Archive of Our Own

“Operation Nashi’le,” Cody says, twisting the knob to make the holos jump to life on the table in the middle of their little group, “is going to be quick, fast, and clean. If we do it right, that is. Follow the plan, and we make it out with our objectives fulfilled. Stray from the plan, the Empire keeps us in those spice mines until we die. Understood?”

“That’s Operation Seer, for those who don’t speak Ruossan,” Alye says, leaning on the holotable with her hips tilted back. She’s in her usual Twi’lek form, pink lekku hanging down in front of her. “Intel says the kid imprisoned there has visions, so I named it after her. Cute, yeah?”

Cody ignores her. Alye is a helpful agent to have, loosely associated with the Rebellion though she is, and he tries to ignore her irritating aspects because of that. She and her partner are bounty hunters who do occasional jobs for the Rebellion, and today they’re his entire team. Well. Them and the man they’d brought in for this.

His file is vague, weirdly so. There are many secrets in the fight against the Empire, sure, but this man is even more secretive than most. All his file says is that he’s a good fighter and will be beneficial in extracting the prisoner. Cody hopes it’s true.

The man’s quiet, too. Watching, always watching, face and body hidden in dark gray armor that he’s fairly certain he’s seen Alye wear before. Something about him makes Cody feel… uneasy. But he’s more paranoid than he used to be. Anybody would be paranoid after having their free will stripped away for years. Now he’s just careful. Careful, and secret.

No one in the Rebellion knows he’s a clone. No one except Rex, and that was only because Rex saved him. He wears Mandalorian armor he’d won off an Imperial-affiliated hunter and uses a Mandalorian name, fighting to destroy the rot lurking at the heart of the galaxy. It’s a hard life. He tries not to hate it too much, because at least he’s still alive after the Empire and the order, and that’s more than most of his brothers can say.

“Sevarcos?” the stranger asks, his head tilted to the side. His voice is strange and flat through his vocoder, a little garbled and warped. Thing must’ve taken a hit or two. Alye should take better care of it. “That’s a spice world. I was told we would be extracting a prisoner.”

“We are,” Cody says, pulling up the kid’s file. “A Jedi padawan. She’s being held in a secure facility outside the main mines, where intel suggests they’re using her visions to locate spice veins. The primary objective is to extract her and bring her to Rebellion territory. The secondary objective is to leave with as much Imperial equipment and personnel destroyed as possible.”

The stranger—listed on his file as Evaya—looks up at that, helmet expressionless. It’s not a vod in there, Cody’s pretty sure, because vode have a way of expressing themselves in armor that natborns don’t. Besides, most of his brothers are still trapped inside themselves, locked in thrall to the Empire. He’d have heard if one got free, unless they were hiding like he is. Anyone of his rank would be, but he doubts this is anyone he knows. He gave up hope for his brothers a long time ago.

“A padawan?”

“A Jedi, yeah. You got a problem with that?”

Evaya shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t. Er… Sevarcos is heavily guarded. How are we making it in?”

“Asp is playing prisoner,” Alye says, nodding at her partner, “because they are too big for stormtrooper armor. Cuya and Evaya, you play stormtroopers. I play officer. Very much fun.”

“We have an Imperial shuttle whose access code is still valid for another week,” Cody explains, pointing at the simulated shuttle tracking its way over the hologram of Sevarcos. “We get clearance through the blockade as prisoner transport, land here, and march Asp into the prison. Once we’re inside, Asp will get into the security system, replace the holocam feeds with looped footage, and we’ll disguise the Jedi as another stormtrooper and make our way out. We’ll plant charges everywhere we can, including delayed detonation charges in the mining equipment. Alye will be undercover as an officer escorting us, and she’ll do the bulk of the talking. The rest of us keep our heads down, do our jobs, and get out. Is this clear?”

“Clear,” Evaya confirms. Alye and Asp both copy, and Cody continues on, explaining each step of the plan in clearer detail.

There’s something weird about Evaya. More than just the grief-gray armor, more than just the awkward way he stands, like he doesn’t want to be here. Cody knows that Alye had found this guy and dragged him into the Rebellion, but he’s not sure why the hell the guy agreed. He seems like he should be out of his depth here, and yet he listens along to Cody’s briefing seriously, asking the right questions in the right places and giving all the right answers when Cody throws him a question back.

Whoever he is, he’s done missions like this before. Not this exact thing, maybe, but he’s clearly done tactical work. Not during the war, since that was almost all the GAR with no civilian assistance, but maybe in the earliest stages of the Rebellion, before it got more formalized. He doesn’t seem incompetent, he’s not talking his mouth off, and he hasn’t asked a single unhelpful question. Cody would almost approve of him already.

Beyond that, though, he seems… familiar. Maybe they’d met before, on one of Cody’s earliest rebel missions, before Evaya received the armor and the name? Or maybe… well. There’s always the possibility, as much as he hates thinking of it, that he had been the reason Evaya is helping the Rebellion now. That he and his brothers had killed Evaya’s family or burned his town or the like, marching senseless and dead in the name of the Empire.

Cody does not remember everything that happened while he was dead. He remembers Kamino and the war and Obi-Wan, and he remembers ordering his lover killed and watching as his brothers slaughtered children, and beyond that it fades. There’s a year or so missing right before Rex had found him and fixed him, and maybe in that time he’d hurt Evaya, been the face of the Empire that became the reason he’s here. He hopes not. That would be inefficient and ill news for the mission. They need to be able to work together for the plan to succeed.

“—and then we’ll pull a Geonosis. Take the factories down, collapse the mines, deal as much damage as we can. I intend to get out alive, and I hope you know that you’ll do more damage to the Empire surviving than sacrificing yourselves in a spice mine, but I can’t stop you if you want it. Understood?”

“A Geonosis?” Evaya asks. He has gone still. “What do you mean by that?”

“Desert planet, massive factories,” Cody explains, pausing his briefing. “Separatist during the war. It’s glassed now, but back then, the Republic pulled a massive operation to destroy the droid factories there. Read up on it.”

“People do simulations of battles from the war on holonet,” Alye adds, smirking a little. She grins at him like she knows something he doesn’t, all self-satisfied and practically purring like a tooka, but Alye is always like that, so he ignores her. “You can watch on ride to Sevarcos. Very educational.”

“I know about the battle,” Evaya says defensively, his shoulders tightening. “Enough to tell you that there were two of them, as a matter of fact, and they were quite different.”

