Chapter Text
Cody stared down at his backpack with a deep frown that was one part determination and one part regret. It was one of the large, standard-issue ones that all military personnel had, normally used to transport all their shit from one barracks or ship to another. There was enough space inside for a spare set of armour and blacks, a weapon and all the maintenance kit they needed. It weighed a ton when fully supplied but, luckily for Cody, what he was taking with him equaled barely half of that.
The maintenance kit came with him, of course, as did his regulation hygiene bag, but that was where the similarities ended. There was a single pair of dress-grey’s folded neatly at the bottom. There were several pairs of blacks, too. Not only were they comfortable and familiar, but they usually did well in most environments — blazing heat or frigid cold. The fact that the material was stab-proof was an added bonus that Cody hoped he wouldn’t need to take advantage of. Where he was going, Cody knew that being able to pull rank might serve him well.
Without his armour, the bag seemed empty and threatened to fold in on itself. His frown deepened. Pausing his packing, Cody turned his head to study it on its stand along the opposite wall.
A lifeless, grey and white helmet stared back at him.
Armour was important for the clones. Even someone who’d never laid eyes on one could tell you that. It was their life. Their identity. It was what kept them going and allowed them to differentiate themselves from scores and scores of identical faces. Cody didn’t know a single brother who thought differently.
Or at least, he hadn’t . Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Cody blinked. For a brief flash, dull grey flickered to orange and he was reminded of a time long past — of a person long past — someone Cody couldn’t hope to be anymore.
The Sunshine Commander, his captains had called him affectionately. Cody didn’t feel like that anymore. He wasn’t sure he could be that person anymore.
In many ways, the new colour scheme suited things — the way the Republic had changed (or the Empire, now, as Cody refused to call it), and the way he’d changed, too. What he wouldn’t have given to go back and do it all again, differently this time.
Cody stared at his armour for a long, long moment, shoulders squared and jaw set, but didn’t pick it up. If the armour had been orange, would he have left it there, as well? While the forefront of Cody’s mind screamed ‘no!’ in his gut he knew he would have.
It felt odd to leave his armour but pack civilian clothing.
Cody sighed and looked away from the armour stand and down to the open bottom drawer by the side of his bed. The clothes there were folded pristinely, tightly packed and no doubt a little musty from such a long period of disuse where they’d been tucked away and out of sight. Still, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw them out.
He bent to take the top one out — an orange shirt made of silky material that ran through Cody’s fingers like water. It had been one of his favourites, a long time ago. He’d gone shopping with Boil who had picked it out for him while making some joke about the 212th. He’d worn it to the 79s many times.
And shit, if that didn’t feel like a lifetime ago.
Cody rolled the folded material and shoved it down into the bottom of his bag, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat.
Though he wished he was still that person (and by the force, how he wished it ), Cody knew that slipping it on would feel like donning someone else's outfit. He imagined they’d fit him differently now, too. Though he was much the same as he’d been back then, maybe some more frown lines and a smattering of grey by his ears, they’d feel different — like Cody was playing the part of someone long-dead.
Still, even though it didn’t sit right with him, Cody packed his civilian clothing. He might have shared a face with a million brothers, but where he was going, he knew he’d have to take all the help he could get to blend in with the crowd.
Even that, where he was going, Cody only had the vaguest of ideas.
It started, as many things did, with a rumour. This one had come from a group of natborn officers that Cody had been supervising — something about Lord Vader leaving devastation in his wake, again. That much was hardly new.
Even after all his years serving the Empire, Cody never had the chance to meet the mysterious Lord Vader, right-hand of the Emperor. He suspected some part of that might have been intentional, given how brutally things had ended with Fox. The Empire, for all their carelessness, clearly weren’t in a rush to lose another Marshall Commander to his wrath.
Cody grit his teeth and breathed in deeply through his nose for a moment. Fox . He tried not to think about him — it always made him feel sick to his stomach when he did. It was the same hollow feeling as when he thought about all the brothers he’d lost over the last decade. It seemed that a dozen a day were being executed for treason or stupid mistakes. He scrunched the shirt in his hands tightly and swallowed before folding it properly again.
Just another reason he had to leave.
Not just the barracks.
Not just Coruscant.
The whole fucking thing.
Cody was done playing games . He was taking himself off of the board.
Resolutely, he packed the shirt and moved onto the next one. Obi-Wan had brought this one for him — a dark green fitted top that apparently made his eyes ‘pop’, whatever that meant. Cody had no particular love for it other than how much Obi-Wan had liked it. He’d worn it often because of that fact alone, no matter how irritating the high collar was.
