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The Empire closes in. Cal and Bode run.
What used to be a perfectly preserved Jedi temple crumbles like sand through fingertips, rattled loose by the distant booms of siege weapons that shake its foundations. Earth-shattering shots crack into the mountain this temple is buried in, cutting off exits and herding them both deeper into the underground labyrinth. Soon there will be nowhere left to run.
Bode lets Cal lead the way, following just a body's width behind him as always. They duck through passageways that Bode can barely make out in the dusty chaos, Cal moving with the well-honed instincts that only a decade delving Jedi ruins can provide. Despite everything, when he pauses for breath, Cal manages a smile back at Bode: something warm and reassuring that sends guilt crawling across Bode's skin.
“Greez? Mantis, do you copy?” Cal says into his commlink for the thousandth time, but there is no reply. And there won't be: the timing of the attack was meticulous, precisely calculated to find Cal exposed and unprotected. With Merrin rendezvousing with a Hidden Path contact somewhere off-planet, and Greez taking both the Mantis and BD-1 for more fuel, this was supposed to be just a relaxed bit of off-the-map exploration for Cal and Bode to pass the time. Before the first explosion heralded the attack, Cal was all shy smiles and endless knowledge, pulling Bode along impatiently to show off every ancient Jedi secret he could spot. But all those pretty carvings and vaulted arches didn’t stop the temple from becoming one giant dead end, and the dozen trooper units now crawling through its warrens turned it all too easily into a trap.
Cal rounds a corner, then jerks back a split second before a blaster bolt buries itself in the ornate wall next to his head. The faded fresco, no doubt centuries old, explodes into rubble. Bode yanks Cal out of the volley (as if Cal can't easily handle himself) and bundles them both back the way they came.
“Running out of options here, Scrapper,” Bode says, breathless with adrenaline. He knows these Imperial tactics like the handbooks they're written in: divert, direct, detect. Drive your adversary into a corner, then overwhelm them with force. The net is closing, tighter and tighter with every second that passes, and Cal and Bode are right in the centre.
Crouched in the gloom, Bode watches Cal’s too-young face darken, picking between their slim options. When he looks up again, the reckless fire in his grin tells Bode that Cal’s not ready to give up yet. “We have to go through them.”
“Through?” With anyone else, he’d cuss them out for their craziness. Not with Cal.
“It’s the only way.” Cal's jaw is set in a stubborn line that Bode's seen a thousand times before. Never fear, never cowardice; just a steadfast determination to survive. “You hot?”
Bode holds up his blasters. “Always.”
For a second, Cal's face softens into something more vulnerable. His voice comes out hoarse for reasons that Bode cannot afford to speculate on right now. “I'll get you out of here.”
“Worry about yourself,” Bode retorts, hiding his shiver by tightening the straps of his holsters. Cal’s probably thinking once again about Coruscant, about his other friends and companions who fell to the Empire's hand. But Cal's protective instincts just make Bode's stomach twist. It's Cal the Empire is here for, not Bode.
They burst back around the corner under a spray of blaster fire. Cal's lightsaber cuts through the darkness, drawing all the attention and allowing Bode to lay down his own return fire over the top. Stormtroopers fall under a combination of Bode's shots and their own bolts deflected back at them, and after a few moments Bode thinks, Maybe I can do this: escape this place with Cal and go back to the way things were.
But then grim reality sets back in. Cal cries out as a stray blaster bolt bypasses his parrying lightsaber and scores his hand. The next shot hits the lightsaber itself, shattering it into pieces.
To his credit, Cal barely falters. He lunges for cover behind the looming statue of a long-dead Jedi and, with a sharp nod at Bode, draws his blaster. Together they pick off their assailants, alternating covering each other until the remaining troopers break and flee.
Once they're safe, Cal kneels in the dust and gathers up the sparking carcass of his lightsaber with tender fingertips. Bode surveys the fragments. It could be fixable, given the right tools. The song of the kyber inside is still a distant, melodious distraction at the edge of Bode's hearing, so if nothing else it could be rebuilt.
If they make it out of here first.
“Those were some lucky shots.” Cal’s voice is light, detached, as if holding your own shattered lightsaber hilt in the middle of a battleground isn't one of the worst things a Jedi can experience.
Bode says nothing; he doesn’t need to. Without a saber, Cal is nothing more than a juiced-up brawler - he has the Force on his side, but he's not strong enough to fight off the waves of troopers coming for them now.
And Cal's also wrong. There was nothing lucky about either shot. Bode can still feel the phantom burn of the blaster bolts on his fingertips where he nudged them with the Force, redirecting them just enough for Cal not to notice. Just enough to leave him disarmed and hurting, for the Empire to sweep in and strike while he's exposed.
It is, after all, Bode's speciality.
They keep moving. Bode watches the way Cal's fingers curl around the raw skin on his hand and tries not to show how his stomach rolls. The cracking sounds of the siege engines grow more distant, or perhaps they peter out altogether as the message of Cal's disarming filters back through to command. They're in the endgame now, and the musty temple air only grows more thick and more oppressive in Bode's throat.