Cody sighs, bracing his hands on the holotable and fixing Evaya with a pointed stare through his bucket. “Combine them. We get in there, we get the Jedi out, and we blow the place to hell. Understood?”

“Oh, I understand. Perhaps you should simply be clearer in your references… what was your name again?”

“Cuya,” Alye says immediately. “Don’t worry, he is nicer than he sounds. Loud bark, slightly less loud bite. Only hurts some.”

Depends on where he hits, Asp signs slowly. Can hurt very much. Cuya kicked Imp in balls once. Very fun.

Evaya must read signs, because he clears his throat. “I hardly see how that’s relevant, Asp. Look, I am only here on Alye’s request. If I’m more a problem, I can always return home.”

“Plan’s designed for four people,” Cody says shortly. “And we don’t have time to find a replacement now. You stay, yeah? Home’ll be there when you get back.”

They continue on with the briefing after that. Cody explains each of their roles, highlighting how he’ll mostly be fighting, while Asp is going to be both their slicer and their main combatant. It helps a little to have your best fighter be about the size and shape of a duracrete wall, and they’ve wiped his ass on the mat every time so far, so he figures they’ll be fine. Alye will be taking the shape of a lieutenant, handling as many of the direct interactions with the Imperials as possible. It’ll be her job to keep the Imps distracted while the rest of them work. Knowing her, she might actually end up needing to get pulled away from flirting with them. He doesn’t mind. It works.

“And Evaya, your primary task will be to rescue the prisoner, get her to safety, and plant as many charges as you can,” Cody says. “Target the mines, the equipment, the facility, anything. Any hits will help slow the Empire down a little, and every bit counts.”

“Clear,” Evaya says. He is quieter now. For some reason, Cody mentioning the battle of Geonosis, ten years in the past and already mostly forgotten by the galaxy, had rattled him. He’s cold, silent, only speaking when necessary. Had the mention of the war upset him? Maybe the war had destroyed Evaya’s family like it had destroyed Cody’s, and his rebellion was just slower coming. It’s always possible. Cody’s met rebels from Christophsis and Ryloth and countless other worlds who had been hurt by the war and chose to take their anger out against the Empire, Republic citizens and Seps alike. It’s part of why he always wears the helmet and calls himself Cuya instead of Cody. The Rebellion’s more likely to hate clones than they are to hate Mandos. It isn’t the Mandalorians who march dead and trapped in the Empire’s colors.

“Then we’re set. Schedule allots one hour from now until departure, so be on the shuttle ready to leave in fifty minutes. That’s at eighteen hundred local. We leave at eighteen-ten. Understood? Alright. Operation Seer, standby for departure. Dismissed.”

Alye and Asp leave immediately, talking in quick, fluttering signs as they make their way out of the strategy room. Cody gathers up his things, pulling the datastick of his plans from the holotable and clearing it for the next briefing group. Overhead, a scratchy speaker announces an incoming commander with a shipment of goods, and down the hall someone cheers. It’s always tight on resources here. Goods dropoff days are a holiday.

“Cuya,” Evaya says quietly. Cody jumps. He hadn’t forgotten the man was there, of course, because command training is still carved unforgettable into his bones, but it’s easy to ignore him. “That’s an interesting name.”

“It is,” Cody says shortly, packing away his datapads into his bag. “So’s yours. Did Alye pick it for you?”

“She did. What, did she choose yours? I wasn’t aware she spoke Mando’a.”

Cody stiffens. So his mystery team member knows Mando’a, then. Great. His armor isn’t Mandalorian, but of course he speaks Mando’a. The galaxy likes to test Cody like that. “She does. But I chose my name myself. That’s the way to do it.”

“I suppose so,” Evaya nods. “I don’t even know what Evaya means. You, though… cuyan, yes? Survivor.”

“Yes. Any other questions?”

“What did you survive?”

“I meant relevant to the mission,” Cody snaps, slipping his pack over his shoulder and stepping towards the door. “We’re not here to talk about me, ‘lek? Just to fight the Empire.”

“It’s just a question, vod.”

Cody flinches. It’s been a long, long time since anybody called him that. Evaya probably just means that in the way most Mandos do, but… the way he says it sounds almost spiteful, like it’s an insult. Like he knows what Cody is, and hates him for it. Maybe he was a naval officer or something? Or… no, statistically unlikely to be the other option.

“What did you survive?” Evaya asks again, needle-sharp and icy. “What’s the worst that could happen to you people? Death?”

“The destruction of everyone and everything I ever loved,” Cody spits back. “That’s what I survived, shabuir. You got a problem with that?”

Evaya shakes his head, backing down. There’s still a tension in his shoulders, though, and a curl of his hands that Cody doesn’t like. They’ll have to work this out while they’re in hyperspace. He can’t let some jackass having a problem with clones ruin the mission.

Everyone and everything, he thinks as he leaves, door sliding shut behind him. He had, hadn’t he? First the war had taken brothers he’d loved, and then the Empire had killed the rest of them. He’s gotten Rex back, but that’s the only kindness the galaxy’s ever shown him. Everyone he’d loved, dead by the Empire’s hand. Dead by his own hand.

He wishes, sometimes, that he didn’t remember anything at all from when he was dead. That the chip was completely separate and overruling. But he remembers. He remembers.

It’s a curse, remembering. Watching Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan, fall from the sky. Seeing the after-action reports of a genocide, approving and signing off on slaughter and murder, requisitioning fuel to burn the corpses of children.

So he understands why Evaya hates him. Why the Rebellion at large hates him. Why the galaxy has every right to spit on him. It’s just a fucking annoyance when it interferes with his missions. Fighting the Empire is justice enough, isn’t it? Let him be. He’s suffering enough having to remember. Having to live with what he’s done, with what he’d been used to do, with knowing his brothers are still living dead under the chip. There’ll be justice eventually. There always is.

But right now, he has a job to do. That’s more important. Always is. Always will be.

So Cody gets his bags, preps his weapons, and boards the shuttle. First the Empire falls. He can feel guilt later. That’s how it was during the war. Why change it?. He’ll be fine enough to work.

He always is.

***

Obi-Wan has never wanted to be on Tatooine more in his entire life. It’s quite strange, seeing as he despises the place, but he’d do anything to be back there right now instead of sitting on a shuttle with two dubiously-safe bounty hunters and a clone.

