Chapter Text
When his General comms him, asking for his help in a vitally important infiltration mission to Zygerria, searching for the lost Togruta colonists, Cody cannot refuse.
He kits up in the awful, dark, heavy, impractical Zygerrian armor without complaint, helps Kenobi with his own straps and buckles, jams the tall, heavy, horrible helmet on his head and stands in perfect parade rest and stares out the viewscreen.
He doesn’t like this plan. It’s extremely risky, there’s so much that could go wrong - hells, for all they know the Togrutas could’ve already been sold and this whole thing is just a waste of their time. Even if everything still somehow goes perfectly according to plan, they’re supposed to give Commander Tano to the Zygerrian Queen as a gift, and Cody’s seen the outfit they’ve got her in.
He thinks it’s a good thing his ori’vod isn’t here - Rex would not approve of Commander Tano’s role in all this. Hells, Cody doesn’t approve either, but he’s not going to say anything. None of them are really safe, and Commander Tano’s not the only one with a risky part to play. Skywalker’s supposed to somehow charm the Zygerrian Queen into, if at all possible, revealing the location of the Togruta colonists; Kenobi and Cody himself are supposed to search through the slave markets and see if they can pick up any traces of the colonists. It’s a dangerous, dangerous plan.
“The 501st, 212th, and 104th are on standby,” Skywalker informs Cody, as their freighter makes its descent to the planet. “They’re all watching for distress calls - if there’s any problems, send a signal out, and we’ll have to just find the colonists the slightly harder way. Oh, and remember Beta.”
Cody suspects Skywalker’s talking about Plan Beta, not Cody’s 501st vod, so he nods. Plan Alpha is- well. The chances of being discovered are high, especially since Skywalker, Kenobi, and Tano all have very recognizable faces (thanks, HoloNet), and Cody’s a clone. That’s why they’ve got a backup plan, consisting of the Jedi getting their sabers from Skywalker’s astromech and fighting and running.
It’s not exactly a foolproof plan, either. Hence why Cody’s worried.
“Yes, Anakin, we all know,” Kenobi says, wryly.
Cody sends him a quick message in GAR-sign: I have a bad feeling about this.
Kenobi just nods, presses his lips together a bit. Not good.
It turns out that Cody’s right.
The first part of the plan goes relatively smoothly; they make it into what appears to be a main market square, and encounter the Prime Minister right away - Commander Tano’s an idiot and almost breaks cover, but Skywalker twists it to their advantage, and then he and the Commander and the astromech are being escorted to see the Queen, leaving Cody and Kenobi free to go explore. They find the Togruta governor in one of the slave pits, but he apparently doesn’t know what’s happened to the rest of his people.
That’s when things start to go wrong.
Kenobi breaks cover to get the governor out (Cody doesn’t entirely blame him, Roshti looks in bad shape, but his General is honestly a di’kut sometimes), they go to escape on one of the odd flying lizards, and Kenobi gets shot off its back, leaving Cody to guide the creature away. He doesn’t know where they’re going to take his General, just that they will take him, and maybe Skywalker and Tano have already been compromised, and this whole mission was such a bad idea, from the beginning, what made the Jedi Council think it’d be a good idea to send them to infiltrate the kriffing Zygerrian Empire. They should’ve just karking stormed the place and forced the location of the Togrutas out of them.
He leaves the lizard in an alley between two towering buildings, listing over towards each other like drunk vode, jams the stupid heavy helmet harder on his head and strides off for the auction arena. It seems likely that’s where he’ll find Skywalker and Tano, and if he can briefly rendezvous with them, update them on the situation, maybe they can get Kenobi’s location out of the Queen. And if she won’t tell, Cody has absolutely no problem with forcing the intel out of her.
The auction arena’s balcony is crammed with rich sentients from all corners of the galaxy, and Cody’s no Jedi but he doesn’t need the Force to feel the anger and bloodlust pulsing through the air. He hopes Kenobi isn’t here, but what else would they do with him, if they recognized his face? And he’s one of the most well-known Jedi in the galaxy. The likelihood of them not recognizing his face is even less than the likelihood of them not selling him as a slave.
The Zygerrian Queen is sitting in a box overlooking the arena, and he sees Skywalker and Tano with her, as well as Skywalker’s astromech - good. Cody meets Skywalker’s eyes, nods once. He’ll be ready to put their plan into place.
