Chapter Text
Bode Akuna sees people. He understands them, or so he likes to think, he's good at digging into the cracks of a person (a target, a mark) and prising them open, slipping between the pieces to take what he wants for himself. Some of what he finds he reports back to his handler, Lank Denvik. Locations, numbers, data, other useful little snippets of information. Some he keeps, selfishly, hoarding it close and wrapping his tightly bound Force presence around it like a dragon guarding its treasure. Feelings. Softly murmured secrets from too-trusting lips, heads bent together in the basement of a quiet saloon on Koboh or the back of an S-161 yacht.
The Force is still with him, of course, no-one as Sensitive to it as Bode Akuna (Knight, Shadow, Agent, Rising Star of the GAR's Clandestine Operations. Traitor. Criminal. Widower. Imperial.) could ever hope to cloak it so deep that he could no longer feel it.
And yet...it has been so long since he truly connected. He is no Jedi, he is a mercenary, a gunslinger, his lightsaber lost years ago and his faith along with it. And yet the Force lingers deep within him behind walls of ice and rivers of lava, simmering like boiling steam deep at his core. Cal doesn't feel it when Bode reaches for him – he can't, he is fire and the fight and always pushing, pushing, pushing for the next mission, the next strike against the impenetrable might of the Empire. He throws himself forward with such steadfast determination and such single mindedness that he doesn't feel Bode slipping into the cracks in his shields. And there are cracks. Thousands of hairline fissures, leaking self doubt and self consciousness like a sieve, all of Cal's fear and loneliness splintering him into pieces. He is the easiest mark Bode has ever had, wearing his heart on his sleeve and his feelings on his lips, touch starved and alone for so long that he doesn't imagine for one moment that he cannot trust Bode when they meet on route to Coruscant.
And yet at the same time, he's also...complicated. Wrapped in worry for the family he'd found, and yet stinging with the bitterness at the way they'd all left him, raw and wounded and trying to replicate that love and care with a new team. One he'd lost to a man on Coruscant – all except Bode. No wonder he had clung to him, handed over his locator beacon and his trust so easily.
Bode likes him.
He watches Cal as they shudder out of hyperspace and Jedha looms ahead of them, golden-red sands dotted with bleak, dark mountains in, surrounded by scatterd clouds that give the small moon enough of an atmosphere for life to flourish on the surface. He has already transmitted their newest location and all associated information to Denvik – Jedha, location of Cere Junda. More details to follow – and received a delighted reply full of praise. Cal has given Bode Cere very quickly, comparative to some of his previous infiltration missions, his excitement at the prospect of an unreachable planet the Empire couldn't get to is clearly clouding his judgement, to Bode's benefit, and Denvik's. Bode cannot help the guilt that twists in his gut as he sees Cal light up at the sight of their newest destination, leaning closer to the viewport with a quiet hum. The quiet is suddenly oppressive, so Bode breaks it. “Hey...Scrapper?”
Cal turns to him, all bright green eyes and an infectious smile, Beedee chirping on his shoulder like an inquisitive parakeet. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for letting me come with.” He grins, letting the corners of his mouth lift and his eyes crinkle with genuine fondness. He is still reporting to Denvik, but in the days spent on the Mantis since leaving Koboh, in close proximity to Cal...Bode has been thinking, and thinking hard. Tanalorr represents a new option for him. For Kata. It isn't like he enjoys being Denvik's plaything, and Cal has softened him, he knows. For the first time since Tayala died, he is finding connection and affection, and it frightens and excites him in equal measure. Cal leans into his touch and rests his head on Bode's shoulder, and has Bode's back in a fight. Bode has already settled himself into the empty spaces in Cal's Force presence, and he likes it there.
He does not want to betray this man. Boy. Cal is so young, only twenty two – Bode had still been a Padawan at his age, still getting into mischief with his fellow seniors on Coruscant, still going on most of his missions with his Master rather than alone. He hadn't even begun his Shadow training at that point. His twenty two seemed like a lifetime ago.
