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His scrapper was dead asleep.
Bode had stepped in at Greez's request, something about 'checking on the kid' and grabbing a new jar of some spice or the other. But the order left his memory at the built figure in front of him lying with a blanket haphazardly thrown around his waist.
Bode had known Cal for weeks, and never once had he seen the Jedi sit for longer than five minutes, let alone snoring like he was now. They weren't loud by any means necessary, more like heavy breaths deepened by the utter vulnerability of sleep.
Cal was sprawled across his bed in the basement of Pyloon's, face down, head buried in the pillow. His red hair was like a splatter of paint against the pale creme color of the pillow and Bode pushed down the urge to sit at his side and run a careful hand through it. It would probably wake Cal up, because even if the man looked like he was in a coma, one touch would probably have Bode dealing with a lightsaber to the throat.
Bode debated if it was worth it.
...
It definitely was.
But when Cal let out a deep sigh and nuzzled deeper into the pillow, Bode let the idea fall from his mind immediately. His scrapper needed sleep. Stars, that was the truth.
The last two days alone had been Cal's busiest yet. Rescuing Zee, being thrown around by that bastard Gen'Dai Rayvis, then having to duel Gera all in the same night? No wonder he was passed out. Not to mention Bode was sure something was up with the escape pods they used to get out of the Lucrehulk, but he didn't want to prod at the subject. He needed Cal to see him as a confidant, not an interrogator.
The warmth that had slowly been crawling into Bode's heart died a cold death as he reminded himself that no, Cal was not his scrapper. Cal was his assignment.
At least until he got Kata to Tanalorr.
The moment Kata's feet touched Tanalorr's ground, he would throw himself to his knees and confess everything to Cal. Tell him about Tayala and the Inquisitors, about the ISB, how much he loathed doing what he had to in order to keep his daughter safe.
And Cal would help him.
It wasn't a delusion Bode created in his head to try and make himself feel better about the whole ordeal. He simply knew that Cal Bigger Heart Than a Moon Kestis would pull Bode to his feet and promise to get him out, to protect Kata against the rest of the Maker-forsaken galaxy.
Bode just had to convince Cal to drop the idea of turning it into a hideout for the Hidden Path. For an army. Yeah, yeah, Bode could do that.
Yeah.
Bode shook his head and walked further into the room, trying to keep his steps light. But, despite all these years of spying, he was a Lucrehulk in his own right and when he stepped on a loose floorboard and harsh creak came from it, he knew he was done for.
He heard Cal inhale sharply before he looked, and when Bode's eyes met those dark green ones, he said a silent apology to Greez and sat himself on the edge of Cal's mattress. Bode's hand acted before his brain caught up and started rubbing along the curve of Cal's spine, like a mother would to coax her child into a nap.
"Sorry, scrapper," Bode whispered, trying not to wake the poor Jedi further, "didn't mean to wake you up."
"'s fine."
Cal let out a ragged yawn, voice thick and scratchy as he turned his head to get a better angle of Bode's face. "Anything happen?"
Bode shook his head immediately. Cal Kestis, always looking for an excuse to be up, to be moving, even when his body refuses. "No, no. I just came to grab something for Greez. And to check on you."
That earned a breathy chuckle out of the redhead. "You worried about me?"
"You've been down here for an hour. I think this is the longest you've stayed anywhere."
That should have earned Bode a laugh, too. But Cal's eyebrows drew together and paired with an annoyed groan, and Cal's back was suddenly pushing against his hand.
"Kark, really?" Cal winced as he tried to sit up and Bode could feel his muscles protesting beneath the fabric of his shirt. Bode didn't have psychometry like his scrapper, but it wasn't needed to tell Cal still wasn't fully healed from the day prior. Rayvis had thrown him into a wall, for kriff's sake. He was lucky he didn't break any ribs. "I need to get up-"
Cal let out another groan, this one pained and aching, as Bode pushed back down on his back, forcing the Jedi to splay back onto his stomach.
"I think," Bode still whispered, resuming his up-and-down motions on Cal's spine, "you're overestimating how those duels went yesterday. You're pretty banged up, scrapper."
"And you're not?"
"I'm not the one who got manhandled by a Gen'Dai."