He’s fairly certain that Cuya is a clone. Right size, right build, and he talks like one. Knows Mando’a, too, so an older clone. Probably thirty-something years old now, by their strange half-doubled reckoning, but already a veteran of eleven years. Experienced, undoubtedly, and terrifyingly competent. An officer, he’s almost positive, and a damn good one at that.

A murderer. This is the part Obi-Wan knows as a fact. Cuya is a clone, and that makes him a threat.

It would have been strange to him, once, that he now hates the soldiers he’d once fought besides so entirely. He had loved them, once, treated them as brothers, and he had loved—but they had killed him and slaughtered his family and destroyed his Order, and that cannot be forgiven. A betrayal like that does not heal, no matter what the tenets of his past would preach. Those tenets are gone now, erased from the galaxy by the man currently taking them into hyperspace. A Jedi should forgive. But the Jedi have been murdered, and so Obi-Wan allows himself this anger. It has saved his life many times already.

Cuyan. The clone calls himself a survivor. A survivor. It’s laughable. What is there for the clones to survive? War, once, and now a rebellion, but they fight for the Empire. He has no sympathy for them. The name is infuriating. How dare a clone call himself a survivor, when it is because of them that Obi-Wan is the only remnant of his people?

Him and the padawan they go to rescue, that is. That, at least, is hopeful. Except that a clone is leading this rescue mission, and that creates new fears. When Alye had pulled him from his hovel in the sand, she had promised that the Rebellion cared for the Jedi, fought in their memory, sheltered survivors. Yet here they are, entrusting a padawan to a clone. To a murderer.

There is no fear. There is only the Force. But the Force is dark, and has been for eight years, and Obi-Wan is always afraid now. Afraid for Luke, even with the watchful eye of Fulcrum, one of Bail’s agents, guarding him while Obi-Wan is away. Afraid for the galaxy, its last hopes so dangerously fragile. Afraid for the fledgling Rebellion, for Bail and Mon and the others, for Leia already following in her mother’s footsteps. Afraid for himself, the last of the Jedi in a galaxy without light.

Once, he had hope. Now there is only fear, and that is the way of things.

He does not talk to the others. Alye is in the fresher, beginning the slow process of taking on the Imperial officer’s form. No need for him to disturb her. He’s seen what changelings look like when they’re in-between forms, and truly he has no wish to ever witness that again. Asp is sitting quiet and bulky in the bunkroom, cleaning a truly impressive array of blasters with slow, methodical hands. Intimidating as they are, they still scare him less than Alye does.

The clone—he does have a name, but Obi-Wan is justifiably feeling rather spiteful and unkind—is still in the cockpit. It does feel wrong, even after all these years, to reduce the clone to just what he is and to strip him of his name and personhood. Cody would’ve kicked some sense into him, but Cody killed him. It’s wrong, and the part of him that is still a Jedi—that will always be a Jedi—protests at it, but the clones had reduced his people to ash and erased even their memory from the galaxy’s mind, so spite it is.

Cody would hate it. He knows this, because he knew Cody. But Obi-Wan supposes he hadn’t known Cody, had he? Not truly. Not in any way that mattered, because he had loved Cody and had still never seen the betrayal coming. Cody had been the closest friend he’d ever had, and he had still killed Obi-Wan.

He tries not to think of the man he had once loved. It isn’t as painful now as it once had been, because the grief of Cody mingled with the grief of Anakin and he had been able to suppress them both together, but it still hurts. Had the war ended in any other way but his people’s eradication, they would have had a life together. Instead, they’re both dead.

Well. There they are. Cody, dead. The Jedi, dead. The team, throughout the shuttle. Obi-Wan, in the empty cargo hold.

“Sulking?” someone asks, gruff and helmet-monotone.

Obi-Wan glances up, glad for his own helmet hiding his surprise. “Cuya. How nice of you to drop in.”

“We need to talk,” Cuya says, stomping in. The door slides shut behind him, and Obi-Wan tenses.

“We can talk in front of the others. You and I have no secrets from them.”

“They don’t need to hear this.”

“Hear what, a discussion between team members? I’d rather not exclude them.”

“It’s not excluding,” Cuya says. He sits down on a crate, hands falling easy between his legs. Obi-Wan eyes him warily, scooting further back against the wall. Those hands are too close to the blasters strapped to Cuya’s hips. Will this be how he finally dies? Force, he hopes not. “It’s just a private matter. You and me, yeah? Just us. And we do need to talk.”

“I don’t see what’s so important that—“

Cuya shrugs, the line of his shoulders drawing in tight with tension. “You hate me. I understand that. I just can’t have it interfering with the mission.”

“What? I don’t—“ Obi-Wan begins, before breaking off. What’s the point in lying? He isn’t here to be kind. “Fair enough. So. Are you here to finish the job you started?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re alone here. You could overpower me.” He has the Force, yes, but he hasn’t practiced in many long years. This clone could kill him in an instant. He probably will.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Cuya says, the dismissiveness of his tone coming through the vocoder. “And I’m sorry if I ever tried before, but—“

“You succeeded,” Obi-Wan says bitterly. “Is that why we’re going after this padawan? To tie up the loose ends you left behind?”

“What the kriff—oh. You’re a Jedi, huh?”

Obi-Wan laughs, cynical and tired. “There are no more Jedi. You’ve seen to that.”

“I’m sorry,” Cuya says again. His hands twitch. Towards his blaster? It’s hard to tell. “I know that doesn’t fix things, I know you’re still angry, whatever. I just need to know that it won’t fuck up our mission.”

“You sound like an officer. High-ranking. Did you handle the bodies? The children? The infants?”

“I killed one Jedi,” Cuya says. Cold, slow, serious. His shields, barely perceptible through the beskar of his helmet, are steel-sharp and unyielding, offering nothing. “Is that what you want to hear? I killed my general. That’s all. I’m glad your vode had worse aim than mine did, okay? Can we ignore it for the sake of fighting the fucking Empire?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says bitchily. “No, I don’t think we can.”

“For a Jedi you’re a real fucking piece of work, aren’t you? The Empire is the real enemy here. You… when they pulled you for the Rebellion, they told you the truth, didn’t they? They explained why we did what we did?”

“Oh, I know the truth,” Obi-Wan spits. “I know what happened.”

Cuya looks at him for a moment, helmet tilted to the side. “And you still hate… well. Can’t say I blame you. I understand it. But we have to be able to work together. Okay? I can’t have you fucking up this mission.”

“You don’t need my forgiveness.”