“I asked you, remember?” Cal laughs, shaking him from his thoughts and making room for Bode to join him beside Greez, looking out towards Jedha, soft golden deserts dotted with dark black mountains. “Ever been to Jedha before?”
“Can't say that I have.” Bode lies. He has been before – in another life, when he had actually finished his Shadow training, not all that long before the Purge. But Cal does not need to know that, however much the web of lies is starting to strain the edges of Bode's conscience.
“Me neither. But...Cere...she'll know what to do about Tanalorr.”
Bode hopes so. If Tanalorr really does present another path, one that will free him and Kata from their Imperial cage and keep his beloved daughter safe...maybe he can keep Cal, too. He wants to keep Cal. The young Jedi feels like Tayala did in his heart, and Bode isn't stupid enough to refuse to recognise it. He drops a hand onto Cal's shoulder, lets himself selfishly enjoy it when the younger man leans into it. Greez gives him a very knowing side-eye, and Bode blinks owlishly at him, playing entirely innocent.
They land a half hour later, a sandstorm billowing on the horizon, and Cal is quick to jump down onto the barren, sandy rocks. Bode follows more sedately, nose wrinkling. “Bleak.” He comments, but Cal is too busy looking around to reply, so he takes his arm. “Hey...be careful out there. No pointless heroics, yeah?” He means it – Cal has a propensity towards getting himself tangled in trouble, but he is the only one invited to the rendezvous, and Bode cannot go with him this time.
“Greez, have you been telling stories about me?” Cal quips, and Bode stares him down flatly like he hadn't thrown himself headlong at danger at every karking corner on Coruscant. Greez teases them both, then Cal is gone, scrambling up a steep bank of scree-covered rock.
“Yeah right kid. I don't need stories to know how you treat your own safety.” He grumbles under his breath.
Greez hears him. “Ha. Hasn't taken you long to get the measure of him.” He says, multiple layers of meaning under the words. Bode says nothing in response, but he can feel his cheeks heat. He needs to get a handle on this crush of his – it appears to be very obvious to Greez, and it's really not professional to catch feelings for your mark. He grunts wordlessly, returning to the ship as the sandstorm draws closer.
They have to wait overnight for the storm to clear, and Bode cannot help but worry for Cal, somewhere out in the desert. It's cold at night, cold enough that tiny patches of frost form on the Mantis' viewports, and Bode does not sleep much. His thoughts are full of Tanalorr, and Kata, and Denvik, and always always always...of Cal. The redhead has scored a sharp scar into his icy shields he had not anticipated, and his enthusiasm for the missio he has assigned himself is infectious, as is, Bode hates to admit, his hope. Cal is so hopeful despite the horrors he has seen and fought, and a small part of Bode wishes he could be like that. But first and foremost he is a father, and Kata has got to come first. She deserves more than a lonely white apartment on a barren, airless asteroid.
“You look like shit.” Greez comments as he fires up the engines, the clear light of the sandstorm-free morning a stark contrast to the foggy murk of the night before. Bode collapses into his seat and grunts something unintelligible, pulling out his already immaculate blaster to stress-clean as Greez takes them to new coordinates the Anchorites have given them. It's not far to their base, and Bode secrets away the coordinates into his little datapad – no need to send a new report yet, he hasn't enough new information. But he watches keenly as Greez brings them down them expertly in a narrow landing bay, his gaze flickering over ancient markings scrawled on sandstone walls, and layers of corridors like rat runs encircling the room. He stands, pocketing the blaster and drawing a breath, and along with it, his Force presence, shoring it further behind more layers of ice and pulling it into himself, cloaking it with the cocky bravado of the mercenary he has become.