Cal huffed out an unamused breath, but didn't reply with one of his snarky comments, so Bode knew he won. "Just go back to sleep. No one would blame you for it. Hells, I think the whole damn saloon would cheer if you did."
There it was, a hum of laughter. Bode wanted to take the sound; hold it tight in his arms and tell it how beautiful, how precious it was. He would have to settle for doing it to Cal directly.
He wasn't complaining.
"It'll be a while, then." Cal nearly purred as Bode's hand went further than the top of his spine, gently scratching at the base of his neck. "It... It always takes a while for me to fall asleep."
Bode felt his lips tug up into a fond grin. "I don't have anywhere to be."
So that's how the next thirty minutes went by. Bode's hand threaded into Cal's hair, sometimes scratching, sometimes massaging his scalp. Sometimes it drifted back down Cal's spine, avoiding the areas Bode knew were covered in deep purple, nearly black bruises. They would take time to heal. Probably never fully would.
Bode took the time to admire his scrapper's face. It was red from the Sun of Koboh, despite Mosey's pestering about suncream and shade. It didn't stop his freckles from streaking his cheeks and forehead and chin like stars in the night sky, though. A few scars littered his face, and Cal never paid much mind to them, save for one.
It skirted across right cheek and ended just before his ear. A blaster mark, Bode could easily recognize. The first night Bode had held Cal's face in his hands, the Jedi had tensed when his thumb brushed against the marred skin. Again, Bode didn't ask; he would wait for Cal to tell him.
Like a good spy.
Bode snapped out of his thoughts when the latter half of a sentence Cal muttered reached his ears. "–Zee yesterday in the Lucrehulk."
"Hm? Say that again, scrapper."
"I said," Cal laughed, "I'm sorry you got stuck with Zee yesterday in the Lucrehulk."
Oh. "Ah, wasn't a problem. Not like you told her to come with me."
Bode paused for a moment. "She was saying how you looked nervous."
A deep sigh from Cal told Bode it was a sore subject he was walking by. But he nodded, and Bode could hear his tongue peeling from the roof of his mouth.
"Escape pods aren't..." He stopped himself as if turning the words over in his mind, finding the most fitting ones. "They aren't my favorite. Not since the Purge."
Bode only hummed, acknowledging. Not encouraging, no dismissing. It just let Cal know he would listen if he decided to keep going, or would keep the soothing pace of his fingers in his hair if he stayed quiet.
Another silence, only a few seconds, then Cal's voice punctured through it again, this time quieter. Softer.
"When sixty-six happened, Master Topal and I got split up and ran for the escape pods on our ship. I lost my lightsaber during that, so when we finally made it to the hatch and got surrounded."
Cal's throat bobbed with a thick swallow and Bode nearly wanted to tell him to stop talking. To stop bringing back the bad memories, the ones he knew Cal could feel so much more vividly because of his damned psychometry. To just sleep.
But Cal needed this.
And maybe Bode did, too.
"He sacrificed his life for me. Bought time for me to activate the escape pod when I hesitated. Because I wasn't strong enough."
"You were a kid." A padawan.
Cal didn't respond to that, and Bode assumed it was because of how many times he must have heard that. From Cere, from Greez, from Merrin. He'd probably lost count.
Bode quietly stomped down the feeling of pride he felt from being able to add himself to that list.
With the way Cal's head was resting, Bode found himself looking at that one scar again. Deciding to push his luck (and perhaps sate an incorrigible need of his), he ran a thumb along the underside of it. Such a simple act that Bode felt affect Cal like an electric current running through his veins. He felt the younger man shiver beneath his touch and watched his lips part as a gentle huff of air left his lungs.
Bode began to pull his thumb back and direct it back into his hair, the beginning of an apology on his lips, before Cal's own hand pressed it back. His hand, like his shoulders, was stiff with unspoken tension. But his touch was firm, unmistakable.
Stay.
And so Bode stayed, until Cal's hand slipped from his as his chest lifted with shallow breaths. Bode stayed, even when Cal shifted in his sleep to turn away from him. Bode stayed to hear the huffs of Cal's breaths, to hear the way they would stutter or pause.
Bode stayed because he knew it was only a matter of time.