“No, and I’m not going to waste my time looking for it. All I need is a promise that you won’t let this fuck with the mission, okay? Infighting between team members is going to tank our efficiency. I can’t let that happen.”

“Our efficiency?” Obi-Wan asks dryly.

“Yeah. Valuable metric. What of it?”

“Nothing. You just… remind me of someone I knew once.”

“Uh-huh. Bet I have his face and everything. That the vod who tried to kill you?”

“He succeeded.”

Cuya shrugs. “Clearly you got better.”

“This isn’t a joking matter, cuyan.”

“It’s just Cuya, Jedi. Not cuyan. I might be here still, but I died a long time ago.”

“Shame it didn’t stick,” Obi-Wan mutters icily. Still unkind, and still wrong of him, and it’s terribly hard to think of Cuya as only a clone when he’s right there, talking, joking. Apologizing, as if sorry could ever help the children in the Temple. “Shame it was you and not your general. I know who I’d prefer having survived.”

“You and me both,” Cuya says, plain and open, the brief splinter of his shields in the Force ringing with sudden strong grief, salt-thick and burning. “More than you know. He… was the better part of me, I guess. Everything I should’ve been. And I was his, body and soul, and so I died when he did. We all did.”

“And yet you’re here, and he isn’t. Strange how that works, is it not?”

Cuya shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “Fuck off, Evaya. This—we’re just here for a mission. Never seeing each other again after this, yeah? You can forget me and go back to—where the fuck did Alye even find you? no, don’t tell me, it’s classified for a reason—wherever you’re from. And we’ll fight until the Empire is gone, and then we can mourn.”

“I suppose we can be… civil,” Obi-Wan allows, inclining his head. “Until the end of the mission, at least, and we can stay out of each other’s way after that. The galaxy is wide, after all.”

“So it is,” Cuya agrees. He stands, pushing himself up with ease that feels at odds with the bulk and weathering of his figure. “Landing’s in three hours. Be ready in two. Stormtrooper armor for you is under the tarp there. I’ll let you get changed. Best for the both of us if I don’t know your face, yeah? None of us should, Master Jedi.”

“I never said I was a master.”

Cuya huffs, helmet tipping back. If it were the familiar-dangerous white armor of the clones, Obi-Wan would say it was amusement, but there’s a cynicism to everything Cuya does. “The Jedi who survived were masters with luck and padawans whose masters were there to die first. I made a logical assumption.”

“I could’ve been an old padawan.”

“Nah. You heard the objective and immediately got defensive. Only the generals were ever like that about the kids. The commanders, from what I saw, were pretty flippant about their own lives.”

“You never served with one?”

“Not directly, no. Had a commander-in-law or something. Never quite figured out how it all worked, yeah? And I won’t, I know, I know. Just saying. My general wanted a padawan, I think, but it never happened.”

“Probably for the best,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “I’m… sorry for your loss.”

“And I’m sorry for yours,” Cuya returns, hitting the pad to open the door. “He… maybe you’d have been friends with him. I don’t know. You remind me of him. Maybe if… but it doesn’t matter, I guess. Not much does, anymore, except fighting.”

“That’s how it always was. Always the war, always another battle, always the good of the Republic.”

Cuya laughs, leaning back against the doorframe. “Yeah. Sure was. I reckon if I live long enough to see the Empire fall, to finally know peace, it’ll all hit me all at once. Decades of fighting without rest or parley, nothing except war and death… yeah. Don’t know what I’d do. Lay down and die, probably. March off to see my—my general. And my brothers. Nothing else left, once the Empire’s gone.”

“Someday I’m sure I’ll do the same,” Obi-Wan sighs, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Some days I’m surprised I haven’t already.”

“Well, you know, like I said earlier. I can’t stop you if you want to go out with the Imperials. But we’re more useful alive, yeah? Ready in two hours. You need the time on that?”

“Seven hundred ship time, boss, no need to worry.”

Cuya chuckles, slapping the doorframe as he leaves. “Good. See you then.”

***

The stormtrooper helmet is shit. Really, really shit.

Cody has gone undercover as a stormtrooper before. Every time, he thinks it won’t be hard. Every time, he forgets how bad it is. The armor is so familiar and so strange simultaneously, shaped almost-right in a way that makes it impossible to ignore how wrong it is. Most of it he can ignore, but the helmet is awful. So damn close to what he’d worn for years, but unavoidably different. The visor’s different, the HUD is weaker and shittier, the whole thing is less plasteel and mroe plastoid.

The troopers inside are different now, too. Conscripts, most of them, as the Empire kills more and more of his dead brothers. Cody had taken this armor from one of them, repaired the blaster burn through the cuirass, and painted the vod’s name inside it. He doesn’t like thinking of his brothers, once the best military the galaxy had ever seen, being reduced to wearing this shit. Maybe it’s better that they’re dead inside it.

Alye is the one who gets them through the Imperial blockade over Sevarcos, her usual thick-alluring accent gone in favor of the Empire’s preferred Coruscanti. Cody flies the shuttle through once they’re cleared, piloting it down to their designated landing pad. There’s enough sand in the air that it impedes visibility, but Cody’s not worried. He’s replaced the filtration system in the helmets with the kind he used to have. They’ll be better off in the sands than every Imp stationed here.

“More fuckin’ sand,” Alye says, which sounds weird as hell in the neat Coruscanti accent. “Just what we didn’t have enough of, ai? Evaya, did you miss the sand?”

“Hardly,” the Jedi says, his voice less monotone now that he’s in stormtrooper gear. It’s more recognizable, the sound and rhythm pinging something distantly forgotten in Cody’s brain. He tries not to think about it too hard—discovering the Jedi’s identity would put them both at risk—and instead breathes a little sigh of relief that he doesn’t have to worry about being found out now. Everyone here knows he’s a clone now, for better or worse. Less to think about, so that’s good. “I’ve rather had my fill of it, but I don’t suppose I’ll be getting much of a break. Perhaps next time, if there is such a thing.”

He’s got a Coruscant accent too, faintly identifiable through the vocoder. Well, that makes sense. The Jedi lived on Coruscant. Loads of them probably sounded Coruscanti. It’s nothing important. It just—

It makes him wish that the voice was more familiar, softer, just slightly closer to him. To Obi-Wan. It’s good that it isn’t, sure, because if Evaya spoke any more like Obi-Wan, Cody might start getting delusions that his general had somehow survived, and that’d ruin him. No sense wasting himself away with vainly hoping that his Obi-Wan had escaped the order. Grief is better than false hopes.

