Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something in the sky exploded, raining down shrapnel and metal and the remains of whichever unfortunate soul had been in the cockpit. Despite the knowledge that all this was just one loud, terrifying dream, it still made Commander Cody— Cody —flinch. He wasn’t a Commander anymore, he reminded himself. 

He dreamt about the war a lot. Blaster fire, explosions, mud, blood, the shouts of his brothers. This planet looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place his finger on the name. The ground was muddy—part marsh, part shore, part bog, with large fields of tall grass providing minimal cover. Not exactly ideal. An endless barrage of battle droids approached, which the Republic’s own forces had yet to put a dent in. The trick to battle droids was that, individually, they were practically harmless. But in groups like this, upwards of a hundred? They could overwhelm an enemy in a heartbeat by simply wearing them out. 

Somehow, through the deafening noise, Cody made out someone calling his name. He looked around, and his eyes fell on a tangle of tall wet grass. A face he hadn’t seen in a long time frowned at him, contorting his well-groomed ginger beard. Strange, how Obi-Wan Kenobi managed to look so put together (despite the mud) in the midst of a battlefield. 

“Yes, General?” He heard himself say. General Kenobi’s face, slathered in cold mud, looked surprisingly detailed for a dream. Every strand of hair, even the glint of blues in his eyes, was exact. Maybe his brain was getting better at this stuff as a way to cope. Kenobi just kept frowning.

“What on Mandalore are you doing, Cody!?” came his strained Coruscanti drawl. “Get down!”

Right. He was standing out in the open, wasn’t he? But it wasn’t exactly as if he had to be careful. He’d wake up any minute and be dragged into that room. 

So maybe staying ‘alive’ wasn’t such a bad idea after all—the more time spent asleep, the better. 

Cody dove for cover behind the tall grass, blaster fire immediately filling the place he had stood moments ago. Slippery mud tugged the ground from under him, sending him crashing shoulder-first into his General, who just looked at him curiously---if not slightly concerned. He opened his mouth, as if about to ask something, but Cody beat him to it.

“Sorry, General,” Cody said hurriedly, looking at his hands—now slathered in mud—that were beginning to ache with cold. “It’s been a while since—”

Overhead, something else became a billion pieces. Once he, the General, and the handful of clones with them lifted their heads again, Kenobi shot him another look. Again, surprisingly detailed.

“Lead these men past the crest and to the rendezvous point, Commander. I’ll head East with Boil’s group, and we’ll go around the Seperatist’s blockade, understand?”

Cody looked to where the General was pointing: A crest on the other side of a wide open stretch of bog. Just looking at it made him wince. It was coming back to him now: He’d done this before. Nearer the end of the Clone War than the beginning, he thought. He also thought he remembered this particular battle ending in… losses.

Don't they all?

“No,” Cody heard himself say, more to himself than the General, “They had an ambush waiting for us. Only a few of us got out. Me and… I can’t remember.” He looked back at dream-Kenobi, who's eyebrows were furrowed tightly, as if Cody was speaking a different language. “We’ll all go East.”

For a moment, it seemed as though General Kenobi was going to scold him—Cody would have. He was speaking out of turn. But he didn't have time to bite his tongue, considering that, at any moment, he was going to be pulled back into reality—into the Empire’s dark cellblock. And he certainly didn't need to relive this battle---not if he could change the outcome, even just a little bit.

Cody swallowed as the General finally turned away, nodding at the group of clones.

"You heard Commander Cody. We're all headed East." Following Kenobi's gesture towards the grass, his brothers sprang into action, moving hurriedly East—not caring for the noise they were making. All of it was covered up by the Separatists barrage of blasterfire, anyway. Cody rose to a crouch and got as close to the top of the grass as he dared, peering just above the yellow blades. Every little thing was so detailed, from the distant dents and scorch marks on the droids to the detail on the wing of a ladybug inches from his nose. 

Someone pulled his arm. 

“Commander Cody?” It was General Kenobi, eyebrows furrowed together. Over his General’s shoulder, Cody could make out the backs of his brothers, already disappearing into the grass. They were, all things considered, alone. “My friend, are you alr—”

Something behind Cody exploded.

***

The alarm was dull. 

He hadn’t expected them to set an alarm. Maybe it would come hourly, to make sure he never got any real rest. It was as good an interrogation tactic as any, sleep deprivation. Cody turned over, pulling the blanket up to his chin. 

They could give it their best shot. 

I am CC-2224. I am the Marshal Commander of the 212th attack battalion. My name is Cody. 

He repeated the mantra they taught back on Kamino. Even if it wasn't all true anymore, it had gotten him this far. It was two days since the Empire picked him up. Cody was thrown into the cells reserved for deserters, traitors, and spies. That’s what he was now. A deserter. 

And still, the alarm held Cody just on the verge of sleep. He pulled up the thin blanket over his head now, trying to block out the noise. His head hurt with every movement. Probably because of the dehydration. Or the torture.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hearing footsteps nearby. Someone was coming, probably to drag him back to an interrogation room.

How many of your brothers have you tried to turn?

What do you know about other traitors and deserters?

H ave you been in contact with any other rebel cells?

Well, he’d gotten through the war. He could get through the Empire.

“Karking… kark !” muttered a voice that made Cody question if the Empire had already broken him. Cody pried his eyes open, staring not at a ratty brown rag, but a white linen blanket, bright fluorescent light bleeding through the thin fabric. 

“I swear, when I get my hands on those droids…” Came the same approaching, disgruntled voice.

Groggy and a touch lower, that same unmistakable voice came from somewhere else: “They’ve all got their hands full with that short circuit in the—”

“How many blasted times do I have to tell them? This is a bloody medbay, where soldiers need sleep!” A loud clanging of someone hitting metal against metal and then… silence. “Once you get that foot healed up, Pacer, I’ll give you ten credits to grab one of those clankers, drag them here, and hold a blaster to their head till they fix my karking medbay!”

Cody sucked in a breath, pulling away the blanket and attempting to sit up. Big mistake—the brightness forced his eyes shut and he could feel the world do a somersault. Not to mention that the drumming behind his eyes became a sharp stab. 

“For Force’s—slow down, Commander,” came the voice, closer now. Then a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him to a more comfortable position. Cody tried to open his eyes again. More importantly than the fluorescent white of the Negotiator’s medbay was the face—with a trio of nasty scars on his chin—of Levy, who’d been dead for more than a year. He'd recognize that foul mouth anywhere---he'd been subject to many a disappointed rant about his habit of skipping out on rations and working too much. “You got hit in the head pretty bad with some shrapnel,” he said, shining a small light in Cody’s eyes, acting completely normal. Like he wasn’t supposed to be dead. Like he hadn’t stepped on a hidden thermal detonator trying to get to a wounded brother. Like he hadn’t been blown to bits in under a second. “Yeah. Concussion, all right. You were lucky. By the severity of it, whatever hit you must’ve been big. Sharp, too, no doubt. If you weren’t hit by a blunt edge, well… we wouldn't be having this conversation.” 

Every instinct told him to panic. Every instinct said the Empire had finally broken him. This was a hallucination. A nightmare. A way to cope. Dreams like this didn’t usually last this long. The pain he felt during them wasn’t sharp, wasn’t real. 

What was the last thing he remembered? Well, that was easy—being thrown back into his cell. Crawling into the corner. Passing out. 

Then, he was standing in the middle of a battlefield, covered in mud and blood.

Cody scrunched his eyes and gave his head a small shake. Levy, alive. There was a funny thought. Behind the medic, across the room, was another clone. Pacer, the one with the bad foot. And Trapper, fast asleep, in the cot beside him and a bandage around his arm. More clones lay in rest further into the medbay. About two-thirds of the men Cody recognized would be dead in, at most, two years. But for a room full of dead people, it was surprisingly lively.

“You’re ali—” He tried to say, interrupting Levy’s ramblings about how close he'd been to death, but found his throat impossibly dry. Without a word, Levy handed him a cup of water, supporting his head as he gulped it down. He hadn't had a drink since before the Empire picked him up. Holding the cup in his hands, he noticed something else. His hands and arms weren’t covered with lashes and cuts and bruises and scars. Not the ones he’d sustained in the later parts of the war, at least. Not the ones the Empire’d inflicted before bringing him, barely clinging onto consciousness, back to his cell an hour ago.

He must have been staring at his hands for a while, because Levy looked concerned when he finally pulled his eyes back to the medic. At least, Cody thought it was concern. It was hard to tell through the fog that was making his brain feel mushy. 

“You okay, Commander?” He asked, lowering his voice just a little. “If you need something for the pain—”

He was going crazy, Cody concluded as Levy’s voice became white noise. He was completely losing it. Everything felt too vivid—the whirring of the ship, the faint tremble of metal as it was propelled through space… the crisp, filtered air… the stench of alcohol and medicine and a faint, barely concealed tinge of blood… the hastily, half-heartedly cleaned residue of mud. The fresh white sheets.

Levy was still standing beside the bed, smiling slightly. But mostly, he wore his signature look of concern and mild annoyance—and expectancy, Cody realized. 

“I’m fine,” Cody struggled out, his own mouth feeling foreign. Like he was an intruder. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” He tried again, more convincingly. Then he caught himself—he was going crazy. He didn’t need to convince anyone of anything. “What, uh…” He was handling this whole thing surprisingly well, Cody thought. He wasn’t panicking. Sure, his hands were trembling, and the air felt strangely thick, but he was keeping it together. That was good, at least. Levy, still standing beside the bed, raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir?”

“How long has it been?”

Levy’s thin frown deepened. “You’ve been unconscious for about twelve hours.”

“No. The, uh, war.”

“Maybe I should take another scan of your brain,” Levy narrowed his eyes, looking down at his datapad. “Healthy soldiers don’t usually ask what year it is.”

“That isn’t what I said.” Maybe it was a trick—some new drug engineered to get traitors to lower their guard, to say things they wouldn’t otherwise.

“You did, implicitly. I’ve dealt with enough injured soldiers to know when one of you doesn’t want to admit just how hurt you are.” Levy sighed, setting down the datapad and crossing his arms. Hallucinations don’t usually talk back—then again, Levy was always more snarky than other troopers. Being a medic did that to clones—made their tongues looser around superior officers.  “You know your name?”

“Yes.”

“Your number and rank?”

“Yes.” 

“Can you tell me what ship you’re o—”

“I don’t have amnesia, Levy!” Cody snapped, admittedly harsher than he’d meant to be. Even if the man he was talking to wasn’t real… It still felt real. He still felt bad.

Okay, maybe all this was starting to get to him. Just a little bit.

Levy held up his hands. “Hey, okay, I believe you, Cody," he tried for a smile, but it didn't suit him. "How about you tell me how you’re feeling?”

Cody frowned, the pain behind his eyes returning.

“I don’t know.” He really didn’t. “Fine, I guess.”

Hallucination, trick, or nightmare… the Empire was listening. Any information could be valuable information. But on the other hand, every moment he spent in this dream was a moment free from pain. Real pain. The sort of pain that would even make someone like Cody talk. If the Empire knew he caught on to their trick, they might pull him out of whatever this is. They might bring him back to that room. Still, it sent a pang of pain through his heart, seeing his dead brothers used like this and being unwilling to say anything. Their images and faces, tricks to get him to talk. It made him angry. He should be cursing out the Empire, showing them they can’t get to him like this. But what would that do? It’d just make them try harder.

“Look, Codes, I really think I should take another scan. The General said you were acting a bit weird before your head injury, so there may be something else g—”

“I am fine.” 

“Right, well…” The medic sighed, before turning away to tend to some other ‘sick soldier’. “I’ll tell the General you're awake. And let me know if anything comes back to you, Sir.”

Right. The General. If this really was more than a long, bad dream, then that meant Cody couldn’t even trust him . Cody grit his teeth and felt his hands tighten into fists under the soft linen covers. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

I am CC-2224. I am the Marshal Commander of the 212th attack battalion. My name is Cody.

I am CC-2224. I am the Marshal Commander of the 212th attack battalion. My name is Cody.

I am CC-2224. I am the Marshal Commander of the 212th attack battalion. My name is Cody.

***

Needless to say, Commander Cody didn’t sleep. Back on Kamino, as younglings, they’d been trained in mimicking a human’s sleep patterns. The Kaminoans had said it might help them on certain espionage missions. Most of them, exhausted by constant drills and training exercises, had taken it as an opportunity to take a nap. 

But even Cody, who had aced most of his training on Kamino—including the mock sleeping—got restless sometimes. After about an hour and a half of lying with his eyes shut, trying to corral his brain into calmness again, Cody gave up. He sat up, unconsciously ripping at his fingernails, his tired eyes darting around the medbay. Watching brothers come and go; laugh; smile. Dead men, everywhere he looked. Levy passed by occasionally, offering Cody more encouraging looks. ‘Talk to me’, he said with everything but his mouth. 

Levy was too experienced to be fooled by three short words. 'I am fine' might fool a Shiny, but not him—too much experience dealing with the war's worst casualties. He knew when something was wrong. But what exactly was wrong? Of course Cody was somewhere he shouldn’t be, that went without saying, but where exactly was ‘here’? 

There were three options, Cody decided, sorting his disjointed thoughts into three categories.

The first was that this was a dream. His mind, so exhausted by the Empire’s search for information, needed escape. His brain had flung his consciousness into a very long, very detailed dream. He would wake up, in time.

The second was that this was the Empire’s doing—an interrogation tactic, probably a drug. Dig into his memories and make him comfortable, make him feel safe enough to talk. In this case, they were listening to absolutely everything, and nobody could be trusted. 

The last was, perhaps, the scariest. He was going crazy. That’s all there was to that one. 

Cody looked down at his hands and continued to pick at the raw and bloody skin around his nails. It was uncanny how clear the pain was.

Staying here was a good thing—a better thing—than waking up, because it meant he was ‘safe.’ But he’d have to go back eventually. And then what? The Empire would break him, that was a given. Whether or not he’d talk was a different question—but whatever ended up happening, by the end of it, Cody wouldn’t be the same. He’d either be sent to a labour camp, or one of those programs he’d heard rumours about. Medical facilities that took clones, experimenting on them… reconditioning in new ways…

Force, it was a stupid idea to go on that mission with Rex. He had known it was a bad idea—he had known his head wasn’t in the game. So what had made him agree to it? Pride? Arrogance? Fear? Did it matter?

“Morning, Commander.” Steady walked past, giving Cody a smile and a nod, oblivious to Cody’s unrest. He stopped suddenly, turning on his heel and pointing a finger at his Commander. “Right, Sir, the General said to tell you that he’s sorry he hasn’t stopped by yet. Busy dealing with some Jedi business, I guess. He’s been in meetings for hours.” Cody watched Steady move on, then stop at the foot of Pacer’s bed and spark up conversation. Steady was one of the clones who Cody would have led over the crest. He’d been killed in the Separatist’s ambush, back in the war. But not now, now he was alive. 

Looking back down at his hands, Cody swore. A pinprick of blood had touched the linen, blooming into a small red blotch. And just like that, his hands were trembling again, madly, with adrenaline that should have faded hours ago. In an instant, Levy was beside him. With a quick glance and a frown, Levy pulled the curtain around Cody’s cot shut, muffling the rest of the med bay’s noise, leaving him and the Commander alone. 

Kriff . This would be fun. Cody could see the rant coming from a mile away. But, surprisngly... Levy just crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow.

"Is something the matter, Levy?" Cody raised his chin. It had been a while since he'd had to play Commander, but it felt strangely easy. Natural, and comforting. Like he was regaining something he didn't know he'd lost.

“You’ve been sitting there, staring, for hours. Not to mention the first few you spent trying to fool me into thinking you were asleep." There it was. "Did something happen out there? Or…” Levy’s face softened. “If anything’s going on, you can talk to me, Cody. Doctor patient confidentiality, and all that. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

Cody closed his eyes. The darkness felt nice. He was suddenly exhausted, like only then, in the privacy of his own curtain, would his body let the day catch up to him.

“Everything's mixed up." The words just slipped out. He internally cursed himself—he’d better watch his tongue, especially if this were option two. Levy sighed, accepting the lack of a real answer.

“Well, you do have a really bad concussion, Commander. Head injuries are weird. They do weird things to you,” he said. “I’d give you your own room, but they’re all taken by the critical cases. I’ll dim the lights in this section, keep the curtain drawn, and ask the others to try to keep it down. Okay?”

Napping wouldn’t exactly give the Empire valuable information. He supposed there wasn’t any harm in letting himself drift off for a few minutes…

“Thank you.” Cody felt his shoulders slump. There was a fourth option: He really had just hit his head. Maybe the confusion before the explosion was just… shock. 

It wouldn’t be the first time this war broke someone, not by a long shot. 

“But if, at any point, something happens that you think isn’t the concussion, but something else… tell me. I can help. Oh, and let me take a look at that,” Levy pointed to Cody’s mangled fingernails. “You don’t want to get an infection.”

With that, Levy left in a flutter of white curtain, off to grab some alcohol wipes. Cody lay back on the cot, staring at the ceiling. If he closed his eyes, he still felt like he was in that musty cell. He could still feel the warm, sticky blood running down his cheek. The hunger gnawing at his stomach. The sting of every cut and lash on his skin. The crusted mud and dirt and… and the tightness in his chest, the tremble in his hands… the guilt, the regret, the hopelessness of it all when he remembered the war…

When he opened his eyes, Cody was still on the cot.

Chapter Text

After a battle, Cody often found the prospect of sleep laughable. But the next day? He’d usually spend the next 24-hours passed out from an adrenaline crash. His initial surge of anxiety had dulled, and like always, he found it easier to let his guard down. The bandages on his fingers forcing him to stop dwelling on the anxiety was a bonus, too. It was strange, ‘sleeping’, knowing full well that he wasn’t really sleeping. But it sure felt real, the heaviness of his eyelids… the warmth… it felt real enough that, occasionally, Cody would forget that the medbay around him—with all its muted, friendly chatter—couldn’t possibly be real. But then someone would laugh suddenly, or drop something with a loud clatter, and he’d be jolted awake wondering if he was back in his cell. 

During the Clone Wars, he slept in the barracks with his brothers. While with the Empire, he’d been forced to sleep in his own private quarters, like a proper Commander. Once he’d gone AWOL, he’d shared a room with a few other clones who were part of the uprising, to conserve space. And here he was again, sleeping surrounded by his brothers. 

He didn’t know how long it had been since the Empire picked him up, alongside another ‘traitor’. The four of them—Rex, Cody, Puck, and Howzer—had been trying to get their hands on top-secret coordinates from one of the Empire's outposts when… well, a door closed with Cody and Puck on one side and Howzer and Rex on the other. Time gets funny when you have no concept of day or night. But, if he’d have to guess, he'd say that was two days ago. That two-day estimate wasn't including the amount of time he'd been in this fever-dream which, Cody guessed, boosted his estimate closer to three or four days. But there was no real way of knowing, since he couldn’t be sure how long he’d slept in the handful of times he’d been able to drift off. But the sleeps weren’t restful and he hadn’t dreamt since arriving, so it was unlikely they’d been very long. Rex and Howzer would be back at the base by now. And Puck could very well be on the other side of his cell wall. Maybe Puck was living through his memories, too, of his time in the 327th with General Secura. He didn't talk about it much, but he'd been there when she was killed---was he living through that moment, or did the Empire bringing him back further, like Cody?

This line of thought made his chest tight, so he scrunched up his eyes and thought about something else.

Levy had kept his word—the curtain stayed drawn, the lights stayed dim, and the area around his makeshift-room was filled with the murmurs of clones trying to keep their voices down. Cody was grateful. Not only did it ease the headache, but it also gave him some much-needed space to breathe. But there was no escape that stench of cleaning solution.

Jury was still out on what exactly was going on, but it’s not like he’d have to content with the confusion for long. When he woke up—or snapped out of it, or when the drugs wore off—he’d know, and it wouldn’t matter. 

He was lost in thoughts like these, drifting in and out of sleep, for a very long time. He caught snippets of conversation from beyond the curtain. Mundane, forgettable, normal conversation.

“...met the new Shinies yet? Really? Well, let me tell you, there's this one who…”

“...got good aim, but I can’t remember the last time I actually hit a kriffing clanker! It’s like the universe just doesn’t want to…”

“Yeah, it hurts when—ow! Yeah, doc, when I do that.”

“What’s say you we blow this place and head to the caf? I hear there’s soup today!”

It was nice to just listen. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed all this till... there was another voice, a very familiar, very non-clone voice, somewhere in the ocean of noise. Cody tensed, straining to hear the murmuring just outside the curtain, near the foot of his bed—they were whispering. 

Cody frowned. Whispering was never a good sign.

“...ask at all? Not even about the men?” Cody could imagine General Kenobi, stroking his beard, a concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“No. Not about the mission, the casualties, not even you.” The second voice probably belonged to Levy. 

“And you’re positive it’s just a concussion? He was acting rather strange, even before.”

“No, but knowing the Commander, he’ll want out of here as soon as he can stand. Maybe if—.” A pause, frantic whispering between Levy and a new, third party. “Kriff. That is bad. Er, General, I’m sorry but they need me in one of the trauma rooms. I have to—”

“Don’t let me keep you. Is it alright if I talk to him?”

“If you… oh, yeah, sure. If he’s awake, that is.” Levy’s voice faded as he disappeared into the rest of the medbay’s chatter. One second passed. Another. Then the curtain was gently pulled open. At this point, Cody was sitting up. Meeting his eyes, General Kenobi smiled, making the faint wrinkles around his eyes deepen. Off the battlefield, with time to really scrutinize his General, Cody stood by his original assessment: Eerily, amazingly detailed. It was Kenobi, all right. 

He tried not to remember the way his General fell, in a flutter of brown, from the cliff in Utapau. Cody found himself remembering it anyway, and wiped his clammy palms on the white sheet.

“Good evening, Commander.” 

“Evening?” Cody frowned. If he’d slept a few hours, shouldn’t it be morning now? Unless he’d…

“You were out for twenty-four hours, according to the doctor.” So it had been one of those undisturbed, dreamless sleeps born from true exhaustion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one of those. But then again, it’s not like he was actually asleep. This meant he’d been in this ‘dream’ for just under two days. Well, if time worked the same. Maybe it had been ten minutes, in the real world. Maybe ten years. “I think that may just be the longest sleep of your life.”

It didn’t feel like it. Everything was sore, and his head still felt like it was underwater. 

“Probably,” he said anyway. Kenobi gave a fragile smile. The hours after a battle, especially one with high casualties, were always rough on the General. He needed to be everywhere—debriefing the Jedi council, if the mission was especially important. Checking with the medics to make sure they weren’t out of supplies. Filling out casualty reports. Signing off on inventory updates. Deciding which shuttles need maintenance, which should be scrapped… Not to mention eating, sleeping… holding the hands of the men who weren’t going to make it. Providing a little solace in their final moments. 

And usually they could share these tasks, but with Cody out of the action? It was all on the General’s shoulders. 

And still, he was here, checking in on Cody who was far from a critical case. His vision drifted over Kenobi’s shoulder, to the stark white curtain. Silhouettes moved to and fro. 

Cody shifted, exhaling. Two days. He’d never had a dream so vivid, so long, so…

“Cody? I asked if you’re feeling alright.” His eyes snapped to Kenobi, who wore a concerned glint in his eyes. 

“Yes.” Cody tried for a smile of his own, but it didn’t last long. “How was the mission?” He asked, remembering the General’s short conversation with Levy. The more and more he thought about it, the less and less this felt like a dream. Option two was seeming more likely every second. That and option three, but Cody would only go down that path if it was the last one left.

“We made it around the blockade and cut their forces off from their commanders. After that, it was surprisingly easy to storm the base. You were there for the worst of it.”

“And how many casualties?”

“Too many. But, all things considered, surprisingly few. Seventeen confirmed dead.” Kenobi paused, and he seemed to deflate. Then he sighed. “There are seven more critical cases that Levy isn’t sure he can save, and nine more missing. I don’t doubt some just haven’t checked in with their Commanding Officers yet, but at least one is most likely…” 

Dead. Shot. With no witnesses to confirm it. 

Something seemed to occur to Kenobi, who took a step closer to Cody. “How did you know, my friend?” When Cody gave him a confused look, General Kenobi continued. “The ambush. While we passed them, our comms interfered with some of the Separatists. We overheard a transmission. You were right. They were waiting.”

Oh. Right. The absent-minded remark that had saved lives. Cody thought about the numbers Kenobi listed—they were lower than he remembered. Much lower. 

Cody shrugged in response. “I just had a bad feeling about it.”

For the first time in a very, very long time, Cody saw his General laugh. Even if it was just a chuckle, it sent a shock through Cody. The last time Kenobi had smiled like that, with genuine humour, had been Utapau. Cody swallowed, but for once, General Kenobi didn’t seem to pick up on his discomfort.

“Still, it was quite the guess.” he continued to stroke his beard. “If you ever get one of those bad feelings again, Commander, do us all a favour and speak up. I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t.”

Lucky for Cody, he didn’t have to try to imagine. The image of Steady walking past his bed filled Cody’s mind, alongside a very clear image of the same brother dropping as the first clanker fired, hidden by the tall yellow grass. 

A wave of sickness crashed over him—somewhere out there, in the real world, what remained of Steady was still in that grass. They hadn’t had time to collect their dead. They just had time to run. 

For a second, Cody thought he just might vomit.

Whether General Kenobi sensed the change in Cody through the Force or by the look on his face didn’t matter. He took another step closer.

“Apologies if I said something… shall I fetch Levy, or…?”

He felt a humourless smile drift over his face. It was funny how oblivious Kenobi could be sometimes. He was well meaning, but there were some things he just didn’t see sometimes. Or, at least, things he didn’t let on about seeing. Rex had shared many stories about General Skywalker’s and Senator Amidala’s close calls with Kenobi. Though Cody got the sense that Kenobi definitely knew more about that particular subject than he let on to Skywalker, especially considering the quick, quiet, knowing looks he shot at Commander Tano whenever Anakin suddenly had an important call to take. Commander Tano… There was someone he hadn’t thought about in a long time. She’d survived Order 66—that much he knew thanks to Rex—but that had been a while ago. Was she okay now? And nobody had seen General Skywalker since… that day. The files said he was dead, but was he really? Cody glanced at Kenobi, who was again looking at him expectantly. They shot down the General, that was for sure. But they never checked for a body. And he’d heard rumours about a transmission sent from the Jedi temple, by—

“My friend, what’s going on?” Kenobi sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his heavy cloak to the side. The movement, though not touching Cody at all, was strangely intimate. Or maybe Cody just wasn’t used to being worried about. 

Cody opened his mouth, but caught himself. This was it—this was the Empire, getting him to lower his guard. They wanted him to say how confused he was, eventually discussing the clone rebellion, and their plans, and every little grisly detail they knew about the Empire. 

Confident now that this wasn’t a dream, but really a trick, Cody clamped his mouth shut. 

“Really, Sir, it’s just the concussion. I’m fine.”