***
Merrin is a surpise, and Cordova a bigger one. He had been expecting Cere Junda, but apparently this is a family reunion, one that makes him feel like an interloper, and he doesn't need his Force sense to see how happy they make Cal despite the echoes of abandonment and loneliness he knew simmered in the deep fissures of the young man's consciousness. Cal's eyes are bright and his smile brighter as they join him and Cere Junda in an impressive mimic of the old Jedi archives. Bode sucks in a breath – not even Denvik could have guessed at what Cere is doing here, and for a fleeting moment, nostalgia washes over Bode as he gazes at the library of holobooks, and he is transported back to his early Padawan days, sneaking around the library and getting into trouble with Jocasta Nu for making too much noise.
He does not often miss his old life. It's dangerous, and he clamps down on the softness of the feelings in his chest. He has not got the freedom to be nostalgic.
“Will you get a load of this!” Greez exclaims, all four arms wide, a big grin on his face. “Hey...Cere...you can't say it ain't short on personality! Kinda creepy though.”
“Well it's good to see you too Greez.” Bode looks up at Cere as she speaks, and does not dare reach for her in the Force. He can feel her power despite his muted Force sense, and she holds herself with the serene bearing of a Jedi Master. For a moment, he sees his own Master Gale in her composed regality, and he kicks himself mentally for his thoughts as her softly smiling image superimposes over Cere's for half a second. He stomach twists, he blinks and Master Gale is gone. He finds himself stepping closer to Cal as Cere sweeps her even, dark gaze over him. All at once he feels transparent, unmoored, and it takes everything he has not to take a step back from her piercing black eyes.
“And who's this...?” She asks, unblinking, a hint of a smile on her face as she appraises him.
“This is Bode Akuna. He's a friend.” Cal is quick to jump to his side, his slim fingers grasping Bode's shoulders.
Bode wants to grab his hand and hold it there, inexplicably, but the mercenary wouldn't be so intimidated by a slight woman in dusty religious robes, so he pastes a winning grin on his face, squaring his shoulders and stepping forward to take her hand in greeting. “It's so nice to finally meet you.” That much isn't even a lie – Cal speaks so highly of her, and she is one of Denvik's primary targets after all. She offers him a small nod, and her gaze slides away. Bode feels as though he can breathe again as the discussion turns to Tanalorr and Dagan Gera.
He mentally takes a half step back to appraise the room. Cordova is no threat, he is wise and old and deeply intelligent, but he has his head in Jedha's dusty red clouds, and there is no chance he can see through Bode's icy layers. Cere is no longer looking at him, and yet Bode can still feel the weight of her gaze as they move over to Cordova's desk to listen to what he has to say. Bode brings up the rear, still feeling strangely detached – and really, he has no right to be part of this family. He is supposed to betray this family, and he will, if it comes to it, and Tanalorr turns out to be a false start. For all he cares for Cal, he loves Kata more, and if Denvik thinks for one second Bode is falling for his own con...she will be in danger.
His daughter...she is everything. He has sacrificed so much for her safety, walking willingly into the ISB's gilded cage and wrapping Denvik's chains around himself with no thought to his own safety so that she has a bed and food, and a life far away from the Inquisitorius. And yet...he knows she can never be truly safe on Nova Garon. One wrong move, one slip up, and Denvik will deliver her straight to Vader and his ilk without hesitation. Whatever camaraderie and friendship they had built when Bode was a Shadow working for the GAR crumbled in the wake of the Purge. Denvik is not a friend, he just holds his leash, a leash that in recent months has grown tighter and tighter, feeling like a noose about his neck. He knows Denvik is suspicious, has been ever since Bode met the wildfire that is Cal Kestis.
It would not be a surpise if he has some inkling of how caught up in those flames Bode has become. Bode is a spy, but Denvik is the spy, the one who taught him everything.
So lost in his thoughts is he, that it is a moment before he realises Cal and Merrin are heading back towards the hangar, and for a long second he is the sole focus of Cere Junda's unwavering gaze, her head tilted gently to one side as she appraises him once again. He does not want it to look like he is fleeing, so he calls out to Cal, grabbing a blaster from his hip and dashing out to where the redhead has turned to wait for him, green eyes bright and inquisitive. He has been meaning to give Cal a blaster anyway, stars knew the kid needed some damned range in his arsenal, however good he is with those pretty golden sabers.
