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“Come on, Cody”, Ponds says. “K’atini.”
He hates himself a little for it, for pushing Cody when he knows that Cody is already at his breaking point. He stopped being able to support his own weight 8 klicks ago and he’s starting to slow, almost passing out against Ponds’ side. It’s only pain but pain sure as fuck can make you pass out in a ditch.
Ponds won’t be able to carry him completely. His ribs are aching and his ankle has been starting to get increasingly agitated. By which Ponds means, it hurts like hell. He wouldn’t make it another klick if he had to carry Cody.
He also won’t be able to leave Cody behind. Because they have important intel. And while the best case scenario is getting that intel back to the Republic, the worst case scenario is either of them falling into the hands of the Separatists. Their deaths are the neutral outcome here. So, leaving Cody behind would mean having to put a blaster bolt in his head and Ponds won’t do that. He can’tdo that.
Technically, he should have left Cody behind right after the ambush. When he saw how badly he was hurt. Cody didn’t ask him to. He knows Ponds well enough to have realized that Ponds knows exactly what his duty is and currently doesn’t give a flying fuck about it.
“m tryin’”, Cody grits out and it does not sound good. He’s slurring his words.
“Just one more klick.”
“Liar”, Cody says with a breathless laugh that could just as well be him panting from exhaustion if it wasn’t for the corners of his mouth lifting up just a little bit. “’s still at least two.”
It’s three, actually, and they’re definitely not going to make it.
“Know-it-all”, Ponds complains.
The hand belonging to the arm thrown over his shoulders, pokes him in the space between vambrace and pauldron.
“I can just drop you right here.”
Ponds regrets saying it immediately, even if it was just in banter. Because the sentence is hanging between them in the silence that follows and Ponds’ throat is constricting.
Cody is the one who breaks the silence: “You should.”
Ponds chokes on something that might have grown up to be a sob one day: “No.”
They continue walking quietly until Ponds thinks he can control his voice again.
“Any other delusions I should worry about, vod?”
He doesn’t know which happens first: Cody collapsing or his own ankle no longer being able to support any weight. All he knows is that they’re walking one moment and the next they’re lying in the sand with Ponds’ ribs screaming because Cody is half lying on top of him.
Ponds pushes him off. He’s careful about it but Cody still whimpers. A breath catches in Ponds’ chest at the response that is too uncontrolled for Cody, too instinctual. He taps Cody’s cheek, lightly at first, then with a bit more force. Cody doesn’t react.
“Sith hells, Cody”, he whispers. “And what exactly am I going to do with you now?”
He tries his comm again. It’s useless. They’re still within the blackout field. No communications for another klick. It’s not like Ponds hadn’t known that before trying the comm. Their emergency beacons are on, have been for hours. They would have been contacted as soon as those registered on base.
His ankle still hurts like hell. At this point, Ponds doesn’t think he’d be able to continue, even if he did plan on leaving Cody behind. Which he’s still not doing. He decides to test his theory, gets up and puts some weight on his right foot. He collapses into the sand in a pile of gasping trooper.
“Fuck”, he whispers.
This means they’re dead. Or as good as. Because there’s miles and miles to search within the blackout field. Even if there’s search teams being sent out for them, it’ll be a miracle if they’re actually found.
Ponds looks at Cody, who’s still not moving, and he looks at his blaster and he feels like he’s going to throw up. He’s still hoping, he realizes. Still hoping for someone to find them. Someone who isn’t a Separatist.
He’ll do it if he spots the Separatists approaching, Ponds decides. It’s a really kriffing stupid decision because he’s exhausted and even if he wasn’t, he might not spot them early enough. He settles in for a wait and doesn’t quite manage to stop himself from drifting off.
He wakes up to the sound of speeders. He’s dizzy, tired, the ability to focus remains far away. He pushes himself up so he’s at least sitting. There’s a wave of nausea that hits him. Ponds pushes it down as best he can and looks around frantically. His blaster hand is shaking where it’s pointing at Cody.
His vision is as unfocused as his face but he can see three speeders approaching, anyway. The shapes riding them are bright. It takes him a moment, but he recognises two of them as wearing trooper armor.
“Commander!”, the last one shouts in the voice of his Jetii .
Ponds drops his blaster. It’s not just his hand that is shaking, now. He resists the urge to protest when one of his men - Razor?, he thinks. Maybe Stak? His vision is still blurry, he can’t make out the armor markings enough to decide - lifts up Cody and carries him over to one of the Speeders.
“Ponds”, Windu says softly as he kneels down in front of him. “Are you injured?”
Ponds nods. His throat is tight.
Mace slides an arm around his shoulder and helps him up: “Alright, we just need to get you to the speeder.”
“How did you find us?” Ponds asks. He’s sure that he must be slurring because General Windu looks at him with his eyes full of concern.
Stak or Razor - the one who didn’t just get Cody - shouts over to them from his speeder: “Force mumbo jumbo.” Stak, Ponds thinks. Razor wouldn’t be caught dead saying ‘mumbo jumbo’.
Mace huffs indignantly: “I followed your Force signature when I felt that you were in trouble.”
“Force mumbo jumbo”, Ponds agrees.
His Jetii shakes his head in fond annoyance. Ponds knows that this one is ‘fond annoyance’ because he’s seen the difference in Mace’s annoyed head shakes when reading Billaba’s and Skywalker’s reports. There’s nuances to Mace’s annoyance.
“Come on, Ponds. I’m sure you don’t want me to explain Force signatures to you in intricate detail”, Mace pauses and Ponds is sure he’d see a smirk on Mace’s face if he looked up now. “Again.”