Kenobi sighed, face unreadable. That was one thing they’d nailed about his old General. Sometimes, he was an open book to all, wearing his emotions clearly on his face—other times, there would be an impenetrable wall, cutting his thoughts off from the rest of the world. Cody had even, on occasion, overheard other Jedi (particularly Skywalker) complain about this fact. 

“Well, if you say so,” Kenobi clipped, voice more confused than angry. “I’m glad you’re alright, Commander Cody. I’ll try to visit again, when I have the time.”

“There’s no need, Sir,” Cody said, feeling restlessness re-enter his tired body. He’d been sitting too long. “I doubt I’ll be cooped up here too much longer, anyway. The real work only starts after the fight.” If the Empire thought they could keep him in this bed, they’d be sorely mistaken. At that, a thin smile returned to Kenobi’s face. For a moment, Cody was confused, but then he realized that’s something the old Cody would have said. It made him smile, too. Kenobi just nodded, backing away from the bed. 

“Good to know that a head injury won’t change some things.” Kenobi disappeared beyond the curtain, once again leaving Cody alone. 

***

The bright light made him wince. Levy sighed, putting down the small flashlight and tapping into his datapad. 

“It’s going to take a lot more time for your brain to fully heal, considering we don’t have bacta patches for the inside of your skull.” Levy chewed his lip, puzzling something out, as Cody tried not to seem too impatient. There wasn’t much difference between a cellblock and the medbay, especially if the Empire was behind both. One thing that Cody could do here that he couldn’t there was walk around. 

If Levy would let him.

“I really don’t think you should be walking,” Levy finally said, putting down his datapad. “I want to keep you on bed rest for one more night . Tomorrow, I’ll assign someone to walk with you. I’d only feel comfortable letting you go back to the barracks after, I don’t know, one more night here. Just to monitor you, make sure you’re…your concussion is improving.”

Which was code for ‘I still don’t trust you’re OK’

Cody found himself angry—it felt weird. He got annoyed at medics a lot, but because he always knew, deep down, they were right. 

It’s not Levy. He reminded himself. It’s the Empire wearing his face.

Levy is dead.

“I’m not a shell shocked Shiny.” Cody crossed his arms. He realized he looked like a petulant child and quickly uncrossed them. Just because this wasn’t real didn’t mean his dignity wasn’t, either. 

“It’s not that, I just want to make sure—”

“All I want is to stretch my legs,” Cody insisted. “I won’t go to the caf, or the barracks, or the training halls. I’ll do one lap of the floor and then come straight back.”

He felt like a youngling on Kamino again, negotiating for more time before light’s-out. No matter how much he pleaded, it was always futile. 

The real question was, how badly did the Empire value controlling him? Or would they let… whatever this is… go along with whatever he asked, with the hope it would eventually drop his guard?

Levy stared at him, a crease between his eyebrows. He began to shake his head. “I just can’t… what if—”

“What if I fall? I’ll be thirty seconds away. Someone will find me.”

“Fine! One lap, here to the elevator, and then back again. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes, round trip. And don’t think I won’t be timing you,” he relented. Levy seemed like a toughie on the outside, but if you pushed back on him just a little bit, he’d cave. 

Levy’s dead. Right. The Empire. 

Cody couldn’t stop himself from smiling in relief, as the medbay was starting to feel suffocating. Even just a short walk would be a much-needed break from the reek of alcohol and blood. He thanked Levy and—admittedly, with some help—stood for the first time in two days. His legs were sore, but at least they weren’t cramping.

He took one step outside the medbay and felt the world spin, but he managed to stabilize himself with a hand on the doorway. He could still feel Levy’s eyes on him, so he turned and did his best to smile at the lingering medic as the world stopped spinning. Then he walked, every step taking him further from that room of dead faces. But in the short two and a half minute walk from the medbay to the elevator, he managed to run into quite a few clones like Levy, clones who Cody was very sure were dead. Cody had crossed paths with some after Order 66. Most, he hadn’t seen since Order 66. The Empire shuffled most battalions around. He’d heard that they’d done it to make sure all the soldiers had was the Empire—break up relationships and pacts. Make them just like droids. 

Cody reached the elevator, turned on his heel, and retraced his steps. He kept his gaze forward, unconsciously ignoring the salutes of passing brothers.

What he needed was a plan. A good plan always came from laying out what you knew about the enemy, and more importantly, what you didn’t know. 

Cody knew— suspected —that this was all a trick from the Empire. He knew he was really in his cell, or maybe some other, special room. He knew that Rex and the other clones would only come for him if they could afford to. Which they all knew they couldn’t. So that left Cody on his own. 

What didn’t he know? He didn’t know the technology—or wizardry—behind the Empire’s trick. He didn’t know the layout of where he was, or where he was at all. What planet he was on, what system. Maybe he was on a ship. He didn’t know anything. 

Cody stopped in front of the medbay doors, savouring one last breath of unsanitized air. 

Of course, he only needed a plan if he wanted to escape. If he thought he could escape. All in all, his prospects seemed pretty grim at the moment. 

In the medbay, Levy glanced up from a clone's very blood arm, and his face melted with relief. 

And, of course, there was option three—never discount all possibilities. In the case of option three, he didn’t need a plan. If option three was real, then there wouldn’t be any harm in living in these memories. It might actually be kind of nice, to see his friends again.  His face fell. He couldn’t keep doing this, flip flopping between what was or wasn’t going on. Either he was crazy, or he might as well be in his cell again. Either the Empire pulls him out, or they don’t. 

And just like that, Cody had a plan.

Chapter Text

After returning from his short walk, Levy ushered him back to bed. But Cody stayed awake for a long time, thinking, refusing to sleep. Even after the lights dimmed and the handful of night-shift medics came in, Cody stayed awake; lying in bed, breathing steadily and staring at the dark ceiling. He wasn’t staying awake because he wasn’t tired—far from it. He felt exhausted. He stayed awake because he couldn’t bear to close his eyes. During this sleepless period of reflection, he realized that the word ‘plan’ would imply it was well-thought out. No, what he had was more of an idea. Or a test. 

Cody stilled as footsteps approached, then passed. It happened a few times during the War, where he wouldn’t see action for a week or two. Then, those first few seconds of blaster fire as he left the shuttle or emerged from behind cover felt like the world was caving in. And it had been years since he’d seen real, honest combat. Not storming forgotten Separatist strongholds, or rescuing diplomats, or breaking into Imperial bases, but war. 

He shouldn’t be here. Not in the medbay, nor the Empire’s cell. But he only saw a way out of one of those things. At first, it had seemed like a blessing—stay here as long as possible, avoid reality… though this place lacked physical pain, he didn’t exactly feel good being reminded of death everywhere he looked. It was a whole new kind of awful, for everyone else to be acting so normal, so alive. The war was over. He was supposed to have gotten through it. But lying in that cot, unable to shut his eyes without seeing… It didn’t feel that way anymore. He realized he was unconsciously ripping at the loose threads of the bandages on his fingers. Pain was one thing, but this was something else entirely. At least he could grit his teeth through the pain and gain some satisfaction from seeing his captors grow more frustrated. 

This? This was just wrong. This was torture. Even thinking about the lights coming up in a few hours, revealing those weary faces, those smiles, laughs… Cody sat up, setting his feet on the frozen tiled floor. The medbay had always been unnaturally chilly, but he didn’t realize how unbearable it had felt till then. A permanent chill had settled on his skin, goosebumps spreading out over his arms. At least it helped him stay awake. The curtains stayed drawn, shielding him from the rest of the quiet medbay. There was dim chatter between two medics—apart from that, there was only muted breathing and the electric hum of the Negotiator. 

Cody closed his eyes. Just to be safe, he pinched himself. As expected, nothing happened. He pinched his arm harder, digging his bandaged fingers into skin, not quite drawing blood. 

Nothing. 

His previous assumption that this was a dream seemed impossible now, after all this time, with all this detail. There goes option one, officially. 

Option two: A trick from the Empire, lower his guard, etcetera—he’d already wrung this line of thought dry. If this was a drug, then he’d just have to wait it out—but what if this was some sort of technology? Maybe another chip in his head? In the case of this being something the Empire could turn off, he had to figure out a way to get them to. But what would make them end this? What was one thing the Empire hated?

They hated when their enemies were really their equals. And what better way to one up the Empire than to show them he saw through their trick?

He kept his voice low, low enough that he could hardly hear himself over the ambient hum.

“This won’t work.” He listened for any sign he’d been heard—it still felt embarrassing, talking to himself. Even if he technically wasn’t. Cody tried again: “I know what this is. It - Won’t - Work.”

Silence. The hum of the ship. 

But they had to have heard—what sort of interrogation tactic would this be if they couldn’t hear the things he said? 

Patience, he reminded himself—something Kenobi always used to say to him. He couldn’t assume they’d pull him out immediately. Maybe they heard him, but didn’t believe him. Maybe he’d have to prove it. Or maybe…

Cody swallowed, but was unable to dislodge the lump in his throat. There were options one to three, the unlikely option three, and the impossible option four—an option he wouldn’t even contemplate until the previous three had been completely debunked. 

Cody sat on the edge of his cot for a while longer, doing little but listening. Any second, this would be all over. Any second turned into ten minutes, then thirty, then finally he climbed back into the bed whose sheets would begin to dampen with nervous sweat. The medbay was suddenly very hot, and very small.

***

Following another scan of his brain, Levy was far more easily convinced to let the Commander walk the next morning. In fact, he encouraged it, fueled by the positive improvement. He wasn’t cleared for work, though—Levy wanted Cody to take it easy for just one more day. Cody thought it was less about the concussion and more about the fact that this might be his only chance to convince the Commander to take some time off. Cody might have admired Levy’s tenacity, if it weren’t so annoying. A prisoner in the medbay, the past, and the Empire. This must be a record.

Not only did Cody gain the privilege of free roam, but he also gained the privilege of changing out of his hospital gown and back into his standard blacks. His armor was still forbidden by Levy.

“Not while you’re still off-duty. Don’t want anyone mistaking this for a return-to-action,” Levy had clipped, shutting down Cody’s protests. It was never fun walking around in your blacks. It was reserved for clones who, for typically unfortunate reasons, weren’t cleared for duty. To be a Shiny or an injured soldier was one thing, but to be a Commander out of uniform? It was downright humiliating. Still, that was one thing Levy couldn’t be swayed on. Judging from the thin smirk on the medic’s face as he turned away from Cody’s protests, he found it amusing. It’s not every day you saw your Commander squirm with discomfort. Another restriction was that Cody was not to be alone—walking to the elevator and back was one thing, but across the ship? To the barracks? That required supervision.

This is how Cody, dressed in nothing but his blacks, found himself in an all-too-familiar hallway walking for the sake of walking, trailed by an assistant medic. It was a silent trip. The medic kept his head bowed, typing away on his datapad, a few steps behind Cody; far enough that it didn’t look like he was following his Commander intentionally, but instead absentmindedly. 

Not for the first time, Cody found himself admiring just how amazing it really was, tracing a finger along the shiny metal wall. Everything was identical. Every crack, every smudge. It was uncanny. They passed more clones than Cody could remember knowing. He wasn’t one to forget a brother—he still didn’t know how he managed to remember the names of so many—but after all this time… either he had a better memory than he realized, or whatever the Empire was doing to him was digging deeper into his head than he’d thought. Heck, if the Empire could do this, maybe they didn’t even need him to give them information verbally—maybe they could read his thoughts. Cody felt a shiver run down his spine and banished the thought. That was impossible. Not even the Jedi could mind-read, not with such clarity, at least.

Cody approached the barracks, expecting the excitable chatter of soldiers basking in the few days of leisure. All he heard as he rounded the corner was an unmistakable quiet—and isolation of just a handful of strained voices. Nine times out of ten it meant there was a fight of some sort. Rarely was a hush like this vindictive of something good. When some clones were still riding the high from recent battle, dealing with tough emotions, or starting to get restless from being out of action, Cody would have to break up a lot of skirmishes. 

“Show a bit more respect, kid, yeah?” He heard the voice first, then quickened his pace, rounding the final corner and stepping into the large barracks before the medic could tell him he shouldn’t be ‘engaging in stressful activities’.

The barracks was a tall room filled with rows upon rows of bunk-beds with small dressers beside each. This was the largest of the barracks—the one reserved for those who weren’t part of a specialized company, higher rank, or who just enjoyed the company of a lot of brothers. In the centre of the room was a ‘communal’ space. Cody smiled at the memory of gathering here during shore leave, watching old holomovies. The dressers each contained a couple of sets of blacks per soldier, maybe some trinkets they’d picked up. These beds were all the clones had to call home, and some would decorate them with little nick-nacks they found while deployed, or etched drawings and writings into the walls. Come kept tallies of successful missions, others hung photos, and some kept their areas completely blank. Pinup, the resident tattooist, even had a makeship station on his upper bunk that he could half-heartedly hide whenever Cody passed. Tattoo kits were technically ‘contraband’, not that Cody ever reported it. 

The barracks was about half empty, the men split between spending their free time relaxing and training somewhere else in the ship. Few of the people present were talking, and Cody heard the distant vibration of a tattoo gun hard at work. The only voices came from the middle of the room where Cody could see three clones. One had his back to Cody, the other two in front of him. Something broken lay shattered in pieces on the floor. Whatever it was, it looked important. From this angle, Cody couldn’t tell who the clone was, but something familiar tickled the back of Cody’s mind. He felt his quick pace jolt to a stop— he could make out the two clones facing him: Jitterbug and Catcher. 

They were two men he hadn’t thought about in a while. He’d recognize Catcher anywhere—above his left eyebrow, he had the simple word ‘Blondie’ tattooed in Aurebesh. Catcher had told him the story late at night, just a few days before the mission to Umbara. They were standing watch together while on a mission in Separatist territory, and found the silence unnerving. Apparently, it was the teasing nickname of a batchmate of his, who’d died as a youngling back on Kamino. Cody’d never heard the full story—there was a familiar expression, a distant sort of look, that most clones would have when remembering painful things. When Catcher’s face contorted in that same way, Cody hadn’t pushed the subject. 

Cody came back to the present. If Catcher was only a Shiny now, then the end of the war was still a long time coming. 

“Come on, Rook.” Catcher kept his voice solid yet gentle. Catcher would eventually end up a Lieutenant, leading a handful of platoons that were vital in some of the Republic’s victories. It was easy to see why, even now. “No need to get mouthy when Jitterbug and I were just trying to—”

“I’ve heard about you, you know!” Rook retaliated, unconcerned with the scene he was making. More than a few clones had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the argument from their beds. “You’d better watch it, understand? Just ‘cause you’re Kamino’s golden-boy doesn’t mean you're ours!”

Someone from the sea of barracks: “Kriff, give it a rest, Rook!”

Murmurs of agreement. 

If Cody had his rough timeline right, that they were in the middle/latter part of the war, then that meant that Rook had transferred into the 212th no more than six months ago. Before that, he had a long list of transfers. People didn’t seem to like him much, and it wasn’t hard to see why. According to his record, the past six or so months were the longest he’d ever spent in one Jedi’s battalion— would spend. Rook was with the 212th up until Utapau. He made it to Order 66. To, not past. 

Cody shook the memory from his head, the sharp movement attracting another jab of pain—he could dwell on that ugly story later. For now, he had a job to do. Even if none of it mattered, busywork was still work. 

Cody’s presence had still gone largely unnoticed—not until he stepped into the room, arms crossed, and mustered as authoritative a voice as he could.

“What’s going on here?” 

Rook shut up real fast. Even if Cody’s voice could have belonged to any clone, you could feel the presence of authority. Rook turned to face Cody, and all the anger fell from his face at once. He straightened to attention along with the half in the room who saw Cody in the doorway. Rook sputtered for a moment, searching for an excuse, but it was Catcher who answered, stepping in front of Jitterbug. Jitterbug, very clearly fresh off Kamino, had chewed his lip so hard it’d drawn blood. He’d been quiet this entire time, standing half-hidden by Catcher. Cody remembered how the duo had stuck beside each other during the entirety of their time in the war, quite like Waxer and Boil. Cody remembered a distant memory of a conversation he’d had with Boil: It’s easier to try and save one brother than it is to save all of them . 

They’d been inseparable, up until Catcher died. Unlike his friend, Jitterbug had made it to Order 66, and the faint chronic tremble in his hands hadn’t disappeared till his chip activated.

That was another story he didn’t want to think about. 

“Nothing, Commander,” said Catcher. “Just a misunderstanding, we can handle it.”

“Any disturbance is my responsibility,” Cody replied, clasping his hands behind his back. “Even the most mundane ones.” 

He felt the eyes of the medic over his shoulder, in the hallway, and stepped further into the room. Cody approached the three in the centre of the room, and got a better look at the broken thing in between Rook and Catcher… Right . It all came back to him! He tried to suppress a smile of realization. Catcher talked non-stop about this plate from Kamino—his late friend, Blondie, had stolen it from the cafeteria. He’d drawn their batches’ barracks on Kamino using a pen he’d stolen from one of the doctors. 

“Catcher, is this that plate?” He broke into a full grin, crouched, and lifted one of the shattered shards, momentarily forgetting where he was. He made out the faded lines of what might’ve been a bed, or maybe a window, and traced them with a finger. “I never realized—” Then Cody caught himself. He shouldn’t know anything about a plate. Shard still in hand, he offered them a tight smile. “This looks like one of the plates from Kamino,” he attempted to save it, but it did nothing to quell the confused—slightly curious—look on his old friend’s face. Cody just turned back to Rook and slipped the shard into his pocket. “What exactly happened here, soldier?” He slipped on his Commander voice again. Rook shrugged, avoiding Cody’s eyes.

“They walked into me.”

“They walked into you?” Cody repeated. “And berating them’s the proper way of asking for an apology?”

Sometimes being a Commander felt like he had a few hundred kids to look after. It was nothing like that in the Empire. 

Rook’s frown deepened. “No, Sir, you don’t understand—”

“I think I do, Rook.” Cody paused for a moment. Maybe Levy was right about working being too much right now—the headache had started up again, a sharp stab whenever someone got too loud. Cody sighed, taking in Rook. His buzz cut, the small tattoo of a bird on his right temple, the combat scars visible on his chin and neck. It almost made him laugh, seeing such a hardened soldier like him acting so… childish. “Someone made a mistake. How about you both apologize. 

Catcher scoffed: “Oh, come on, Sir. He walked into us. ”
“ I walked into you ?” Rook laughed, and Cody held out a hand, stopping the soldier just as he started towards the other. Catcher continued—there was no stopping him once he started. 

“Yes, actually, and I’m pretty sure everyone would vouch for us.”

“Just ‘cause the Kaminoans loved you doesn’t mean we will!”

Catcher took a step forward. “What’s your problem?”

“Enough!” Cody snapped. Typically, he’d have more patience for things like this, but the sharp pain behind his eyes was only getting worse and he was suddenly very tired. He alternated between talking to each, like a pair of petulant children. “Catcher, Jitterbug—walk away.” He pointed to the other end of the barracks.

“Yeah, and—” Rook started. Cody cut him off. 

“Rook, cool off. Go for a walk,” Cody lowered his voice again, so only Rook could hear. “Calm down, soldier. Deep breaths. Pick your battles.”

Rook was still angry, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. And then it was gone. Rook scowled, shrugging Cody’s hand off his shoulder. 

“Fine,” he spat, turning his back on them and stalking away without another word. Sensing that the show was now over, chatter gradually returned to the barracks. It reminded Cody of when a predator enters the woods and the wildlife falls silent, only to resume chatter when it leaves. Behind him, Catcher just rolled his eyes.

“He was looking for a fight,” Catcher said, as if trying to convince Cody of it.

“I know,” Cody replied, eyes staying on the doorway. He suddenly found it very hard not to wince at the pain, which was nearly constant now. He met eyes with the medic, who was leaning in the doorway, giving Cody a questioning look— ’you wanna head back?’ . Cody nodded at him before turning back to Catcher and Jitterbug. “Good on you for not rising to it, Catch.” 

That was the trick to dealing with Rook—you had to understand him. About a month or two after Rook transferred to the 212th, he’d already started causing problems. So Cody sat down with him and talked: it was either that or a ticket back to Kamino. It was there he learned about the accident during training when Rook was a youngling—smacked his head, bad. Then came the behavioural problems. He wasn’t the way he was because of choice. Apparently he hadn’t been deemed a big enough priority, continually getting pushed further and further back on the waitlist for treatment whenever more ‘interesting’ cases would show up.

During another sleepless night in his lonely Imperial cabin, Cody would realize that the injury had probably caused the malfunction in his inhibitor chip—the malfunction that had caused him to be confused when every comm channel started broadcasting ‘Order 66’ on repeat; confused when they shot down Kenobi. Confused enough to draw his blaster and accuse them of being traitors. Confused enough to get shot, dumped, and forgotten about. His armour was probably still somewhere on Utapau, half buried under mud and rain water. 

Cody swallowed, once again aware of that lump in his throat, now accompanied by a dryness in his mouth. Then he realized Catcher had been talking to him and offered a look of apology, rubbing the back of his sore neck. 

“Sorry, could you repeat that?”

“How’d you know my name, Sir?” Catcher asked.

Right. He shouldn’t have known it. But it's not like it mattered, at the end of the day. Let this imitation believe whatever it wanted. It’s not like he was really talking to Catcher. Cody offered a shrug, and the movement made the world spin. He reached out, grabbing the metal frame of a bed for support. Everything somersaulted, and the pain left stinging tears in his eyes. Cody let a moment pass before letting out a strained exhale and opening his eyes. Catcher was still staring at him with that confused, now slightly worried, expression. 

“Just the concussion,” he explained. “Don’t get into any more fights. First impressions and everything.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Catcher smiled. “By the way, I heard good things about the 212th from the clones on Kamino. I was hoping to be put into a battalion like this.”  Jitterbug stepped up beside Catcher. 

“We both were, Sir,” he finally said something. It only made Cody’s head hurt worse. Last time he’d seen Jitterbug, the trooper had been under the control of that chip. At least, that’s what Cody let himself believe. But there had been an awareness in the trooper’s eyes, an awareness that only came once the chip’s influence started to dull. And yet, not only had Jitterbug stayed with the Empire, but he’d been proud to. Cody turned away. In the bunk next to him sat more clones—one ended up Empire, the three others would be dead within a year. Two more to his left: both ended up in the Empire. Another watched, leaning nearby. He would get transferred to the 104th, but his shuttle would be shot down before he made it. They all died. Cody remembered hearing about it from Wolffe. Cody briefly met eyes with Waxer, who was sitting next to Boil, both enthralled in their own conversation. Umbara. Empire. The tattoo gun vibrated far away, but Pinup hadn’t done a good tattoo since he lost his arm after Grievous’ ambush on Kenobi’s fleet. 

And Catcher? Cody hadn’t seen his friend since a few hours before he took his own life, just three days after Umbara. Umbara’s death toll had continued to rise, even if just by one or two, in the days following that dark chapter. For a while after that, even. 

Cody smiled curtly at Catcher without meeting his eyes, nodded in farewell, turned, and retreated from the room. 

Stepping out into the hall, he slumped against the wall, fingertips grazing his temple. He eventually became aware of the medic’s hand on his shoulder, and his voice in his ear. Cody didn’t bother to listen—he didn’t need to. He knew what his brother was saying. That was enough for today. For once, he didn’t bother fighting.

***

Despite the headache that had resulted in an IV drip of pain medication and a scolding from Levy, the exchange in the barracks had felt freeing, in a way. Like playing pretend as a youngling again. Playing Commander. It was pleasant, to hide from the truth for even just a few minutes 

Commander Cody spent the rest of the day in bed, under the watchful eye of Levy, who’d been convinced by the Commander to let him use equipment requests and inventory logs as a way to pass the time. For the large part, everything was normal, and his little confession late last night had gone unheard by the Empire. But it’s not like he wasn’t showing his refusal to cooperate with them in other ways. He was being short with Levy, even if unintentionally. Answering curtly, shortly, and generally very unlike how he usually would. Maybe Levy—the Empire’s conduit—might catch the hint about this all being a big waste of time. ‘Sit still, obey, don’t fight back.’ wouldn’t work on Cody.

He’d felt drowsier since coming back to the medbay and guessed that Levy was giving him more than just pain medication—so the medic deserved Cody’s grief for that, too. But after a while, whatever Levy had slipped into his IV started to work, and he fell into a deep and dreamless ‘sleep.’ 

He didn’t wake till the next morning, once again being out for more than twelve hours. Levy didn’t even entertain the idea of giving him any sort of freedom till early that afternoon. 

“Levy, I’m not accomplishing anything by just sitting here!” He called after the medic, who passed his cot for the hundredth time since lunch, head buried in his datapad. Levy didn’t look up, but he did slow down. 

“You’re accomplishing healing, Cody.”

“Do you know how much work piles up every second I sit here?” It wasn’t a strong argument, but it was worth a shot. Levy shook his head with a dismissive chuckle, continuing away from Cody. “Kriff— it’s been days, hasn’t it!?” Cody continued, unaware of the words leaving his mouth. “Can’t you just let me go already?” Suddenly, he wasn’t talking to Levy. He was talking to them. “I know you can hear me.” Cody got quieter, gaze drifting away from Levy: “I won’t talk, you know I won’t talk. There’s no point in keeping me here.” Then came another sharp stab to his head, undeterred by any sort of medication. He winced, leaning forward and resting his forehead on his knees. 

“What did you say?” Levy was suddenly standing there—of course he only listened when Cody had something crazy to say. Cody kept his eyes scrunched, his head in his hands.

“I know you can hear me, when you walk by and act like you can’t,” he explained through grit teeth. “You’re not fooling me. And you know you’re not going to break me, you’re not going to get me to shut up about this. We’ve been through this before, when I’ve been hurt before.” Cody picked his words carefully, in a way that both ‘Levy’ and the Empire would understand very clearly. Part of him wanted to scream it—beg and plead for them to end this, but there was a mental block he couldn’t get over. 

Doubt.

“Not that.” Cody said to himself, scrunching his eyes even more at another sharp stab of pain. 

Levy’s voice, sickeningly concerned. “Want me to give you something for the pain?”

“No.” The pain was actually refreshing. There was something he’d never expected to think. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” But he didn’t open his eyes. Unconsciously, his nervous fingers returned to the new bandaids on his fingers that were there less to stop bleeding and more to stop Cody, and pulled at the loose threads.

“Cody…” The swish of the curtains being pulled shut. One second. Two. Thr— “You’ve been acting strange. Distant. And sometimes you say things, and it’s worrying, because they don’t really make sense to me even though they do to you . I want to do more tests, but it’ll mean you have to stay here for longer. And since they’re not technically medically necessary—not unless I go through the whole rigmarole of declaring you unfit to give your own medical consent, which I always hate doing—I need you to agree to them.”

Cody cracked a smile and scanned his eyes over Levy, who had one hand on the bottom of the cot and the other in the pocket of his white coat. Little flecks of what might once have been red splattered across the cuffs of his sleeves.