He is not running away from Cere Junda.
***
Cal is out in the desert with Merrin, exploring the flats while Greez tops up the Mantis' supplies while simultaneously trying to avoid the Anchorites he finds so creepy. The three of them will return to Koboh soon, or perhaps the shattered moon languishing above it, as per Cordova's instructions, but Cal is too restless to wait until the Mantis is refuelled, and Merrin is eager to spend time with him, it seems. Jealousy swirls inside Bode's chest – Cal is so at ease with her, he responds to her touches and her smiles as though she had never left him to stumble alone through the Galaxy. He scoffs at himself, wrinkling his nose. Cal takes up entirely too much space in his thoughts and in his soul, and it is going to get him into trouble
Bode sits on the steps close to the elevator and helps himself to a ration bar while he fiddles with his secondary blaster, watching Greez tinker with the landing gear, the pilot cursing softly to himself in Lateron as he worked. Bode rolls his shoulders, itching to be away from Jedha. He has spent a few hours exploring the base and taking plenty of notes, mentally creating a map and taking stock of the Anchorites' numbers, and the base's defenses (or lack thereof). His proximity to two Jedi Masters puts him on edge, and the archive lingers in his thoughts. Denvik will want it, but he knows of someone else who would mill to get their hands on it. Or burn it, at least. Bode should not have the comm frequencies for Nur and the Inquisitorius.
But he does, of course, because Bode has contingencies.
He is so lost in his darkening thoughts that he does not sense Cere Junda's approach until it is far, far too late, and she is sitting down beside him, just a hair's breadth away from his broad shoulder.
He freezes.
She smiles at him. “So...a mercenary, huh? Cal told me about Coruscant.”
“Ah, what a mess that was.” Bode grunts. He isn't lying. He has no idea where the Inquisitors came from, the whole karking mission went sideways quicker than an angry Wookiee would rip off arms. He doesn't want to think that his handler had anything to do with it, but he wouldn't put it past the man. He turns over the blaster in his hands, before sliding it back into its holster at his shoulder. “I guess. Maybe I used to be. I don't know what I am now. Mercenaries...you know, get paid, and Cal doesn't have two credits to rub together most of the time.” Bode snorts, rolling his eyes fondly.
“And yet you've stayed with him?” She prods.
“Well...yeah. He's...you know.” Bode offers lamely.
“A Jedi.” Cere offers softly. She is right. Cal is honest and sweet and in another life, he would have been a credit to Jaro Tapal, almost certainly a Knight by now, brave and capable.
“Yeah, I care about him.” Bode admits quietly, frowning down at his hands. “I've scraped him out of trouble enough times that...I feel like I gotta stick around. Besides. He might really have something in Tanalorr, and honestly? That kinda safe haven is exactly what I need right now.” He is tired. Tired of lying, tired of the Empire, tired of being Denvik's puppet. He is Imperial, and yet he loathes the Empire as much as Cal does. Cere nods, falling silent and looking over at Greez, smiling fondly as the Latero cracks one of his knuckles on a loose bolt and curses, shaking out his arm.
For a moment there is silence between them, heavy and strange, and the Force flickers around Bode in gentle warning as she turns back to look at him, her black eyes piercing. Bode feels cracked open immediately, tensing where he sits beside her, short nails digging into his palms. Ice forms at his core, and fear twists in his stomach.
“Do you know what I used to do, before the war stole away the Jedi to fight?” She asks, tone conversational and dangerously gentle – it sets him on edge. Her aura is as fierce as the planet she calls home, with all the raw power of a violent sandstorm but...somehow frighteningly controlled, as though she could direct each individual grain and bend it to her will. He shakes his head no, holding her gaze as though it will help him hide. “...I was a Seeker for the Jedi Order. My job was to find Force Sensitive children and offer them the safety and tutelage of the Temple.”