The auction starts off with the Togruta governor, which immediately sets Cody on edge - if they’ve gotten Roshti back, then they’ve got Kenobi in there somewhere. Something twists inside his chest at the thought of his General stuck inside with those karking mir’osike - he forces it down, settles himself into stillness. Has to force back a flinch when the Queen stops the proceedings, when she announces a special guest, when it’s his Jedi being led cringing out into the sunlight, neat robes shredded and burnt and filthy, hugging his ribs with one arm and the other raised to protect his eyes. A hot twist of anger rises and he clenches his fist, his jaw, looks back at Skywalker again.
Skywalker has barely-disguised fury in his eyes, and Cody unclenches his fist, barely manages it, taps his hand against his leg in GAR sign: ready.
Skywalker nods.
And then the Queen is ordering him (asking, but it’s not a request) to whip the Jedi, and the crowd screams it, and he was right, they want blood - and Skywalker isn’t the type to hurt his friends for the sake of a cover, and honestly this has gone on long enough. Cody isn’t going to hurt his General (his General) for the sake of a cover. So when Skywalker says now! and snaps on the borrowed shockwhip, when Kenobi leaps up from his kneeling position and tackles the nearest Zygerrian, Cody responds. He yanks out the shitty Zygerrian blaster with its heavy, elaborate design, takes aim and fires, one-two-three, fells one-two-three guards. Runs, around a corner and through a pack of civilians, shoots down two more guards as Skywalker’s astromech sends the Jedi’s sabers flying to them. They can do this, cut and run - it won’t tell them where the Togrutas are, but at least they’ll be alive, right? They can come back with an army, with the 501st and the 212th both. That’s a better plan anyway, Jedi Council be damned - this was kriffing di’kutla.
That’s about when the guard hits Cody from behind and tackles him off the balcony.
He just has time to pull his limbs and blaster in towards his stomach before he hits the ground, the impact jarring all the air from his lungs and knocking the helmet off his head. Kriff, for a moment he can’t move, can’t breathe, he locks his hands around his blaster and wills energy back into his muscles because a slow soldier is a dead soldier and he has to get up- He fumbles to his knees, sees Skywalker and Kenobi struggling against some ten Zygerrians with shockwhips, sees Tano on her knees in the Queen’s box, sees-
Pain.
He’s halfway to his feet when a livid yellow whip, like a bruise, coils around his arm, and he tries, he tries, but electricity sears up into his shoulder, paralyzes him, and the blaster slips from nerveless fingers, and he jars back to his knees. Fights through the wave of burning pain to try and stagger forward - there’s a shockwhip wrapping around Kenobi, now, two of them, around his General, and Cody has to get to him, has to-
The second whip catches Cody around his leg, the leg he’s got most of his weight on, and he can’t stay up this time, can’t even manage to bend his knees - he twists his face so the side of his head hits the dust-dry dirt first, so he can still, for a moment, watch what’s happening to the Jedi. He can just, just see, through a haze of descending blackness, a third whip coiling around Kenobi, dragging him to the ground, and then there’s a surge of pain and nothing.
He wakes up in a ship.
That’s bad, probably.
There’s a metallic tang in his mouth (blood?) and his vision is blurry, his arms (when he tries to move them) are both too heavy and too light (they took his armor), and there’s something bulky and wrong on his neck. He has to get up, a slow soldier is a dead soldier, so he pushes himself to at least a seated position, looks around. The Togruta, Roshti, is slumped unconscious on the floor, and Cody’s General is sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, hands calmly on his knees even though he has to be in pain, Cody’s arm and leg still burn like the shock whips are there.
And there’s a collar around his neck. A shock collar, Cody thinks.
His hands go to his own neck, instinctive, feel the shape of another collar there, and he swallows down a burst of fear. He can handle this - he will handle this. He isn’t going to make this harder on his General than this will undoubtedly be.
He stays quiet, recognizes that Kenobi is meditating, knows that Kenobi probably knew the instant Cody woke up anyway. Sure enough, after another moment, there’s a quiet, “Hello, Cody.”
“General,” Cody acknowledges, tiredly, looks at the burns on his forearm and calf. He’d known that Zygerrian stuff was shit armor, and this is the proof - his armor would’ve protected him from the electricity. “We’re in a real mess this time, sir.”