“I’m their Commander . I can’t just sit here” Out there, somewhere, in the real world, Rex and his men were fighting. Doing something. Cody had already wasted too much time sitting around. Once again, Cody’s eyes drifted away from Levy. Maybe it was the drugs making him bolder, maybe the anger and the hurt and the years of war. Maybe he hadn’t realized how badly it had all changed him till now. “You never used to do this, Levy.”

“What?” Levy frowned. “That’s just what I’m talking about, Cody. I never used to do what? Care? I always cared, but I picked my battles. I’m picking this one.”

“I’m saying weird things, so what?” Cody laughed, sitting back and crossing his arms. This was smart of the Empire, he’d give them that. This is exactly what the real Levy would do. “Don’t you have more important things to deal with? Amputations, infections, dead people?”

Levy’s mouth formed a thin, tight line. “You’re different.”

“Welcome to War.”

“That’s something you’d say, but not with a smile on your face. You’re different than you were a week ago, Cody. That isn’t normal. Some traumatic brain injuries can cause personality changes. If that’s what’s happening here, then this is far more serious than I thought and I might have to transfer you to the care of a more specialized doctor.”

At that, Cody’s face fell. “Like to Kamino?”
Levy shrugged. Cody could swear, could curse at the Empire for putting him in this situation. But that would definitely push Levy over the edge. Or he could make excuses, also very likely that it would just further Levy’s train of thought.

Or… Cody shifted, clasping his hands together in front of him. Picking at the bandaids. It was hard to choose the right words—-words that were accurate, but not explicit. After all, there was always option three: this was a head injury, and Levy was right.

“Everything’s wrong,” he started, then cleared his throat. The lump was back. “I feel paranoid,” he continued, walking the line between truth and lie. Levy sank onto the edge of the bed, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. Cody’s own face looked back at him. He forced himself to continue. “Like all of this is some… Separatist trick. And they’re waiting for me to slip up and say something valuable. Like they’re in my head.”

“In what way?” Levy asked, but the only response he got was a shrug.

“It’s hard to explain.” 

Code for ‘I’m stuck in the past, in that way.’

Levy just nodded, working something out in his head. “When did this start?”

Cody ripped away one of the bandaids, scrunching it into a little ball. “During the battle.” 

“Before the concussion?”

Cody paused, then realized how tired of lying he was. “Yes.”

Levy was quiet for a while, thinking, then looked at Cody with a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Good thing you told me,” he said. “Tons of our brothers get paranoid. I don’t send any of them to Kamino.”

“I think it’s a little different,” Cody said, looking away again. Was the Empire gaining something from this conversation? Were they even listening? Or was this entertaining for them? Had they taken his mind to this place, dragged him back in his cell, and thrown away the key?

He could tell Levy was frowning again by his voice. “Is there something else?”

At least if he said it, it would be out there. The truth. Maybe he’d realize how insane it sounded, and that this really was all one big… episode, of some kind. And none of it was real, or ever would be real, and his guess about the ambush had just been lucky. Umbara wouldn’t happen. Order 66 isn’t real. He never betrays his General. Those days in that cell were just a long, ugly nightmare and nothing more. 

But Cody didn’t say it. He couldn’t. What if saying it didn’t expose its impossibility? What if it made it real?

“I don’t know.” his voice was smaller than he could ever remember it being—-he realized his eyes were glossy and dried them on his sleeve. 

“Do you think it’ll impact how you work?”

“No,” Cody insisted, even if it was a lie. Levy was quiet for another minute, then sighed.

“Ok. Here’s the plan, Commander. You’re going to go to your briefings, talk to the General, make plans.” Levy listed them on his fingers. “But I’m keeping you here at night for observation. And whenever you get the tiniest ache, or you so much as bump your head on a pillow, I want you back here. You’re still in my care, understand?” Cody let himself nod; Levy continued. “Every time a paranoid thought enters your head, acknowledge it and move on. Focus on what you know to be real. Make lists of what you can trust, for certain. And we’ll talk about it more, once you get back. And then we’ll make a plan. But right now, I think you should get your mind off it and busy yourself.”

Cody scoffed. “So you’re letting me go, just like that?”

Levy rose from the bed and shrugged again, dipping his hands into his pockets and scuffing the floor with his foot. “Your scans are improving. I expected whatever was going on wasn’t because of the concussion. And doing nothing all day might help physical ailments, but sometimes it just makes mental ones worse—especially when you’re the patient, Codes.” And with that, Levy offered Cody a small smile, a word of reassurance, a reminder to not push himself, and a pat on the shoulder. Then he was gone. 

Cody was left alone, replaying their conversation. It had gone surprisingly well. What if…

Cody swallowed the thick glob in his throat, but it stayed, alongside the tightness in his chest. He felt something new, for the first time since he’d appeared on that battlefield a few days ago. Not anger, not stubbornness—not spite or annoyance or exhaustion or grief, but fear.

Chapter Text

He’d been on edge all night, again unable to get much sleep. But despite his obvious exhaustion the next morning, Levy had stayed true to his word. Cody had headed straight for the armory, completing a low-priority inventory Kenobi hadn’t gotten around to assigning someone to yet. He found himself getting into the task, not infrequently needing to snap himself out of autopilot. He couldn’t afford to drop his guard, not until he knew exactly what was happening. This, partnered with the exhaustion, made it hard to do any kind of planning. When his comm pinged—he was allowed to both wear his uniform and carry a comm now—with the summons to the briefing room by the General, Cody cursed himself. The morning was already gone and he wasn’t any closer to… anything. Just completing inventory. 

He could almost hear the Empire laughing at him. 

He clenched his jaw, slipped the comm back onto his belt, and was outside the briefing room five minutes later. General Kenobi was already inside, surrounded by a handful of officers. But Cody could tell they were waiting for more to arrive, as the meeting hadn’t started and they were all engaged in their own muted conversations. General Kenobi caught his eye and smiled from over the shoulder of the newly-promoted Lieutenant Waxer. 

“Commander Cody.” The General lowered his voice as Cody fell into his place by Kenobi’s side. “Are you feeling much better?”

“Haven’t felt a thing all day.” He was referring to the headaches. It wasn’t exactly true—it still hurt when he moved too fast, but they didn’t come suddenly anymore. Cody pulled off a smile of his own. “Levy wouldn’t have let me come if I wasn’t.”

“Yes, I wasn’t sure if we’d have you. It’s good you're here now, though I wish Levy would’ve let me give you the news ahead of time. I would’ve liked your input.” 

“About what, Sir?”

Kenobi glanced back to the doorway as another Lieutenant came in, then scanned his eyes around the rest of the room, still engaged in their own conversations. He raised his voice to the room, who all fell silent and looked at him. “If we’re all here, then let’s get started.” 

And they obeyed, circling around the holotable. Cody stayed standing just over Kenobi’s shoulder, as the General cleared his throat.

“Yesterday morning, a Kaminoan shuttle was intercepted nearby on its way to a medical seminar in Coruscant. A few minutes before, a Separatist ship was picked up on some of our scanners heading in their direction. They didn’t engage with us and we didn’t engage with them, so we logged it and moved on.” Kenobi nodded at the Lieutenant across from the table—Cousin—and a flickering image of a pale, long-faced Kaminoan appeared hovering over the round table. “Onboard the Kaminoan shuttle was Sama Prei.” At the mention of the name came shuffling—recognition of the woman’s face. Kenobi nodded. “Sama Prei is one of the doctors directly in charge of the education and training of clones. I don’t doubt some of you remember her  personally.” A nod or two. “Last afternoon, her shuttle was found adrift by a patrol unit only a few systems away from us. All deceased bodies on board were identified and accounted for, but Sama Prei wasn’t.” Kenobi sighed. “Now, we weren’t aware of the shuttle’s location. The ship’s logs showed that their route was suddenly changed when they realized their fuel supply was lower, and needed to make a pit stop. They were headed to a spaceport just a few kliks from here when the Separatists must have intercepted them. I trust I need not explain why exactly we need to get her back.”

Sama Prei had a wealth of knowledge on the clones—their tactics, training, weaknesses and more. And who knew how much it would take to break her?

Cody remembered this mission well, and it helped place exactly ‘when’ he was. Umbara was only a few weeks away, then the Rako Hardeen mission when Kenobi faked his death. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and glanced at Lieutenant Waxer. Umbara was the first time he’d really lead a platoon of his own. He hadn’t had to get his hands too dirty with this one. 

Lieutenant Cousin, across from Kenobi, spoke up once the silence had stretched out just a touch too long. In the few times Cody hadn’t been able to attend briefings—only ever due to serious injury—Cousin had filled his shoes. But he still hadn’t caught on to all of the General’s non-verbal signals—the pauses allowed for you to chime in, the way he’d cross his arms and stroke his beard when he wanted you to do the talking so he could think.

“Republic sensors picked up the same Separatist ship— the Cloudburst— heading into Onzoria’s atmosphere.” The hologram shifted from Sama Prei to a small white and grey planet, and Kenobi took the reins again. 

“Onzoria has no record of any major civilizations, though there may be very primitive forms of intelligent life. There are, however, large stone ruins that were likely from before the planet started to drift out of its sun’s orbit. Considering the Separatist presence there, it’s fair to assume they’ve converted it into a base of sorts while we weren’t looking. If they’re on that planet, then it’s likely they’re there.” General Kenobi paused again, and one of the other Lieutenants chimed in with a question:

“Is it a trap? It seems awfully suspicious that they’d only take her to Onzoria, especially if they know we’re in the area.”

General Kenobi stared at the flickering planet, wrestling with something. “I don’t think it is. According to General Koon, the 107th saw the Cloudburst just two days ago, where it sustained heavy damage. I imagine their sensors aren’t working at their best, and Onzoria may be the closest planet they can safely dock on.” 

Then Cousin: “We can easily overpower them. General Kenobi and I decided that he and Commander Cody were to lead an assault against their base and ship, while I would take a small team and—”

“It won’t work,” Cody said. All of it was spot on, except for that last part. Their other assumptions had been correct: the Separatists took Sama Prei to Onzoria after intercepting her shuttle, where they held her in a make-shift base in the ruins of Onzoria. When this happened before, they’d believed Kenobi’s argument— ‘Occam's Razor’, the General had said. They’d found out, very unfortunately, that the whole thing had been a setup—there were two Cloudbursts, one to purposely lose the battle against the 107th, and the other to pick up Sama Prei and head to Onzoria—to both gain as much information from Prei as they could, and also hopefully pick up a prisoner or two to test her information on. They were never meant to win against the 212th, to keep Sama Prei for more than a day or two—that would have put too much heat on them. And everything had gone exactly to the Separatist’s plan: they’d fallen for the trap, lost good men, then taken back Sama Prei. Not before the Separatists had a recording of everything Sama Prei had told them and a shuttle with four subjects headed straight back home. Cody always wondered why the Separatists bothered with prisoners and espionage when, according to Rex, the whole thing had been a big conspiracy from the beginning. Was it all just pretend to them? Or did the Separatists not realize they were being played, too? 

He realized everyone was staring. 

“We’re banking on the 107th’s information being correct, but what if that wasn’t the same ship?” he said, knowing he was right. Why pretend that he didn’t? “What if the 107th made a mistake, or if this is their plan? And even if their systems are down, they wouldn’t have been able to get from there to here in two days without hyperdrive. They have no reason to only stop in Onzoria unless they want us to follow them.”

Kenobi frowned. “Occam’s Razor, Cody. Which is more likely—a small ship from an inconsequential battle completes their mission half-heartedly, then docks someplace unwise in a panic to repair themselves? Or an intricate plot, consisting of multiple ships and doctored battles?”

“We are not going to overpower them,” he insisted. “They have more forces than we expect, I guarantee it. They’re waiting for us to reveal ourselves, to underestimate them. They expect us to come in hot—they’ll expect us to use it as cover for a smaller group. They’ll be expecting you, Lieutenant.” He looked at Cousin. Out of the team of six clones Cousin took in, only two came out. Cousin wasn’t one of them. “If we don’t go in heavy, if we only go in stealth, then they won’t think we’re there at all.”

Cousin frowned. “With all due respect, you’re making an awful lot of assumptions, Sir.”

Cody chewed his lip. He remembered what Kenobi had told him back in the med bay.

Kenobi sighed. “I see where you’re coming from, Cody, but—”

“I just have a bad feeling about it,” He interrupted, looking at his General. There it was again, the confused crease between his eyebrows. They held a silent conversation for a moment, then Kenobi turned back to the flickering image of the small white planet. 

“I suppose it doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Kenobi finally said. So the words weren’t empty. He was going to listen.  “An assault could mean unnecessary casualties.”

“Yes, Sir.” Lieutenant Cousin nodded. “If there won’t be an assault, then my team will need an alternative way of getting in and out.”

“ The Negotiator will deploy a shuttle to—”

“Actually,” chimed in Waxer, “Onzoria is practically one big ball of Steel. We can land on the other side of the planet easily, and they won’t be able to sense us with all the interference.”

“Then we’ll do that. Thank you, Waxer.” Kenobi looked back at Cousin. “Judging from the size of Onzoria, we can shuttle you and your men to the base in about six hours. The steel will continue to offer cover. The pilot will wait for you.”

Cousin nodded. “Understood, Sir.”

“And your team is set?”

“Yes, Sir,” he nodded again. “Me, Catcher, Crys, Jitterbug, and Rook.”

That was different. 

“Catcher, Jitterbug, and Rook ?” Cody heard himself laugh, once again attracting eyes. “Catcher and Jitterbug just got off Kamino, Lieutenant. Not to mention Rook’s hardly a team player! If you put them together, then we won’t need the Separatists to sabotage the mission—-we’ll be doing it ourselves.”

Cousin seemed taken aback—maybe it was justified. Cody was hardly acting like a Commander right now. Part of Cody felt bad, since Cousin really was more intelligent than he seemed at the moment and probably didn’t know about the scuffle in the barracks.  

“Commander Cody,” General Kenobi touched his arm. It was as placating a gesture as he was willing to do in front of the men—he was trying to spare at least some of the Commander’s dignity. “I expect Cousin has a good reason for it.” 

Eyes on Cousin. An inquisitive eyebrow from Kenobi.

Cousin nodded. “Catcher has some of the highest training scores I’ve seen. When I came to him with the mission, he suggested Jitterbug for it. I took a look at his scores, and the kid is agile, quiet, and perfect for something stealth like this. Rook’s been with us for a while now, and I think he’s proven he can follow orders when it really matters. Not to mention he’s got good aim. He was part of my team when we took down the Seppie’s security system back on Nabrett.” Nabrett! That was the name of the mucky, grassy planet from a few days ago. “We couldn’t have stormed the place without him.” Cousin opened his mouth to say more, but stopped himself, decided something, and opened his mouth again. “But I see where you’re coming from, Commander. I could always swap Jitterbug and Rook with Boil and Toggle, maybe.”

“Personally, I don’t see what the problem is,” said Kenobi. “As far as rescue missions go, this is relatively low-stakes. We can be there in just a moment’s notice if you need backup.”

Cody was quiet. How badly did he want to convince them this was a bad idea, anyway? None of it mattered, even if it felt like it did. General Kenobi seemed to sense his unease, and touched his arm again.

“Perhaps,” he said, meeting Cody’s gaze, “you could accompany them, Commander Cody.”

Now that was a bad idea.

“I doubt Levy would approve,” said Cody. General Kenobi’s crease returned.

“I heard your condition was improving.”

“Yes, but…” But what? It could be freeing, to live through something he hadn’t already. Maybe they’d get found out, he’d get shot, and then wake up where he was supposed to.

But that was the very, very last resort, Cody thought to himself, the idea having put a strange feeling in his stomach.

“If Levy gives you trouble, I can always have a word with him. It might help you get back into the swing of things.” Kenobi looked at Lieutenant Cousin. “That is, only if you have room for him.”

Cousin nodded. “Yes, Sir.” Then he offered a fleeting smile to Cody. “If they’re as difficult a group as you say, I could use the help, Sir.”

***

What did the Empire have to gain from this? Cody wondered as the officers filed out of the briefing room. The meeting had fallen into semantics, explaining every minute detail of Cousin’s plan. It sounded good. Cody hadn’t found the need to say anything else.

He was about to follow the other’s out when a hand brushed his arm. Again .

“Commander Cody, a word?” General Kenobi asked as the final soldier left. They were alone. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been really alone—not shielded from others by curtains or grass but walls.

“Sir?” Cody turned, clasping his hands behind his back. Kenobi studied him quietly for a moment, then nodded at the table.

“What do you think of the plan?” He asked.

“I think it’s good.” Cody shrugged. “It’s a typical rescue mission. Smart, not complicated. The rookies won’t feel too overwhelmed.”

“That’s good to hear.” Kenobi crosses his arms, turning from Cody and facing the table again. “You do seem pretty certain about this being a ploy to lure us in.” Cody couldn’t figure out how to respond before Kenobi continued. “I wonder if this will be like Nabrett.”

“How so?” 

“Are you positive you’re feeling alright, Commander? You spoke quite… freely just now. Not to say that’s not something I expect of you but…” Cody knew his General was simply worried about him, but this couldn’t help but feel like an interrogation. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t quite know what I’m trying to say. You seem different.”

“Isn’t the point of being a Commander that I have the privilege of speaking freely?” There it was: the quiet snark Kenobi was referring to.

“Let me rephrase:” Kenobi raised an eyebrow at him. “Is Levy sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” Not a total-truth, but not a lie. 

“I hope you’re not angry I volunteered you for the mission, my friend.” Kenobi smiled softly. “But I know you’re losing it, being forced to sit in that awful room all day.”

Awful… oh, the medbay. Cody’s smile came out tight and unnatural.

“No, General, I appreciate it.” Even if their conversation was filled with distrust and concern, it was nice to talk to Kenobi again. “Maybe out there it’ll be easier not to… relive all this death.” 

Kenobi’s smile faltered, only for a moment. “Now what’s that supposed to mean, Cody?”

An excuse just wouldn’t come: “I don’t know.” He trailed a finger along the edge of the metallic round table. It was icy beneath his touch and made goosebumps spread up his arm. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

Which was about as ‘free-speaking’ as he could be without… what?

Didn’t he want the Empire to wake him up from this place? Sure, but he didn’t want to get dragged back to Kamino like all the other clones broken by war. Put into the long-term off-duty ward beside the brothers who couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, who couldn’t live with the things they did or saw, who were sick, lost, scared, and hurt and angry. 

“Well, if you ever feel like helping it make sense to me… ” The hand came back to his arm, but lingered longer now that they were alone. Squeezed comfortingly. “I’m just a comm away, my friend.”

Something sick blossomed in Commander Cody’s gut and he couldn’t be there anymore—not this room, not beside the General, not on this karking ship or—

“Cody?” There was an edge to the General’s voice now. He’d felt it, the violent stab of panic. Cody jolted away, barely making it to the small bin by the door before keeling over and dry heaving. It’s not like there was anything he could puke up—all of his nutrients in the past few days had come from IVs and an assortment of soups. But to his body, it was still home to something foreign. Something that needed to get out. 

Only the foreign invader couldn’t be dispelled by vomiting.

“Should I—”

“Sorry, Sir.” Cody spat out the last of it, his clammy hand leaving a smudge on the wall as he straightened up. The spell, just as quickly as it had come, was gone, the only thing left being a faint tremble in his hands and whatever was in the bin. “It must be the concussion.”

What the kriff was he going to do?

“Are you quite sure?” 

What the kriff could he do? The Empire hadn’t heard him. They hadn’t taken him out even though he told them he wouldn’t talk. Were they waiting for something? Did they know something he didn’t? He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t—

“Cody.” Kenobi’s hand on his shoulder. He’d been silent for a long time again, hadn’t he?

“Sorry,” he swallowed, then grimaced at the acidic taste in his mouth. 

“Perhaps,” said the General, securing his grip on Cody’s shoulder, “I ought to walk you back to the medbay.”

***

Nothing was getting better. Nothing was changing. Nothing was happening. Cody had ripped off all the small bandages, once again working his nails down to bloody, painful stumps. Whatever that spell had been, after the conversation with General Kenobi, it had left him rattled. The panic was still there, gnawing at the back of his throat. It propelled his gaze around the medbay with frantic urgency, expecting something that never came. Every little movement and whisper was an attack, a shout, a cry. 

He was losing it, wasn’t he?

It was working, whatever they were doing to him.

Maybe this wasn’t a drug or trick, maybe this was a screwed up conjuration of his own mind. Maybe, out there, something awful was happening, and this torture was better than whatever was really going on. Cody swallowed, but all it did was add more saliva to the lump in his throat. 

Levy came by a few times to say things, and however Cody responded appeared to be good enough for the medic. Everytime someone glanced at him, the Empire was behind their eyes. Every movement, every twitch, every breath was being watched. 

They knew he was breaking. 

And then, in the blink of an eye, the world became far away and he needed to get out. Cody shakily got to his feet and was out the medbay before anyone could force him back. Now the rub: where could he go where he could finally be alone? Not the barracks, where he used to sleep. Maybe a storage closet, tucked away somewhere deep in the ship? All he needed was a moment alone, just a second, just so he could catch his breath and focus. The air was much thicker than it had been that morning, maybe they were suffocating him, out there. In the real world. Maybe he was drowning.

What he needed was somewhere nobody would look for him, somewhere where he could just close his eyes and—

One second he was standing, then next he was frantically trying to sit up, one knee aching and both hands fighting for purchase on the sleek ground. Was this it? Was the Empire finally… no. Standing over him with wide eyes was Catcher.

“Watch where you’re going, trooper.” Cody got to his feet. Catcher looked terrified. 

“Kriff, sorry, Sir. I wasn’t—” Catcher’s eyes narrowed, just a touch, and he flickered his gaze around the empty hall, then back to Cody. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine,” Cody snipped, brushing himself off. 

“I mean, where were you going in such a rush?” Catcher continued. “Is something going on?”

“No.” Cody cleared his throat. He couldn’t exactly run off now, could he? He should probably say something. “You feel ready for tonight, rookie?”

“Yes, Sir,” Catcher nodded, and Cody realized just how antsy the trooper looked, shifting from foot to foot. The two of them were probably a sight to behold. “A little nervous, but who wouldn’t be? I’ve waited my whole life to see some action.”

“Don’t turn into an adrenaline junkie, now,” Cody smiled, remembering. “We already have too many of those.”

“Of course not, Sir.”

Cody met his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Sir.” Cody crossed his arms, digging his fingers into his arms. That’s all anyone’s called him since he got here. Sir. Commander. He wasn’t that anymore. That part of him was dead. 

Catcher frowned. “Everyone else does.”

“Well I’m telling you not to,” He bit back, admittedly harsh. Catcher just nodded steadily. Not shaken. He was just as level-headed as Cody remembered, albeit a bit more nervous. Cody started past his brother, at a loss at what else to say, but came up with something and put a hand on Catcher’s shoulder when he passed. “You’re going to do a great job, Catcher. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, about tonight?” Catcher let himself smile. “Thank you, Sir—er, Commander Cody.” Well, at least he was using Cody’s name. Catcher continued: “Lieutenant Cousin told me you were joining us tonight.”

“I am. But you won’t need my help.”

Catcher chuckled. “You seem awfully sure about that.”

“I am. See you tonight,” Cody said, then continued down the hall. He could stay and chat, yes, but all Cody wanted to do was sit. Part of him did feel bad, ignoring his friend like this. Shouldn’t he be finding at least a little happiness in seeing him again? Even if none of it was real, it was still his mind’s projection of his friend. Cody stopped, picturing Catcher’s face after Umbara. The last time they’d spoken. Cody came to a decision and turned on his heel. “Actually, trooper, maybe we could—”

But Cody was alone. It’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? Cody gave his head a firm shake, sparking another stab of sharp pain. Catcher had been there, hadn’t he? Or was this a trick within a trick? Could you lose your mind twice?

The ache in his knee told him otherwise. Unless, of course, it was one of those psychosomatic thing’s that—

“Get it together, Cody,” He said to himself, not quietly. “You can go in circles like this all day. Focus. ” Ok, focus on what? “Find somewhere you can be alone.” And then what? “Sleep? Rest? Close your eyes for—” Stop talking. There’s a good plan. Stop talking like a madman. 

Cody shook his head again, letting out a deep, heavy breath. He opened his eyes to reveal the same empty hallway. 

The barracks would be full of brothers, but his chamber wouldn’t be. He had the perks of a separate cabin from the other men, due to his rank, but never used the room. He thought it might be storage now, but there would still be a bed. And it would be dark. And empty. So he tracked it down, and it was just as he thought. The isolated cabin was perfect.

He napped the afternoon away. Cody was out the minute he collapsed onto the sheetless mattress, half of which was taken up by boxes of spare ship parts. This sleep hadn’t been like the ones in the medbay—deep, dreamless, heavy. This time, he dreamt. Dreams about unpleasant things that happened, would happen—or maybe were just conjurations of a screwed up coping mechanism. 

Only after Cody composed himself in the refresher did he step out of the room he was supposed to live in and head back to the medbay, for a quick check-up from Levy before meeting Cousin and the others in the hangar.

Walking into the medbay, he was met by a very unhappy medic. 

“Where’d you scurry off to?” Levy asked, leading Cody back to his prison and shutting the curtain.

“I needed somewhere quiet.” Cody sat on the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the cold linoleum.

“To escape all the watchful Separatist eyes?” Levy suggested, leaning against one of the masses of equipment beside the bed.

Cody looked at him. “Yes.”

Levy sighed. “Wanna tell me any more about that? Now might be your last chance.” Levy, just then realizing what he’d said, chuckled. “Bad joke, sorry. I don’t know where my head is today. We lost someone while you were away. He got shot on Nabrett and was kind of teetering on edge of, well, you know, for a while, and I guess the infection finally…” Levy shook his head. “Not your problem, Sir. But my question still stands. Is there anything you wanna talk about?”

Cody bit his tongue. Just yesterday, he’d been so certain. So angry . But now? Now he just wanted out.

Maybe talking to Levy would make them release him?

No. He couldn’t talk, even if it would mean ending this. Rex’s secrets were safe with him, as they always were. He hadn’t changed that much. Besides, there must be some other way to get out of here. 

“No,” he decided. Levy’s shoulders slumped heavily, and he tried to keep his face impartial, but Levy was nothing if not an open book. 

“Whatever you say, boss,” he said, then held up a pen in front of Cody. “Do me a favour and follow this with your eyes.”

***

They were huddled together in the little shuttle, all six of them—Catcher, Jitterbug, Rook, Crys, Lieutenant Cousin, and Commander Cody. The pilot, Skirmish, was flying low. Waxer’s suggestion had been smart, to use the planet’s own geography against the Separatists. The signal of their little ship was completely hidden from the Separatists. Cody hadn’t needed confirmation about this being their base, but seeing the hull of the massive starship appear from behind a plume of Onzoria’s white fog still sent goosebumps up his arm. Up until then, when the looming structures of crumbling white stone became solid dark shapes on the horizon, they’d been quiet. They flew with the doors on either side of the ship open, since Onzoria blocked their signals, too. Skirmish needed them to act as his eyes in places he couldn’t see from the cockpit. Onzoria truly was stunning—Everything was white. The white salt desert beneath them stretched endlessly, meeting the foggy white sky in a fuzzy, distantly warm-looking horizon. The only break from the blanket of white was the occasional burst of dark grey in a nearby group of clouds, and the silhouetted ruins in the distance. 