He swallowed thickly and packed it neatly along with the rest, thoughts drifting further in Obi-Wan’s direction and why he’d made the decision to leave. Why now ? When he’d been unhappy in his position for so long already?
The skirmish between Lord Vader and the rebels.
Cody had heard that there was a Jedi amongst them — one powerful enough for both them and the rebels to escape Lord Vader’s clutches unscathed.
Across the galaxy, the last remaining Jedi were being snuffed out like candles in the wind. Dead Jedi and abandoned lightsabers went a-credit-a-dozen on the black market these days, so he’d been told. Still, this was the first time Cody had caught wind of one going up against Vader and surviving. They were no ordinary Jedi. Whoever this was, they were powerful.
That narrowed things down slightly. It could have been one of the surviving council members, of which he was sure there were a handful remaining, or even General Skywalker. A smart man would have likely put their money on him, or Yoda, but Cody had never claimed to be smart. Deep in his gut, he knew it was Obi-Wan — even without having to push for details about the incident.
But whether he’d pushed for details or not, confirmation came to him a few days after he’d first heard the rumour.
“Lord Vader ran into some trouble in the Tatoo system.” One of the generals had sneered at him. “Fucking Jedi — always being so fucking difficult. Good riddance to the lot of them, I say. It was your one, Kenobi, was the worst of the lot, wasn’t he? Should have just stayed in his hole and died — would save a lot of people a lot of trouble.”
The general might have meant it as a sour insult, some dig about how close the two of them had been once upon a time, but Cody hadn’t focused on any part of the conversation other than the fact that Obi-Wan was alive.
He’d suspected it in his gut, yes, but having that confirmed was a different feeling entirely. It was both a weight off of his shoulders and a tightness in his chest that only became worse the longer he thought about it. The overwhelming, frustrating guilt of shooting Obi-Wan out of the sky all those years ago didn’t leave with this newfound revelation but instead morphed into something new. This was a hollow sort of guilt that sat in his chest, not his gut, and made him want to slam his head against something every time he thought about it.
In light of Obi-Wan’s survival, what he’d done seemed even worse. Cody had shot the man he loved in the back without a moment’s hesitation and the fact that he missed meant that Obi-Wan had spent the last decade knowing that. He’d likely spent the following years alone and afraid, on the run from the Empire, the empty husk of the failing Republic he’d given so much of his life to protect gutted out and replaced with something hateful.
Sure, Cody couldn’t possibly have borne the responsibility for the Empire as a whole, the countless crimes its people had committed in the name of order, but he could certainly have been blamed for missing. Perhaps if he’d actually killed Obi-Wan back then, it might have been kinder, if only to save him from the pain that had no doubt followed.
Not for the first time that day, that rotation or even that year , Cody wondered why the fuck he’d done it.
Not that he’d ever managed to figure out the answer.
He loved Obi-Wan. Although, since the Jedi was apparently still alive, Cody supposed that he continued to love him still.
Hell, in the weeks leading up to the Order, he’d been thinking about asking Obi-Wan to be his riduur! Cody knew that he would have defected, too, if Obi-Wan had asked him — even when he thought the Republic still meant something, that they were doing some good.
How could he have looked past something like that, something so strong, so carelessly?
It was as if Cody hadn’t had a single thought in his head when he’d given the order — though that hardly seemed to do it justice and didn’t absolve him of blame in the slightest. He hadn’t even thought to check and see he’d done the job right, either, which made no sense.
Why hadn’t he looked for Obi-Wan’s body?
In the back of his mind, Cody knew that if he had, and found him alive, he would have finished the job himself. Even thinking back to the occasion, of the strange… emptiness in his head, had him unsettled and nauseous. But he did his utmost to keep those thoughts far away, afraid of where that line might have taken him.
It didn’t matter, anyway. The deed was done and now Cody had to live with himself and the fallout.
When he’d successfully emptied the drawer, its contents packed away pristinely, Cody went to nudge it closed again with his foot but froze when he glanced back down.
There was a photograph left behind in the bottom of the drawer.
Cody’s heart clenched but he bent to pick it up regardless, twisting it around to view the faces he already knew were there.
The photograph was of himself and Obi-Wan. The Jedi had taken it the day the 212th had some downtime on Kashyyyk. He and Obi-Wan had taken two of the speeders out far into the surrounding forests, racing each other to the large river that split the land in two. Of course, Obi-Wan had won, but Cody suspected that he’d used the force to cheat a little (and to stop Cody smashing head-first into a tree). The day had been scorching enough that the river at the end of it had been a blessed relief. They’d even treated themselves to a picnic while they were there, sitting on an overhanging branch with their feet dangling into the cool water.