“Single file, once we step out,” Cody reminds the team. “See how the Imps are walking? We don’t have to worry about sandworms too much here, but let’s not draw more attention than we have to. Outside the perimeter of the facility, closer to the mines, don’t walk normal. Bit of a slide to your step. Break up the rhythm. Doubt the Empire minds if the worms eat any prisoners, but I mind, so don’t attract anything.”

“Like krayt dragons. I see.”

“You know your way around deserts, Evaya?”

Evaya laughs, rich and something uncomfortably familiar about it. Have they met before? They must have. “You could say that, yes.”

“Alright, so you know the drill. Don’t remove helmets, keep all seals intact, don’t let sand in or water out. Let’s go.”

They march out, Alye leading the way with him and Evaya on either side of Asp, whose hands are cuffed behind their back. Those cuffs are only holding Asp in place because of the plan. It’d take something eight times as strong to actually contain them. If Cody was a real Imp, he’d be scared shitless. That’s good. Scary is good. And it will be scary, when Asp beats the fuck out of the Imps holding their objective prisoner.

There’s more security to pass through. Ident checks, rank checks, metal detectors, all that. Asp clears the detectors only through a jury-rigged faraday under their plainclothes, concealing the multiple stunners and other, more lethal weapons. Cody just waits, patient, biding his time. He is used to standing around, and he is used to having natborns sneer at him when they realize what he is, and he is used to the mind-numbing procedure of tyranny.

Alye peels off to find a terminal to override the security cams. The rest of them march on, and Cody catalogues the environment. The facility itself is standard Imperial, clean, gray, lifeless. They pass other patrols, other guards, and he makes note of each. The actual cell block where Asp is to be brought is nearly empty, save for one barred-off cell behind thick durasteel walls. That’s their objective.

“Get the blast doors down and open that cell,” Cody orders, pulling his blaster. He’d prefer a rifle, which means he’ll have to pull one off a range trooper. Inconvenient. “You’re good here? Okay. Get the kid out. Evaya, you’re with me.”

They clear the facility, heading towards the armory where the explosives and detonators are stored. Evaya keeps his blaster on stun. Cody does not. They grab as much as they can carry, then run through the facility, placing the charges. Alye is nowhere to be seen, probably racking up a kill count of her own. Changelings are scary, and Alye likes to play with her prey.

“Clear from Asp. Get to the kid so Asp can handle the Imps. I’ll handle the rest of this.”

“Once I get the padawan to the shuttle, should I get charges in the mines?” Evaya asks, tossing a charge up to the ceiling and lodging it in place with the Force. He’s a Jedi alright, just as crazy as all the rest of them used to be.

“The Imps know we’re here now,” Cody says, shaking his head and shooting down a patrol that comes running towards them. “Let’s not die here, yeah? Keep to the primary objective. Whatever damage we can do is just a bonus.”

“It could disrupt the entire spice trade, take money out of the Empire’s pockets, throw everything off. We’re already here.”

“Don’t do anything crazy, Jedi.”

“No promises there, I’m afraid,” Evaya says, tossing another charge. “I’ll get the padawan to safety and reassure her, but then I’m hitting those mines. Alright?”

“If you get out alive, sure. If you die, though, it’s a stupid way to go.”

Evaya shrugs, turning the corner and running towards where Asp is waiting with the kid. Cody covers his retreat, drops a few more stormtroopers, and moves on with his part of the plan.

He doesn’t see the rest of his team for a while. Well, he passes by a closed door where Alye is audibly working, but that’s about it. They do their jobs. He does his, taking down every Imperial who crosses his path and planting charges everywhere he can reach. They’ll hit the detonators as soon as they’re in atmosphere, and then it’ll just be a quick dogfight through the blockade and then they’re home free.

It’s always easy, simplifying things like that. He’d done it during the war (become friends with Kenobi, seduce him, accidentally fall in love with Obi-Wan, enjoy success) and he’d done it as much as he remembers under the chip and he’s done it ever since he got free (hide identity, join the rebellion, hope Rex comes home every time he leaves with Tano, repeat). So far it’s only failed a few times, which is acceptable.

Finish the droids. Celebrate the end of the war by hugging every brother you find. Return Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, kyber humming warm in your hands. Answer the comm.

Follow orders.

Follow orders.

Cody doesn’t think about it much. He dreams of it, sees his Obi-Wan fall every time he closes his eyes, but he tries not to let it consume his waking hours. He’ll mourn someday, when the war’s done and there’s time, or he’ll be dead and reunite with Obi-Wan and explain everything. Maybe in that far-away place, wherever it is they march away to, there will be peace, and in peace there will be forgiveness.

That’s the best he can hope for, anyway.

He shoots the blaster dry, reloads, and keeps going. Nobody nearby for him to pull a rifle from, so he sticks with the stupid fucking E-11s, no matter how shit their aim is. It’s easy to take the Imperials down, to kick his way through the troopers and finish them off easy and clean. A few are his brothers, and those he takes care to ensure that their deaths are as painless and quick as possible, but he kills them all the same. Marching on will be better than this living death they’re trapped in. Anything would be.

Evaya runs past him, padawan tucked under his arm, shooting up a storm. Cody nods as they pass, grabbing more charges and setting them throughout the landing pads. Whatever they can destroy, they will, and if Evaya wants to hit the mines then the Force had better be with him.

It is the stupidest plan Cody has ever seen in his life. The dumbest fucking thing. Crazier than Skywalker was, wilder than Rex got, more insane than Obi-Wan could ever be.

Evaya runs back, arms full of explosives, and runs into the mines. Troopers shoot at him, and he dodges uncannily, running back for more. Honestly, of all the stupid, ridiculous, kriffed-up plans, just running into a spice mine has got to be the top of the fucking list. Idiot! He’ll get himself killed.

Cody can’t let that happen. He can’t stand by and let another Jedi die. Obi-Wan would hate him if he did.

Reluctantly, he swears under his breath and finds a good position to provide cover fire from. Evaya keeps making trips, barely escaping the enemy fire that rains down on him, and one by one Cody picks off each trooper he can see. Somewhere in the facility, troopers scream, and something shakes. Asp at work. Good. He can’t focus on that right now. He’s got to keep this fucking idiot Jedi alive.

“Idiot!” Cody shouts as Evaya runs past with more explosives. “The fucking Force!”