Catcher was crouching at the side of the ship, one hand gripping the metal wall, the other gripping his blaster tightly. His eyes scanned the endless white. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Cody called over the screaming wind. Catcher perked up, looking over his shoulder at Cody, who stood in the back of the ship, away from the open doors and freezing wind.
“Sir?” Catcher got to his feet, then realized his mistake. “Sorry—Cody. What was that?” He yelled, barely audible. Cody pointed to the blaster. 

“They won’t attack us.”

“How do you know that?” Catcher approached till he was close enough for them to be able to talk at a normal volume. “What if they have scouts out here? What if they—”
“They don’t, Catcher,” Cody continued, avoiding the curious look Cousin was giving him from across the small shuttle. Standing beside Cousin was Rook—Crys and Jitterbug were sitting much like Catcher had been, only on the other side of the ship. “They expect us to be coming in hot, remember? That’ll be their sign we’ve snuck in.”

“Right.” Catcher looked back at Jitterbug and Crys, holding tightly to the ship as they hit a burst of turbulence. Cody took the chance to study his old friend closer. His hair was a bit shaggy in the back, pushing the lines of regulation, but it was nothing compared to what liberties some other clones took. The tattoo above his brow, too, was relatively tame. The kid was on the fast track, that was for sure. After this mission had taken out Lieutenant Cousin, a whole string of promotions had taken place, leaving Catcher one of the youngest officers the 212th had ever seen. Then, of course, in just a few weeks he’d find himself a freshly-promoted Lieutenant in charge of a small platoon on Umbara. A small platoon, right at the frontlines. A small platoon that did a lot of the shooting. 

It was a combination of sped-up aging and war that made everything feel much longer than it actually was. When Cody thought back to his time with Catcher, their friendship, he remembered it seeming a lot longer than it really was. Maybe it was partly because they’d hit it off and spent a lot of time together, but these handful of weeks seemed more like months. But weeks were more time than lots of other clones had. Some had days, some hours. Some never even made it off Kamino.

“You okay?” He blinked, and Catcher was staring at him. Or, rather, Catcher was aware of Cody’s staring.

Something occurred to him just then, and he fished a hand into his pocket. It was still there!

Cody pulled out the shard of plate and held it out to Catcher. 

“I think this is yours,” Cody replied as Catcher took it, eyes widening.

“Thank you,” Catcher said, a smile breaking out on his face. “Jitterbug and I tried to fix it, but we were missing a piece. This is it.”

Cody reddened. “I didn’t mean to take it.”

“Hey, Jitterbug!” Catcher called across the shuttle, catching his friend’s eyes. He held up the shard, and they both watched Jitterbug light up. Jitterbug opened his mouth, about to say something, when Skirmish beat him to it from the cockpit:

“Buckets on, boys!” He called over the wind. “We’re here.”

***

The trek from the landing site to the side of the massive stone structure would have been easy, if not for the desert of thin white salt. It was worse than hiking through mud—it was like walking in powder snow. There was nothing hard beneath the sand for a good few meters, so at some points they had to wade through it like quicksand. What made it worse was that it wasn’t too hard to lose sight of the others. The wind blew sharp grains of sand into his face, more than a little getting through the little cracks in his helmet and making his eyes sting. The fog was so thick, especially on the surface of the salts, that Cody—taking up the rear—lost sight of Jitterbug, at the front, more than once. At one point, Rook made a quip about how they'd all be finding sandy places even days from now. It garnered some stressed, weary laughs from them. 

As soon as they’d taken a step into the salts, they’d realized they couldn’t bring Sama Prei back through it. So, Skirmish would bring the ship closer when he saw the signal: the glint reflection of the sun from off Cousin’s visor. It was as risky as they could play it, considering the droids were likely already on high alert. If Skirmish didn’t get the signal by sundown, which was one hour from now—more than enough time to get in and out—then he’d go back to the Negotiator for backup. The ship had moved as close as it dared, too, once they realized comms were disrupted, too. But that meant any sort of backup was now at least thirty minutes out. 

More than enough time to be captured and killed, but Cody didn’t say that part out loud. 

Soon, the sea of sand turned into more solid, rock-like terrain as they approached the base of the structure. It was brick white, almost like quartz, and had no doubt once been a gigantic, obelisk like structure. But sometime long ago, it’s top half had broken, and now resembled a chopped tree and stump. Above it hovered the Cloudburst, silhouetted somewhere far above them. The droids had set up a loose perimeter, but weren’t exactly being meticulous about it. Their plan wasn’t to stop them from entering, after all. It was making sure they never left once the rest of Kenobi’s fleet started their distraction. 

Keeping their distance from the massive column, they started walking along the side, searching for some sort of way in. Going in blind was never good, especially with the size of the place, but Cody was pretty sure he remembered something about the top of the obelisk—or, more specifically, the point which now law horizontally along the salt flats, as being mentioned a few times. He guessed they were holding her there. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too hard to steer the others in that direction. 

Walking alongside his brothers, a familiar excitement burrowed into his stomach, beside the lump of dread. He hadn’t gone on a mission like this in a while—small group, right into enemy territory. The last time had been what ended him up in the Empire’s hands again in the first place. 

Him, Rex, Howzer, Puck. Cody clenched his jaw. He hadn’t thought about them in a while— real people. They were out there, doing things, making a difference, trying to escape… while he played pretend. 

Suddenly, all this seemed so stupid. The sneaking around. The excitement. Crys and Cousin and Rook and Jitterbug and giving that shard to Catcher, like he was doing something nice. 

All of this was wrong. He needed to focus. 

That thought came back, the one that had made him feel so strange. The one about getting shot, closing his eyes, then… waking up out there. 

He clenched his fists. 

When he first went AWOL and joined Rex’s uprising, he’d wanted to help. But for some reason he still didn’t know, he could hardly get out of bed, and yet he hardly slept, either. Every time he opened his eyes, he thought he was somewhere he wasn’t—he thought the faces around him belonged to brothers they weren’t. He’d been paralyzed for so long. 

Rex was kind—they’d talk, despite everything else the Captain had going on. He still made time for Cody, just like things used to be. It was Rex who encouraged Cody to come with him, Puck, and Howzer. 

“It’ll be easy, Codes. We’ll be in and out.” Rex’s voice was clear in his ear. They were leaning against the banister, watching the quiet, dark midnight sky together. “We’ve known each other a long time.” Rex had paused and smiled to himself, then met Cody’s own weary, grainy eyes. “I know you can’t stand doing nothing. You never could before—I know they say war changes people, but it’s civilian life that changes people like us.”

“So civilian life’s made me weak, then?” Cody had chuckled dryly, resting his forehead on the bannister. He heard Rex’s laugh in his ear. 

“No, Cody. What I’m saying is, don’t let them turn you into something you’re not. We were born to fight, Commander, it’s in our veins.” Rex shook his head, bringing his eyes up to the star-splattered sky.

Cody jolted to a stop, nearly walking into Crys, who had stopped suddenly. It took Cody a moment to notice Jitterbug up front, hand pointing towards an area further down the obelisk. An opening—no more than a dark crack, but an opening nonetheless. Cody tensed, exchanging a look with Cousin, who stood beside Jitterbug. The wind continued to howl, and Cody found his hand reaching for his blaster. It felt heavy in his hands. Safe. 

Lieutenant Cousin nodded at Cody. This wasn’t real, Cody told himself.

“You can’t let them take that part of you.” Rex had elbowed Cody, the stars putting a youthful glint in his eyes. “Fights all we clones have.”

Cousin didn’t have a glint in his eyes. Nobody here did. All Cody saw when he looked into Cousin’s eyes was the Empire. But then again, just because they were made for war, didn’t mean it didn’t take things from them, too. The Empire was forged from war. What if the look in his brother's eyes wasn’t the Empire, but…

Cody scrunched his eyes shut. No, no, no. This wasn’t real. None of this was real. It couldn’t be. He opened his eyes to see Cousin, still staring, eyebrows raised as if to ask if he was alright. Cody steeled himself and nodded.

Chapter Text

Only once they were sure there wasn’t an approaching patrol did they surround the deep crack. Jitterbug squeezed in first, swallowed up by the darkness. Cody held his blaster by his side, surprisingly calm. He could see the excitement in his brother's eyes—the thinly veiled nerves, the adrenaline. But Cody felt still. His heartbeat was steady. He had no stakes in this, not really. None of them did. A moment later, Jitterbug reappeared. 

“It’s a tight squeeze, but there’s a hallway at the other end. Or, I guess it's some kind of shaft, since the place is on its side. Maybe for water, or a vent, but it seems to be dry now. But it's very wide, lots of space.” He was covered in a thin layer of white dust. “Dimly lit, no sign of any droids. Light to the right, more darkness to the left.”

So the light was towards the tip of the toppled building, just like Cody thought. That's where they were keeping Sama Prei. Someone cleared his throat.

“And then what?” Everyone looked at Rook. “Come on, we have no idea what’s in there.”

Cousin nodded for a moment, thoughtful, then sighed. “All we can do is hope that Commander Cody was right about their focus being on an outward attack. The only security system they have is probably patrols, and even then, I doubt they'll be patrolling a vent. Most of their efforts are probably devoted to either guarding Sama Prei, guarding the ship, or completing repairs.” From what he remembered from the reports, that place was swarming with droids. The mass of droids inside would probably thin closer to the prisoner. Luckily, they were close to the tip already. Most of the droids were probably assembled to their left, where they could more easily launch a quick, devastating attack. So that meant Cousin was wrong, wrong, and wrong. But who was counting? “‘Long as we keep quiet, stick to the walls, and listen, we should be fine.” 

Cody nodded absent-mindedly, letting his gaze wander into the fog around them. He took a deep breath of fresh, cold air. It settled in his lungs, weighing him down. 

“We all ready?” asked the Lieutenant. Everyone said various forms of ‘yes,’ so Cody did, too. Cousin gestured back at the dark crack, then adjusted the blaster in his hands. “After you, Jitter. I’ll be right on your tail.” 

The rookie nodded, then disappeared into the darkness. About fifteen seconds later, Cousin followed. Then Crys, then Catcher, till it was just Cody and Rook. 

He couldn’t see Skirmish and the shuttle from here—not unless he really squinted. If he did, he could make out a distant outline almost completely swallowed by the fog, and a nearly invisible glint of light from the windshield. It was kilometres away.

He sniffled. His nose was running. He almost smiled, wiping the dampness from his face. The detail was still remarkable, that was one thing that hadn’t changed about—

“Commander Cody?” Right. Rook. The mission. Cody turned to the soldier. 

“Waiting on you, Rook.”

Rook darted his eyes into the darkness, then back to Cody. “You know, Sir, this mission doesn’t need six.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have numbers.”

“Yes, Sir, but…” Rook shrugged. It was strange to see him so unsure of himself. Rook was the type who always knew exactly what he wanted. “Well, nobody would blame you if you stood guard out here, or just went back to the ship.”

“What?”

“You’re still spending half your time in the medbay, Sir.” It was hardly a secret—Cody just wasn’t expecting Rook to say it.

“You’re saying General Kenobi made the wrong call putting me on this mission?” Cody raised an eyebrow. Bold, even for Rook. 

Rook just chuckled, shaking his head. “This is a kriffing awful plan, Sir. We’re going in completely blind! Half of us shouldn’t be here—two rookies and one concussed? Someone is going to get hurt, Commander. I don’t want to have to live with the knowledge that I didn’t say anything.” 

And of course, Rook was spot on. Cousin and Rook were the only two who had also been on the real one all those years ago. Cousin never made it out of this place, but Rook had. And his problems had only gotten worse after that. More fights. More backtalk. More disobedience. Cody remembered reading the report Rook submitted afterwards—being stranded down here, no commanding officer. Just him and two other troopers, a prisoner, and blaster fire in every direction. 

“Now you’ve said something,” Cody responded passively. “And I think we’ve wasted enough time chatting.”

Maybe things would be different this time. Maybe Rook could end up alright—Cody was always curious about how things might have turned out even if the smallest thing was different. Maybe him being here could be enough to... change things.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna head back?” Rook cocked his head. Cody nodded at the dark crack. No escaping the inevitable.

“They’re waiting, trooper.” 

Rook followed orders, disappearing into the white stone structure. Cody was left alone, surrounded by nothing but an empty wasteland. He took another deep, lung-filling breath, the blaster only growing more and more heavy in his hands. To be honest, he was just as amazed as Rook—about General Kenobi agreeing to this plan. Maybe it was not ‘kriffing awful’, per se, but it was a far cry from ‘safe’, ‘well-thought-out’, or ‘smart.’

Cody sniffled again, the cold getting to him. He gave it ten more seconds then followed Rook into the darkness.

***

It was dark inside, and surprisingly damp—as if all the humidity had been trapped in these dense, crumbling walls. Cody knew the tunnel wasn’t going to cave in—it didn’t the first time round—but it was still hard not to flinch whenever a stone crumbled loosely from above them, with a matching cloud of white dust. 

It didn’t take much to convince them to head right. This was a rescue mission, after all. Heading straight into the heart of the enemy camp was a given. Still, Jitterbug had hesitated, hanging back as the rest of them moved forward. Cody watched as Catcher came up to him, when the rest weren’t looking, put a hand on his shoulder and murmured into Jitterbug’s ear. Jitterbug seemed to calm down a little—enough to start walking, at least. But from there on out, Cousin was in front. A scout could do little good here. Cody remained in the rear. His short conversation with Rook had been enough for him to piece things together: Yes, Cousin agreed with the General’s request for Commander Cody to join the mission. No, that didn’t mean he needed to stay anywhere apart from the rear of the group, where his concussive brain was least likely to get someone injured—or worse. 

Cody found himself smiling dryly. General Kenobi had, in all likelihood, only meant well. He really must have thought that this was exactly as it appeared: a shallow, desperate abduction by an ill-prepared and understaffed ship. What better way than to get his Commander back into shape? After all, this is war. War waits for no man.

“Was, ” Cody corrected himself under his breath. This was war. 

Yet Kenobi’s well-meaning obliviousness had only tossed Cody into the rare painful event he hadn’t experienced firsthand—he was, if anything, intrigued at how his mind/the Empire would interpret his fleeting memories of this battle. He felt his mind start to wander back to all the possibilities of what this was. Hallucination, trick, drug, nightmare… It was all just noise in his head, noise that made it hard to breathe. He steeled himself and shook his head to dispel the thoughts. 

He’d been changing his mind about this place every five minutes—anger, fear, apathy, exhaustion and back again. Thinking about anything other than this place might be nice. And what was the only thing, other than this, that he found himself able to think about? 

The Empire. What else was there, anymore? No Republic. No Jedi. Hardly any brothers who still remembered what they’d been fighting for.

Just… the Empire, and its galaxy.

He glanced forwards—Cousin, Rook, Crys, Jitterbug, Catcher. Only Crys and Jitterbug would make it to see the Empire. Cousin would have died today. Catcher, not too long from now. And Rook would make it to the end—to the day everything changed—before being gunned down by his own brothers. Cody swallowed. If they’d all survived, would they have made better use of their lives than Cody did? He couldn’t imagine any of them going along with the Empire for so long, lying to themselves, blind to the truth. He couldn’t imagine them wasting their freedom, either, once they finally found the courage to leave.

One of them should have survived instead of him. It wasn’t the first time Cody had the thought, and wouldn’t be the last.

Up ahead, Cousin held up a hand. They all stopped, and Cody found himself drawn to the light from beyond the corner in front of Cousin. It hit the wall opposite in a glowing, striped pattern, outlining a grate which most likely separated them from the Separatists. They were all quiet, watching the Lieutenant. The ambient humming and pinging of droids had been growing steadily, until now it was a waterfall of noise: it was all they could hear, masking any sound of their own. 

The others, Cody realized, all looked ready for battle. As in: blasters raised; eyes surveying every escape route; minds reviewing all their training. 

Cody scolded himself—he was a Commander, he should act like it. Even if none of them could really die, he’d been on enough doomed missions for a lifetime—he would rather not add today to the collection. At least, standing in the back, nobody noticed him shake himself off and tighten his grip on his blaster. 

Cousin looked over his shoulder at them, then tapped his ear. 

Listen. 

Cody did, straining against the humming and clicking and pinging and—

Breathing—laboured, but breathing nonetheless. 

Sama Prei. 

Cousin took a second, rolling his shoulders back, and then he peered from the corner. When blasterfire didn’t immediately erupt, Cody felt tension leave his body. The six of them circled up, keeping their voices just below the ambient hum. 

“I saw Prei,” Cousin started, crossing his arms. “Along with about fifteen battle droids. There’s a grate separating us from them. There’s a hole in the wall across the room, looks like it heads into another vent like this, maybe. But Prei’s right next to the grate, I could touch her if the gaps were big enough. They must think this tunnel caved in. They seem to be devoting most of their attention to the hole and the doors on the ceiling.” Right, everything in this place was flipped, wasn’t it? All the doors were on the floors and ceilings—this wasn’t really a hallway. At one point in time, it would have been one endless vertical drop to the ground. “Stealth isn’t an option anymore. We could try to unlatch the grate quietly enough but if any of those droids turns even a little bit, they’ll see us. We have the element of surprise and should use it.”

“Are the gaps big enough to fit our blasters through?” Asked Crys. It was good thinking. Cousin shook his head. 

“No, don’t think so. Soon as that grate falls, we shoot, and we don’t stop till they’re nothing but steaming piles of scrap metal. Hopefully they won’t have time to radio for help.” That was wishful thinking. Besides, if Cody was right (which he was), there were three times as many right above them, waiting to ambush. Or maybe they were further down the hallway, in the darkness, and had been trailing them the whole time. Or— “We grab Prei, then we get out of here. One of us will go back and signal Skirmish so he’s there when we get outside.”

“How’ll we open the grate?” Asked Crys. 

Jitterbug: “Whoever opens it will be completely in the open. They’ll get shot down.”

Cousin pulled something off his belt and held it up. It glinted in the faint light. Metal, round, all too familiar.

“Lucky for us, we have thermal detonators.”

Crys tensed: “Are you kidding? What little structural integrity this place still has will—”

“Relax,” Rook hissed. “Their power can be adjusted, remember?” He took the small metal ball from Cousin, adjusting a toggle along the side. “We tune it well enough, and all it’ll do is disconnect the grate from the wall—that and give the droids a good surprise.” He tossed it back at Cousin, who fumbled as he caught it. “The smoke will give us cover—the smoke and the dim light. We can stay as far back as possible till enough of them are dead to head in safely.”

“What if they kill Sama Prei? You know—’if we can’t have her, nobody can?’” Catcher spoke up. “She’s still a hostage.”

“They won’t,” Cody said. “Why risk blowing it with all the neutral systems by killing an unarmed hostage? Kidnapping is bad enough, but that crosses the line.” Line? What was he talking about? The Empire—No—the Separatists had already proven, time and time again, that there was never any line. 

Catcher accepted the response, and Cousin gave out a few orders—one person would set up the detonators, while another headed back to signal Skirmish. Three would shoot from behind the corner. Once the droids started to shoot back, the other two would toss in a couple of smoke bombs. Then, they’d finish off the droids, grab Sama Prei, and run for it. As much as Cody hated to admit it, he’d been on less thought-out missions. It really was a miracle he’d survived this long. 

“Cody,” Cousin looked at him, his eyes glinting in the dim dark. “Why don’t you go back to signal Skirmish?”

Cody didn’t have a big ego—that’s not why he was annoyed. Cousin was only being logical. Cody was still technically injured, and spending him back was the safest bet.

“No.” Cody frowned, not completely sure why. He listened to the words leaving his mouth with just as much anticipation—and confusion—as the rest of them. “I’m not leaving my men. I won’t have you die on my watch.”

Not again, he almost said. Because he’d approved this mission before, like he had every other mission. He’d approved what got his brothers killed. 

“Say this is an ambush, will you being here really save us? Is it worth the risk?” Cousin replied. “Look, Commander, out of all of us, you’re the one most likely to get injured.” his face softened, and Cody found it hard to push down the rising guilt. He understood Lieutenant Cousin all too well—he’d been in Cousin's shoes all his life.

“So I’ll have come along for nothing?” Cody asked, shaking his head. “What’s the point in my being here?” Again, he was talking to those who were really listening. If they went through all the effort to trap him in this place, why were they putting him through this?  Why this mission? Was it just to make him feel more guilty? More humiliated? Shameful? 

“Because I thought General Kenobi had a point, Commander,” Cousin repeated, his tone more steely. He lowered his voice, coming right up to Cody so the rest of their words were only between them. “I thought this might help, Sir. But you’ve been odd all day. Please, go back.”

“No, Lieutenant, you don’t understand,” Cody insisted, trying to remain professional. It was very hard. The humidity was inescapable now, seeping into the cracks of his armour, making his skin damp and the air heavy. “I can help this time—maybe I can change something. Let me.”

Cousin’s face changed. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Cody hissed, suddenly struggling to keep his voice hidden beneath the metallic hum. He stepped away from Cousin, shaking his head again. Like it would clear his head, somehow. Get rid of all the thoughts and make him think straight again. “This—all of this—has happened before.”

“This has…” Cousin touched Cody’s shoulder. He turned back to the others, his hand keeping Cody grounded. It was warm, steady, alive. For a minute, Cody’s anger dropped away. The nagging doubt returned, the doubt he’d been trying so hard to ignore. He flip-flopped again. Being crazy seemed more and more likely. Why would the Empire do this, of all things? “Jitterbug, how about you and Commander Cody head back outside and make sure Skirmish knows to start coming?”

Before Jitterbug could speak up, Catcher was standing beside Cody. 

“I can, Sir,” said Catcher. “If the Commander’s right, if this is an ambush, then there might be droids waiting that way. I’m a better shot than Jitterbug—he’s got a good arm, though. You need someone to toss detonators, he’s your guy. If Commander Cody’s got to be stuck with someone, he should be stuck with someone handy with a blaster.” He grinned at Jitterbug. “No offence, Jitter.”

The other clone just rolled his eyes. “You’re humble, you know.”

“Thank you, trooper.” Cousin nodded, then flickered his eyes to Cody, then back to Catcher. Part of Cody wanted to keep resisting, but if this… place… was as real as it seemed, then Cousin wasn’t budging. For a second, it seemed like Cousin was going to say something else. He didn't. He just turned away, calling over his shoulder: “See you on the other side, boys.”

Memories of reading the report flooded his mind. The breathlessness he'd felt when he learned Cousin didn't make it back. Cody stepped forward, grabbed Cousin’s wrist and pulled him back. 

“Wait, Lieutenant.” Cousin didn't fight against Cody's grip, listening silently as the words fell from Cody’s mouth. “It’s a trap—okay? There are more of them. You’re going to think you’ve beaten them, that it’s safe, but it’s not. Sama Prei already talked; they already broke her. They need test subjects, and since there’s no assault anymore, they’re going to try and get you. ” His voice was low, low enough that only Cousin could hear. His grip tightened. Cousin had to believe him. He needed to. Cody’s voice was not much louder than a whisper: “If they can't have you, they'll kill you. You died the first time. You need to promise me you won’t die this time.”

Cousin just stared at him, then at his wrist, then back to Cody. 

“Yes.” He nodded slowly, unsure. He took in the look in Cody’s eyes—the desperation—barely visible from behind his black visor. “Yes, Sir. Okay.”

“You need to say the words.”

He just needed to. It felt like the whole world relied on it, relied on those two words. Cody needed to know his friend was going to be ok. Things needed to be different this time. The war needed to be different.

Cody didn’t know if he could survive it again if it wasn’t.

“Yes, Cody.” Cousin gently squeezed the hand that was tight around his wrist. “I promise.”

***

The hallway was longer than he remembered—the dark was a different kind of dark. It was heavy, suffocating. All the things that make the dark scary. As a youngling on Kamino, he—like most others—had suffered from a fear of the darkness. But he’d been forced to get over it. It was either that or fail the half-dozen training exercises that took place at night, in caves, or in replica prison cells. He hadn’t felt remnants of that deep-rooted, childish fear since… well, since those early days on Kamino. In a way, this tunnel reminded him of the halls deep within Tipoca City. The forbidden places the Kaminoans said to stay out of—the ones deep underwater—looked like this. Only, in addition to the dimly lit white walls and floor, there would be large windows into the darkness of the deep ocean. Cody traced his hand along one of the walls, feeling the rough, warm stone beneath his fingertips. Then he felt it, the distant rumble in the stone. A moment later, he heard it—the muted rumble of the thermal detonator. He and Catcher, who was lagging just behind Cody, turned down the way they’d come to see the dying glow of the small explosion. Then, faintly, came the red and green of blasterfire. 

He and Catcher looked at each other. 

“We should be close,” Catcher said, unable to hide the edge in his voice. Catcher walked past him, the rookie's eyes scanning the wall, and Cody found himself smiling. 

“First time hearing blastfire, right? I mean, real blaster fire.” 

Catcher glanced at him. “Sounds just like when it’s set on stun.”

“Yeah, it does.” They kept walking—quicker now—and tried their best to ignore the echoes. Cody kept dragging his hand along the wall, feeling every little ridge and crack. It was really dark now—he could hardly see his hand when he held it up to his face. It was unlikely they would miss the large crack they’d squeezed through, but it didn’t hurt to be safe. Another distant boom rattled the hallway, this time coating Catcher and Cody in a thin layer of dust from the ceiling. Catcher looked back at the blaster fire. He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. 

“That sounded bigger.”

Cody frowned, still walking forward, still feeling the wall. He hoped he’d been right about the Separatist’s forces being focused elsewhere, prepping for a large-scale battle with the rest of General Kenobi’s fleet. Right about it being easier for them to go in stealth, to forgo immediate backup. Like they could avoid the fighting, the casualties. 

“We have to get out,” Cody said, trying to keep his voice calm. His fingers pressed into the wall, pulling at every crack, digging his fingers into the solid stone.

Another boom. Louder—the magnitude of explosion that would kill someone standing too close to it. More dust came down in a white sheet, throwing Catcher into a fit of coughs. 

This wasn’t good. 

Blindly groping the wall, searching, Cody held his breath. 

“Maybe we should go back,” Catcher said, his voice betraying him. He was afraid.

“No,” Cody ordered. “We need to signal Skirmish, otherwise…”

Otherwise they would be stuck here for who-knew-how-long before Skirmish even began to suspect something had gone wrong. 

Had something gone wrong? Maybe Rook had just set the detonators to higher power. Maybe it was good, maybe it marked the end of their shootout. 

