes it, his expression shifting from one of smug curiosity to surprise.

“Obi-Wan mentioned that you do this,” he says.

“Do what, Sir?

“Collect lost and broken things,” Skywalker replies, handing the charm back to him. Cody flushes under his helmet.

“They’re memories,” he says, “not just broken things.”

“I think it’s great,” Skywalker says. “That you keep them, I mean. So that you don’t forget. I used to do it, on Tatooine. When people… left, sometimes they would leave little things behind. I’d pick them up, take them home. They weren’t worth anything, well, they weren’t worth anything to anyone else, but I always remembered. I had to leave them when Qui-Gon brought me to the Jedi, and then I stopped. Jedi aren’t supposed to have things, you know? Or, not mementos anyway.”

Cody snorts.

“I’ve heard about your quarters, sir,” he says.

“Rex has got a big mouth,” Skywalker replies. “What’s he said?”

“That you’d probably get your formwork done if you could see your desk beyond all the droid parts in there,” Cody says. “Sir,” he adds.

“He’s probably not wrong,” Skywalker admits. “It’s funny, Obi-Wan noticed early on that I need something to do with my hands to help me settle into meditating. I got over it, but, sometimes, I still need to build something after a bad day. We haven’t had that many good days recently.” He’s thinking about Umbara, Cody knows, although there’s nothing that Skywalker could have done given he’d been called away by the Chancellor. “Anyway, don’t let anyone tell you that the stuff you’re picking up is junk. It’s all precious in its own way.”

Cody watches him leave, surprised by the entire conversation. Kenobi being accepting, even supportive, isn’t a surprise. That’s just the way that Kenobi is in Cody’s experience, but Skywalker opening up and sharing that way with someone who isn’t Rex or Commander Tano is almost entirely unheard of. 

“He’s not entirely wrong,” Kenobi says a bit later. “As a general rule Jedi aren’t supposed to have things that we hold onto against reason." There is something about the way that he says it which makes Cody suspect that there is more to the sentence than his general is saying. "We can have belongings, of course, and I know of one or two masters whose quarters could qualify for an episode of ‘Galaxy’s Greatest Hoarders’. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t collect things, or have items that we treasure. The master who trained me had so many plants that his quarters were sometimes difficult to move in. He adored being surrounded by the light and life of them. Qui-Gon was hardly the only Jedi like that. Another one had quite the collection of spiders and lizards and snakes in her quarters.”

“Qui-Gon was the one who brought General Skywalker to the Jedi?” Cody asks.

“He told you that?” Kenobi looks at him shrewdly. “Yes, he was. He intended to train him, too, but died before he had the chance. I took on the task instead. I’m surprised, he doesn’t often share information about his life before joining the Order.” Cody shrugs, he has no idea what prompted Skywalker to share with him either. “You know,” Kenobi continues, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your collection. It must be quite substantial by now.”

“I guess,” Cody shrugs, “I don’t take something from every planet,” because nothing could induce him to find something on the sandy hell hole of Geonosis, and Umbara has left enough memories and scars that he does not need a trinket to remember the planet. Waxer’s empty bucket in the bunk rooms he once shared with Boil and a few other ARCs is enough memory of that. “I keep it all in my quarters. You can see it if you want, but it’s nothing special.”

“I wouldn’t dream of invading your privacy,” Kenobi takes a step back. “You and your brothers get so little of your own, my curiosity should not impinge on that.”

“I don’t mind, Sir,” Cody says and finds that it is not a lie or a polite nothing. He doesn’t mind that Kenobi wants to see the silly things he’s picked up over the last year. “It would be nice to talk about it more.”