The moment they hit their first dead end is the moment Cal's confident exterior starts to crack. It's an old initiate dormitory, if the neat stone sleeping slabs spaced along each edge of the room are anything to go by. If the room was slightly airier, it could have been plucked straight from the temple on Coruscant. Bode watches Cal take in the distinct lack of exits and curse, reaching instinctively to his shoulder where there's no BD-1 to provide a route, a stim or an encouraging word.
“Back around,” Cal says shortly, pushing Bode back towards the entrance.
Bode grabs his wrist to stop him, unable to stop the touch turning tender. His thumb smoothes over the underside of Cal's pulse point. He doesn’t want to convince Cal it’s over, but watching him continue to fight is worse. “Scrapper…”
Cal just shakes his head before Bode can voice the unspeakable. “No. No. I'm not giving up. And neither are you.” He flips their hands, squeezing Bode’s wrists this time. “What about Kata?”
“Don't–” The words are sticky in Bode's throat. The first glimmer of real fear in Cal's face and it's not for himself - it's for Bode, and a little girl Cal's never even met. At the end of it all, he knows his mark well enough to have expected this. Of course Cal would show selfless compassion, but for some reason he'd never quite believed it until now. Doesn't the old saying go that the more you lie, the more deceptive the truth seems? “You can't worry about her right now. We can’t.”
“Fine, then I’ll worry about getting you out.” The grip tightens. Cal’s voice shakes slightly as he adds, “She needs her father.”
All Bode hears is rushing in his head. If anyone deserves to be saved, it's the paragon of virtue in front of him. Cal's only crime is becoming the man he was born to be: a leader, a protector, a champion of the oppressed. Everything the Jedi Order should have been and wasn't. Everything Bode wants Kata to grow up to admire.
Everything he is poised to destroy.
“We'll split up,” Cal decides before Bode can form a response. “I don’t have the saber but I can make enough noise to draw their attention. They’ll come after me, and then you can sneak out while their backs are turned.”
“I'm staying with you,” Bode insists, not just because that was his agreement with Denvik. It's a brave plan, a selfless plan, but it won't work. The Empire is in control of this temple now, and they won't let anyone slip the noose.
They both flinch at the approaching sounds of boots on stone. Bode doesn't even bother to hide his Force-enhanced hearing, just looks at Cal and spends one last second drinking in the sight of him; all dust and fire, delusion and heart. Bode’s hands shake. His mouth does too, as his lips part to say–
“Bode. Go!” Cal pushes him away.
Bode is so surprised by the action that he takes a couple of stumbling steps before digging his feet in. “No.”
“Please.” There are tears in Cal's eyes now, and Bode has to live with the knowledge that he put them there.
“Too late.” Bode can't keep the regret out of his voice. Doesn't have to; they can both hear what’s coming. A beat later, stormtroopers pour into the room in overwhelming numbers and prove Bode right: there is nowhere left to run.
Bode knows the procedure: he drops his blasters and throws up his hands, pinned in place by the bristling ring of weapons raised and pointed at his chest. Cal doesn't surrender - he doesn't get the chance. Immediately he is seized by stormtrooper hands, dragged forward and forced down to his knees.
“Please,” Cal gasps, wide-eyed and desperate and totally heedless of the way his arms are pulled behind him and binders snapped onto his wrists. “Please don't hurt my friend. I'm the one you want. He's just a mercenary. Please–”
Bode raises his eyes to the low ceiling so he doesn't have to see Cal surrounded by all that stormtrooper white. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Scrapper. Didn't I teach you better than that? For all that Cal was one of the first victims of it, he'd never understood the true depths of Imperial cruelty, not like Bode did. If Bode were just a regular mercenary, all that Cal's begging would achieve was misery for them both. In fact, the Empire would be delighted to find that Cal apparently cared about someone more than his own life, because it would make for the perfect leverage.
Bode can't hold it against him though: Cal's instinct is always to protect. Panic makes even the best person do stupid things in the face of desperate odds.
And it's a moot point anyway, because Bode isn't just a regular mercenary.
The stormtrooper captain lifts off his helmet and strikes Cal across the jaw, silencing his wretched pleading. Then the trooper glances up, his mouth twisted into a mocking smile. He must recognise Bode - Denvik would never risk his asset, his weapon by not showing the assault team Bode's face beforehand.
Bode knows what's about to happen, and time slows to a smattering of heartbeats that reverberate inside his chest like the aftershocks of a groundquake. The captain will take cruel pleasure in telling Cal that the supposed mercenary he's trying to protect is in fact the Imperial agent who sold him out in the first place. Bode will have to watch the realisation of who he really is dawn slowly in Cal's eyes - watch that desperation turn to shock, then hurt, and then fury. He'll go home to Kata, and the look on Cal's face will haunt his dreams until the next mission, the next target, the next character he has to play, ignoring the knowledge that one day he will drown under the weight of it.
So many voices. So many victims. Cal is far, far from the first person Bode has stabbed in the back, and he won't be the last.
So why, this time, does it hurt so much?
The stormtrooper captain opens his mouth, and Bode's body makes a decision before his brain catches up. His blasters jump back into his hands and he fires two shots simultaneously: one through the centre of the captain's forehead, and the other to split Cal's binders in two. In the next heartbeat he calls on the Force and shoves at the stormtroopers surrounding Cal, sending them staggering.
