Chapter Text
Cody had been free of the Empire, free of the chip for several months, grounded to a Rebel base as a ship mechanic for several months and he had not met anyone he knew. He knew that he was still on a probation period, and that there couldn’t possibly be only one Rebel base in the galaxy, but that did not stop a part of him from thinking that perhaps that meant that everyone he cared about was dead.
It dragged at him, the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him that he was the only one left, that the galaxy he wanted to exist, that he wanted to be fighting for, that he was fighting for in his own small way as he replaced wires and stacked ammunition, would be one that he would have to exist in alone.
The day had started off entirely unremarkably. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was dressed in civvies and was planetside instead of on a ship it could have been any other day in his life. The mess often provided fresh food when they could, but on that particular morning, Cody had just grabbed a ration bar, still the same ones that he had eaten since he had been decanted, and filled his travel mug with caf and headed down to the hanger.
He liked the mechanics squad he had been assigned well enough. They were friendly, didn’t treat him poorly for being a clone, didn’t know that he had been a Commander, that he had been the first to execute Order 66, and forgave him for his mistakes.
“Morning Cody.” Gala Trent, the head of their little squad greeted, raising her own travel mug in salute as he fell into step with her in one of the corridors that ran along the hanger bay. Cody merely raised his mug in return. Words escaped him most days, but that only seemed to bother the base commander, who was very anti-clone, and perhaps knew who Cody was, and wanted an excuse to throw Cody under the speeder.
They walked in a comfortable silence to the usual meeting spot for the maintenance squads. Cody got the feeling that she was used to being saddled with the castoffs that no one wanted, almost all of their squad had originally been in something else before being transferred to maintenance. Cody wasn’t sure why the base commander decided that maintenance was where he was going to put people he didn’t trust with other things, but he wasn’t going to complain. The work did him good.
That particular day, they were gutting a ship that had been written off as unrepairable. It was an LAAT/i, which was good because if Cody knew any ship besides a Venator, it was an LAAT/i. He didn’t know why the Rebels had it, but he agreed with their assessment that this one wasn’t going to do them any good.
According to the report, it had been hauled in by one of the scrappers that the Rebellion used to gather most of their ships, and it seemed like it had been one that had been spaced off of a Venator because it would have cost more to repair it than to get a new one.
After a brief review of the plan, Cody found himself perched on top of the LAAT/i, sawing off the wings with the aid of F7-9386, or Vida, a B1-Series Firefighter droid whose own restraining chip had broken shortly before Order 66.
Between the two of them, they made short work of it, and Cody went to work ripping the panelling off of the top, dropping bits of scrap off of the sides into buckets. Even things that were totally junked might be useful if someone who knew more about the component got their hands on it. He had been informed that someone important, and thus someone Cody could not know about, was going to be landing on the base later that day, and so he tried to do his work quicker than usual so that he would not be leaving his team too short handed.
He was wearing noise cancelling headphones, and he knew that if anybody wanted his attention, they could catch his attention through the inbuilt comms, so he mostly ignored the shouting around him. None of it sounded alarmed, and so he didn’t worry. He matched the rhythm of his work to the faint tunes that Kiz’hotan was playing quietly through the comms system.
As such, he didn’t notice when the time came and went that he was supposed to be out of the hanger, and he didn’t notice when someone calling a title nobody had used for him in years across the hanger bay. He didn’t notice the man at all until Gala called his name on the comms.
Cody looked up and found Senator Bail Organa standing next to Gala, dressed in fine robes and looking entirely out of place in the hanger of a Rebel base.
“The Senator would like to speak with you.” Gala continued. Cody tapped out an acknowledgment, a system they had implemented for when Cody couldn’t get the words out, and turned his tools off, hooking them to his belt.
A more showy vod might have just rolled off of the top of the LAAT/i, Cody had seen it happen many times before, but Cody wasn’t showy, and even if he had been, he didn’t have the kind of energy for that nonsense. Instead, he just knocked his headphones down around his neck and climbed down the ladder.
Organa looked genuinely pleased to see Cody, which surprised him. He and Organa had been friends after a fashion, but it had always been Obi Wan that they had had in common more than anything else, and Cody had shot him off of a cliff.
“Cody.” Organa’s smile was wide, and he held out a hand for Cody to shake. He did so warily. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you. News of your defection only reached Alderaan when I was already on my way here.” Cody merely inclined his head.
Even if he had been able to summon up words in that moment, he wasn’t sure what he would say to the man who had officiated his wedding, and helped Cody’s brothers when he could not, and had lost a dear friend when Cody had shot his own husband off of a cliff.
“I spoke to the Base Commander.” Organa continued. “He mentioned that you have been on a very strict probation, and I have requested some of those restrictions be eased.” Cody paused, and then slowly reached for the comm in his breast pocket.
Thank you sir. He typed, and then paused, considered. There was little else he could say. Apologies would make nothing better, and the only person he wanted to give apologies to he had killed. He held the comm out to Organa.
“Of course.” Organa looked like he was going to say something more when a twi’lek came up behind him and called him away.
Gala dragged Cody onto the LAAT/i and into the cockpit, shooing Kiz’hotan out to give them some privacy, and Cody let her.
“Are you okay?” Of all the things he had expected her to ask, that wasn’t it. “I know Organa is one of the good ones, has been for years, but you look like somebody shot your fucking baby or something.” Cody huffed a laugh, and pulled up the notes function on his comm again.
Last time I spoke to Organa he officiated my wedding. He typed, handing it to Gala before he could think too hard about telling her. He wasn’t in the GAR anymore, he had defected, no one was going to court marshal or decommission him for that particular sin. And then Order 66 happened, and I killed one of Organa’s good friends. He couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her what exactly had happened.
“Oh Cody.” Gala said, gripping one of his hands in hers, the leather of their work gloves squeaking as she squeezed. “That was hardly your fault. I don’t blame you for Order 66, no one on the team does. Even if the good friend you’re referring to is General Kenobi. It wasn’t your fault.”
Cody folded himself over their clasped hands and willed himself not to cry. He had assumed that they hadn’t known who he was because they had treated him with kindness, and here Gala was, telling him that they were giving him that kindness even though they knew.
Gala carefully wrapped him in a hug and Cody couldn’t help the fact that he started to cry.
Kiz’hotan edged back in to the cockpit and wrapped a furry arm around Cody’s shoulders.
“You are an honourable man Cody, and you and your people have been hurt greatly by the dishonourable demagolka that is the Emperor.” He rumbled. “Do not blame yourself for what was done to you.”
Cody didn’t know that he could do that, and he communicated as much, and Kiz’hotan sighed.
“I will remind you until it sticks.” He said. “To do otherwise is to let him win as much as not joining the Rebellion was.” Cody huffed another teary laugh. He wasn’t sure that that was true either, but he knew he would not be able to convince Kiz’hotan otherwise.
Later that day Cody found himself in the mess at a crowded table. His entire squad was there, including Vida who couldn’t eat, and Cody could tell they were trying to cheer it up. He appreciated it, and it did cheer him up, just a little bit. He would probably never truly feel okay again, but it made him feel like he might be able to feel a little better than he did then at some point.
He could tell that he was feeling comfortable with them, and that he was exhausted, when he dropped into a light doze against Titit-tri’s feathered shoulder.