“Seems that way,” Kenobi sighs. “Not to worry, though - as soon as we fail to report back in, they’ll come searching for us.”
“Sir,” Cody says, quietly, “somehow I don’t think a Zygerrian slave pit is going to be easy to find.”
“I was trying to look on the bright side of things, Cody.” Kenobi already sounds so tired. When he shifts, just a bit, he flinches minutely.
What did they do to him?
Cody thinks of how Roshti’s only been here a few days and he’s already in horrible shape, of shock whips and shock collars and electrostaffs, of whip the Jedi or else die with him, and he thinks he knows.
“General,” he says, quietly, and his tone must be somber enough, because Kenobi opens his eyes and looks at him, intense. “Don’t worry about me.”
Kenobi smiles, just a ghost. “I always worry about you, Cody.”
“I mean it, sir,” he says, a bit sharper. “I can handle myself. Focus on yourself and- the colonists.” He doesn’t want to say the last part, his General is more important than some Togrutas from a planet that’s not even part of the Republic, but- He shouldn’t think that way. Kenobi would scold him for it. Kriffing hells.
He’s very grateful his ori’vod isn’t here. Cody can block this out, can grit his teeth and bear it, can fight if he needs to, not fight if he shouldn’t - Rex would have a harder time, he thinks. But Cody is practiced at not thinking, at shoving everything down into tight control where he doesn’t have to feel it, at keeping the cracks in his armor hairline-thin so no one but him knows they’re there.
(The trouble with hairline cracks, is, of course, that they’re invisible - until a single, strong enough blow causes them to shatter. But Cody is, of course, very good at not thinking about that, too.)
“Cody-” Kenobi starts, patiently, but Roshti stirs and they both snap around to look at him, instinctive.
“Where are we?” the governor rasps, wearily, pushing himself to sit up, pain etching itself across his already-worn face.
“A ship,” Kenobi says, as calmly as he can, that low, quiet voice of his that always sets Cody at east - it’s probably the kriffing Force, knowing his General. “A cargo freighter, I think. I’m not sure beyond that. My guess would be they’re taking us to wherever they keep their slaves. You said you didn’t know where your people were, Governor - I think we’re about to find out.”
“My people,” Roshti whispers, swallowing. “Can you help them?”
“I will do everything in my power,” Kenobi says, very solemn. “The Republic will not abandon them to their fate.”
Because their fate is tied to Kenobi’s, now, and Cody knows very well that the Republic and the Jedi will not (cannot afford to) abandon Kenobi to this. So.
If it were just him, just Cody, then that might be different.
Lucky for the Kiros colonists, he guesses.
They aren’t left alone with their thoughts for long - it’s been maybe twenty standard minutes (Cody isn’t sure, they took his wrist chrono along with the armor, which, shoddy as it was, was at least some protection, and now he doesn’t even have that, feels like a snail without its shell) when the ship shudders to a shaky landing. Freighters. Cody’s never liked them, they feel like buckets of bolts and scrap metal held together by nothing more than determination. He expects he’ll like them even less, now.
A few Zygerrians carrying buzzing electrostaffs with whip handles on their belts walk into the cargo hold, and one of them smacks Kenobi with the hand end of their staff, hard. Cody stifles a growl - fighting now won’t help. He will wait, will bide his time, and then he will make these slavers regret every single instant they laid their filthy hands (or electrostaffs, or shock whips) on his General.
When the guards get to him, Cody stands before they can prod him - this doesn’t stop the Zygerrian from jamming the non-electrified end of the electrostaff into the small of his back, shoving him forward. It hurts, but Cody just grits his teeth and steps forward, offers an arm to Roshti to help him up.
Or tries to, at least. His guard just slams him forward with the electrostaff again,and Cody swallows and takes the hint, pulls his hand back, settles into perfect parade rest and strides forward a few paces. There’s a shuddering groaning sound, like a dying thing, the screech of durasteel-on-durasteel, and then the bay door grinds open. The too-bright sunlight on his face feels threatening more than comforting.
An overweight Zygerrian in a repulsorlift chair starts talking to Kenobi almost as soon as they’re fully out of the ship, but Cody focuses more on the Togrutas standing in rows in front of a massive metal facility, crouching like a bloated spider over a yawning pit. He doesn’t trust this, doesn’t trust the way the Zygerrian caresses the words Educational Facility, doesn’t trust the leering smile on the Zygerrian’s face.