The only reason he's not immediately gunned down is because everyone's focus was on Cal. That and Denvik's diligence: no one expected an attack from one of their own. Even Bode himself is taken by surprise. It's a stupid move - less an act of faith than his own panic biting him in the ass. There is no long-term plan, no next steps, no tactics, no control.
But - he can't watch Cal break. He just can't.
As always, Cal is the first to react, throwing his arms wide and making the air in the room shimmer. Bode senses it a split second before it hits him: the sharp sting of Cal's raw emotions that make his Force powers that much more potent. Everyone stills, leaving Cal and Bode surrounded by a sea of frozen, plastoid ghosts.
It takes Cal several attempts to get to his feet, and when he comes back to Bode it's only to collapse trembling into his chest. Bode holds him tightly, feeling the wild pounding of Cal's heartbeat against his, and thanks every deity the galaxy has space for that he gets to do this at least one more time.
A thousand things lie unspoken between them, not least of which that Cal just saw Bode use the Force. Bode swallows hard, and can only say, “We need to get out of here.”
Stormtroopers twitch against the Force prison that holds them still. Cal lifts his head. “What does it mean, that they saw you?” he asks. “What does it mean for Kata?”
A shudder shakes Bode's shoulders. Everything. It means everything. If Denvik finds out what Bode has done, Kata will suffer; that's always been the price for his obedience.
For the briefest of moments, Bode's hands tighten against Cal's back. There’s still time to change his mind. If he recaptures Cal, he could probably convince the stormtroopers that what they saw Bode do was just a Jedi trick from Cal. Denvik might ask questions, but having Jedi terrorist Cal Kestis securely in custody would surely go a long way towards soothing any lingering suspicions.
Bode could do it. Cal is shaken, injured, disarmed. In a match of strength, Bode would win every time. But he won't do it. And what kind of father does that make him? Why is he willing to gamble Kata’s future on saving the life of a man who several months ago wasn’t just a stranger but a target–
Then Cal takes Bode’s hand, and Bode thinks, Oh. That’s why.
The stormtroopers are still immobile. Whatever power Cal's using to keep them there - whether it's his fear, or whatever feelings he might have for Bode - it's strong enough to hold. Bode takes a deep breath and squeezes Cal's hand back. “It's complicated,” he admits.
“When is it ever not?” Cal huffs against his chest, like there’s nothing Bode could ever do to make Cal not trust him. “We'll go get her. Wherever she is. Whatever it takes.”
Together they dot detonators around the doorway. If the stormtroopers are lucky, the explosion will take the ceiling out and crush them all instantly. If not, they'll slowly fade away behind a wall of rubble because the Empire won't waste resources trying to get them out. Either way, no witnesses will survive to report back on Bode's sudden loss of control.
Once the charges are set, they start running. A safe distance away, Bode pulls Cal into a carved alcove that once housed a statue or another object worthy of adoration, and they shelter together as Bode presses the detonator. It's only once the stone walls around them have thrown off the last aftershocks of the blast that Bode realises Cal is gazing reverently up at him.
He finds he can't look away.
“I always knew there was something special about you,” Cal says, and Bode's stomach flips as Cal leans closer, eyes bright. “Thank you, Bode. For everything.”
Cal's lips are warm and light. The kiss isn't anything other than a hesitant suggestion of things to come, but Bode's breath hitches anyway, his heart in his throat. He doesn't deserve any of it: the kindness, the affection, the trust. It's selfish on Bode's part, pure and simple. Once Kata is safe, he'll need to put a stop to this… this romance before it's even begun, for all of their sakes. But in this hidden nook, for this tiny bubble of time, Bode will take what he can get.
Bode kisses Cal soft and slow, like they have all the time in the world. They don't: the temple’s still teeming with other trooper units, and the explosion will only draw more attention to their attempted escape. But for a brief moment, all Bode can focus on is the gentle scratch of Cal’s stubble on his skin, the brush of their lips together, and the soft little noises Cal makes every time Bode deepens the kiss.
Nothing is guaranteed. For all Bode knows, he and Cal still might not make it out of this temple. Three blasters, two Force-users and a jetpack make for slim odds against an army. Beyond that waits the full might of the ISB, and the myriad ways they’ve kept Bode subjugated and obedient all these years; and beyond that, an Empire that would see them both crushed like bugs on a blast shield.
“Ready to go?” Cal is flushed, breathless and bright. There’s a smile on his lips, and no trace of the tears that filled his eyes earlier.
Bode did that. For all his sins, he is responsible for Cal’s dry cheeks and fear-free grin. It’s one of the best things he’s ever done. For a brief, precious moment, the crushing guilt trickles away. He’s made his choice, and now is no time to back out or think about what could have been.
“Right behind you,” he answers with what sounds, to both of them, like a promise. He takes Cal’s hand, squeezes, and lets the Jedi draw them back out into the fray.
The confessions and consequences owed after today are absolutely going to kick his ass, but that’s a problem for the future.
Now is the time to move forward – together – and survive.