“Bit busy dodging everything!” Evaya shouts back, tossing the charges into the mine. “Do feel free to come help!”

Cody swears again and shoots down a sniper from the roof of the facility. “You’ll fucking die, you know!”

“Only if I’m hit!”

And that’s when he trips. Falls right over his feet, cases of explosives tumbling across the ground, helmet rolling a couple meters away. Evaya collapses, catching himself with one hand, yelping in pain and surprise.

Fucking idiot. He can’t believe it. With another grunted curse, Cody shoots down the last visible trooper and sprints towards Evaya. “Get out! Get to the shuttle! That’s enough! You can’t—“

Evaya lifts his head, sand-coarse wind ruffling his hair. It’s dark and damp with sweat, glinting in the light, and Cody sees just the curve of his cheek, a hint of beard, weather-beaten wrinkles and faded sunspots, and then Evaya is grabbing his helmet and pulling it back on.

But Cody…

Cody had followed his order, hadn’t he?

He hadn’t. He hadn’t!

Obi-Wan Kenobi is alive. Obi-Wan is alive, his Obi-Wan, right there, breathing and laughing and—

A shot hits the sand right beneath Evaya’s—Obi-Wan’s—feet. Sniper, up on the roof. Taking aim. Firing again.

Cody runs.

It hits him in the side, right in the gap of his cuirass, and he grunts. Fucking hells that hurts. “Get—get to the fucking shuttle. Go. Now.”

“But—“

“Now,” Cody orders, because this is his Obi-Wan, alive, returned to him, and he will not lose him again. Obi-Wan balks, shoulders rising defensively, and Cody shoves him back towards the shuttle. “Get to the fucking ship. Do it.”

“You’re hurt. You—“

“On the ship.”

Obi-Wan starts to argue again, then freezes, whipping his blaster up and firing a dozen shots up at the roof until the thud of a body dropping sounds. “We can’t just—“

“Go,” Cody says. And Obi-Wan goes, because this is his Obi-Wan, and he has always known how to convince him. Cody follows, pressing his fist into the burnt edge of his blacks, glove soaking with blood, doing his best to keep pressure on it while running. Fucking ow. At least now they’re even. He’s not going to do this again.

The padawan is already tucked in safe in the shuttle, glassy-eyed and holding a ration pack with one of Alye’s blankets wrapped around her shoulders. Cody charges past her and into the cockpit, pulling his hand away long enough to get to the controls. He hits the button on his comm to signal retreat, wincing as the signal echoes from Obi-Wan’s comm. Shakily, he lifts off, pulling into the air with the landing gear and ramp still down to let the other two on.

“How’s the kid?” he asks, gritting his teeth. Ow. Ow. Blood loss. Not fun.

“Better now that she’s out of that place,” Obi-Wan reports from the back. “Medical will need to check her over once we get back. Medical needs to check you over now.”

“Once we’re in hyperspace. Where the fuck are—dropping.” He swings down to where both Asp and Alye are waiting, Asp covered in blood and Alye with her officer’s jacket and shirt hanging open. The blood is not Asp’s, he thinks. Cool. They both jump on, grabbing onto the sides of the ramp, and he pulls back up. There are TIE fighters circling above them, starting to shoot. Motherfuckers.

Flying is not his strong suit. He is good at it, sure, because he was top of his class in Kamino, but he’s not a pilot. He’s just fucking desperate. He won’t die here. Obi-Wan won’t die here. Not in some fucking nameless desert where their bodies would get eaten by fucking spice worms. He won’t allow it. He can’t.

“Hold on,” Cody manages, pulling the ship up into a steep climb. The g-forces are fucking miserable, but he figures dying will be worse, and once they’re out of atmosphere he can just—just— “Hit the detonators! Now! Now! Now—“

On the surface of Sevarcos II, the entire mining facility erupts in a firey blaze, the entrance to the mines collapsing in a smoking cloud of rubble, and the whole planet disappears into the streaming blazes of hyperspace.

Cody only passes out a little bit.

***

Obi-Wan clears off the tarps and junk from a couple of crates in the cargo bay and points at them with what he hopes reads through the helmet as a pointed stare. “Sit. Let me look at the wound.”

“You’re not a fuckin’ medic,” Cuya wheezes, shaking his head. “I know you’re not. I’ll be fine. I can just patch it up—patch it myself.”

“I’m sure you can. But you caught it in my stead, so I’m afraid I must insist. Sit down. I’ll get some bacta on it and you’ll be fine.”

Cuya looks at him for a long while, then sighs. “Fucking hells. Okay.” He troops over to the crates and sits down on one of them with a nearly-hidden wince. The burn is oozing onto the white stormtrooper armor he’s wearing, and blood drips onto the slate-gray armor Obi-Wan had worn earlier. Carefully, Obi-Wan kicks the armor on the floor out of the way and sits down next to Cuya, opening the medkit he’d borrowed from Alye and replacing his armor gloves with sterile plastic gloves.

“We’ll need the cuirass off. Can you do that yourself?”

“Yes,” Cuya says stubbornly, doing his best to lift his arm enough to get the armor off. He tries again, the burn stretching painfully as he does, and Obi-Wan can practically hear his teeth creak with effort. “Fuck. Fine. You can help.”

“That’s it,” Obi-Wan says dryly, leaning over and fumbling with the clasps. If this was clone armor, he’d be able to remove it blindfolded and asleep, but this isn’t the same armor he’d gotten to remove so many lovely times. It’s just Imperial-issue garbage, and the edge of the cuirass that’s closest to the blaster burn is a tad bit melted and deformed from the heat. “At least you know where to take a shot. Lots of experience, I presume?”

“First time taking a shot for you in—fuck, ow, no, up more.”

“It certainly would be, yes.” He pulls the cuirass up over Cuya’s head, careful to not dislodge the helmet. It looks a bit strange, but he certainly understands the desire to keep their identities concealed, even though Cuya’s a clone with a face Obi-Wan would have seen countless times. He likely has some sort of identifying tattoo that he has to keep covered, the poor fellow.

Carefully, Obi-Wan examines the wound, peeling back the layers of the bodyglove and cutting a large section of it away. It is also standard Imperial-issue, and the plasti-synthetic fabric is melted into the burn. It’s appalling, really.

“I’ll have to pull the rest of the fabric away. Do you want something to bite down on?”