And then-
The Zygerrian presses a button on the arm of his chair and the metal floor opens up beneath a full row of Togrutas. And they fall.
Kenobi lunges forward with an arm outstretched, like he could gather up the threads of the Force and pull them all back, and Cody takes a step too, tugged by their screams - this is not right, and it burns, and the hatred grows stronger. Stronger yet when the Zygerrian’s cruel smirk widens and he leans forward, says, “Now that I have your attention, Jedi, know that it is not only you who will suffer for your defiance.”
Oh little gods.
The anger drains too fast, leaves ice-cold fear in its wake, because this - this is how you break a Jedi, break his Jedi, and Cody is a pawn in this game too, everyone is, and- He cannot let them use him against his General, he can’t. He’ll fight, however hard he must, but they will not use him.
He signs a fast sorry at his General as they’re shoved into a huddle with the rest of the Togrutas, all collared, all in so much worse of shape than Roshti, universally keeping their eyes down and shoulders slumped. Nonthreatening, subservient. It makes Cody’s blood boil, and yet the fear remains, shivering down his back like winter rain on Kamino - fear of the hollowness in their gazes, the emptiness in their gaits that screams defeat.
Fear of that same hollow emptiness in his eyes - in Kenobi’s.
He cannot let that happen.
Will not, most of him says, and yet a part of him whispers don’t make promises you aren’t sure you can keep. (It sounds like Jango.)
(But Jango promised them all he’d be there, called them ad’ike and taught them how to fight, and how to lose, and how to remember, singing the low songs of his people - their people - in his rough voice. And then he left. So Cody doesn’t take advice on promises from Jango karking Fett.)
Kenobi just smiles, that little sideways smile of his that’s supposed to be a dry don’t worry about it, everything’s fine, but that Cody’s seen through since the beginning, because in some ways he and his General have always been too alike, and Cody’s seen that smile in the mirror since he learned how to lie. And nothing is fine, nothing will be fine, so it’s a futile effort - but then again, Kenobi’s always preferred to try and set them at ease. Even when they all know the cold truth.
It gives them a fiction to cling to, when everything hurts too much to accept the reality, and that is one of the reasons Cody loves his General.
They’re straightened into a line, Roshti peeled away from him and Kenobi, sent in a single-file line through a dark doorway that looms like a gaping maw in front of them, swallowing each sentient that walks through it, inevitable, inescapable. Cody reaches for battle-stillness, deliberately relaxes his muscles one group at a time, steadies himself into calm, into nonchalance. It’s about as far from true calm as can be, but it works, for the moment, keeps his heartrate from ratcheting up to a gallop and his breathing from shortening to a pant. Kenobi steps through the doorway first, and then it’s Cody’s turn, and there are Zygerrian guards on both sides with electrostaffs aimed at him - the business ends, this time - just in case he’s thinking about running.
Like he’d leave his Jedi behind in the karking place.
Excuse him, this Educational Facility.
He can’t see, at first, when he steps through the door, everything is too dim to make out - he can just see the glow of molten metal through transparent piping, machinery backlit in a faint yellow light, smoke or steam or something obscuring his vision even further. His eyes adjust quickly enough, and he tilts his head back to see metal catwalks with pipe railing, Zygerrian guards with electrostaffs and whips patrolling, guards down in the factory itself - that’s what this is, Cody realizes, looking at the piles of mined rock waiting to be shoveled into a cart, which, when full, is wheeled away and emptied into a refiner that, it appears, separates the ore from the slag and belches out the waste. There’s Togrutas everywhere: pushing the carts from machine to machine, shoveling raw stone into carts, shoveling slag into carts, dumping the carts… the colonists he saw outside, he realizes.
Gods.
He and Kenobi are escorted to a pair of shovels leaning against a tall cart, piles of broken rock on three sides of it, Governor Roshti and an unfamiliar woman holding shovels and slowly filling the cart with the stone. “Get to work, skugs,” the Zygerrian guard behind Cody barks, and Cody stiffens, has to shove down the urge to grab the shovel, spin, slam it into the guard’s knees and neck, back of the shoulders as he falls-
No. Not yet.