“This isn’t good.” Cody listened to Catcher's breathing get shorter and shallower as the darkness seemed to deepen.

“Don’t panic,” Cody said, sounding remarkably put together. Cody’s mind kept saying to think straight—this isn’t real; he can’t really die. But the stone under his fingers felt real. The blaster fire was gone now, replaced by an ugly silence. The silence sure sounded real. His heartbeat, thundering, pounding in his chest… All of this felt real. But it couldn’t be. Right? That wouldn’t be possible. None of this could be possible.

Cody’s fingers met empty air. 

“Here!” He said, gripping the edge of the crack tightly. If he squinted, he could see the faint light from outside through the jagged, caved-in crack in the stone wall. He turned around, eyes searching the darkness for Catcher. “Trooper, we need to—”

A hot, angry, invisible force slammed Cody onto the floor.

***

Cody winced—everything was so, so bright. That was the first thing he noticed. Then, he smelt it—ash, dust, the taste of blood and salt in his mouth. Not to mention that the headache was back, with its new friend: a searing pain in his left wrist. He was sitting up, his back against something rough and hard. Only after all that did he hear all the noise. First, there was the massive hum of the shuttle overhead. Then, the blasterfire. Pelting, endless, like a sheet of angry rain. Finally, under all that, was the strained voice calling his name. 

Catcher, shaking Cody’s shoulders, was doused in white dust. 

“Commander Cody? Cody?”

Cody winced, his right hand coming up to his forehead and only meeting his dusty, cracked helmet. Catcher cursed, momentarily straightening up, shooting a couple of times, then returning to Cody’s side. His eyes had begun to adjust to the light, and Cody could make out the bright white sky in a hole where the ceiling used to be. Beneath it, rubble. Above it, a shuttle was hovering above the hole. From it came blasterfire. If it weren’t for a half-fallen part of the roof forming the perfect shield, he and Catcher would be dead by now. Cody coughed, then noticed he, too, was covered in a layer of fine white specks of dust. He got to his knees, but found every movement made the world spin. 

Levy was going to be pissed.

“How long was I—”

“Thirty, forty seconds,” Catcher yelled over the deafening whirring of the shuttle. He momentarily took full cover again, panting, his blaster held at the ready. “Once they figured we were in the air duct, it wouldn’t’ve been hard to find the crack and find us!”

The hole had filled the hallway with Onzoria’s freezing air, making it much easier to breathe. Cody stared in front of him, back down the hallway, now lit by the cool light. If he squinted, he could see movement in the distant darkness. But it was probably the aggravated concussion messing with him.

“The others?”

Rook. Cousin. Crys. Jitterbug.

Catcher looked at him, then shook his head, just a little bit. “I don’t know.”

Cody swore, pressing his forehead against the ground. His throat was so dry. What was the Empire doing to him out there?

“Commander!?” A firm hand shook his shoulder again. Cody met Catcher’s eyes, and the trooper frowned. “You need a medic.”

“Do I?” Cody broke out into a grin. “Hear that!?” He yelled into the wind. “I need a medic!”

“Commander?” Catcher ducked away from the edge of the rubble-shield again, only sparing Cody a fleeting glance, all his attention on the things around them. 

Cody, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. “It won’t change anything, will it? No matter how kriffed up things get, you’ll keep me here, won’t you!?”

Catcher leaned out, fired a few times, then jumped back—a bolt missed him by inches. He pointed forward and to the left, right beneath the gaping hole in the ceiling, and Cody saw the tall, thin crack in the wall. 

“There’s our way out!” Catcher said. Whether he’d ignored what Cody said or hadn’t heard him over the wind didn’t matter. Catcher glanced back up at the shuttle, blasterfire continuing to scorch the stones around them. White turned black, the air stunk of smoke. 

Cody’s gaze was locked on the dark crack. It would be impossible to get there—not without taking that shuttle down first, at least. Cody wanted to move—to fight, to do something other than just sit and stare. He felt the words slip from his mouth, against his control.

“This isn’t real.” His voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, but Catcher glanced at him like he’d heard the impossible words. The blasterfire, the shuttle, the wind… the pounding of his heart, it was deafening, it was all he could think about. It was all he could—He slammed his eyes closed, shutting out the mess of his mind. Did his best to cover his ears, ending up just pressing his hands against the sides of his helmet. “This isn’t real. This is the Empire.” 

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This can't be real.

If none of this was real, then why was he so scared?

Hands on his own, yanking them away.

“Cody!” Catcher stared at him, his own brown eyes frantic. “We need to run for it.”

Cody didn’t try moving—maybe if he hunkered down and showed the Empire he was done playing, they’d let him go. He shut his eyes again, hands trying to fend off Catcher’s and failing. 

“No,” his voice broke.

“What do you mean, no?”

“This isn’t real.”

“This isn’t—yes, it is, Cody!” He heard Catcher laugh in disbelief. Cody felt his head shake side to side.

“No. No, this is the Empire. This is a trick, all of this, it’s just a—”

“What’s the Em—“ a blaster bolt, barely missing Catcher’s head. “If we don’t run for it, we are going to die! They’ll realize we’re defenceless, the droids will arrive, and we’ll die!” Catcher took a breath, pushing away the panic. “This mission can’t be a total loss, Cody.”

“Die?” It was Cody’s turn to laugh, finally freeing his wrists from Catcher’s iron grip. “You’re already dead, Catcher! You’ve been dead for years, understand!? So has Cousin! So has Waxer! How can this be real if I saw you die? If I saw General Kenobi—“

He had to stop, not because the droids had finally shot both of them dead, but because if he said one more word, he’d cross the line, and he’d never be able to escape the grief. Catcher was quiet for a second, breathing heavily. Then, gently, he took Cody’s trembling hands and laid them over the Commander’s frantic heart.

“Do you feel that?” Cody nodded. “This means you’re alive, right? It means you’re real.” Catcher kept staring at him intently, and Cody nodded again. Then, Catcher moved Cody’s hands to his shiny, unpainted armour plate. Beneath the chest plate, distantly, Cody felt a pulse just like his. “Then it means I am, too.”

The cold wind, biting his skin, felt real. The bright, white sky looked real. The deep shadows, the long darkness, the heat radiating from the singe marks on the stone. The taste of salt in the air. The sharp pain in the back of his head. The focused glint in Catcher’s brown eyes, the little crease between his eyebrows, the hopeful warmth of their hands, clasped over Cody’s beating heart—he was here. He was here. 

This was real. 

Just as the realization was about to bloom into panic, Catcher’s hands recoiled, and the young trooper stood up, staring over Cody’s shoulder. He turned—there, in the darkness, were four silhouettes—one, at the front, waved his arms wildly and yelled something. As he got closer, Cody felt relief grip him.

Crys. 

Behind him, Jitterbug. Just behind him, helping the fourth figure, was Rook. As the last pair entered the light, Cody felt his heart drop. Rook, supporting Sama Prei, who was bleeding from her leg. Cody got to his feet, eyes searching the darkness but finding nothing.

“I think they know we’re here,” Crys quipped, coming to a stop. The others caught up, and Cody realized they were also covered in white dust—and smears of red, not all coming from Sama Prei. 

“Cousin?” Cody asked, stepping towards Crys. Cody couldn't see the trooper's face beneath his helmet—the angle of bright light glinting off Crys's visor completely shielded it. But he did see Crys shake his head, a movement so small it was nearly imperceptible. 

Cousin had broken his promise. 

“Something tells me we don’t have to signal the ship,” Crys said. “Let’s just hope they get here soon.”

Cody looked at Rook and Jitterbug—the two were quiet. More than quiet, they seemed…

“What happened?” Cody asked, barely managing to control his breathing. Crys glanced at him, taking in the new blood that had made it from his head to his chest and shoulder plates. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“It’s like you said, Sir. They were waiting for us.”

Rook brought Sama Prei—who was pale, even for a Kaminoan—to the wall, which she slumped against in rest, gritting her teeth in pain. Cody looked away, back at the crack that was a short sprint away. Then he looked at Jitterbug, who was limping slightly, his hands shaking. Catcher, still occasionally sending a shot or two at the ship. Crys, trying to figure out what to do next. Rook, lurking in the back, making sure Sama Prei stayed conscious. He’d lived this before—not this mission exactly, but enough just like it. He should have done more to make sure it ended diff—

“If we want a chance, we’re going to need to take out that shuttle.” He interrupted his spiral. Talking was better than thinking—talking was doing. 

“Then what?” Rook snapped, voice cutting through the foggy air. “It’s miles of salt flats! The shuttle will—”

“Not with that visibility, Rook,” Cody replied, matching Rook’s tone. “If we stay close to the ground and move fast, that shuttle won’t be able to see us unless they’re right on top of us—not with all this fog.”

“And what about the Negotiator?” Rook stepped closer, anger twisting his features. “How will they see us? For Force’s sake, Commander, I told you this was a bad idea! Now the Lieutenant’s gone, Prei’s half dead from blood loss, and—”

“Thermal detonators.” Catcher interjected, drawing all their eyes. His dust covered helmet nodded at Jitterbug, who held two more detonators in his shaking hands. “We toss them at the ship. Ship explodes. We run as far as we can, then we throw up a flare, and we hope Skirmish finds us before the Empire does.”

At least it was something.

“Go on, Jitter.” Cody nodded before he could pick holes in it. Rook scoffed, rolled his eyes, and returned to Sama Prei’s side. As Jitterbug fiddled with the settings on the detonators, Cody watched Rook kneel beside the Kaminoan. He spoke softly to her, quietly, reassuring.

Cody’s stomach was heavy. There was no time to panic. Not yet. Those words were all he repeated, over and over and over… anything to not think about how this was real—maybe real. possibly real. Now wasn't the time to panic—Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. 

Cody scrunched his eyes shut and turned back to Jitterbug. 

“You ready, trooper?” 

Jitterbug nodded, but his hands didn’t stop shaking. Cody turned around, glancing at Rook and Prei—who were in the middle of getting to their feet, and said, “Get ready to run. Once we blow up one ship, they’ll send three more.” He frowned, remembering something. “They’re not going to let all this be for nothing.”

They had her information. Now, they just needed the clones to test it on. And, lucky for the five of them, the Separatists weren’t in the habit of taking prisoners. 

Jitterbug waited for confirmation from Cody before he started the countdown on the detonator. He leaned out from behind the shield, and tossed it at the shuttle. Five seconds passed before the boom made the structure shake—but the shuttle remained, even after the dark cloud of smoke disappeared. Rook, leaving Sama Prei to support herself on the wall, shoved Jitterbug back. 

“For Kriff’s sake, I thought you could throw!” He laughed, backing away from the shiny, whose unsteady hands were clenched tightly around their final detonator. “Or are you too nervous, huh? Is that it? Got the jitters!? ”

“Enough, Trooper!” Cody snapped, getting between them and pressing a hand against Rook’s chest. He gestured back towards Prei. “You—do your job and make sure she’s okay.” He turned to Jitterbug, trying his best to seem encouraging. “You’ve got this, Jitterbug.” The rookie steeled himself, unable to hide the fear, and Cody realized something. He let himself smile. “Some first assignment, huh?”

That got a smile from Jitter.

A click, as he fiddled with the settings. A quiet, grounding, breath. Jitterbug stepped forward, emerging from behind the half-caved-in ceiling. He threw. He hit…

…only for the live detonator to deflect off the sleek metal exterior, heading straight back towards them, each little beep marking one second closer to detonation. Cody’s breath got stuck in his throat— do they run? Which way? Should they duck for cover or—

It was Catcher who acted. Of course it was Catcher—it was always Catcher. He was the only one not paralyzed. He grabbed the metal ball as it clattered against the ground, starting to roll. Catcher quickly regained his balance, recoiled his arm, and let go. Then it exploded.

Catcher was supposed to last longer.

Chapter Text

Do you feel that? 

The one fact about the universe—the one unchanging, inflexible fact about existence—was that things end. Things are born, things live; things die. There is no undoing that. Everything Cody understood about Jedi and the Force said that that was one thing that couldn’t be undone. Time moves forward, forever. Even when the universe collapses in on itself one day, time will still progress. Forward. Like a platoon of soldiers; marching…

This means you’re alive, right? 

…marching, marching, marching…

It means you’re real. 

Cody filled his lungs. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhaled. 

Then it means I am, too.

The medbay was cold. Everyone except for the critical cases had been freed, leaving just Cody and a handful of other occupied beds. The curtain was open, revealing the dim rows of white. Now and then a medic would walk by, but considering it was the morning, the medbay was surprisingly dead. Which, for once, was a good thing. 

Ten hours. Ten hours since they made a run for it, out into the salt. Nine and a half since they were far enough away to safely risk throwing a flare. Eight and a half since Skirmish finally got to them, through the fog and steel and salt. Seven and a half since they finally rejoined the Negotiator, resigning themselves into Levy’s open arms. Six since Levy finally had the time to pull shut Cody’s curtains and ask him what the kriff happened. 

Four and a half since General Kenobi was finally allowed to visit; everyone was stable, even Sama Prei. Four since he’d tried to have a conversation with Cody, only for the Commander to feel too sick to speak, courtesy of the concussion, meds, and anxiety. Three and a half since he tried to sleep. Two since he stopped trying. 

Two hours of sitting and staring and thinking but trying not to think too hard because thinking too hard meant accepting—or, at least, entertaining —option four. 

Option four: Cody wasn’t crazy. This was really happening. Not a head injury, not a hallucination. He closed his eyes for the first time in a while. Option three was still possible. Head injury, TBI, everything Levy was afraid of. 

Do you feel that? 

This means you’re alive, right?

Cody rubbed at his eyes, sinking back into the cool white cot. Two fatalities, officially. The mission had gone better than it would have before. Not better enough, though. Cousin hadn’t kept his promise. Catcher had gone too early. 

Maybe it was better this way.

As soon as he thought that, he gave his head a sudden, angry shake. No, no, no, no. He sat up again, restlessness gripping him. 

According to Crys’ statement—what he’d overheard the trooper saying to General Kenobi—Cousin’d been shot in the leg. They had to leave him behind, assumed dead. But if they really had broken Sama Prei, then they’d need a test subject, and Cousin had been right there for the taking. 

Not better for Cousin. 

And Catcher? 

No, no. Don’t think about that. Cody clenched his jaw, shaking his head again, conjuring up another jolt of pain. He didn’t wince, didn’t show it on his face. If Levy knew how bad it was, he’d try to give him more medication. The last thing Cody wanted was to be drugged. What he needed to be was alert. Because even if Catcher’s words had made sense—even if they’d felt real, they’d felt right, they were impossible.

This must be the Empire. It must be. 

Right? Cody rubbed his eyes again. Opened. Blinked. Right.  

Everything was too bright. The hushed chatter was too loud. What he needed was sleep, but he knew it wouldn’t come. Jitterbug—he’d caught a stray blaster bolt in the arm as they made a run for it—was fast asleep in a cot across from him. Crys had gotten in the way of some shrapnel—he was sleeping it off in the cot beside Jitter’s. Rook was fine, probably resting in his own bed in the barracks. 

Cody stared down at his hands. When they’d been picked up, he’d practically been seeing double. Everything had been shiny and bright and ugly and swimming and unreal and impossible. Now things were quiet. Still. Stable. Dull. 

Cody felt his eyes close again and forced them open. The Empire wanted him to sleep. The Empire wanted him to—

“Hey.” Levy’s voice was quiet as he tried not to wake the others. Approaching from one of the ICU units, he gripped a datapad in one hand. The other covered a deep yawn. Nobody had gotten any sleep last night, then. Cody took too long deciding whether to smile or nod or say something back—he was still making up his mind when Levy drew the curtain shut and slumped onto the foot of the cot, dropping his head into his hands and digging his palms into his eyes. 

“Some night, huh?” Levy stayed like that for a moment before gathering the energy to sit up straight. He turned to Cody, eyes weary. “You feeling much better?”

Once again, Cody had no idea what to say. Yes? No? What did it matter, anyway? What did it matter ‘how he was feeling’? Either he had a TBI and would never fully recover from a series of concussions and trauma resulting in paranoia and delusions, or he wasn’t crazy. Or he was right. Everything he thought would happen did happen. 

He didn’t know which was worse.

“Cody.” Levy frowned. “Are you feeling any better?”

The Commander hesitated before taking another deep breath. “Yeah. A little.”

“How so?”

“My head hurts less.” With a small smile, he added: “And there’s only one of everything.”

“Good. That’s good.” Levy nodded, quickly typing something into his datapad. He looked up. “Oh, Sama Prei’s stable. She needed blood. Lots of blood. But she’s stable, so.” Levy shrugged, and Cody noticed the dark stains along the hem of his lab coat. Levy noticed him staring. “I’ve already had to toss two good coats in the past week. Tell your guys to stop bleeding so much, please.”

Sama Prei. The Kaminoan they’d rescued. 

“And, er, the General’s really beating himself up about this one. He’ll probably come by again. Apparently he ‘shouldn’t’ve suggested you go’ and ‘should’ve been leading the mission himself’.”

There was another possibility—if this wasn’t real, which it couldn’t be, then maybe this was some kind of chip malfunction. Maybe Sama Prei would know something, whether it be about the chip or the Order—the Order. Sama Prei would know about the chips, she’d know about Order sixty six—if he was here, he still had the chip in his head, didn’t he? Which meant he’d still do it when they told him to, like he did before. It meant they were still controlling him. He was still—

“Considering the outcome of everything, I probably shouldn’t say this, but I will. I think it was a good idea for you to go. Not in retrospect, but at the time you were improving and it was one small Separatist ship, so it didn’t seem that unwise.”

It meant Sama Prei was a traitor to the Jedi. To the Republic—the real Republic. She knew about the chips and the Order and she never did anything to stop it. Cousin and Catcher had given themselves up for a traitor. She never—

Levy stifled another yawn. “I’m rambling. Ignore me. It’s been a long—”

All the Kaminoans were in on it. The doctors who raised them, trained them, created them specifically for the Jedi knew about—

“Hey, Commander?”

—all of it. And they just let it happen. They weren’t acting under the influence of chips. They had no excuses. Not like Cody had much of an excuse anyway, he’d still gone along with it. He’d still let himself be controlled and used and he’d still let himself murder so many innocent—

“Cody.” A hand on his arm snapped him out of it. He blinked a few times, staring at Levy, who once again wore a look of concern. “How’s the other stuff?”

Other stuff? 

Cody was about to ask that very same question when he remembered what he’d told Levy—Paranoia about the ‘Separatists’. Feeling all mixed up. Cody looked at his hands. One was bandaged—he hadn’t been spared from the shrapnel and debris and blasterfire, either. He barely resisted the urge to gnaw at his already rough nails.

“Yeah.” he swallowed, meeting Levy’s gaze. “Fine. Better.”

‘Better’ meaning ‘in over his head’. 

“I’m gonna need more detail than that, Cod—”

“Fine! It’s fine. Really.” Sigh. Slump. Curse. “Sorry.”

Instead of pushing or ridiculing or offering more pain medication, Levy chuckled. “Tired, huh?”

Cody shrugged again, throat dry. “Yeah.”

A few moments of quiet passed. Levy was, undoubtedly, waiting for Cody to say something. Something about the Separatists, his mind, Catcher or Cousin or the war. But even though logic was now telling Cody that the Empire maybe wasn’t listening, he still found it hard to force his mouth open. So he didn’t. After a while, Levy deflated. 

“Look, Cody, you can’t just tell me you’re struggling then ignore me when I try to help,” he explained. Silence. “Force, Cody, what do you think—”

“There’s nothing to say,” Cody clipped, eyes darting to his hands then to the floor then finally back to Levy. “I—” ‘I’ what? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t earn him a one-way ticket back to Kamino? I think I’m from the future? This war is all one big conspiracy, going straight to the Chancellor himself? It was almost laughable. 

“You said you were paranoid about the Separatists. Let’s start there. And let’s just… talk about that.” Levy scratched the back of his neck, trying to come up with something. “You—you said it started during the battle. Before your injury. What was the first thought?”

A headache was brewing again, he could feel it. Might as well try a bit of honesty. Cody cleared his throat, trying not to acknowledge how insane he sounded.

“That I was dreaming. That the entire battle wasn’t… real. Then I woke up in the medbay and… and it shifted. I thought—” Deep breath. Skewing the truth just a bit… “Maybe I’d been captured by the Separatists. And this was all some mind trick to get me to spill secrets about us, the Jedi…” the rebellion. Rex. The clones. The fight.

He’d told Cousin. Then Cousin was gone. 

He’d told Catcher. Then Catcher died. 

Who’s to say Levy wouldn’t disappear too, now, somehow? Maybe the universe didn’t want him to tell anyone. Maybe it messed up, and Cody wasn’t supposed to show up here, and it was through sheer luck he was still alive. 

Levy nodded along, like Cody was making perfect sense, and scratched his neck again.

“What makes you think this can’t be real?”

The words almost fell out—I’ve lived this before. I’m from the future. The war’s over. But they stopped, just on the tip of Cody’s tongue. He closed his mouth, licking his dry, chapped lips. 

“I don’t know. It just can’t be.” His voice was hoarse. Turned to his hands again. Chuckled. Up to Levy. “Guess you’re going to pull me from duty again?”

Levy chewed his lip, then made a face. Finally he sighed. “No. No, who’re we kidding? You’re going to be out and about anyway—might as well have you not trying to keep it a secret from me.” He dropped his head into his hands again, rubbing his eyes some more. “Okay. Look. Here’s what I think happened: on Nabrett, you went into shock. We’ve all gone through it. Force knows I have. And then you got the concussion, and it made all those feelings worse. I think, as we see your physical injury heal, your mind’s going to get clearer and clearer. I’ve got your scans back: Your concussion was aggravated, but there was no further permanent or lasting damage.” Levy looked down at his datapad. “The only help I can give is advice: don’t keep these thoughts to yourself. Talk. Talking helps. Saying a bad thought aloud often reveals just how impossible it is.” He looked back at Cody, arching his brows. “I’m always just a comm away.”

“Yeah.” Cody tried for a smile. “Sure.”

“I’m serious. Tell me you understand.”

Cody nodded. “I understand.” 

“Alright,” Levy said, more to himself than to Cody, and hesitated a moment more. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Cody stared at him. 

Yes. “No.”

“Cool,” Levy nodded, then checked his watch. “If you don’t feel like sleeping, there’s a briefing going on at oh-seven-hundred. That’s thirty minutes from now. I’ll allow you so long as you bring a med assistant along.” Sensing Cody’s incoming protests, Levy held up a hand. “Yeah, yeah. He can stay at the door. So long as someone’s got eyes on you to make sure you don’t ram your head into anything, I’m flexible.” 

And with that, Levy was once again gone. Cody sat for a few more minutes, staring at his hands and trying to ignore the thoughts that just wouldn’t stop. Finally, he shut his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. 

Say this is real. Say he is… he did come from the future. That meant he knew things. That meant he could change things. That meant he had to change things. 

Maybe that’s why he was there in the first place. 

***

Surprisingly, walking was easier than he’d expected. His head didn’t spin as much as it had before, and he didn’t feel like he was going to fall over. Even after getting into his blacks—once again, Levy wasn’t allowing him back into uniform just yet—there was time before the briefing began. Part of Cody wondered if he should talk to General Kenobi. The General had tried to speak with him earlier, but he’d not exactly been the best conversationalist, still trembling with adrenaline, guarded closely by a very concerned chief medical officer who was still waiting on test results. 

But something urged Commander Cody in a different direction—not towards General Kenobi’s chamber or the briefing room, but the barracks. 

He walked through the Negotiator’s twisting hallways, viewing everything in a new light. The metal walls and floors weren’t perfect, ephemeral replica’s, they were solid. The faces that passed weren’t unfriendly taunts, but real people given another chance—it still reminded him of death, though. Because Cody’d be able to change some things—he’d sure try his best to, at least—but people would still die. 

And Cody still could’ve saved them. 

By the time he reached the barracks, he’d had enough of it. Enough of the salutes and the ‘good morning’s’ and the somber smiles of people grieving the loss of two good, kind, smart soldiers. The absence of Catcher hit him like a wall as he stepped into the quiet barracks where Catcher’s bed had been. The brothers here had known him best, especially considering he was technically just a ‘Shiny’. 

Another rookie who didn’t make it through their first mission. Cody remembered his—he’d been lucky to survive. Catcher should’ve been, too. 

Of course things were quiet here—respectful. Most were off at breakfast, save for a handful. Somewhere in the sea of beds buzzed a tattoo gun. 

Catcher’s bed was beside Jitter’s, near the front of the room. It wasn’t hard to find—it was the only one stripped of sheets, awaiting it’s new inhabitant. The emptiness wouldn’t last long. By tonight, any trace of Catcher would be forgotten, and some new brother would call this mattress home. 

Commander Cody nodded at a few brothers milling about, playing a game of cards, then beelined for Catcher’s bed. Shrouded by metal and fabric, all other sounds got dim. Cody sat at the foot of the bed and rubbed his temple, safe from the gaze of the medic trailing him, who’d stopped in the doorway and was still typing away on his datapad. 

Cody stared at the floor.

How many times had Catcher done the same thing? How many mornings had his brother woken up here, facing a day he didn’t know if he’d survive or not?

Not enough mornings. 

There was a new Lieutenant position open, and another string of promotions was due—just like last time. Only Catcher wouldn’t be in the running for any kind of rank-up. In fact, besides from the short interacting with Rook the day before, most people probably didn’t even know who Catcher was. He hadn’t been given the chance to make an impression. Nobody to grieve him, to toast him, to remember him. Well, maybe except for Jitterbug, but even that wouldn’t last. 

He sighed, pinching his brow. Did he even have the right to think these things? It’s not like he knew Catcher— this version of Catcher. Most of his memories with the man never happened. Never would happen. 

They’d never been friends. 

And still, in the middle of a grim situation, Catcher’d taken the time to calm Cody down. 

It means you’re real. 

Then it means I am, too.

No etchings, no decorations, no photos or nicknacks or—wait. Cody opened the first drawer—nothing. It was in the second he found it: the plate, with a large shard missing from the side. Catcher had always spoken about it, but Cody’d never actually seen it. The image drawn by the dead brother. He traced his fingers along the cracks. Catcher and Jitter’d repaired it using what looked like low-quality glue from—

“Sir?”

Cody sighed. The medic. “Yeah, yeah, I’m—” He looked up from the plate. Not the medic. Rook, leaning against one of the metal bedposts in front of him. Cody cleared his throat and stood up straight. “Yes, Rook. Can I help you with something?”

Rook had fared the best—no injuries, hardly even a scrape. The clone hesitated before sinking onto the bed opposite Cody, like he didn’t know how to say whatever it was he wanted to. 

“How are the others?” he finally asked. 

“Sama Pr—”

“No, I mean Crys and Jitter.”

Oh. “They’re going to be fine.”

Rook looked uncomfortable, to say the least. His leg was bouncing, and something stopped him from maintaining eye contact for very long. 

Cody frowned. “Is everything—”

“Yeah.” Just like that, Rook was standing again. “Just wondering. And Sama Prei…?”

