Another bullet hisses past his ear and Obi-Wan ducks back down. He presses one hand to the side of his head, the distant dull sound of the ocean echoing through his skull. Dust, likely carcinogenic, which Cody will list of the relevant broken health and safety laws for later, but no blood smeared over the crevasses of his palm. Their cover will be sufficient for the moment, barely more than a glorified lump of concrete half cradled by the wreckage of the industrial machine beneath it.

“Two assailants?” 

Obi-Wan takes stock of them both as he traces the pads of his fingers over Cody’s only causality so far: a missing button from his shirt. Obi-Wan is faring noticeably worse in comparison, his own shirt barely surviving through their coffee run earlier that morning and a thin film of dust ingrained into his scalp. Nothing is bleeding or broken, though his knees will not be thanking him later from the impact, partially cushioned by Cody’s quick thinking as he was. There will be bruises and scrapes to catalogue after the debriefing, back in the huddle of Obi-Wan’s apartment, the overgrown mausoleum press of his bathroom.

“The shots aren’t particularly angled.” Cody lifts his hand like he’s trying to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Obi-Wan’s ear, instead skimming his fingers over the shell, following the curve around to the lobe, pausing in the divot just behind. 

There’s an entire universe of data to be gathered from that single touch: the firmness of Obi-Wan’s skin for his water intake, the texture for his diet, the pale indentations littering his upper lobe for healed piercings, but one may be more telling. Obi-Wan’s heart flutters in his chest and Cody’s smile broadens into something beautiful. 

Cody continues. “I would wager that our attackers are a similar height to yourself, maybe a few inches shorter from their stride and the footprints they left at the entrance. They likely have a grievance with the police, but aren't professionally trained, since they're targeting you and not me.”

“You—“ Obi-Wan cracks on a quiet laugh, another shot impacting far above their heads as he does so. The sound echoes in the aching expanse of the warehouse, a section of the roof caved in to reveal the murky grey sky outside. “You are going to return to the company as a betting man.”

Cody tips his head to one side, a sprinkle of dust fresh against the lines in his cheek. It is an old volley, well-worn through repetition and Obi-Wan knows the ebb and flow of it like his own breath. The LED at his temple pulses, a strong blue chasing its own tail as he processes everything around them, plotting out his next move. It would be a thing of exacting wonder, Obi-Wan’s grin only widening as he sinks further into Cody’s hold.

“You’re going to return me, sir?” Cody’s free hand plucks Obi-Wan’s service pistol from the holster at his waist, thumbing the safety off as he does so. 

Obi-Wan’s heart picks up at the gentle click, anticipation burning through his veins. Cody had been programmed primarily for diplomacy; it is part of the reason why he had been assigned to be Obi-Wan’s partner on their first case together, but few events that Obi-Wan has witnessed could be compared to Cody when he is indulging in violence. It is brutal, efficient, and gloriously beautiful, a sun flare given vague shape and set free to burn bright. 

“Never,” Obi-Wan swears, leaning into Cody’s palm as if he could imprint the truth onto his skin. “You’re stuck with me, darling.”

“I want to try something,” Cody whispers. The LED at his temple spins, the only visible sign of hesitance as he waits for Obi-Wan’s answer. His gaze is dark and steady, a marvel of modern engineering plotted onto endless blueprints and tested until near-perfection but it still couldn’t compare to the reality. 

Obi-Wan nods. 

He isn’t expecting a kiss. They had spoken about it before, at some length, tipped together onto the sag of Obi-Wan’s couch with a neat measure of his inheritance poured into a glass with a few cock shaped ice cubes. That had warranted an explanation, a segway into Quinlan’s second round of stag do’s and how Obi-Wan woke up the next day with the tray tucked amongst his socks in his packed luggage. “It proves useful in breaking the ice,” he had said, already punch drunk and slightly concussed from their suspect that day, and he leant against Cody more than he needed to, the scent of his skin clean, nondescript.

“Ah,” Cody had said, his eyes tightening by a few degrees, his mouth angled into a sharp line. “Humour.” 

There’d been something about the delivery, the casual pinch and hold of the single word when Obi-Wan knows, he knows, that Cody downloaded a selection of shit jokes from the internet just to annoy Anakin, and Obi-Wan had dissolved into giggles, clutching Cody like a lifeline. 

He had looked up into Cody’s gaze when Obi-Wan had steadied once more, the flex of his ribs an ache that radiates down to his hip, and he saw something. Gone before he could recognise its existence, as fleeting as the human soul, but there had been something there defined by its absence.

“I think I’d like to kiss you, sir,” Cody had said. Easy. Simple. Like he couldn’t ask Obi-Wan for his beating heart in a gift box the same way and Obi-Wan would learn how to tie ribbons so it would be beautiful.

“Why don’t you?”

“The sensors in my mouth. The resulting influx of information would not be pleasant.” Cody had nodded sharply. “I’ll research it, sir.”

“Has your research borne fruit, my dearest Cody?” Obi-Wan whispers, matching his volume. It feels almost childish, a squirming kicking joy in his belly, a secret made all the more potent because of the cupped hands, a mouth brushing against the shell of an air, cheeks pressed together to learn the shape of it. 

Cody leans closer, lining his forehead to Obi-Wan’s, their noses bumping together before Cody draws them both back into alignment.

“This,” Cody breathes, so close, so wonderful.

“Perfect, my love. Like I knew it would be.”