“No. Just do—motherfucker!”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan says, a little sheepishly. “I find that doing it unexpectedly can be easier. How does it feel?”

“Like I got fucking shot,” Cuya grunts, wincing as Obi-Wan wipes an antiseptic over the injury. “Which I can’t say I didn’t deserve, but that had to be the stupidest way to go about it. Explode the mines, sure, but running back and forth with no—ow—fucking cover? Idiot.”

“So you said. You didn’t have to take a bolt for me, though. We hardly know each other.”

Cuya laughs, the sound wheezing and broken with a gasp of pain. “Consider it—fuck—fair. As fair as life gets.”

“Who said life is fair?” Obi-Wan mutters, moving onto the bacta. It slides cool and easy over Cuya’s skin, cold even through his gloves, and Cuya flinches. “Sorry. I know none of this is pleasant. Do endeavor to not get hit next time, yes?”

“Bastard. Can’t just let you die.”

“You could’ve.”

“Nah. Need you to—to comfort the kid. She needs a Jedi, yeah? A familiar face. Or a familiar voice, at least, if you want to keep the helmet on.”

“I took it off when I took her from Asp,” Obi-Wan says, slightly distracted by the aching once-familiar feel of Cuya’s skin under his fingertips. Even with the gloves, it feels like the dozens of times that he and Cody had patched each other up behind enemy lines or when the medbay was too packed with critical injuries to fit them in. “Just to prove that I was who I said I was. It helped quite a lot. I think that’s why Alye brought me in, really.”

Cuya groans, the sound ripping from the back of his throat as Obi-Wan gets the bacta on a tender spot. “You—you don’t fucking say. I—ow, fucking hell—how much more?”

“Just a little more bacta, then a dressing. You would’ve done these in the field, yes?”

“Sure. Lots. Just—it’s been a while, since someone else—since you did it.”

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan responds absently, reaching for gauze and some medical tape. “What’s that? I didn’t—“

“Been a while since I took a shot for you too,” Cuya says quietly. “Can’t say I don’t deserve every one of them, but… well. Your crazy fucked-up plan almost got me killed, yeah? We can be even, for a bit?”

“What do you—“

Cuya takes his helmet off, brilliant sunlight blossoming through the Force. “I’m sorry, General. For what I did. And for—“

Cody.

It’s Cody, somehow, impossibly. Here, alive, the angry raised scar curling around his face catching the dim-flickering light of the cargo bay, dark brown eyes shining with tears. He’s older now, more worn-down, his hair still dark but in longer curls than it’d ever been in the army, and his smile is the same as it was the day he killed Obi-Wan.

The day he and his brothers killed all the Jedi.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says. There is no air behind it. He isn’t breathing. How can he? Cody is—Cody is here, in front of him. Hunting him down to finish the job. Here to apologize. Covered in the blood of children and innocents, a traitor to the Jedi, a murderer, a liar. The man he’d loved, the man he’d thought he had known, sitting in front of him with a smile.

“General,” Cody says, hushed and near-silent. He swallows hard, jaw working with it, and blinks away tears. “Obi-Wan. I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I—“

“What do you want?”

“Obi-Wan?”

“Don’t call me that. What do you want?” Obi-Wan repeats, standing up and scrambling back. “I—you—why are you here?”

Cody shakes his head, eyes wide and glistening. He stays there, hands held still in his lap, wound still bleeding through the bacta coating. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please.”

“Murderer. Traitor.”

“I know what I did,” Cody whispers. “And I—I didn’t want to. I had to. It made me, I—I wouldn’t—I would never. None of us would‘ve.”

“And yet you did.”

“Not by choice. Please, General, you—you said you knew what had happened. The truth—“

“Of course I know what happened,” Obi-Wan hisses, reaching shakily for his blaster. It’s still in the holster on his hip, power bank blinking low. One shot, maybe two. He’ll have to—have to—no. He can’t. It’s Cody. But— “I went to the Temple. I saw the bodies there. The children. How can you ever expect me to believe that you were just… following orders? You chose the Empire. You killed—“

“We were forced to,” Cody says weakly, tears slipping down his cheeks. “We—they put chips in our heads, General. Control chips. The order came in, and… and I was gone. Trapped in my own mind. Watching—watching myself give the order, watching it be followed, all of us turned into the fucking droids people always said we were. Dead in our own bodies, forced to follow every order we’re given. And so—so we did. I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan frowns, hand still on his blaster. There is no lie in it. He wishes there was, but truth rings clear in the Force. He—if the clones hadn’t betrayed them willingly, if—it’s too much to handle. “And now, what, you’ve taken this convenient chip out and you’re cleared of what you did?”

“No. Never. I’ll—I shot you down, and I’ll be paying for that until I die. The chip’s gone. You could—“ He chokes on a sob, breathing heavily, shoulders shaking. “You could kill me. I’d understand. It’d be—it’d be right.”

“I could,” Obi-Wan says. One shot, clean and quick, the way Cody always used to kill. Very few Jedi received that mercy.

“I just—I always thought when I died, I’d find you again,” Cody whispers, looking up at him, tears still spilling freely down his face. “But you’re alive. I didn’t—I didn’t—Obi-Wan.”

One shot. Easy, fast. Painless. Cody’s armor is gone, helmet set aside, all the soft parts he’d once known and touched and loved laid out for him. A Jedi would not take a life, but the Jedi are gone because of Cody and his brothers, because of the Empire they serve, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan—

He pulls the blaster from his hip and sets it down on the floor.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Cuyan.”

Cody blinks at him sadly, trembling with stifled sobs. “That’s not my name. Please, Obi-Wan, I—can you just fucking get it over with? Don’t waste your time. Just—it’s fucking inefficient, yeah?”

“How many other clones have escaped?”

“What? Maybe… a couple squads worth. Rex broke me out. He and—he saved Tano, did you know? They’re working together. Wolffe, too, he broke free. But other than them… I don’t know. Less than a hundred. Most of us are dead now, and the rest are marching dead in the Empire.”

“So you and I are both the last remnants, then,” Obi-Wan says, stepping closer hesitantly. “The last survivors of our murdered peoples. How clever of the Sith to destroy us both so easily.”

“Guess so. It’s not—I try not to think about it. Just keep fighting, like during the war. If I’m fighting the Empire, if I’m working to make up for what we did… at least my surviving means something then. Stars know I don’t deserve to still be here. But I try.”