That had been the day Cody had realised he loved Obi-Wan — truly and unfailingly. It was the day he’d figured out that he was loved just as hard in return, too.
Obi-Wan had snapped the photo and sent it to him afterwards. In it, he lent heavily into Cody’s space, Cody having to rest his head on the Jedi’s for them both to fit in the frame. Obi-Wan was beaming into the camera, hair a mess whilst Cody looked a little more reserved — though still smiling (more at Obi-Wan than the communicator).
It was without a doubt one of Cody’s fondest memories — and one of the few pictures he still had of Obi-Wan. After the purge, they’d been ordered to remove as many images of the Jedi as they could, both from the public records or any personal items they happened to come across. The intelligence corps had even gone so far as to erase whole years of holonews data to help their case, anything they could do to wipe clean all the good the Jedi had done.
For a long time, Cody hadn’t been able to look at the photo. He’d kept it tucked in the pocket of a disused pair of blacks, and then in between some dusty flimsi-files, and then finally in the bottom drawer along with all the other remnants of his former life. As much as it had pained him, Cody hadn’t been able to throw the photo away. So he’d kept it tucked in the dark, keenly aware of just how much his chest hurt every time he opened that box inside himself again.
Over time, though, the pain had eased into something more manageable. On rare occasions, he was able to open it back up again, fish out the photo from where it was sandwiched between two pairs of jeans and look at it before he went to sleep for as long as he dared. Those were the times where Cody needed to pretend, just for a moment, that he was somewhere else, someone else — anyone as long as they were happy .
He always had good dreams after he’d done that — even if he woke up crying.
Cody thumbed over a frayed corner of the photo as he gazed at Obi-Wan’s beaming face. Force, he must have looked different now, older, haggard, just as Cody did. He’d never wanted that for Obi-Wan. The notion that he’d died young, would never have to grow old, sick or frail, had been something of a comfort to him. A comfort now shattered.
What did Obi-Wan think of him, now? The idea of Obi-Wan hating him hurt more than Cody simply hating himself. Whatsmore, if Obi-Wan did, Cody would understand it completely. How could he possibly defend himself or justify what he did? He was the reason Obi-Wan had spent the last ten years suffering. He’d spent that time believing that Cody had meant to kill him, too, that their whole relationship had been built on a lie.
Had he carried that hurt with him, deep in his chest, like Cody had?
Did he have a real, physical hurt from what Cody had done? Had he maimed him, condemned him to a life of agony, without even knowing it?
Each question was more painful than the last. Cody knew that if he left things as they were, so broken, so wrong , that he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself.
And so, Cody was leaving.
Leaving to find Obi-Wan.
Anyone left alive who still knew him, would realise that it was a question of 'when' not 'if' that should Obi-Wan have survived Order 66, Cody would find him.
He didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t know how he was going to do it. He didn’t know what he was going to say , but he had to do it. But Cody knew he had to at least try and make at least a dent in this shit show — not for himself or the ghost of the relationship he once had, but for Obi-Wan. Force, if he could do even a little good in the galaxy after all the damage he’d done in the wake of the Order, Cody knew he needed to try.
Cody swallowed thickly and gave the photo one last long look before he stowed it away safely in the front pocket of his back. He zipped it up.
That was that. He’d packed.
He was really doing this.
If someone had told him a decade ago that he’d go AWOL, Cody would have laughed. But then again, if they’d mentioned that it was because of Obi-Wan, it would have all made sense, even then.
Oddly enough, Cody had the distinct and resolute feeling that it was always going to end this way — even before he’d been decanted. It was as if the path was laying itself at his feet and all Cody needed to do was step into his shoes.
Cody hauled the pack onto his back and turned to look his armour up and down one last time. There was no sense of loss there, no mourning or upset as if he’d chosen to leave a past of himself behind. No. When Cody looked at his armour, he saw the lifeless thing he’d become — no better than a droid and so different to the ideals he’d once had.
He took a deep breath, and he turned his back on it.
When he stepped out of his bunk room and the door whooshed shut behind him, it was as if a weight had lifted from Cody’s shoulders. Of course, the ever-present pain in his chest was still there, but it was a little lighter now that he was finally, finally , taking a step in the right direction.
Shifting his pack to a more comfortable position, Cody strode down the corridor with his head held high. He had every reason to. He refused to scuttle off into the unknown, abandoning his post, with his shoulders cowed and his head turned downwards. Cody was better than that. There was no shame in this.