“Stable.”

“Good.” He nodded again. “Good.” Cody stared at him, much like Levy always did when he knew Cody wanted to say something but was gathering the courage. It worked—Rook finally sighed, meeting Cody’s gaze and holding it. “Do you think things could’ve been different?”

Cody stared at him. Blinked. 

Rook stood up. “If Cousin didn’t—if we had Cousin, I mean. If the Lieutenant was there, at the end, do you think Catcher would’ve…”

Cody kept staring as he thought about it, running his mind over the events. Maybe if Cousin had been there, they’d’ve come up with a better plan. Maybe he’d’ve had more thermal detonators, and they would’ve had more chances. Maybe he would have done what Catcher had. Maybe he would have done all sorts of things. 

Cody shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Whatever answer Rook had wanted, that had seemed like the wrong one. He got paler, just a little bit. Cody’s frown deepened. “Everything ok?”

The clone hesitated before nodding, smiling frailly, then noticed what was in Cody’s hands. His face fell again. 

“That’s that thing I broke, huh?” He looked away again. 

“Yeah. I was going to bring it up to Jitterbug. You sure you’re alright?” The trooper just nodded again. This must be how Levy felt. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, Sir. I just haven’t gotten much sleep. Do you mind if I—” He gestured to the plate, and Cody was about to hand it to him when someone laughed to their right. At the end of the isle created by the bunkbeds stood Steady, arms crossed. Eyes angry. 

“Gonna finish the job, huh, Rook?” He spat, approaching. Through the rows, Cody could see eyes on them. Everyone knew Steady. When he was angry, everyone knew why. And everyone was usually on his side. “Breaking his stuff’s not enough, huh? Had to go and—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Cody held a hand against Steady’s chest, stopping him from getting any closer to—and probably punching—Rook. “Take a breath, trooper. He was just—”

“Bet you’re happy, huh? Bet you—”

“Steady, that’s—” 

He was so focused on making sure Steady didn’t lunge, that he wasn’t prepared when Rook shoved past Cody, hand raised in a fist. He stumbled back, almost hitting the back of his head on the metal bedframe and dropped the plate onto the stripped mattress. One minute the two troopers are standing—the next, they’re both on the ground in a flurry of fists and curses and a little crowd had formed—a little crowd of brothers excited to see Rook get his ass kicked. Cody closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted up from zero. When he got to five, he huffed out a breath and waited till one of the two was in reach. He leaned forward, grabbed whoever it was by the back of their shirt, and did his best to rip them from the other’s grip. Soon as he did so, some other ‘helpful’ bystander held the brother—Steady, as it happened—and stopped him from jumping back into the fray. He made a move to, but the sound of Cody’s palm against the metal bedframe silenced the lot of them.

“That’s enough! You’re not younglings!” He hissed, head aching in protest. “I’ve been here twice in the past two days, and both times have ended in idiotic, stupid fights! You’re soldiers—I expect you to act like it, unless you want to be stripped of rank and sent back to Kamino for reeducation!”

It was low-hanging fruit, but true nonetheless. He turned on Rook, who was still at his knees and wiping at his nose, which was dripping blood. 

“Next time, won’t end in a warning, understood, trooper?”

Rook glared up at him, sniffling as blood trickled down his chin. “Yes, Sir.”

Behind him, someone chuckled. Cody scowled. “I expect more from you, Steady,” he chided, snapping his attention back to the instigator. He knew his voice was raised, he knew he was riled up, and he knew his heart rate was way too high for Levy to approve of. Steady—charismatic, funny, popular Steady—nodded, smile dropping away. “Yes, Sir.”

“You ever been on a shitty mission?” He wasn’t done with the man just yet. “You ever made a mistake? Pissed off a brother who you never got the chance to apologize to?”

Silence. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then you have no right to—”

“You didn’t hear what he said!” Steady shot back, finally pulling away from whoever it was had still been restraining his arms. “That osi'yaim said—”

“Enough!” Cody pressed a finger against Steady’s chest. “I’m writing you up. Before you make things any worse for yourself, I’d suggest you find something useful to do.” He sighed, letting the tension drop from his shoulders, and turned his gaze to the small group around them. “That goes for you too, unless you want to be on caf duty for the next cycle.”

That did the trick—Steady was the first to harrumph away somewhere, closely followed by the rest of them, till it was just he and Rook, who was still tending to his nose on the floor. Cody stared down at him, heart still pounding. He could continue to berate the soldier, or… Cody raised an eyebrow, willing himself to calm down. 

“What’d you say?” he asked. Rook glanced up at him, then back to the blood. His voice, when he eventually spoke, was nasally. 

“Nothing.” Silence. Sigh. Eyeroll. “Force, I said it was my fault. Last night, when I showed up without Jitterbug or Catcher everyone was getting on my ass about where the kriff they were, and… and I said Catcher was dead and Jitter got hurt and it was my kriffing fault!” He kept wiping at his nose. “Kay? It’s a miracle that asshole didn’t pull this last night.” Rook cracked a smile. “Well, he tried to, but there were more people around then. More people who didn’t want to earn another visit from a very disappointed, sickly Marshal Commander.”

Cody stared down at him, deciding to let that last quip go. Then he frowned, realizing what Rook’d said. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

Rook rolled his eyes again. “We were all in shock, Sir. Like I said, it was nothing.”

“Did something happen?”

Rook stared him down, then gave his head the smallest of shakes. “No.”

“If there’s—”

“Nothing happened.” Rook got to his feet, steadying himself on a bedframe and holding his sleeve to his nose. “Now unless you’re gonna continue interrogating me, I’m going to head up to the medbay to make sure that shabuir didn’t break my kriffin’ nose.”

Cody stared at him, then nodded. He didn’t have the energy to push the subject—not now, at least. “Go on.”

Cody watched him go, grumbling to himself as he went. Then he caught the gaze of the medic by the doorway, looking at him curiously. So the scuffle’d been enough to pull him from his datapad, then. Cody gestured to give him a moment, then looked back at Catcher’s bed. He sighed, picking up the plate and tracing the cracks again. 

That had been a good night—the night they were staying up, making sure their small camp didn’t get spotted by a troop of battle droids. It was humid, but not too hot. The night had been quiet, the stars painting the sky various shades of purple and blue. Crickets. Distant birds. Catcher had talked about his time on Kamino, and then the conversation had gradually shifted to their thoughts on the war. 

Cody, as Commander, had never found the time to slow down and talk like he did that night. With all the paperwork and briefings and battles… That was one of his calmest memories. No death, no pain, no anxiety, no war. Just the two of them laughing in the darkness. 

Cody looked back at the stripped mattress and smiled. Then he walked away. 

***

The briefing was much like the one from yesterday—all the senior officers gathered together, getting the rundown from General Kenobi. Only this time, it was only Kenobi running the meeting. There was a gap where Cousin used to stand. 

Cody pulled his eyes away from it once General Kenobi finished with the updates from the rest of the war—other battalions, other Generals, other missions. Finally, he started on about Sama Prei. Her condition, the mission, and where they'd go from there. 

“I’ve discussed it with the council,” The General continued, scanning his eyes over the room. At those words, he pressed a button, and a holomap filled the space above the round table. “It’s quicker for us to head straight to Kamino than to wait for a shuttle to pick her up. To be cautious, we’ll bring her there ourselves. As of now, we’ve yet to be given a mission—Sama Prei’s safe return to Kamino is our first priority. Should we pick up any distress signals between now and Kamino, we’re to immediately report them to the closest available Republic vessel.” He finished with a nod, then gave another sad smile. “It’s about a day and a half of hyperdrive: nothing but smooth sailing. Take things slow: the universe has given us a very much-needed break. We can afford to sit down and breathe for a moment.” It felt like that last bit was directed towards Cody. “Of course, this doesn’t mean ‘shirk your duties’ or ‘get lax on the men’—the war hasn’t paused just for us, after all,” he added with a smirk, conjuring a few in some of the men. With that, the map leading to Kamino fizzled out. “I’m pleased to say, that’s all. Oh—” The General caught himself before he could dismiss them. His smile faded as he clasped his hands together. “Due to the unfortunate loss of Cousin, we’re in for some promotions. Should any of you have any names to throw into the hat, for the Lieutenant job, please come see me before the briefing tomorrow.” A string of nods before Kenobi smiled again, deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. “That’s all, then.”

With that, chatter returned as the others started to file out. Cody didn’t need Kenobi to tell him to know he ought to stay. The General stayed at the head of the round table, staring at the floor silently, stroking his beard, until they were alone. After another moment of contemplation, Kenobi cleared his throat, looking around and meeting Cody’s eyes. 

“How are you?” His voice was much softer than it’d been during the briefing, betraying just how exhausted he was. ‘Beating himself up about it’, as Levy had said, seemed to perfectly sum up how Kenobi was. 

“Better, Sir,” Cody said, somehow conjuring a smile of his own. He clasped his hands behind his back. He’d already returned the plate to Jitterbug and had managed to convince the medic that the briefing was need-to-know, and his time could be better spent saving lives and whatnot. 

“Be honest.” Kenobi stayed still, not uncrossing his arms. All Cody could do was shrug—if he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Levy, he certainly wouldn’t ‘be honest’ with the General. But he supposed he could mention the other stuff.

“The men are taking it hard.” 

Kenobi got quiet. “Sometimes, losing one or two men hurts more than the unknowable losses of a larger battle. Of course, I can’t—I can’t know for certain. That’s just the impression I get.” Kenobi smiled again, but this time it wasn’t forced or unnatural—not happy, either, though. It was sad, if anything, and pulled out some of the small wrinkles beside his eyes. “When a group overwhelmingly feels one thing, it’s easy to hide in. The small crevice you curl into becomes your whole world—the grief is so big, so far away, that it’s almost as if it doesn’t exist. Empty beds become just that. Broken armour becomes more spare parts. But when it’s one or two empty beds, one or two suits of armour… When the grief is small, you’re all it has. It’s harder to push away.” Kenobi rubbed his eyes, voice dropping. “Force. First Nabrett, now this.” Then the General caught himself—he straightened up, cleared his throat, and tried to shake himself off. “I’d like to apologize, Commander Cody.”

It was Cody’s turn—for the first time in days—to be confused at what someone else said. “What for, Sir?”

“Well—” Kenobi’s voice caught in his throat. “Well, it was unwise to—I’m your General. This mission was my responsibility, and it was unwise and foolish not to accompany you.”

Cody shook his head, looking across the briefing table, where Cousin would have stood. “No, no, Sir. It’s not your fault. I ch—”

“I thought it might be helpful for you, to lead something again, without me there. Maybe it would help with whatever was going on. But I see now that I should’ve known that it would end poorly. And I didn’t believe you. If I had truly listened, I wouldn’t have let you go straight into a trap and—and I apologize for that, Cody. This all should’ve ended…” he sighed, struggling to find the right words. “Different.”

“You couldn’t have known, Sir.” But I did. Kenobi’s hand returned to his temple, where he rubbed little circles. 

“But I should have. Such promising men, lost so… wastefully.”

It was Cody’s turn to sigh. First Rook, now Kenobi. Of course, there’d be no need to play the blame game if they knew what Cody did. At least neither of them had to contend with knowing exactly what ‘it’ was that they should have known before it happened. 

Then Cody remembered something—his previous line of thought, the one from the medbay. And if Sama Prei was staying on the Negotiator for a few more days, then that meant…

“Where will Sama Prei be staying?” he asked. Kenobi paused, supposedly caught off by the sudden change in topic. He frowned, another crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Er, one of the guest chambers, I suppose. Why?”

“No reason,” Cody responded blankly, turning back to where Cousin used to stand. Letting Cousin and Catcher die was one thing, but letting the Jedi? Living through the Order again? That was something he wouldn’t let happen. 

And here was a Kaminoan—a head scientist, placed right into his lap. 

Maybe this was the universe's plan—the Force’s plan. Send Cody back to undo it all. That, or he’d spend five minutes with Prei and realize that there was no such thing as the order. He really was crazy—and he’d know before he did something really stupid, like try to change something that was never going to happen in the first place. He chewed the inside of his mouth—he couldn’t keep doing this, ruminating and obsessing and going over the same thoughts again and again, a loop he couldn’t get out of. He needed answers—just one. One small—

“Commander, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Kenobi was watching him. How long had he been quiet?

“Yes.” He replied. “Yes, sorry. Tired, that's all.” 

Tired. The best catch-all excuse. 

“I've been wondering; what did happen on Nabrett?” The question caught Cody off guard—he frowned to cover up the surprise.

“What do you mean, Sir?”

“How did you know? I’ve been thinking about it—that and Onzoria. About it being a trap, I mean. And I can’t for the life of me figure out how.” Kenobi kept his voice level, but something in his face had changed. A chill had entered his voice, almost like a wall had been erected. 

Cody just shrugged. “Like I said, General, I just had a—”

“A bad feeling.” Pause. Nothing but the whirring of the ship. Distant, echoing conversation. Finally, Kenobi chuckled, but there was an edge to it. A flicker of something… and then it was gone, and Kenobi seemed normal again, reaching out and patting Cody’s shoulder. “Right, well, like I said… do keep me updated. I’m here to talk if you need.”

After another moment of hesitance, Kenobi excused himself, leaving Cody standing with a knot in his stomach. 

That was strange. 

He kept staring, replaying that flicker of… something on Kenobi’s face. All it did was make him more uneasy—cynicism and suspicion were strangers to General Kenobi, but in that moment…

Cody shut his eyes and gave his head a firm shake. No. He was reading into things—paranoia. That’s what this was. More paranoia. 

“Paranoia,” Cody muttered again, as if saying it out loud would confirm it, before shaking himself off and heading off to continue avoiding Levy. 

***

Okay, well, it’s not like he was ever that good at avoiding the man. Multiple times, Cody found himself wondering if the Kaminoans had messed with the medic’s genetic code to ingrain some kind of tracker in him, because no matter where he hid, Levy always managed to find him. There was a small maintenance hallway one floor below the medbay which had large, wall-to-ceiling windows. It was rarely used by anything other than a maintenance droid. Or Cody, when he needed quiet. He had been standing, staring, gnawing at his fingernails when the door slid open, revealing a very out-of-breath Levy. 

“Force, I thought you’d—”

“Sorry,” Cody said, eyes fixed upon some faraway, flickering star. Or ship. Or planet. 

He’d been thinking, running through everything one last time—the final time, he kept telling himself. This being a dream was fully out of the picture now. Some parts of his mind still thought this could be an Imperial trick, but then he’d remember his interaction with Catcher… of course, it didn’t technically ‘prove’ anything, but… Well, maybe he wanted it to be real. Was that so bad?

Do you feel that? 

And Catcher’s heartbeat had felt real. The cold, smooth armour felt real. The salt tasted real. The heat from the explosion was real, the noise, the ringing, the shower of debris, the roar of the ship as its engine folded in on itself and it spiralled from the sky—the heaving of his breath as he pushed himself up. 

This means you’re alive, right? 

The lifelessness in Catcher’s eyes, the ever-growing pool of blood… Cody’d seen death too many times to count. And if that moment meant real death, then everything else must mean real life.

It means you’re real. 

Cody filled his lungs. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhaled. 

Then it means I am, too.

Levy paused to catch his breath, then cast his eyes out over the infinite speckle of stars. He approached slowly, not moving his gaze from some equally far away place. 

“What’re you doing out here?”

“I don’t know.” Seemed like that was his default answer to everything these days. In truth, he was exhausted. He was exhausted of going in circles. Exhausted of pretending. But he just couldn’t… Cody scrunched his eyes shut and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cold glass. It sent goosebumps down his spine. “I can’t do this.”

Pause. “Can’t do what?”

“I’m going to say something insane, Levy, and you can’t—you can’t tell me it’s insane, because I know it’s insane, okay?” His heartbeat, just like that, exploded. It was practically all he could hear as he straightened up. Levy just stared, then nodded. Cody did his best to speak through the lump in his throat, but it was hard. Not to mention, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Catcher—that hardly made it any better. That hardly made any of this—he returned to the window. “Something happened that I can’t explain.”

“Okay.” Levy hesitated, but his voice was patient—and just a little anticipatory. Cody could practically hear him say ‘finally’. “Maybe I can help?”

Don’t do it. Don’t say anything. He’ll blame you for it, too—Catcher and Cousin. First thing he’ll say is ‘and you still let it happen?’ ‘Why didn’t you do anything?’ ‘Why did you let your brothers—’

“Time is mixed up.” 

Cody let out a breath. But no laughter came—no anger. Just confusion. 

“Okay,” Levy repeated. In the reflection, he could see the medic take a step closer. “I’m gonna need a bit more than that, Codes.”

“I’ve lived this before.” His throat was dry. Since when was his throat so dry? “All of this. Nabrett, Onzoria, the war. After the war. I’ve lived it. It’s already happened.”

“Oka—”

“Force, is that all you have to say?” Cody snapped, finally turning from the window. “Are you listening to me? I’m from the future! That’s what I’m telling you! And all you have to say is—is— Okay? ”

Levy held up his hands in defence, and couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Cody. Really. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Yeah.” Cody wiped his nose, returning his eyes to the expanse in front of them. He crossed his arms. Took what was supposed to be a calming breath. “I’ve lived it. This. Well, not this, because this never happened, but the other stuff. The battles. The briefings. I know what happens.”

“Oka—Uh, I mean…” Levy caught himself, coming up beside Cody. He struggled for a minute, trying to sort out a reasonable thing to say. Cody didn’t blame him for the flabbergasted look on his face—heck, he had more patience than Cody would have. If he were in Levy’s shoes, the conversation would have finished thirty seconds ago with a one-way ticket back to the medbay for another head scan. “Why do you think that is?”

Cody started ripping at one of his nails again. “The Force. A mind trick. Insanity. Don’t know.” He glanced at Levy. “In your medical opinion, which is it? The Force? The concussion? Or have I lost it? I mean, everywhere I look, I see dead people, Levy. Everything is a reminder of a failed mission or a mistake or something that could’ve been done differently… I don’t think a concussion does that to you, doc.”

Levy was quiet, and seemed to overcome the shock. It had been replaced with a sort of detached contemplation. He’d probably heard crazier, after all, dealing with drugged-up soldiers all day. He really thought about it—yet another surprise to Cody. 

“Do things end badly?” Levy finally broke the silence. Cody met his eyes and, for a second, all they did was stare at each other. Levy stayed quiet, eyes slightly wide. Encouraging.

“Yes.”

“Then… maybe this is the universe giving you a second chance.” Cody couldn’t help but sigh. 

“Why would it do that?”

“Maybe it thinks you deserve one.”

“Why?” He asked, feeling his heart rate start to climb again. “It doesn’t just end badly, Levy. Everything… everything is…” Friendly fire. Order 66. The Empire. Torture. “I hurt people.”

“Well, then maybe the universe isn’t doing it for you.” Levy shrugged, barely piecing together the sentence. “I mean, maybe… Let’s say, hypothetically, the universe really did send you back,” there it was: Levy didn’t believe a word, he was just going along with it. “Then maybe it’s because it thinks you can help things turn out differently.” Levy paused, mouth ajar, then ultimately decided to say what had been lingering on his mind: “Is that what this is? Guilt? Because people are going to die no matter what, Cody, and there’s no way to fix—”

“I’m not making it up!” Cody said, stepping away from Levy. “Onzoria went differently. Cousin died, that’s the same, but Catcher never should have. I know what mission we’re going on next week—I know how you die, Levy! I'm not making any of this up!”

Levy’s hands were up in that defensive way again, but he was strangely… calm. “Cody, I don’t think you are. Okay? I believe you. The Force does things that nobody can make sense of. I’ve read countless datapads about medical events that Jedi couldn’t even explain. I think it’s totally possible that this… this could happen. But I also think there are a thousand other more likely possibilities that we should look at before accepting that this is… real, okay?”

Cody kept chewing at his nail. Made sense. Still. Part of him had hoped Levy would just… accept it, no questions asked. 

“How, er…” Levy scratched the back of his neck. “How detailed is your knowledge of… ‘the future’?”

“Very,” Cody said, turning to him. “It happened to me. To all of us. I lived it. How detailed are your memories of last week? Because that's what this is to me.”

The little crease between his eyebrows returned. “What exactly is ‘it’?”

Cody bit down on his tongue, but couldn’t stop himself. “We kill the Jedi. Us. The clones. The Republic falls. Everything—all of this—the death, the war, it’s all a plot. None of it matters. None of it does a thing .”

Levy stopped. “I’m sorry, but I just can't believe that.”

“I wouldn’t either.”

“No matter what you think happened, whether or not you’re right…” Levy shook his head. “We still saved lives.”

“That the Empire killed.”

“Well,” Levy steeled his gaze. “At least we gave them time. Look, Cody, why don’t we continue this in the medbay? We’re both exhausted, and—”

“What, so you can keep your eye on me? Who’s to say I wasn’t right the first time? Who’s to say this isn’t some kind of interrogation tactic? Who’s to say—”

“Sir.” Levy’s hand dropped to Cody’s arm. “You’re putting your trust in me, and I’m not going to violate that trust. Everything you’ve just said stays between us—doctor-patient confidentiality. I’m not going to breathe a word of this to anyone. Not Kenobi, not the other medics, and certainly not some 'Empire'. And I’m not sending you anywhere else, either. Whatever’s going on—real or not—we’re going to solve it together. Okay?”

It was a trick. Must be. The minute Levy got Cody into that medbay, it was over for him. Straight to Kamino, stripped of rank—kriff, he never should have said a thing. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and—

“You don’t believe me.” Levy’s shoulders dropped, and he let go of Cody’s arm. A moment later, he came up with a new approach. “Look, take as much time as you need. When you’re ready, you can come back to the medbay. We don’t have to talk—we can pretend none of this ever happened. But you’re still my patient, and I still want to make sure you don’t get any more injured than you already are.” Levy started backing away, nodding encouragingly at Cody. “I’ll see you around, Sir. Thank you for telling me about… all of this. You know where to find me.” After a moment's hesitation—like Levy was trying to decide whether he was doing something stupid or not—he left Cody alone at the window. Soon as the door slid shut, Cody slumped against the wall, scrunching his eyes. 

“ Kriff. ” he dragged his palms down his face, blinking to ward off the headache. There it was: all his cards, tossed onto the table. Levy knew everything now—almost everything, at least. Enough to pull him out of this war for good. But through the regret and guilt and frustration shone something else… someone hot and impulsive. Something stupid. Something angry. 

Somewhere else in that ship was Sama Prei, breathing the same filtered air. She knew about the chip. If the Empire really had planted Order 66 in the clones' minds... she’d know about it. 

What better way to convince Levy he was telling the truth than a confession from Sama Prei herself?

Chapter Text

Breathe. 

In, out. Slowly. 

Not like you’re about to do something really, really kriffing stupid or anything. 

Cody rubbed his face, dragging the grit from his eyes. Sometime between the briefing and the hallway encounter with Levy, Cody had managed to lose the med assistant tailing him. At the time, it had meant solitude. Now, the logical part of his mind regretted it—there was no one watching him. No one to stop him from doing something stupid. 

And the other part of his mind? The part coming up with crazy theories? The part that made him tell Levy? The part clinging on to every piece of suspicion and paranoia? The part thinking he’s from the future?

It was enough to make him laugh, which he hid behind a cough. Must’ve been out of habit, because there was no one to hide the laugh from. He was alone in his dark once-cabin-turned-storage-unit. Trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t cause the collapse of his reputation, career, and relationships. After all, what else did clones have? Barely any belongings—maybe a plate here or there—and, considering he probably wasn’t crazy… they didn’t have any freedom, either.

He chewed his lip till he tasted blood, something he hadn’t done since he was a youngling on Kamino. He closed his eyes again. The air was filled with the hum of the ship. Everything vibrated and smelt like metal and oil. 

“Levy thinks you’re crazy.” He leant forward, resting his forearms on his legs. At least Levy wasn’t going to tell anyone. He chewed on his lip some more. 

There was only one path he could see: find proof. Find proof, change the future. Save people—really save people, not this ‘pretend’ he and his brothers have spent their lives playing. His best chance of ‘proof’ was a long shot—Sama Prei may or may not know about the chips. But what else could he do? Go to Kamino himself? As if. The only way a Marshal Commander goes back to Kamino is if they do something wrong.

He buried his eyes into his palms. “Which is what you’re doing.”

Something wrong and stupid that Kenobi won’t even be able to justify. He sucked in a long, steady breath, and shut away any thoughts of his General or Kamino or Levy or Catcher and the friendship he’d never form. Then he stood up, and caught sight of one of the containers in the corner—a box of excess standard-issue vibroblades. It took more than a little effort to slide the lid open—he must be in worse shape than he thought. He glanced into the refresher doorway and met eyes with his reflection. Grimaced. Didn’t exactly look like someone you’d leave a very weak and important Kaminoan unguarded with. He patted his hair a bit and rubbed his eyes some more till he looked a bit more awake, then slipped one of the viroblades onto his belt—only for defence. Who knew how far the Kaminoans were willing to go to keep their secret safe?

“If they actually have a secret.” Then he told himself to shut up, because if anyone heard him, they really would think he was crazy.

So he slipped into the hallway, door whooshing shut behind him. 

Sama Prei would have been given one of the guest rooms. Either that or she was sleeping off those blood transfusions from last night in the medbay. Or maybe Levy’d struck a middle-ground and assigned some medics to look after her in a guest room. Cody ripped off a loose thread on his sleeve. If he’d been on duty, he would have suggested to give a guest like that their own room. He hadn’t seen Sama Prei in the medbay, so chances were, Levy thought like Cody.

There was a long, typically-empty hallway a few floors above the clone barracks that was lined with guest suits. During diplomacy meetings, they came in useful. Otherwise, they were empty. 

Cody stepped out of the elevator, again straightening out some of his clothing. He flexed his palm, stepping into the quiet hallway. Grazed the hilt of the vibroblade, just to remind himself it was there. Then he rubbed his eyes again—it must be later than he thought. Time gets weird when you’re off planet too long, without day or night to anchor you. 

Nobody had stopped him in the hallway, nor had he run into any sneaky medics. Levy seemed to have kept his words—Cody’s secret was safe with him. Either that, or the whole ship was in on some elaborate plan to catch him in the middle of—

Closed his eyes. Shook his head. Winced at the headache. 

No, no, no. That’s crazy. 

“ And this isn’t?” He said under his breath, starting to walk through the hall. Up ahead, a single clone stood guard in front of a door. He turned as Cody approached, a funny look passing over his face. Cody tried to smile. Act natural. “Wooley. They have you guarding Sama Prei?” Wooley was one of the 212th’s most capable. “I would have expected them to put a Shiny on it.”

“Commander Cody.” Wooley cracked a smile. “Kenobi said he wanted her guarded as closely as possible. ‘Guess he didn’t wanna risk anything.”