Soon. Cody will not wait and let this place destroy his Jedi. But he can’t fight, not until he knows more about this place, the layout and the capability of the guards and everything else. Defenses. His assets. His General still has the Force. They’ve got shovels, which are weapons, crude but effective, and the guards don’t seem to have blasters. Just shock whips and electrostaffs, which are enough without lightsabers, but-
Cody can’t think like that, though, or he won’t be able to stay upright.
He grabs his shovel and starts scooping up the shattered stone, dumping it into the cart, which barely has enough rock in it to cover the bottom, keeps a covert eye on Kenobi, who is leaning too much on his shovel, is wincing every time he stresses his burned back.
Cody will make them pay for this.
The Zygerrian on his repulsorlift chair swoops in, smirking still, just moments after they begin to work. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says, laughing. “Once a Jedi Master, now a Jedi slave.”
Cody clenches his fists around the handle of his shovel and imagines Kenobi’s lightsaber cutting the demagolka’s head off.
“Everything about this place is designed to shatter the will,” Kenobi says, thoughtfully, after a few more minutes, once the Zygerrian and his disgusting face are gone. He’s paused his work, is leaning on his shovel, watching an older Togruta man being whipped by one of the guards. “It’s already begun to affect these poor people.”
Cody has not stopped working. It’s not safe, he thinks, but before he can warn his General (beyond a fast signed danger he isn’t even sure Kenobi sees) - who’s already begun to turn back to his work, at least, maybe he did see the sign - the tail of a whip flicks out, catches his collar, makes it spark white. Cody clenches his jaw too tight and glares at the durasteel mining cart like if he stares hard enough maybe it’ll explode.
“Speech is forbidden,” the guard snarls.
“I’m sorry,” Kenobi says, quickly, straightening (and he’s wincing, leaning on his shovel again, kriffing hells) a bit. “It won’t happen again.” Kriffing di’kut, he needs to stop talking, that’s how this works, Cody is familiar with this system - Kenobi turns back to work but not fast enough.
“There will be punishment,” the guard snaps, in his heavy accent, and raises his whip, and brings it down hard on Roshti’s back. The Togruta cries out, falls to his knees, and Cody tightens his fingers on his shovel until his knuckles are white, silently pleads with his General to just stand down.
“No, stop,” Kenobi says, fast, oh little gods, dropping his shovel and lunging between the Zygerrians and Roshti. “It’s my mistake, leave him alone.” He bends over, starts to help the Togruta governor up.
Cody swallows hard and tightens his grip around his shovel even more, dumps another load of rock into the cart. Maybe they’ll leave him alone, now, but- He doubts it.
Sure enough, the second guard, the one with the electrostaff, steps forward and jams the tip of the staff into Kenobi’s collar, hard enough to lift Kenobi up and back from Roshti.
And Kenobi-
Kenobi screams.
Cody doesn’t even think, he just yanks the shovel back and spins and slams it into the first Zygerrian he can come into contact with, hits them in the knee, and then there’s a staff jamming into his own collar, waves of agony wracking his muscles, and he snarls. Contorts his face and tightens his hold on the shovel and swings blindly, manages to hit something, almost sobs in relief when the collar shuts off, blinks smoke out of his eyes and pushes forward, brings his shovel into contact with the guard shocking Kenobi hard enough to jar the electrostaff from Kenobi’s collar. Meets the guard’s eyes, lip curled, and shifts into a defensive stance, shovel up. “Don’t touch him,” he snaps, low, burning, fierce, with all the rage that’s been bubbling up inside him since they first set foot on Zygerria.
“No slave gives me orders,” the guard snaps, at both of them Cody thinks, and the guard with the whip raises it, brings it down - Cody lashes out with the shovel, knocks the whip out of the guard’s hand, rams the shovel into his head.
“Cody,” Kenobi says, quickly, “stop,” like his General has any credibility telling him to stop when he should’ve stopped earlier, when that would’ve solved their problem, and now Cody has to save his damn di’kutla ass again - Cody bares his teeth at the one remaining guard, silently. Dares him to take a step forward.
He was trained by Jango Fett, he was born to fight for the Jedi, and no one hurts his General without paying the price.
“Cody,” Kenobi says, more insistently, but Cody ignores him.