“You were always better than I was. Ever since the Empire, I have been sitting in a hovel feeling sorry. You… Cody, I thought you had—that everything we shared together was a lie. That the man I knew had never truly been there. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? You—you’re the same Cody I knew. You always have been.”

Cody shakes his head, his laugh wet and broken. “Nah. Got turned into twenty-two-twenty-four for a few years in the middle there.”

“Oh, piss off,” Obi-Wan sighs, pulling his helmet off and dropping it to the floor, wiping away his own tears. “It’s you. Cody. My friend. My lover. Cody.”

“That’s m’name, yeah, what—“ Cody breaks off with a little squeak as Obi-Wan sweeps him up into an embrace, hugging him tightly to his chest. It’s strange, being the one in armor when Cody’s halfway out of his, and the press of their bodies together is unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but it’s Cody. His Cody, who had never truly turned on him, who had been forced to serve the Empire, his mind wiped away. His Cody, and perhaps the possessiveness is unbecoming of a Jedi, but there are so few Jedi left these days.

They stay like that, clinging tight to each other, tears soaking into armor and skin, faces pressed close and desperate. Their breath mingles as Cody adjusts them into a proper keldabe, his hand twisting needy through Obi-Wan’s hair. Obi-Wan just holds him, sobbing with relief. He still has someone. He still has Cody. He isn’t alone anymore. He isn’t—he isn’t alone. Cody is here. Cody is his, the friend he’d loved so dearly, the man he’d known and lost and now found again.

Eventually, Cody speaks up. “Uh. Obi-Wan. Still bleeding? Not that I mind the hug, but—”

“Of course, sorry, my apologies. Let’s get that fixed up.”

They part reluctantly, hands slipping slow over each other as they draw away, much in the same way that magnets fear separation, clinging to every bit they can get. Obi-Wan pushes Cody back down onto the crate, exchanging his gloves for clean ones and dressing the wound. It is easier now to see the things he’d missed, to see the faint shine of familiar scars and hints of well-known tattoos over Cody’s exposed side. Carefully, he dresses the wound, first with bacta-soaked gauze to help it heal, then with a layer of plain gauze to keep it clean, taping the edges down and pressing the adhesive in. Cody helps a little, keeping his arm out of the way and bringing his other hand over to help hold the dressing in place.

It is so achingly familiar that Obi-Wan nearly starts crying again. How many times have he and Cody dressed each other’s wounds, bandaging each other up, until finally the wounds could no longer be fixed? Until Cody shot him down, until the Jedi were killed, until Obi-Wan risked his life and hurt Cody in his recklessness.

They’d learned each other so well that every injury cuts surgically precise, every wrong they’ve done to each other terrifying in its efficiency of pain. How else could they be? They have known each other only in war, and known that too well to love peacefully.

“I can’t come with you, when we get back,” Cody says, his hand brushing against Obi-Wan’s as he lays in the last bits of the dressing. “You… have your own mission, don’t you? Something I can’t know about?”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t—“

“Just because the control chip got cut out of my head doesn’t mean the Empire couldn’t make me talk. Don’t tell me anything. It’d put us both at risk.”

“There is a mission,” Obi-Wan says hesistantly, peeling off his gloves and sitting back. “A duty that I have, that I cannot abandon. This was… more an excursion, really, a temporary respite for my own sanity. But I cannot leave my work, and you should not leave yours.”

“I’d like to come with you,” Cody says gently. His eyes are still wet with tears, and once perhaps Obi-Wan would have kissed away the sadness there, but the years and the cruelties of the Empire have changed them both. “Believe me, Obi-Wan, I would like nothing more than to stay at your side, whether it was fighting the Empire or just… sitting on your front porch with tea, bickering about laundry. But you have your duty, and I have my own.”

Obi-Wan smiles sadly, taking Cody’s hands in his and stripping off his gloves to feel the warmth of his skin. “As it ever was. In another life, perhaps there will be time for us. Perhaps there will be peace, and we can finally love each other properly.”

“May I kiss you?” Cody asks, hushed with reverence and brimming with emotion.

In lieu of a response, Obi-Wan leans in and cups his face with one hand, pressing their lips together gentle and firm, other hand still clasping Cody’s. It isn’t the romantic exchanges or long passionate hours they’d once shared with each other. There isn’t time for that anymore, nor are they the same people who once shared a bunk and formwork on the Negotiator. This is something new, familiar and strange all at once, a kiss that is the two of them as they are now, discovered anew in each other’s arms.

“You can find me, if you try,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pulling away just enough to press his forehead against Cody’s. “The Empire can’t, I should hope, but you have always been more brilliant than they gave you credit for. If you need me, I will be there.”

“I’ll see you again before that, love,” Cody says, the huff of his laugh soft and tickling over Obi-Wan’s face. “You’ll get restless, as you do, and you’ll get Alye or Organa or Tano to bring you back in for a mission, and we’ll work together same as we always did. Maybe you follow my plans next time around, yeah? But I’ll see you soon. I know it.”

“Have it your way, I suppose. I do think I could manage quite a while without—“

“You went eight years, and that was without knowing I was yours. I give it a year at most.”

“Don’t grow too impatient, waiting for me,” Obi-Wan teases. “I’m a Jedi, darling, I could wait for you forever.”

“Hmm. Well. Let’s not, yeah?”

“Oh, fine. If you insist.”

“I do,” Cody says, lips curving up into a smile, and he kisses Obi-Wan again. “Insist, I mean. I’ll see you soon. K’oyacyi, yeah? Don’t die without me there to curse you out for it.”

“I’d never dream of it, my dear.”

And so they separate again. Cody replaces his helmet, Obi-Wan does the same, and the two of them change into their proper armor. Obi-Wan hands the padawan, poor trembling thing, off to the medics of the Rebellion, and Cody writes out his after-action report. Alye looks at them knowingly, teasing laughter in her eyes, and Obi-Wan wonders if this was her doing. Probably. Well, he shan’t complain.

All too soon, Obi-Wan leaves. He presses his farewell into Cody’s lips and skin, promising as much as he can with the knowledge of how easily they could lose each other, and Cody watches as his ship takes off, helmet tilted back with a smile.

Tatooine is miserable compared to the joy he’d found, but it is his duty. He has never complained, and now there is some happiness to keep him company in his solitude. One day, Luke will avenge the Jedi and destroy the Sith, and one day, Obi-Wan will have time. Time and peace, to share with Cody, to finally love each other as they yearn for.

Until then, he waits.