It didn’t come as a surprise that as he strode through the halls of the Imperial Military HQ, Cody didn’t come across a single face he recognised. That was part of what made the choice to defect so simple for him. The 212st had been disbanded a long time ago, likely due to how close they’d been with Obi-Wan. And all the brothers Cody had cared about had long-since marched on.
As he paced the halls of the HQ for the final time, taking the long journey to the exit, Cody didn’t feel the slightest bit of trepidation.
At the exit, Cody swiped his identity card and the main doors swished open. He stepped into the sea of people with not one person giving him a second glance. Cody was just a clone, after all — one in an army of millions.
He drew the hood of his poncho over his head when he felt the light drizzle in the air, the weather, reflecting Cody’s mood and started in the direction of the spaceport — the main route off of Coruscant
Cody had no idea what transport he’d get on, no particular destination in mind, but he’d come up across worse odds before in Obi-Wan’s name and come out the other side unscathed. Cody knew with the same certainty that a planet orbited a sun, that this time would be no different in that regard.
—
Cody was soaked through by the time he reached the spaceport. It was on the same level as the GAR HQ but several clicks away — close enough for speeders to get to quickly but a pain in the ass when travelling by foot as Cody was.
The building itself was a huge, sprawling thing outfitted with countless terminals and shuttle—stops ready to take passengers to the larger ships in orbit. Though it was designed with many people coming and going in mind, there were always queues that seemed to stretch on for miles no matter what time Cody visited. Protocol droids stood at every turn waiting to help passengers who couldn’t speak basic. Families bustled by Cody as he entered, some coming and some going, whilst senators and officials swanned by with their aids carrying the majority of their luggage.
The bureaucracy of it was a familiar comfort to Cody, but that was where the similarities ended. Before, the building had been deliberately designed to be welcoming and safe, those working there taking pride in this being the heart of the Republic. Now, though, it was dark and imposing, the emblem for the Empire emblazoned in blood red across every available surface. The newly rolled out Stormtroopers stood by with blasters to control and intimidate the crowd when needed. Cody had trained a few of them himself, in his time, and knew just how deadly they could be.
With every passing day, the Republic Cody remembered, the one he’d been born to fight for, seemed further and further away.
Yes, there were still protocol droids and representatives around. But they were less friendly than before and always flanked by security. Not because the threat level had increased, Cody knew, but because the Empire was more intent than ever on hunting down anyone they thought stood against them. Families would be ripped apart as soon as they landed, mothers dragged from their children to be questioned and anyone who even looked force sensitive carted away and never to be seen again.
No one was safe. Cody had heard more than a few stories of even low ranking officers being pulled to one side. He could only hope that he wouldn’t suffer the same fate — that his considerable standing would be his saving grace.
Cody made his way through the main part of the port unchallenged, the stormtroopers barely sparing him a glance, let alone a second. That was the good thing about being a clone, Cody supposed. They were always coming and going these days as they were transferred around the galaxy — almost always on their own, too. Cody didn’t know a single squad that had survived this far intact. New ones were cobbled together as and when they were needed but, just like Cody himself, they all made an effort not to get close to one another now.
The bright, glaring lights of the departure board hurt Cody’s eyes but he forced himself to look anyway. The next ship off of Coruscant was less than ten minutes away but as much as Cody itched just to get on that one, he forced himself to stop and think .
That’s what someone going AWOL would do. Cody knew there were people in the crowd watching just for that reason — he’d put them there himself.
If he was there for a legitimate reason, what would he do? Cody would have to be smart about this.
Technically he wasn’t even AWOL yet. He had another four hours at least until anyone realised he was missing, another five before they actually started to care. Whatsmore, Cody knew he’d need more to go off of than the Tatoo system when looking for Obi-Wan. If he was as smart as Cody remembered, that was the last place he’d be by now.
Hell. Once more for old time’s sake?
Cody made his way over to the command post built into the far wall. It was an imposing thing, intentionally set a little higher than the surrounding area for intimidation as well as tactics. A handful of clones manned the post along with two natborn officers, communicators chiming every once in a while and security footage playing on screens angled away from the public.
He drew himself up to his full height as he neared, puffing his chest out as he took note of the closest officer’s rank.
“Good evening, Sergeant.”
The clone snapped to attention before he’d even set eyes on Cody. Even if he wasn’t in uniform, he still had that infamous command class voice, the one that had been bred into him just as strongly as the CT’s urge to listen to it. When the sergeant did take a look at him, Cody watched him clock his scar almost immediately. His eyes widened, though only minutely.