And they do. Kenobi stops by one evening when they have had a quiet enough day in hyperspace to get all of their datawork done, including the stuff that was overdue, with a bottle of something better and smoother than the rotgut starshine Spanner brews in the engine room. There isn’t much in the bottle, but Cody’s surprised that Kenobi brought anything with him at all, let alone something that is of much higher quality than he has had before, even in 79’s. The room is small, there isn’t a lot of shelf space, and Cody has started to use old ration bar boxes to store some of his smaller pieces in. They aren’t pretty, not designed to be anything more than easy to dispose of, but they do what Cody needs them to. They keep the little pieces, the pebbles and the beads, from rolling around and taking up all the space that Cody has so that he can display his favourite pieces; the idol, the action figure, the broken tea cup with the plant that he carefully tends to. 

Every piece is catalogued, of course, because Cody can’t help but be organised about this no matter how foolish it is to collect the small pieces and trinkets that remind him of where he has been and what he is fighting for. Each thing is pictured, a discrete number written on it somewhere using a pencil one of the shinies scrounged up from somewhere, and where Cody found it along with when and what it is to the best of his knowledge and research is used to caption the image. Even the boxes are numbered, the digits carefully formed since the clones were trained to type rather than form letters with a writing implement.

Kenobi enjoys the stories, the memories. They speak about the idol for a long time, this deity of home and love and happiness whose name Kenobi had forgotten and Cody rediscovered through a careful holonet search. A deity with a story that is more tragic than happy, but which inspired the people who followed her to find those things she represents and hold them dear and sacred for themselves. Cody can understand that, he wants it for himself as well.

“What’s this?” Kenobi asks, picking up a lump of something dull and grey. He frowns. “Is this beskar ore?”

Cody is always careful with that one, the beskar ore, before it is refined into something bright and strong enough to repel a lightsaber, is brittle and leaves dusty smudges on everything it touches. Cody learnt that the hard way.

“The Duchess gave it to me,” Cody says, rubbing the back of his neck. “She said she knew that I liked to collect little things from the planets I went to and she gave it to me while we were checking for stray droids.”

“I told her that,” Kenobi says with a smile. “We were talking on our way to Concordia. I don’t even remember what it was she said to me, but it had me talking about the things I’d seen you collect. I had no idea she remembered, or that she took that piece of ore from the factory.”

It makes something turn strangely in Cody's stomach to know that Kenobi enjoys talking about Cody and his collecting. Kryze. Skywalker. He wonders who else Kenobi has told and finds that he likes the way it makes him feel to know that his general talks about him in a way that is clearly fond.

“We’re not Mandalorian,” Cody says. “But this is… we were trained by them, I understand how precious that lump of ore is.”

“She has her moments, I suppose,” Kenobi mutters.

“Rex told me that Skywalker said the two of you used to be an item,” Cody comments before he really thinks it through.

“It was a long time ago,” Kenobi shakes his head. “I’m a very different person to the boy I was then. I don’t regret leaving her.”

“For the record,” Cody replies, “I’m glad you stayed with the Jedi. I dread to think who we would have ended up with otherwise.”

“Oh, I’m sure they would have attracted far less chaos than I do,” Kenobi grins, “but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”

One time, when Kenobi visits, he brings something with him. He’s not long returned from some solo mission, and he has come back beaten and bruised, exhausted. That doesn’t stop him from coming to speak to Cody about the objects he’s picked up while Kenobi was away. There aren’t many, but there is a pendant that Cody wants to show to him. It has been carved from wood, worn on a cord of leatheris that had obviously snapped when the owner left, and had instantly brought Kenobi to mind. He forgets it when he actually sees what his general has brought with him.  

“I brought something for you,” Kenobi says as he enters the room. “It isn’t much, but I thought maybe you could store your finds in this, rather than ration bar boxes.”

He holds out a wooden box that has a lid with a hinge. It is beautiful, well cared for, valuable.

“General…” he pauses, trying to think of a way to refuse the gift without giving offense. 

“It was mine,” Kenobi says. “I picked it up during a mission not long after Qui-Gon was killed. It sits in my quarters, gathers dust, and isn’t even used to store anything these days. Your collection is precious, Cody, it should be stored the same way.”