That’s when a shock whip coils around his ankle and yanks him off-balance, so he slams into the ground, barely manages to catch himself on his forearms, has to drop the shovel to do so but that’s better than breaking his nose, and he grits his teeth and forces himself to his knees because a slow soldier is a dead soldier and he needs to protect his General, he needs- Another whip catches his arm as he reaches for the shovel but the one around his leg is gone and he could stand now, he could, could - he leans forward, almost desperate, he has to, and there’s a second whip around his other arm and he strains against their combined pull but he. can’t. move.
And the guard with the electrostaff is smiling, lips pulled back from sharp teeth, he meets Cody’s eyes and Cody feels the anger turning to ice in his stomach. No. Oh little gods, please no.
“Watch carefully, skug,” the guard says. “This is your punishment.”
And he jams his electrostaff into Kenobi’s collar again, and Kenobi convulses, and Cody tries to fight his way forward but the whips still hold him tight and there’s still burning pain arching down his arms, up through his shoulders, forcing tears out of his eyes, and he-
He understands.
“Please,” he says, and the guard’s smile turns vicious and amused. “Please stop. Sir.” The words feel like acid on his throat but he forces them out anyway. “Don’t hurt my General.”
The Zygerrian leaves the electrostaff in place for another moment longer, to make a point, and then steps away, easy, turns his back. The whips release from Cody’s arms and he falls forward, barely catches himself on arms almost too weak to hold him up, sucks in a heaving breath. Little gods, kriffing hells, he can’t do this. He feels sick from shame and horror, but he forces his gaze up to meet his General’s, tries for that sideways-slash smile. Fails, apparently, from the deep, wrenching pain in Kenobi’s eyes, gods, Cody hates that he’s the cause of all that anguish.
Alright? Kenobi signs, surreptitiously, slowly picking himself up from where the guards left him.
Cody cannot believe his General is asking him if he’s alright, when Kenobi is the one who just got shocked for- for Cody’s defiance. Oh gods. It is not only you who will suffer for your defiance.
Not only Cody who will suffer for his own defiance, either.
He should’ve seen that, should’ve known, but he didn’t and now his General is paying the price.
Sorry, he signs, instead.
Alright, Kenobi repeats, more forcefully this time.
Cody grabs his shovel, signs a slow affirmative, pushes himself to his feet on legs that shake from leftover electricity. You?
Affirmative.
He thinks Kenobi is lying.
But then again, Cody’s lying, too.
They’re worked for hours before the overseer (or at least, the Zygerrian Cody assumes is the overseer - she’s got a shock whip with a more stylized handle and a blaster in a holster on her leg) shouts something in a language Cody doesn’t know, harsh and sharp-angled, and a pair of guards come over to him and Kenobi. Both have electrostaffs held loosely at the ready; Cody glances around, sees that the Togrutas appear to be walking in a clump towards another section of the factory, and he warily sets down his shovel and straightens. The more upright position is a relief on his already-aching back, although nothing helps the burning rings around his arms, and leg, where the shock whips held him back.
“Move it, skug,” one guard says, jabs the flat, electrified end of his electrostaff into Cody’s back - all his muscles seize up and he sucks in a sharp breath, stumbles forward, smoothing his expression into blankness because Kenobi looks concerned.
He’s fine, he’ll be fine. It’s just a little pain. He will not have Kenobi hurt because of him.
The guards look at him, and Cody just settles into perfect parade rest, arms behind his back, follows a pace behind and to the right of Kenobi as they’re herded over to the rest of the… the slaves.
Cody has never been a slave, but he was created and grown on Kamino, where despite all the apparent freedom they’d had as young cadets to play pranks, the threat of reconditioning or termination always loomed heavy over his head. He thinks this is similar enough.
So he makes himself still and solid as stone, cold as ice, hard as durasteel, and he holds perfect posture and pretends he can breathe.
It turns out they’re being led to a metal platform of sorts, on which there are scattered bowls containing a meager meal of some kind of vegetable - Cody is hesitant to take one, isn’t sure there are enough for all the colonists if he does, but he and Kenobi are their best hope of getting out of here alive and free, so he grits his teeth and sits down on the metal, lifts the bowl and starts to eat.
It is, he muses, better than rations, at least. Less tasteless. (Probably much less nutritious, though.)