Risk anything. Cody’s smile faltered. What was he doing? Wooley’s face changed—before he could ask if anything was the matter, Cody cleared his throat. “Good. Well, trooper, I have to speak with her. Would you mind—”

“Sorry, Commander,” The crease between Wooley’s eyebrows deepened. “I thought you were still off duty?” Then he shifted a touch closer to the door. 

“I am.” Cody squeezed his hands behind his back. “General Kenobi sent me. Apparently a concussion doesn’t mean I can’t do busywork.”

The soldier just stared. “I’m sorry, Commander, but I can’t let you in.”

His fingers grazed the vibroblade as he unclenched his hands and brought them to rest in front of him. “What do you mean?” Frown. “General Kenobi sent me, Wooley. I need to speak to Sama Prei.”

“With all due respect, Commander… why?”

Cody took a step closer. “What do you mean, ‘why?’ I am your Commanding Officer, Wooley. Let me—”

Then something in Wooley’s face changed. His shoulders dropped, and he looked almost… apologetic? “I can’t. Kenobi said not to let you in, Sir.”

Cody nearly choked on his words—“What? He said that?”

Wooley nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor. “He said that you’re still recovering, and might try to go back on duty before Levy clears you. He said if you come by I should comm Levy. I’m sorry, Sir, but I won’t let you in unless I hear it from Kenobi himself.”

Cody clenched his fists. Of course. Was this why Kenobi had been acting strangely before? He didn’t think Cody was up to his job yet?

Or was it cover for something else?

He gave his head another shake. No—that’s paranoia. Don’t feed those sort of—

“Sir?” Wooley placed a hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” He snapped. He took in another deep breath, closed his eyes, and apologized. He hadn’t been feeling like himself since the mission, after what happened to Catcher. He was sorry.

“Maybe you want me to have someone walk you back to the medbay?”

“No.” Cody steeled himself. When would he get another chance like this? Levy had given him space, no medics breathing down his neck… all that separated him from answers was Wooley. But if he gave up now, Wooley would have to talk to Levy or Kenobi, and then he really could say bye to freedom. He leaned in. Then he did something stupid. “Something’s going on, Wooley. Something that may very well make Sama Prei a traitor. We found something on Onzoria.” Liar. Liar, liar, liar . “Now, obviously, I can’t prove anything. If I could, I’d’ve gone straight to Kenobi. What I need is proof, and I think Sama Prei has some. But… but there’s always a chance that I’m wrong. I don’t want to go to the General and blow this all out of proportion if so. He’s got bigger things to worry about.”

Wooley took a step away, confusion molding his face into a deep frown. “Are you—who else knows?”

“Levy. I told him.” Cody cleared his throat again, trying his best to seem Commander-y. It was harder than he remembered. “In fact, he agreed that I should talk to Prei. Without Kenobi knowing.”

Wooley paused, and Cody could practically see the gears turning in his head. “So… so you’re going behind his back? Doesn’t that seem—”

“I wouldn’t unless I had to, Wooley.” He held up his hands. “This is me we’re talking about.”

The me who’s not really… me.

Wooley swallowed, glancing at the door behind him. “Commander, I’m sorry, but General Kenobi explicitly told me not to—”

“Force, Wooley! I’m telling you that if I’m right and you don’t —!” Calm down. Lower your voice. You really do seem crazy. He took a breath and apologized again. “If—if I’m correct, Wooley, and you don’t let me speak with her, then a lot of people are going to die. I would never ask you to disobey a direct order from General Kenobi unless it was important. I need you to believe me.”

Ok, maybe now he was being a bit melodramatic, but it seemed to push Wooley over the edge. The clone sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, of course I believe you, Sir, I just, you don’t seem very, uh…” Pause. Sigh. Then he folded. “Fine. Okay. Yes, Sir. But I’ll only give you five minutes, got it? And if the General stops by when you’re in there, then—”

“Yes.” Cody reached forward, squeezing Wooley’s shoulder gratefully—truthfully, he could have hugged the man. “Of course. None of the fallout will be your fault, you have my word.”

Wooley’s unsure frown turned into a grimace. “Now, when you say things like that, Sir, I really don’t know if—”

“Five minutes.” Cody recoiled from Wooley, wiping some of the sweat from his palms onto his pants. Five minutes—five minutes to get her to admit everyone has mind-control chips in their brains that’re going to be used to kill the Jedi. If she even knows that much. “Thank you, Wooley.”

It was with hesitance, and maybe a little regret, with which Wooley turned, knocked on Sama Prei’s door, and asked if she’d mind seeing a visitor. It may have been late for Standard Time, but the time difference on Kamino ensured that she was wide awake, even at this hour. Something Cody wished he would have thought about before going through all this effort—what if he’d gotten this far, only for her to be fast asleep? A moment later, it slid open, and Sama Prei smiled curiously down at him. 

“I know you,” She said, squinting slightly. Then she gestured for him to come inside. 

The door whooshed shut behind him, Wooley still watching with a frown all the while—Cody tried his best to smile. Sama Prei looked better than she did on Onzoria. There wasn’t a difference in her colour, but her eyes looked less distant—like she was really here, not barely-clinging-onto-consciousness. “You saved me.” She pulled out a chair, where she was having what looked like tea, and offered him to sit as she went and got another mug.

Cody stayed standing, resting his hands on the back of the chair. “How are you feeling?”

She smiled—it looked strange on the Kaminoan, especially one who had spilled secrets to the Separatists not two days ago. One who headed the training of clones—one so high up the command chain that she couldn’t not know about—

“I feel much better, thank you.” She sat, pouring him a cup. The steam danced into the air, and she slid it towards him. “Please, sit. It must be late for you.”

He shook his head. “I’m not staying long.”

“Remind me, what is your number?” She cocked her head, raising her own mug to her lips. Cody bristled—he’d forgotten the Kaminoan’s obsession with stripping any sense of the clones' identity. He met very few on Kamino who tolerated hearing their nicknames. At least Sama Prei didn’t seem cruel, just… Kaminoan .

“CC-2224.”

“Ah.” Smile. “I remember your batch. Very promising. Is there a specific reason for your visit, CC-2224? Or are you here to make sure I have recovered well?”

“No. I have a few questions about Onzoria.”

“Oh?” The mug paused mid-air. “I already spoke to General Kenobi. I told him everything I know.”

Cody remembered her statement from the last time this happened—ship was attacked, she was held hostage. The truths she’d spilled to the droids had only come out much later. 

“I’d just like to go into a bit more detail.” He drummed his fingers along the back of the chair. “You know, just for the report.”

She put her mug down. “What are your questions?”

“You mentioned that the Separatists asked you things about the clones—our training, tactics, that sort of thing.” Grip tightening. “You stand by the fact that you told them nothing?”

Nod. “Yes.”

“What else did they ask about?”

“Techniques we teach you. Strategies in battle.”

“What about the creation of clones?” Cody leaned forward. “Did they ask about that?”

“The creation of clones?” she leant back in her chair, confusion barely visible on her face. “No. Why would they ask me that?”

“They asked about our behaviour—did they ask why we do the things we do?” He stepped away from the chair, voice rising. “Did they ask how you make sure we follow orders?”

Sama Prei, too, got to her feet, peering at him curiously. Like a little science project. “What are you asking me, CC-2224?”

“The chips in our heads.” back to the chair, hands tightening over the back. “Did they ask about those? ”

Her frown deepened. “The behavioural modifiers? Those are to ensure peak obedience and loyalty. Are you feeling alright, CC-22—”

“That’s not what they’re for, though, is it!” Silence. 

Sama Prei stepped closer, reaching out with a delicate hand. “Perhaps you should sit—”

“I know about the Order!” He batted her hand away, then caught himself. He wasn’t on the defensive, here. It was his turn to step toward her, jutting out a finger. “I know what you Kaminoans put in our heads! They’re not for obedience, they’re for murder!”

Sama Prei gaped like a fish, searching for the right words. He’d never seen a Kaminoan like that—spending all her time around younglings must have made her a bit more human than she’d like to admit. “I’m sorry, but I—”

“Don’t deny it!” Thank Force these walls were soundproof—otherwise, Wooley would have burst in a while ago. “Someone told you to put the order in those chips—who? Who wants the Jedi dead?” Knowing there were chips in their heads wasn’t going to stop the Empire—what he needed was a name. An organization, something.

For a minute, all Sama Prei did was stare, fear twisting her features in a way he’d never seen before. One of her hands had absent-mindedly fallen to her side, where she’d been bleeding back on Onzoria. 

And for a terrifying, long, silent moment, Cody wondered if he was wrong.

Then Sama Prei opened her mouth, and she broke. 

***

Everyone always said the medics had it easy. Well, not everyone, but after a devastating, bloody, loss some of the more passionate brothers needed someone to blame. 

Oh, Levy, why didn’t you save him?

Oh, Levy, you have no idea what it’s like!

Oh, Levy, you should have done more!

Levy tore off his blue plastic gloves, tossing the bloody heaps into the sanitary disposal bin and grumbling to himself. Bloody kriffing idiot thought it was a good idea to hide shrapnel to the gut from Nabrett. Well, the infection serves him right. From the cot to his left, Crys gave him a look. 

“Everything okay, Doc?”

“Everyone’s a kriffing idiot, that’s what.” He pressed his palms into his eyes. He hadn’t caught a wink of sleep since the rescue team arrived in the middle of last night. “Multiple surgeries, a blood transfusion on one of the most important passengers this ship has ever had, Commander Cody running around like he’s got Force Healing, and now this bloody idiot Shiny hides an infection for—” Calm down, Levy. It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. It’s just another beautiful day. He let out a heavy breath, but it didn’t do much to untie the knot in his stomach. And none of that was even close to his conversation with Cody. “Crys, do you think everyone will be this infuriating after the war? Or is everyone a kriffing idiot because it’s the only way to have fun on this ship?” Crys shrugged, then Levy shot him a sharp look. “Hey. Go to sleep already. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Crys shrugged again. “Not tired.”

Levy stomped over to one of the medicine drawers, angrily rifled through the little orange bottles, found what he was looking for, and practically chucked it at Crys. “Sleeping pills. Water. Swallow. You child .”

It was with a loopy, post-surgery grin that Crys popped the bottle open. 

Levy sagged, leaning against the cabinet and dragging a hand down his face. He cracked an eye open—Cody’s bed was still empty. Was it a bad idea to ‘give him space?’ Probably. Did he regret it? Yes. 

Was he very, very worried? Double yes. It was one thing when he thought Cody was just suffering from some of the lesser-talked-about effects of a traumatic brain injury caused by the recent string of explosions and head injuries—personality changes, increased depression and anxiety. That mixed with shock and stress would open the doorway to hallucinations, paranoia, delusions…

But this?

Every piece of medical training told Levy that Cody needed help. And then there was that small, curious, trusting part that wondered… what if?

Don, sitting at the doors of the medbay deep into a datapad, gave Levy a look. Levy stifled a yawn back and approached. “You believe in time travel, Don?”

Don chuckled, putting down the datapad. “Isn’t that Force-magic-stuff more your type of deal?”

You say one thing about ‘the Force helping heal your spirit’ and ‘flowing through all living things, even us clones’ and you’re the ‘Force guy’. Levy rolled his eyes. “Come on, Don, I’m serious. Time travel. Do you think it’s possible? For someone to be in one place and time and then… somehow show up in another?”

Don sat back, crossing his arms. “I dunno.” Scratched the back of his buzzcut. “Maybe. What do you think?”

“I think a Jedi could. I think anything’s possible in the Force.” Levy glanced at the doorway, hoping Cody would walk through any second, smiling and saying he made it all up. Or he was confused and didn’t mean any of it. Everything was fine and he was ready to behave and listen to what Levy told him. He didn’t. “What about a clone?”

Don frowned. “You alright, Doc?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Levy laughed dryly. What was funny? Why was he laughed? None of this was funny. “Yeah, just… kriff, I’m tired.”

Every passing second, his limbs got heavier. But he couldn’t sleep yet—how could he sleep? No wonder Cody’d been walking around like a zombie. He couldn’t sleep and he wasn’t even the one from the future!  That thought spawned another chuckle. Don nodded towards the medicine cabinet. “Maybe you ought to take a page out of your own book: sleeping pills. I could write you a—”

Somewhere in the medbay’s dim light, a clone cried, jerking upright in their bed, panting. Don sighed, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. “I’ll deal with it. You get some rest, Doc. You deserve it.”

Levy watched him go. Brothers got nightmares often in the medbay—there was something about the combination of drugs, exhaustion, and injury that brought the worst out of a person’s mind. It was with a heavy sigh of his own that he turned and shut himself into his dark, quiet office. He checked the time and winced—okay, he’d give it ten more minutes. If Cody didn’t come back, he’d tell Don to keep an eye out and head to bed himself. 

Until then, he clicked on his small lamp and sank into his swivel chair. 

Maybe… Levy sighed, leant forward, and rested his forehead on the cool metal. He’d promised Cody he wouldn’t tell anyone, but… maybe he could tell General Kenobi that Commander Cody’s condition was worse than he’d initially thought—it wasn’t exactly a lie. All the paperwork was in his drawer—he could pull out the paper declaring Cody incapable of making his own medical decision… He could advise Kenobi to look for a more long term stand in and… oh, who was he kidding? The minute he did that, Cody would become just another broken soldier to be thrown away by the republic. He exhaled till his lungs strained. 

He had to tell General Kenobi. There was no debating that. 

But… but if Cody was right, if he really did know how to stop the war, then…

Then maybe it was his duty not to say anything. Or maybe General Kenobi would believe Cody, and—

His comm trilled. “Yes? What is it?”

“It’s Wooley, Doc.”

“Wooley?” Levy frowned. “Is Sama Prei alright? If her stitches have come undone, I can—”

“Uh, no, Doc. It’s not that. ” Pause. It sounded like Wooley was on his own journey of indecision, too. “It’s the Commander.”

His heart leapt. “Cody? Did he—”

“He came by asking to speak with Sama Prei, and he said some pretty—well, he said something big was going on, and that you told him to talk to Prei about. The Commander seemed stressed, so—”

“Is he with Sama Prei right now?” Kriff, kriff, kriff. Of kriffing course he shouldn’t have left the Commander alone—what the bloody kriff was he thinking?

“Yes, for a few minutes now. What’s going on, Doc?”

Levy licked his lips. The last thing anyone needed were rumours spreading like wildfire. To deny it would only encourage curiosity. “Yes, Wooley, something is going on, and you have a very important job: You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, it’s imperative. If I hear so much as a whisper about the Commander or Dr Prei, I’ll know it was you, and I’ll have the General send you on the first ship to Kamino, understand?”

Pause. “Of course, Levy. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Wooley,” He hissed into the comm, already half way out the medbay. “Keep doing your job, got it?”

He cut the line before Wooley could reply, then swapped to another channel. A few moments passed before a very tired, uncharacteristically undistinguished voice answered.

“Levy?” General Kenobi yawned. “Is everything—”

Screw doctor-patient confidentiality. Levy had no idea what Cody was playing at, but whatever it was, he had a very, very bad feeling about it.

***

“Yes,” Sama Prei forced the words out. “Yes, the chips have an override feature. Upon hearing a specific sequence of words, the chip overrides the clones’ free will, and—and prioritizes what we’ve programmed into it.” Cody blinked, and Sama Prei continued, sinking into her chair again. “This was a specific feature we were told to include by the Jedi who commissioned you clones off us. We are not to speak of it. I can’t—”

“What was their name?”

“I don’t—”

“Who commissioned you!?”

She flinched. “Sifo-Dyas. But this is not a secret; your own General knows this information.”

Cody frowned, narrowing his eyes at her. “Kenobi knows about the order?”

“No.” She shrunk. The whole room was dim, lit only by the small, warm lamp sitting above the still-steaming pair of mugs. All was quiet. “No Jedi do. Only the highest—”

“Who is Sifo-Dyas?” Why would a Jedi order his own assassination? Unless he wasn’t a Jedi at all, but…

When Sama Prei spoke, there was rare emotion in her voice—something very unbefitting of a Kaminoan. “I have already told you, CC-222—”

“Cody.” He leant over the little table, glaring daggers at Sama Prei. 

Looks like he wasn’t wrong—not about the chips, at least. She swallowed. 

“ Cody. Like I have I already told you,” She slouched in the chair, hands tightly clasped in her lap. Coward. “We obliged— why he wanted this included was none of our business, nor was his identity. We simply—”

“Followed orders.” Cody closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t steady him—if anything, it only made his heartbeat louder. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Cody hissed. Screw it. He was right— really right. Order 66 was real. He was from the—the— He shut his eyes and gave his head another shake. It only made the headache worse. “You’ve—it’s your fault the Republic loses. It’s your fault the Empire—it’s your fault the Jedi die! You could stop it! You could save them, the younglings, the Republic, the galaxy, and instead you just sat by and—”

Sama Prei peered at him, then something dawned over her features. 

She smiled. “Remarkable… Have you… seen it?”

Cody panting, trying to catch his breath, and realized what he said. He licked his lips and backtracked. “Have I—have I seen it? Seen what?”

She leaned in, voice low, eyes wide with excitement. “ When they said to execute Order 6—”

He leapt forward, clamping a hand over her mouth. In the other was the vibroblade, humming in the silence. “If you finish that sentence, I promise that I will use my last moments of freedom to—”

He choked on his breath. Cody dropped his hand, turning on his heel, staring at the door. Maybe he’d just imagined it. Maybe—there it was again. A loud knocking.

“Dr Prei, is everything alright in there?” Kriff. That must be Wooley. It surely hadn’t been five minutes alr— “I’m coming in, alright?”

Cody raced towards the door—no, not now, not when—

But it wasn’t Wooley. 

Levy stared from the doorway. He was red in the face—must’ve run here all the way from the medbay. Cody swallowed, stepping aside as the medic entered. The door whooshed shut, closing on Wooley’s confused face. Levy hesitated, scanning Sama Prei up and down, then his shoulders drooped in relief—he even broke into a thin smile, a dry laugh escaping. Then he turned on Cody.

“Force, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. What the kriff are you…” His smile fell. Eyes darkened. “Cody, what are you doing?”

“What am I…” Cody followed Levy’s gaze, and his heart stopped. The vibroblade. “I—it was—I wasn’t going to—” Levy reached for Cody’s hand, but the Commander stepped back. “Now, wait, Levy, I—I have proof.” He gestured at Sama Prei with the knife, backing away from the medic. “Proof about what I told you. Okay? You need to listen. She—”

“Commander.” Levy held up his hands, as if to show he was unarmed. “Sir, this isn’t okay.”

“No!” No, no, no. “You need to listen to me, Levy! Listen to her! ”

“ Cody.” Levy wasn’t laughing anymore. In fact, it might’ve been the most serious Cody had ever seen the man. “I’ll be happy to listen, so long as you put down the—”

“I can’t do that, Levy.” Keep your voice calm. Don’t give him any more reasons to think he’s right about you. 

Is he?

Cody shook away the thought. “She’ll say the words, and we’ll try to kill General Kenobi. Do you understand?”

“No. No, I don’t, Cody, but I want to. I commed the General, he’s on his way—when he gets here, let’s all sit down, and talk about what you told me.”

“Good!” Cody forced out the words, feeling all of it slip away from him—career, reputation, relationships. “Maybe he’ll believe me.”

“ I believe you, Codes!” Levy had to laugh, taking a step forward, pressing his hands against his chest. “You have to believe me, too. Just—”

The door whooshed open again, and in stepped a very bleary eyed, confused Jedi, still wearing his robes from the previous day. 

“Well.” He looked between them—wide-eyed Sama Prei at the table, exhausted Levy, and his frantic Commander. Cody dropped some of the tension in his shoulders—even the mere presence of the General was calming. It might have felt strange, how little time they’d spent together in the past few days, if it weren’t for the years Cody had to get used to their separation. Kenobi frowned at him, eyes settling on the vibroblade. Then he cleared his throat and smiled at Sama Prei. “I do apologize for the the intrusion, Doctor Prei, but I was told you might have an unwanted visitor?”

Sama Prei blinked, then slowly started to nod. “Partially, General Kenobi. I was happy to give thanks to your Commander here for my rescue, only, I believe he may be suffering from—”

“She’s lying,” Cody hissed, turning on her. “ She believes me. I was right, Levy, about what the Kaminoans did to us—what they’re going to make us do.”

General Kenobi seemed awake now, shedding the bleariness with which he entered the room. He raised his hand in a pacifying way, a way Cody’d seen him do on numerous diplomatic missions. A wave of calm washed over him, and he lowered the knife from Sama Prei’s direction. “Why don’t we all take a deep breath.” He folded his hands in front of himself and looked at Cody. “I’d like to know what you’re talking about, Commander Cody. And what exactly is going on.”

Cody fought away the exhaustion that was suddenly gripping his mind, making everything hard to think… He scowled at Levy. “How much did he tell you?”

Kenobi shook his head. “Simply that he feared your condition was worse than he initially thought, and that he was concerned you might do something… unwise. Is everything okay, old friend?”

Cody’s breath came in shallowly. He blinked at Kenobi, then Levy, then glanced at the Kaminoan, and all over again. They were staring. Waiting to hear what he had to say. General Kenobi was listening, really listening. He licked his chapped lips and brought the vibroblade close. 

“Something happened to me.” He swallowed, throat sticking to itself. Kenobi kept their gazes locked, nodding slightly, encouraging more. It was a softer look than Cody thought he deserved, given the circumstances. “I—I lived this. The war. It already happened to me. I lived it, and we lost, and we killed the Jedi because of what they —” He jabbed the vibroblade in Sama Prei’s direction. Was the air getting thicker, or was it just him? “Did to us. Against our will, we killed you. And the Republic fell, and I lived it, and—and—and then I… I blinked and I was here. On Nabrett. Surrounded by people who I—I saw them die. I’ve seen Waxer die, and Catcher, and Cousin, and—and you die, Levy. I’ve seen you die. And—and I ordered them to shoot you, Sir. And they did. And we hit." His voice broke, and he could barely pull it back together enough to continue. "But they— they weren’t supposed to die this fast. I changed things. That’s how I knew, Sir. I didn’t have a feeling, I—And I thought I was dreaming, but then it kept on going, so I thought I’d lost my mind, but then she admitted it. ” He paused for breath. Another. Another, but he couldn't seem to get any air in. “She admitted we’ve got chips, she said—”

“The chips?” Another dry laugh escaped Levy. “Cody, those are behavioural modifiers. They’re meant to—”

“No!” Kenobi wasn’t saying anything. Kriff, why wasn’t Kenobi saying anything? “No, Levy, you’re not listening. We’ve been programmed. I was right about what we do, we—”

“Commander Cody,” General Kenobi’s voice soothed, and he took a step closer. But there was something unfamiliar about it—caution. Kenobi wasn’t cautious, never around Cody, at least. Why was he cautious now? “I’m very interested in hearing more about this. Why don’t you and I go sit down in my chamber, have a cup of tea, and—”

General Kenobi kept creeping closer, eyes open and blue and sweet and cautious. 

And then it hit him. 

Cody stepped back. 

“You think I’m crazy.”

It was Kenobi’s turn to smile awkwardly, deny, lie. “Not at all, Commander, I simply think that emotions are running very high right now. Perhaps it might be better to discuss all this in a more—”

“For kriff’s sake, she admitted it!” Why weren’t they getting this? He turned to Sama Prei, who was watching the whole thing with wide eyes. “Tell them! Tell them I’m right, tell them I knew it. Tell them what you put in our heads!” He whisked his eyes back to Kenobi. "I am not crazy."

“ Cody, old friend.” General Kenobi wasn’t listening. He was never listening. “I believe we can get to the bottom of all this, but this is, frankly, not the way to do it. From my perspective, it seems as though Levy may be correct—you haven’t been acting yourself these past few days, and… and perhaps I’ve been working you too hard, what with the mission to Onzoria when you were clearly not ready. You’ve received quite a few injuries, Cody, and I take full responsibility for all of them. However, I don't discount the possibility that you did experience some sort of... vision, perhaps. Please. Let’s—”

It was with wide eyes that Sama Prei looked at Kenobi, at Cody, and then raised her chin proudly. “He thinks he’ll kill you,” The corner of her mouth lifted in a cruel taunt, “if I say to execute Order—”

Cody didn’t hesitate to lunge.

Chapter Text

General Kenobi poured them both a drink. 

From the other side of his desk, Levy frowned down at the amber liquid. “Isn’t alcohol against regulation on a Republic cruiser?”

“Yes,” Kenobi admitted, raising his glass to his lips. “But this was a gift from a Chandrillan diplomat, and I’ve had it in my chamber for far too long. Might as well get rid of it now.”

“Right.” It felt weird to break the rules at the behest of his General, but Levy obliged. He didn’t think for a little bit as he stared into the swirling, glossy drink. Then he took a sip. 

The General, on the other hand, seemed to be deep in thought, lingering above the chair Levy had pulled out for him. He checked the little clock on his desk and winced—it was so late it was early. Levy swallowed, put the glass down with a clunk, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 

Finally, he could take a breath. 

General Kenobi sagged into his chair, stifling another yawn. “She said she wants to talk to the Jedi council. This is unacceptable, better management and security are needed, Commander Cody ought to be decommissioned, and I’ve apparently ‘failed my duties’ as a General and a Jedi.” Levy’s shoulders slumped, and General Kenobi just nodded. “She was not very forgiving. I tried to talk her out of it, but I’m afraid I only managed to convince her to wait until the meeting tomorrow morning. But I suppose she’s justified. Cody attacked her..” General Kenobi crossed his arms, looking nothing like the diplomatic, put-together Jedi Levy knew. He just looked tired. “For future reference, Levy, next time my Marshal Commander believes he’s travelled through time, I’d like to be the first to know. Right now, it rather feels like I’m the last.”

Levy rubbed his brow, tracing a finger along the rim of his glass. “Yes, sir. I know. He only—I didn’t think… He only told me a couple hours ago. Before that, he said he was paranoid, mostly. Everyone gets paranoid! I thought it was just shock, or the head injury, not—” 

“No, no, it’s alright, Levy. Nobody could have guessed this would happen.” General Kenobi sighed, hand absent-mindedly stroking his beard. “I had a feeling something was off. But I thought—” he caught himself, frowned slightly, and shook his head. “Nevermind what I thought. I shouldn’t have insisted he go to Onzoria. Sometimes, I find it difficult to remember that the Jedi have a higher threshold for this sort of thing—injury, healing. But that isn’t an excuse. I should have spoken to him more, shouldn’t I? I should have known something wasn’t right—Cody hardly ever takes a break, but there was so much work, I—”

“Respectfully, Sir,” Levy leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Nobody could have guessed.”

“Mm.” General Kenobi’s eyebrows were still furrowed, and he glanced towards the door to the medbay. 

Levy sucked in another breath and started from the beginning. The moments following Nabrett, how he was acting strange, all the false things Levy thought. The weird things Cody said. And then Cody’s confession of paranoia, suspicion, and fear—all of which, again, Levy had dismissed as nothing more than shock. The progression of Cody’s unrest, especially following the rescue mission. And finally their conversation in the empty hallway. Levy did his best to remember the specifics of what Cody had said—something about the clones killing the Jedi? An ‘Empire’? That was about as much as he could manage. 