He layers another sheet of ice over his shield, unable to look away from her deep brown eyes. He doesn't think she's pushing at them, he can't feel her, but that doesn't mean she isn't there, and if anyone can find the hairline fissure forged by fire and shaped like vivid green eyes and rust red hair, a cocky smile and slender waist, a golden lightsaber raised in defiance of an Empire...it is Cere Junda.
“I know you know what that means, Bode Akuna.” She tells him, and a chunk of ice breaks free like glass beaten by sand, smoothing and blasting and splintering all at once. “I sense so much fear in you.” Bode's hand is already on his blaster, but still he cannot look away from her, cannot move, cannot speak, and it is not because she is holding him in the Force – she isn't, her aura placid and flickering around him like a light wind whipping the top layer from a white beach, shifting the sand into elegant ripples.
He is frozen because she is so calm.
And what can he do, but reach back, flutter against her wild force presence until he encounters her shields, high and forbidding like durasteel, not a crack to be found, even in the dark corners where Trilla Suduri lives on, a shadow of a Padawan that fell and became and Inquisitor.
Cere is sand and steel, and Bode's foundations crumble beneath her, fear licking at his insides like fire as he sucks in a breath. He hasn't felt the Force like this in years as it seeps back into his core, welcoming and terrifying in equal measure as he opens up and lets her in as though he hasn't spent ten years hiding this part of himself. She doesn't need to be a mind reader to see his conflict and fear and deception, and yet she just continues to look, leaning forward a little, shoulders hunched in a friendly sort of nonchalance. “He'll understand, you know. If you tell him now.”
“I can't.” The words feel scraped out of him, his throat raw and his voice hoarse as he is pinned by her gaze, rooted to the step beneath him.
She still looks so...gentle, though he knows there is nothing soft about those shields of steel beneath her sandstorm aura. And yet, her next words are low, and calm, and abruptly deadly. There is sand in his glass-ice walls, and each grain grates and scrapes him raw, and suddenly it is Bode who is splitting open, the tiny cracks being prised open are his own, now, rent into great chasms of fear and deception. “You will. Because I will not stand by and watch you tear apart my Padawan, Bode Akuna.”
Bode stands, swaying on the spot, unmoored and terrified, but he has nowhere to run, and when she tells him to sit down, her voice sharp as a steel knife, he does so, sinking back onto the step with wide eyes and fear in his heart.
She reaches to cup his face in her hand. “I am not a mind reader, and I would not rifle through your thoughts without permission even if I was. But I know who you are, Bode, and what you are. You may not wear your heart on your sleeve like my Cal does, but you can't hide as well as you think you can. Not least because your Master was my creche mate.” She says it with a half breath of a tease, and Bode chokes on a breath. “I may never have met you, my work kept me far from the Temple, and further still from the Clone War, but she spoke of you often with great pride.” She offers quietly. “You have a chance to turn this around. I know you care for him, and I know you're not as loyal to your new masters as they would like you to be.” She reaches for him, and he jerks back, only for her to grin sharply as she pulls his datapad out of his inner pocket. “You'll forgive me if I confiscate this. I've worked far too hard keeping this place a secret for Cal's trusting nature to bring it all down.”
She stands, leaving Bode frozen and shattered on the steps, staring up at her. He knows his face is slack and his eyes wide, and she must see the terror behind his eyes, because she touches his shoulder. “Talk to Cal. It will not be an easy conversation. But if you don't, I will, and I will not be as careful with my words as you. I don't have the practise, you see.” She smiles pleasantly, and leaves, sweeping towards Greez like she hasn't just shaken Bode's entire core apart, his shields nothing but shattered glass littering the ocean inside him, sinking slowly into the depths.
Talk to Cal. He has to talk to Cal. With his shields in tatters and his Force presence as bright and visible as any star.
Bode Akuna is a dead man.