They’ve barely started their meal when a guard walks over, casually shoving into Kenobi - Cody watches his General tense up, half-surging to his feet, ready to fight… until the same guard just-as-easily swings his electrostaff out, poises it inches away from Cody’s collar. Cody grits his teeth and tightens his fingers around his bowl, doesn’t lift his eyes, breathes in and out, steady. He cannot let them use him against Kenobi, against his Jedi, he can’t, but- What can he do? Fight? Then they’ll just hurt his Jedi more. Fight, he wants to tell his General, I can take it, just fight back.
But Kenobi just flinches, slumps and lowers his hands, turns his eyes back to his bowl.
There are cracks in his eyes. Most people wouldn’t be able to see them, but Cody knows his General better than most people.
They’ve only been here a few hours. It shouldn’t be anywhere near long enough to break a Jedi. But the Zygerrian in charge here, he has this down to a science, how to shatter a person’s soul, and Cody is so, so afraid they won’t make it out of here before his Jedi loses his self to this mine, before his General breaks beyond recognition.
He doesn’t care what happens to him. He just needs (needs) his General to make it out okay. Because how can he fix his Jedi when he can’t fix himself?
The guards leave them alone, let them eat in peace (or, at least, some twisted approximation of it), and Cody welcomes the rest, the space to ease the burning in his back and legs and arms, to breathe until maybe the weariness will fade enough he can push on again. The food isn’t enough, isn’t anywhere near enough, but Cody makes it work. Slips his General an extra vegetable piece when Kenobi isn’t looking, because Cody can go without, was trained to fight and run and move forward on no food, no sleep, no painkillers, and sure, Kenobi always talks about how the Force enables a Jedi to go past the body’s natural limits (and far, far beyond common sense), but there are lines even a Jedi shouldn’t cross, and Cody’s watched his Jedi push himself that far too many times. He’s not going to let Kenobi do it now, here, when there’s so much at stake and their captors know how to break them. Even if his Jedi thinks Cody’s being ridiculous.
Kenobi turns back to his bowl, reaches for the extra piece, and then does a double-take, furrows a brow in Cody’s direction, and Cody can see the wheels turning in his di’kutla, overly-self-sacrificing General’s brain, and so he signs something approximating don’t you kriffing dare with enough emphasis it almost draws the Zygerrians’ attention and glares until his Jedi sighs and looks down. Finally, a bit of sense.
His Jedi is not known for his self-preservation. Sometimes, it’s good, the way Kenobi risks his life for even the smallest of Cody’s vode, the worst-injured, but here and now, it means his General is placing his life below the survival and well-being of all these Togrutas, and maybe it’s a fault of his but since the moment Kenobi was shot off the brezak’s back Cody’s known he could give a shit what happens to the Togs, as long as his General survives.
Kenobi would scold. Kenobi’s compassionate, so compassionate, and Cody is not - he tries to be, for his General’s sake, but there is no one in the galaxy more important to him than his vode and his Jedi, and here-and-now he is not willing to sacrifice either of them for the sake of morality. There is only so far Kenobi’s pleading looks will take him.
Kenobi might hate him for this, later. But at least Kenobi will be here to hate him.
The Zygerrians barely give them time to finish their meager meal (what is this, lunch? dinner? something in between?) before encouraging them all to their feet, shock whips out and hissing, violently yellow, flickering in the corner of his eye and making him flinch before he masters the instinct. He knows his General sees, because there’s that sorrow aching deep and endless in his eyes, again - Cody grits his teeth, shoves his shoulders back and his spine straight, and snaps into perfect parade rest, smoothes his face blank as new armor, and pretends the Zygerrians are just another set of trainers, like some of the Mandos they’d brought in to supplement Jango, or to bark out orders when Jango was off tracking a bounty - the ones who thought hard words and harder fists could force his vode into the mold, who didn’t understand what Jango did (sometimes, this was because the Kaminoans hired bounty hunters who weren’t Mandos and thought they could ever begin to understand what it was to be a mando’ad). Trainers he can handle.
They smile, and this is familiar, and he knows what’s about to happen before it does, so he is prepared when the electrostaff slams into his stomach, sends shockwaves through his muscles that knock him to his knees, and he breathes through the pain and stares silently at Kenobi’s knees. He is doing this for him, for his Jedi, not for the Togrutas, not for fear, and he clings to that truth as a shock whip cracks across his back, icy-hot and burning.