“I don’t know what to say, Sir,”  Cody says as he accepts the gift.

Kenobi gives him an indecipherable look.

“How about you tell me about what you’ve picked up the last couple of weeks?” He replies.

Cody can do that. He enjoys doing that.

The dynamic between them shifts after that. It has been changing for a while, if Cody is honest with himself, ever since that first evening when Kenobi brought alcohol with him so that he could share it while listening to Cody’s stories. The change continues and the conversations shift from the trinkets to other things, there are times when Cody slips and addresses his general by his given name, by Obi-Wan, and sees him smile so widely that he can’t apologise for the slip. Obi-Wan still hands him little things that he finds, and occasionally comes back from Coruscant with tins of freshly baked treats for Cody and those closest to him to share as a gift from the young initiates in the Temple. One time he comes back with a crate filled to the brim with bracelets made out of beads and brightly coloured string, courtesy of the same small beings, and hands them out to as many of Cody’s brothers as he can. He promises that more are on the way, as fast as the initiates can make them, but he holds one back for Cody all the same.

“That’s favouritism, Obi-Wan,” Cody accuses.

“Not at all,” he grins back, “I was specifically told by one of the initiates that I needed to make sure you got one. Apparently, you gave her a stained glass butterfly.”

“Reva,” Cody grins. “I remember.”

The butterfly, he explains, had been part of a much larger stained glass image. Most of the rest of it had been destroyed, except for a blue butterfly and a sunflower. One of the engineers had helped Cody make the pieces safe to handle by coating the edges in something, and Cody had been intending to give the butterfly to Kenobi in thanks for the box and other gifts, but he had come across Reva crying in a corner and had given it to her instead. He still has the sunflower.

“You are tremendously kind, Cody,” Obi-Wan says. “She treasures it, and told me that this one was specifically for you.” He holds out the bracelet, orange and white, with a blue bead in the shape of a butterfly in the middle. “I told her I would send a picture, as proof,” he adds.

Cody holds out his arm.

“Help me put it on?”

Kenobi chuckles, steps forward and fastens the clasp with such delicate care that Cody feels his breath catch. He pauses when he is done, and Cody expects him to ask for the pad so that he can take the picture and send it on. Instead his fingers drift over the beads and string, lips pulled up in a smile and eyes soft. So soft. And that softness is still there when he looks up at Cody, still holding his hand.

No one has ever looked at Cody like that before. 

“How does it look?” Cody asks.

“Perfect,” Obi-Wan says, not looking at the bracelet. “Always perfect.”

There have been times when Cody has thought that Obi-Wan wants to kiss him. Times when their gazes have met on the battlefield, times when they have been working late into the night or talking about Cody’s collection or Obi-Wan’s time as a padawan, times when they have been in the medbay when one or other of them is injured. He definitely thinks that Obi-Wan wants to kiss him now, and while Cody can think of multiple reasons that he should not entertain that clear invitation, but none of them seem important enough right now to bother with. He would much rather just take it. So he does.

The bracelet stays on his wrist. It is entirely against regulation, completely frivolous, but it has the best memories attached to it. And in the end, that’s what Cody’s entire collection is about. The memories of war, the evidence of destruction that has claimed so many lives, the proof that Cody is more than his training and the soldier that he was decanted to be. And if some of his favourite pieces migrate to Obi-Wan’s quarters on the Negotiator and then in the Jedi Temple, well, that’s only the natural progression of a relationship which started with Cody picking up the figurine of a deity of love, home, and happiness for his collection. 

Turns out she brought him precisely what she searched for so hard in her own legend.

Notes:

So I wrote this random post about a Cody who picks up little bits and pieces when he's on other planets. And then it refused to leave me alone and I decided that I needed to write it. So I did. Because why not? Now I suppose I had better get back to my timeloop Codywan fic. And, as always, comments and Kudos are the best sort of love.