“And then Cody said that I didn’t believe him.” He reached for the glass again. “So I decided to give him space. I didn’t want to seem overbearing, or… or like I was trying to control him or lock him up or anything. I thought he would come back eventually, not go off and… when Wooley commed me, I didn’t expect—” Levy’s heart dropped. “Wooley. He can’t tell anyone about—”

General Kenobi raised his palm. “I already had a word with Wooley. He’s sworn to say nothing.”

“Okay. Good.” Levy shuffled, reminding himself to calm down. Everything was fine. Cody was sleeping off whatever weird-Jedi-mind-trick Kenobi had used when he jumped at Sama Prei—He’d dropped, almost losing the fight against sleep in an instant. He’d barely made it back to the medbay, even with Levy helping him, before collapsing onto the bed. Levy didn’t know how much of it was the Force, and how much of it was real, pure exhaustion. Levy took another sip, and refilled his glass. He knew Kenobi was watching, but kriff he couldn’t give a kark anymore! After finishing that one, too, he set down the glass. “Do you believe him, Sir?”

Silence stretched. General Kenobi really seemed to think about it, staring off somewhere distant, occasionally taking a nip from his glass. Finally, he pulled his hand away from his beard, and sighed. “Out of all the clones I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, I’ve only ever been able to call Cody a close friend. I know him, and I know that this is very out of character. What’s more, I know he would never do something like this unless he believed himself. What I want to do is speak to the Kaminoan myself. I’d like the council to launch an investigation into Cody’s claims—send a Jedi to Kamino, perhaps speak to the President, see the schematics for these chips. It is very possible the Kaminoans were charged with including an order like… like the one Cody mentioned. But it’s also very possible that they haven’t been. So I’d like to wait a bit before giving you an answer, Levy.”

Levy accepted that, but he wasn’t satisfied just yet. “Well, do you believe it’s even possible?”

At that, General Kenobi laughed, and the mood lightened—it was cathartic, in a way. Despite the exhaustion, stress, confusion… if Kenobi was laughing, maybe that meant things might end better than Levy feared. “Oh, goodness, Levy, you—you can’t ask me that!” He wiped at his eyes, tripping over his words. “I wish I could say yes, of course it is. All Jedi know about time travel. Yes, we’re taught about it as younglings. Oh, would it not make our world so much simpler?” He waved a flippant hand, pouring himself another glass. “Yes, you make a mistake, you can simply snap your fingers and get a do-over. Though I suppose it would make the world more complicated, wouldn’t it? Everyone redoing everything to fit their own definitions of perfect.” He set the bottle down and his laughter died away. “Truthfully, Levy, I’m inclined to say no. What’s done is done. Prophecies are prophecies because they’re going to happen, there’s no way around it. It’s built into our universe. Everything happens as it’s meant to, that’s the way of the Force. The very idea of the dark side is the ambition towards achieving something that, perhaps, was never meant to be. Unless there’s darkness at work here, I don’t understand why…” He shrugged, searching for the words, sipping. “I just don’t understand why . But, if I am being honest, Levy, I did feel something in the Force. On Nabrett. But there was so much death, I thought the disturbance was just… perhaps it was something more.” Another sip. “Well, maybe we’re not meant to understand yet. If we’re meant to find an answer, we will, and if we’re not, we won’t, so what’s the point in trying to muddle it out now?” He stared into his glass and found himself smiling again. He raised it at Levy, a mock-toast. “It’s a rare sight, hearing a Jedi ramble. But I suppose even I’m human.” His smile began to fade. “I wonder if the council will see it that way. Clones being humans rather than… rather than perfect soldiers who don’t feel the effects of war and—” Closed his eyes. Chuckled. “Please, Levy, interrupt me, or I fear I’ll babble on forev—”

“I think it’s about time we both get some rest,” Levy said, standing up. “You’ve got your meeting tomorrow, and I’ve got a whole kriffing medbay to run.”

Kenobi stood and began towards the door, leaving the intricate Chandrillan bottle. Then something occurred to him. “Oh, I think you should sit in. During the meeting, I mean, in case we’d like to ask you anything—your medical opinion and such.” His head tilted, like an animal looking at something they didn't understand. “What is your opinion?” 

It was Levy’s turn to chuckle. “Oh, I’m not sure I have one.” He glanced towards the door—Don had nodded off when he’d arrived with Cody, but he now heard the tell-tell shuffling of a medic who was trying to pretend they’d been awake for the hour they weren’t. He traced a finger along the edge of his desk. “I’m no Jedi, Sir—I hardly understand how the Force works, but… well, I’ve been thinking, and even if something bad is meant to happen, some good may be able to come from trying to prevent it. Maybe time wasn’t reversed to stop something, but to… to fix the bits that don’t have to be so bad?” The moment of clarity was gone. He shook his head, bleariness making his mouth heavy. “Or something. I don’t know. I need sleep.”

General Kenobi cracked a smile. “Yes, I’ll leave you to it, Levy. I’ll check in with you and Cody before the council meeting in…” he checked the time and paled. “Five hours. Goodness, it really is late—early, rather. Get some rest, now.”

Then he was gone, off to get what sleep he could. Levy glanced back at the bottle—it was more than half empty. He could stay up a bit longer, polish it off, and… no, no, no. Who was he kidding? He capped the bottle and his it under his desk, then made a break for his quarters before he could be stopped by any angry Kaminoans or time-travelling Commanders.

***

Everything is dark. Loud. He’s running—Rex and Howzer are up ahead. Puck is taking up the rear. The alarm’s going on. This was stupid—Force, this was stupid. Why had he agreed to this? He shouldn’t have agreed to this!

You’re not cut out for rebellion. 

No, Cody, focus. This isn’t over yet. Howzer has the coordinates—by the looks of things, he’s going to make it. The hallway seems to get longer. He’s running but he’s not moving. 

Why can’t he move?

All you can do is follow orders, isn’t it? That’s what got the Jedi killed. That’s what got Obi-Wan killed.

Rex and Howzer are getting further and further away. Cody tries to run, he really does. But it’s like moving through sludge. The lights dim. The alarm screams. Red. Black. Red. Black. 

“Rex!” He reaches out. 

You don’t deserve freedom. Not after what you did. 

His chip got taken out a long time ago. Why can he still hear it talk to him?

Good soldiers follow orders. 

“Rex!” Rex doesn’t turn around. He keeps running. Further and further and further, till he’s nothing more than a blur. Something cold grips Cody. It pulls him back as the massive metal doors begin to close up ahead. Cutting him out of the rebellion, slicing into flesh and hope and brotherhood and digging him out like a tumor. 

Took you long enough to realize the harm you were doing. The harm you did. 

The distant pingprick of light is smothered by the metal. Black. Red. Black. Red. The alarm is all he hears. 

You don’t deserve to be on the good side. 

Cold hands drag him into the darkness. His hands are bound. He opens his eyes. He’s in a cell. His cell. Sometimes they bring him out, interrogate him. It hurts. They want what he knows. 

Maybe you should tell them.

Most days they leave him in the darkness. The silence. It’s nice.

You’re going to break. You’re going to tell them everything. The rebellion is going to fail because of you. 

Did Rex and Howzer get out? Is Puck okay? What’s that noise—are they coming back? Or is it the Empire? They should kill you. That way you won’t talk. He struggles against the binds. His arms are tied. He can’t move. The darkness is everywhere. 

Since when did it get so dark in here? The Kaminoans never turned the lights off completely—young clones are still children, after all. They might get into trouble. 

Cousin. Waxer. 

He leans down from the bunk bed, grinning wildly, tangled in the thin blanket. It was the first day of training today. A batchmate with a blurry face smiles back. 

“I can’t wait to fire a real blaster,” he whispers, voice filling the quiet. It’s raining outside. The clouds thunder. At least it’s warm inside. 

Is this this it? Is this really it?

Catcher. Trapper.

You’re going to die here, in this room. 

His batchmate nods. “I heard they let us turn off stun if we can hit the target twenty times without missing! That’s what I heard!”

Pacer. Rook. 

And none of it will have mattered. There was never anything good. Just training and war and fighting all for something that will never be.

Red. Black. Red. Black. 

“Commander Cody, take your men and…”

Cody’s smile grew. He gripped the sheets tightly. “I can’t wait to get off this planet.”

Blasterfire.

“Help! Medic!”

Levy. 

You didn’t matter.

“Get down, Sir!”

“Hey, stay with me, you’re okay, you’re—”

Obi-wan.

Cody lay back in his bunk and stared up at the ceiling. His words disappeared into the night. 

“I can’t wait to be a real soldier.”

It’s about time you join the rest of them.

“Blast him.”

Cody jerked, gulping down cold, sanitized air. He was tangled in something—had the Empire given him a blanket? Was—he was in a medbay. Had Rex come? Was he free? Or had the Empire… No, not the Empire. The Negotiator. 

He closed his eyes, taking another long, deep breath. He reached to rub his face, but… 

…but why was he handcuffed to the bed? Why—

Oh. Sama Prei.  Lunging at her, the sudden wave of exhaustion that had pulled him to the floor before he could reach her. But at least it at shut her up.

Cody closed his eyes again.

“Kriff.”

That had not gone the way he’d wanted. If anything, that had—

“Cody?” Cody flinched, eyes snapping towards the door, where his very exhausted looking General smiled awkwardly. “That didn’t sound like a very pleasant dream.”

Cody kept staring. “Did you talk to her?”

Kenobi sagged into the visitor’s chair beside the bed. Cody realized he was in his own private room—probably so no one gossiped about how their Commander’s ‘chained to his cot’. 

“It’s too early to be talking about that,” Kenobi said.

Cody frowned, pulling against his cuff. “No, Sir, respectfully, you have to—“

Kenobi held up a hand. “I already spoke to Levy. We’re talking to the council next. Then I’ll have a word with Sama Prei. But for now—” 

“The council?” Cody’s heart dropped. Or rose? He wasn’t sure he could tell the difference. Kenobi nodded, crossing his arms. Either he had a very bad headache, or he was in a lousy mood. Probably both. 

“Yes, the council. Sama Prei is making a complaint. You tried to assault her.”

“I…” Cody swallowed, staring down at his hands. “I didn’t plan for it to go that far, just—”

Kenobi sighed, uncrossing his arms and pushing himself to his feet. “I really would like to talk about what exactly you did plan, but I’ve got to prepare for the council meeting now.” He pointed to Cody’s bed. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet. I’ll ask Levy to increase sedation. We’ll talk later.”

Cody glanced at the IV drip in his arm. That must be why he was so kriffing tired. He reached for it, only to find that both arms were stopped just short of meeting each other.  He sighed, then looked back at his General “I can’t sleep right now. I have to—“

“Cody. Whether anything you say is true or not, you must agree that, right now, you’re here. You are injured, and you need to rest.” There was no arguing with the General when he used that tone. Then he turned to leave, and Cody found himself pulling against the cuff again. 

“Ok, I’ll sleep, but don’t sedate me.” Kenobi glanced over his shoulder, and Cody found himself gripping the sheets—something he hadn’t done since he was a youngling. “It messes with my head,” he admitted, hoping Kenobi understood. Sedation always messed with him—gave him bad dreams. Something in Kenobi’s face softened, and he stepped back into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. 

“I’m sorry, Cody. I should have realized there was something troubling you. I…” His eyes glazed over, and he fell silent. Finally, he shook himself back to the present, and spoke: “I feel ashamed for what I thought was really going on. I don’t know whether it was because I was tired, or perhaps it was some paranoia of my own, but… but when you knew about the Separatist's plans—first on Nabrett, then Onzoria… I thought, perhaps, you might have been a…” He forced the words out. “A traitor. And I know it isn’t an excuse, because you are one of the most loyal men I have ever met, but I think that’s why we haven’t been speaking as much these past few days. Why I haven’t been checking in often. It was because I was afraid.” Kenobi sighed deep, exhaling his worries into the Force. “And look where that fear led us.”

Cody felt himself let go of the blanket. “Do you believe me?”

General Kenobi hesitated, eyes flickering, like he was trying to decide what to say. Finally, his indecision melted. “If everything Levy’s told me is correct, and you’ve seen the things you say you have… I hope you’re wrong.”

He nodded, only to find a small smile tickle at his mouth. “You know, I hope that too. I don’t know which is worse. Being right, or being crazy.”

Kenobi chuckled, a similar smile stretching over his face. “Yes, well, I suppose the verdict is up to the council to decide. I’m going to request they send a Jedi to Kamino.” Pause. “They may try to send you back to Kamino. I will do my best to make sure you remain on this ship, but I cannot guarantee anything.” Kenobi then did something strange—he opened his mouth, only to stop himself. Then he shook away the doubt and opened his mouth again. “What you did was bad, Cody, even if nobody got hurt. You shouldn’t have done it.” He sucked in a breath. “But you did, and there’s no going back.” He gave the doorframe a pat. “Is there anything else that might help convince them?”

He’d told Kenobi and Levy about the chips. The Empire. The— “Chancellor Palpatine is the Emperor," He said, only then remembering. The rebellion had always been about little things—stormtroopers, defecting clones. Never the Emperor himself.

General Kenobi frowned in thought. “Hm. Thank you, Cody. I’ll be back after the meeting. Get some rest.”

Cody nodded, and without another word, Kenobi slipped away. 

He glanced down at his cuffed hands, at the IV funneling a sedative into his bloodstream. It wasn’t enough to keep him asleep, but it sure was making it hard to think. He couldn’t reach it with his hands, but he could try to…

“No,” Cody murmured, looking away. Ripping out his IV with his teeth wouldn’t be a very good look. Besides, General Kenobi knew now. As did Levy. And they were going to do their best to make sure Cody’s mistake didn’t land him decommissioned—or worse. He closed his eyes and did his best to calm his racing heart. 

There was nothing he could do apart from go to sleep and trust that General Kenobi really meant what he’d said. 

***

Levy pressed his hands down his rumpled, only slightly stained lab coat. He’d never been in a room with more than three Jedi in it, let alone the whole high council. Well, he wasn’t technically in the room with them, but holograms were still intimidating.  And what if Kenobi actually needed him to say something? What if— General Kenobi appeared out of nowhere, seemingly sensing his unease, and planted a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll only stress yourself out,” he said, like it was the answer to everything. Levy swallowed. 

“Yes. Sorry. How—”

“I spoke to the Commander.”

Levy’s eyes widened. “Was his sedative not—”

Kenobi squeezed his shoulder a little. “It’s alright. He seemed lucid, not like last night. And he promised to get some sleep.” Again, Kenobi said it like it would solve everything. 

“Oh. Good.” Levy stared at the doors, and Kenobi noticed, giving another squeeze. 

“If you’d like, you can wait out here. I’ll fetch you if we need to hear your insights.”

The decision came quickly. “No. No, thanks. I’d like to listen.”

The door whooshed open. Inside shone blue, light from the holograms reflecting off the shiny surfaces. Sama Prei glowered from a wall at the side, where the hologram wouldn’t broadcast her to the rest of the council. So they hadn’t started on her stuff, yet, then. With one last nod shared between the two, they parted ways—Levy beside Sama Prei, and Kenobi at his place with the holograms. 

“I apologize for my tardiness,” He said dark robe sweeping behind him. “I do hope I didn’t miss too much.”

Cody stared up at the ceiling, the corners of his vision getting blurry. It was just like when he was a kid. The cot was warm, he could practically… hear the rain drumming against the windows… the distant thunder, a crack of lightning…

“I can’t wait to fire a real blaster!” 

Cody jolted awake again, rapidly blinking away any reminder of Kamino.

“—xt order of business, I believe there was an incident on your ship yesterday, Obi-Wan?” Mace Windu’s low voice echoed through the room, and his hologram arched an eyebrow. He was one Jedi Levy could recognize anywhere. The names of some of the others were lost on him—he enjoyed reading about the Order in his free time, but one could only remember so many names. Kenobi nodded, eyes steady. He didn’t look nervous at all. 

Could Levy learn that trick, or was that another Jedi-exclusive thing?

“Yes. I’m afraid that my Marshal Commander… well, I don’t quite know how to say it. It’s rather unbelievable.” 

Levy looked down at his hands. Not for the first time, he had a thought: None of this would be happening if you hadn’t walked away. 

The Cerean spoke, “Whatever it is, I expect we’ve heard stranger.”

Kenobi smiled to himself, dropping his gaze. “I beg to differ, Master Mundi.”

Click. The detonator was activated. Tic. Tic. Tic. Jitterbug threw it. Clank. Bounce. Catcher reached for it. Recoiled. Thr—

Cody tried to roll over, only for the handcuff to jerk his arm back. He grumbled to himself. So much for ‘getting some rest’. 

He closed his eyes and saw Catcher again. Cracked an eye open. Glared. 

“ Kriffing sedative .”

“And he believed that Sama Prei had information that could prove his claims,” Kenobi continued, speaking quickly enough that nobody could interrupt, but clear enough to sound rational. “In his excitement, he attempted to harm Doctor Prei, since he believed she was about to cause harm to me. However, thanks to our intervention, he was unsuccessful. We’ve secured him in the medbay, but Sama Prei wishes—”

“He tried to kill me,” Sama Prei said from beside Kenobi, eyes drifting over the council’s range of emotions—some looked curious. Others deep in thought. Most were just confused, mouths ajar, waiting to get a word in. “He accused me of treason towards the Republic.”

Depa Billaba: “It must have been an episode of some sort.”

Mundi leaned in. “Or faulty programming.”

Plo: “The effects of war are often overlooked. Perhaps—”

“I believe that General Kenobi failed to identify and secure a threat on his very own ship,” Sama Prei continued, raising her voice over the thrum of voices, each offering their own reasoning behind why Commander Cody lost it. “I believe council intervention to be necessary in the management of this ship and its men.” 

There was silence after that.

Yoda spoke, voice small and unassuming. “Suggest you, that Master Kenobi is unfit to lead his battalion?”

Kenobi sighed—no doubt a suppression of a more obvious action, like rolling his eyes, which is exactly what Levy did. The General spoke before Sama Prei could. “He was off duty,” he explained. “My attention was on running my ship, not monitoring him. That’s what the medics are for. And my medics knew about his condition, but nobody could have foreseen what he tried to do.” Mace Windu opened his mouth, but Kenobi kept going, perhaps losing firm control over his frustration just a bit. “I am not unfit for my duties, this was simply a very hectic time for my battalion. Furthermore, I would like to say that I myself felt a disturbance in the Force while we were on Nabrett. Despite what your first instincts may tell yet—and despite what your supposed knowledge of the force would like to deny—I would like us to consider the possibility that my Commander is right.”

The council erupted. 

A knock roused Cody from his light slumber, plagued by Kaminoans, tea, and big metal doors. The door creaked open. 

“How was the…” …council meeting. Only it wasn’t Kenobi. Cody frowned, sitting up and dipping his hands—and cuffs—under the covers. “Can I help you, Rook?” His frown deepened. “What happened?”

Last time Cody saw the man, he hadn’t had a black eye. Rook shut the door and lingered. “I heard someone say something happened last night.” Cody clenched his fists. Wooley. “Apparently someone saw Levy sprinting through a hall.” Chuckle. “Wish I could’ve seen that.” Cody’s grip released. Maybe Wooley had kept his word after all. “Just wanted to make sure everything was alright,” Rook hesitated. Cody thought he was going to go on, but he didn’t. He just stood there. Cody remembered their conversation in the barracks. The fight. 

I said it was my fault. 

“What happened to your eye?” Cody asked, and Rook feigned surprised.

“What, this? You know.” He shrugged, adding on a smirk. “I don’t know, people’re still pissy about the whole Onzoria thing, I guess. You should see the other guy.” Rook winced. “Probably shouldn’t have said that to my Commander, huh?”

But there was an edge to his voice. Cody looked the man up and down—there was something different about him. Something in the way he was standing. Or maybe… Cody narrowed his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just came to make sure you were okay.” He turned to go, and Cody made to stop him, only to remember the restraints and pull the blanket over his arms before Rook could see. 

“Do you want to ask me something?” Cody had a feeling he shouldn’t let Rook go. He didn’t know why—call it intuition. Rook turned, a crease between his eyes. 

“No. Like I said. You’ve been stumbling around like an idiot recently, and I thought you might’ve gotten hurt again. There’s gossip, and I wanted to find out for myself what happened,” he snapped, voice icy. “Do you know where Levy is?”

The question took Cody aback— “Levy? He’s in a meeting.”

“Right.” Rook glanced down at his feet, then back to Cody. “Well, when you see him, tell him to check in with Jitterbug, okay?” Rook kicked at the ground, doing anything but looking Cody in the eye. “He’s been a real downer since Catc—since Onzoria. Okay? If we lose too many Shiny’s, they’ll be nobody to make fun of without getting my ass beat.” He pointed to the eye. “Again. You should check up on Steady, by the way. You don’t want to hear the sort of words I’d use to describe him. ”

He slammed the door shut. Cody was left very, very confused. And still nowhere closer to getting any sleep.

“All I ask is one Jedi to go to Kamino. If Commander Cody is right, and—”

“We cannot afford to strain our relationship with the Kaminoans,” Mace repeated, voice cutting through Kenobi’s. The meeting had turned—no longer was it a group of Master Jedi’s having meaningful discussion. Now, it was Mace Windu smothering any idea of believing that some ‘random clone’ could have travelled through time. “I’m surprised you’ve even been entertaining his delusions, Obi-Wan. I expected you to see through something like this with more clarity.” Another eyebrow raise. A lean forwards. “Perhaps affection has clouded your judgement.”

“He’s my Commander, ” Kenobi insisted. He was doing a miraculous job at staying calm, Levy thought, even as the General’s voice raised a little louder than usual. “Of course I trust him. More than that, I know him. You can tell when a person is unwell.” Kenobi took a step forwards. “But he was clear. He was lucid. There are things about the Force that the Jedi don’t understand yet, as much as we like our techniques and our study. Now, I am not asking you to blindly believe in a possibility such as time travel without proof, I’m simply requesting that we see if proof does ex—”

“Respectfully, Master Kenobi,” Mace Windu’s voice was harsh, “We cannot be focusing our efforts on this conjecture while there is a war going on.”

“And what about Palpatine? Emperor Palpatine? We’ve suspected a dark presence in the senate for—”

“He could have made it up for any number of reasons.”

“What if we asked him something?” Kenobi bit back, refusing to let Mace Windu have the last word. Levy had to admit, he’d never seen Kenobi act so defiant—that was, unless it was against Levy’s own requests of the man, like getting proper sleep and eating once in a while. “About a  mission that hasn’t happened yet, and—”

This time, Mundi spoke up: “The time it takes to prove any one of his claims will be more than we have.”

“Perhaps,” Plo chimed in, “we keep our ears open. If we hear any further evidence support his claims regarding the Chancellor or the Kaminoans, we shall revisit this discussion. Perhaps here from your Commander ourselves.”

“Again,” Mace Windu repeated, eyes glancing over his fellow Jedi. “We do not have time to entertain this. It’s unfortunate, what’s happened to your trusted ally, but you need to instate a new Commander as soon as possible. Perhaps the trade off can happen on Kamino. How long until you arrive?”

For once in his life, Obi-Wan Kenobi looked offended. “I will not replace my Commander. He was clear. He was lucid. I have my CMO here," he gestured towards Levy, "And he can confirm what I'm saying. He is not unfit for duty, and certainly not —”

Mace Windu actually laughed, splaying out his hands. “He thinks he’s from the future, Obi-Wan. You don’t actually believe him, do you?”

Kenobi’s mouth became a thin, hard line. “Of course not,” He said, straining against his own frustration. “I simply wonder if the Force is trying to right a wrong.”

Yoda’s voice, once again, rose amidst the quiet. “Hard a thing, trust is, to find in times of war. No problem, see I, with keeping your Commander.” Yoda met Kenobi’s eyes, and a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Sound much like Qui-Gon Jinn, you do, Obi-Wan.”

At that, it was General Kenobi’s turn to look surprised, but he quickly quieted the emotion and turned back to Mace. “And I’m sure that if my Master were here he would agree with me.”

“Yes,” Mace Windu leaned back in his chair, slowly drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “If only he were here. I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for this discussion today, Obi-Wan. We simply don’t have the time nor resources to chase up these theories.” Mace Windu raised his chin. “The council has spoken.”

***

Cody was still thinking about his strange conversation with Rook when another knock intruded upon the silence. For whatever reason, he expected Rook again, and dipped his hands beneath the blanket. 

“General Kenobi, Sir,” Cody felt his heart leap, only to fall a moment later. General Kenobi did not look happy—if anything, he looked even more tired than he had that morning. Despite it, Kenobi did his best to smile, and didn’t do a bad job. 

“Cody,” Kenobi stood at the foot of the bed, stroking his beard. “Rather, Commander Cody.”

Cody let the tension fall from his shoulders. No Kamino, no decommission. Not yet, at least. “How did it go?” he asked. His General’s weariness didn’t mean bad news, not necessarily. The next expression to flit over Kenobi’s face, however, screamed ‘bad news’.

“Yes, well,” it was a strange sight, a Jedi trying to let you down easily. After a while, Kenobi gave up. “They decided not to investigate further. I don’t know why I expected much more.”

No. No, no, no. 

Was it just him, or were the walls spinning?

“But the Empire. The chips. Sama Prei—”

“You should be lucky she was satisfied with a formal apology,” Kenobi chided, still tracing a finger through his beard. He was too calm. 

“But it’ll happen again!” Cody said, hearing his voice rise. The little heartbeat on the monitor sped up. “We’ll kill you. The clones. The war will—It can’t happen again! We can’t lose again, I can’t—” 

And none of it will have mattered. There was never anything good. Just training and war and fighting all for something that will never be.

“I’m sorry, old friend, I really tried.” But Cody wasn’t listening anymore.

“We have to change things,” he insisted, ignoring the way Obi-Wan was looking at him. Cautious. Apologetic. Glancing at the heart monitor, then back to Cody. “I was sent back for a reason. I have to change things. It can’t have been for nothing. I can’t die in that cell!”

A hand on his shoulder. Calm, soothing the biting warmth in his throat. The monitor slowed. “Perhaps you’re here for a different reason.”

You didn’t matter. Not to the Republic, the Empire, or the Rebellion. Not then. Not now. 

Maybe you are crazy, after all.

Cody closed his eyes. No. Think. Think. There must be something he could do to prove it. Something. “What if we go to Kamino?” He spoke quickly, letting the words fall out before he even knew what they meant. “What if we found proof? We could—”

“I’m sorry, Cody, but I can’t do that. The council is the council for a reason. Even if we disagree with what was decided…” The grip on his shoulder stayed firm. Obi-Wan's face was resigned, and... No—no, not resigned. Not wisened or hopeful or trusting or any other virtuous thing. Obi-Wan sighed, letting the thin lines in his face deepen.

Obedient . 

“The council has spoken.”