He breathes.
The durasteel end of the electrostaff slams into his side, and someone snarls, “Get up, skug,” and Cody sets his palms on the ground, breathes in and straightens his knees and breathes out. Keeps his eyes on nothing, on everything, on something that is not the gaping fissures in Kenobi’s eyes.
“All you worthless slaves, back to work!” an overseer calls, and Cody sets his jaw and ignores how parade rest makes his shoulders ache and follows the crowd of Togrutas back to their stations.
And he picks up his shovel in hands that do not shake (because shaking hands are more dangerous than anything, for a soldier), and he pretends he doesn’t see Kenobi sign covertly at him:
I’m sorry.
They work, again. Hours - Cody isn’t sure how many. But long enough that he’s beginning to struggle, with the pain and the lack of food and the sleep deprivation, before there’s whistles and shouts that come as too much of a surprise. He looks, sees the other slaves are setting their shoves and carts down, are numbly falling into a line, shuffling like sleepwalkers over the rough ground. (Kem had done it, as a cadet, gotten his name that way until they’d taken him to medical and programmed the aberration out of him. Cody wonders what the longnecks and their genetic programmers would think if they could see him now - would they program the compliance out of him or be happy they’d created the perfect slaves?) So he follows, hands behind his back, fingers wrapped tightly around his right wrist, in a parody of strength, maybe. For a moment - for just a moment - he lets himself be selfish, he lets himself think ori’vod, you promised, and then he breathes that away too, like the rest of the pain.
But he doesn’t let go of his arm.
They’re escorted to a long, low room with rows of hard, narrow bunks stacked three-high, barely wide enough for one person; Kenobi is directed down one aisle, Cody down the next. He goes no farther than his General, though, hauls himself onto the bunk in the middle and carefully leans back so he’s propped against the divider at the end. It’s just cold durasteel on his shoulders, but he can finally let go of some of the tension holding him upright, and he almost can’t look at Kenobi except he has to, he has to see his General, to know he’s alright. So he adjusts his position so he can look, sees his Jedi is already looking at him, too concerned.
Commander, Kenobi signs, because there’s a symbol for that and not one for Cody.
Cody closes his eyes, then signs sir.
Opens them again to see Kenobi watching him, swallowing heavily before signing alright? with less emphasis than before. A question more than a demand.
Affirmative, he signs back.
His General looks around surreptitiously before leaning forward and saying, very soft, “Don’t lie, Cody.”
Cody swallows and wets his chapped lips, rasps out, “I’m not.”
“Cody…” Kenobi shifts, likely adjusting to make his injuries hurt less, leans forward a little. “Please-”
He cuts off, pulls back, as a Zygerrian turns down their aisle, eyeing them suspiciously. The no talking rule is clearly not still in effect - other slaves are murmuring quietly to each other - so it’s just the two of them who are under surveillance. Not that Cody’s surprised; the Zygerrians would be di’kutla to not expect a Jedi to plan to escape.
But they aren’t. Cody isn’t sure what to think of that. His Jedi can’t already be so broken that he’s resigned himself to a life in chains, can he?
No. Cody will protect him from that.
So Cody shifts back on his bunk, waits for the Zygerrian to pass by on what looks like a patrol, then signs, you alright? with hands that shake just a tiny bit. He doesn’t mean to let them - but it’s pain and exhaustion and lack of food, and, he supposes, a bit of the horror of all this, still settling in.
He knows Kenobi sees, knows also that his Jedi is trying to hide his emotions, because he always does, and because Kenobi’s hands are shaky too when he shakes his head and signs, negative, Commander.
Cody closes his eyes against the tears that threaten to spill hot and broken onto his cheeks, reaches for the icy steadiness of being battle-ready, struggles to shove all his emotions back, down where they belong, where they can’t stab his chest and dampen his cheeks and leave him hollowed out and bleeding. You need sleep, he signs, slowly, drawn out. His fingers feel leaden.
Kenobi closes his own eyes, for a minute, then nods. Affirmative. You too.
Yes, Cody does need to sleep, if he’s going to be able to protect his Jedi. And he will protect Kenobi, whatever the cost.
Even if he has to completely shatter himself to do it.