“Good evening Marshall Commander, Sir!” Was accompanied by a crisp salute. “How can I help you, Sir?”
“I need access to your computer. It’ll only take a moment.” When the sergeant didn’t so much as bat an eyelid at the request, Cody allowed himself to relax a little.
“Right Sir, come on around.” They were polite enough to lift up the security hatch and invite Cody inside. As he did so, no doubt standing out like a sore thumb in travelling clothes as opposed to grey plastoid, the closest natborn officer did a double take.
For fucks sake… Natborns never did know when to leave well enough alone, did they? Officers in particular always got a kick out of questioning clones of a superior tank — always thought they were better , as if Cody hadn’t been born and bred for this exact purpose. He grit his teeth and tried not to let his irritation show when the natborn frowned and approached the two of them.
“Hey, you can’t be back here!”
“At ease, Captain.” Cody let a small, bored sort of sigh ease into his voice — the sort of tone that many officers had when they were exasperated with new recruits. It was one Cody could do on demand. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“I don’t know who you think you are—” The officer — a lieutenant, Cody realised after a moment — put a hand on his blaster.
“This is Marshall Commander Cody, lieutenant.” The sergeant supplied. Ballsy, Cody thought. He guessed the brothers still stuck together, even now. That at least, gave the lieutenant leave to pause.
“And what does Marshall Commander Cody need?” This one could be trouble, he thought . There was something about the sergeant that Cody just couldn’t place.
“Access to one of your computers for a moment. I’ve been assigned to tracking a dangerous criminal.”
“All by yourself?” They asked, just enough mocking in their tone to allow for plausible deniability. “And they didn’t give you all the information you needed before you got here?”
“I have reason to believe they’re moving quickly and thought I’d ensure I had the most recent intel before travelling. And where force sensitives are concerned, one is more effective than a hundred, I find.” The hunting and capture of force sensitives was shrouded in secrecy, only a select few being included in those kinds of operations. Cody didn’t count himself amongst them, had refused all offers of becoming a purge trooper, but the lieutenant didn’t need to know that. The mere mention of force sensitives was enough to have him backing down.
“...Right. The one on the end is free — I can spare it for five minutes or so.” How generous , Cody thought as he noted that there were more computers present than officers.
The lieutenant led him over and pulled his identification card out of the slot, turning it back to a blank screen. Cody swallowed and fished out his own, replacing it. It was less than ideal. Now, anything he searched would be tied to his account. When they realised he was missing, this would be the first thing they’d check. They’d figure out what he was doing but with any luck, Cody would be long gone by then and too off-the-beaten-track to be found.
He slid his identification card into the slot and the system came back online once again. Cody brought up the galaxy—wide criminal database and only had to punch in the first few letters of Obi-Wan’s name before photos and entries were popping up on his screen, the word ‘dangerous’ highlighted in a bold red at the top.
‘Believed to be armed.’ He probably would be, yes.
‘Do not approach — if sighted, contact PT-0584-Z to advise.’ Of course this was purge trooper business, Cody thought .
‘Last seen on Daiyu at approximately…’ Cody stopped reading now that he had what he wanted. The rest of it, he’d no doubt heard before.
Daiyu. That was where he was headed. If only there was a way for him to delete his search history. No doubt by the time he got to Daiyu, his face would be circulating on wanted boards, too. Unfortunately, Cody was neither clever enough nor had the time to wipe the system.
He tugged his identification card out and stowed it away safely in his front pocket again.
“Daiyu.” He turned back to the lieutenant. “How do I get there?”
“What, the Empire not arranging transport for you, now?”
“There’s no direct route there.” The sergeant supplied, ignoring his superior. Cody really did admire the man’s balls but he knew few would have lived this long without them. “Your best bet is to change at a mid-rim planet like Naboo or Aleen.”
Cody shot him a reserved, tight-lipped smile.
“Thank you Sergeant…?”
“Green, Sir.” That seemed familiar. Had he been one of Bly’s guys? Once upon a time? That hardly seemed to matter anymore, and it certainly wasn’t the time to check.
“Green.” Cody confirmed. “Thank you both. You’ve been a great help.”
“Would you like an escort to an appropriate shuttle, Sir?” The lieutenant asked. Cody doubted he’d offered in the interests of politeness. More likely, this was another way to keep an eye on him. Either this natborn truly was an asshole, or he was far too sharp for his own good. Men like him would get far in this job either way, Cody knew.
“No thank you, lieutenant, that’s quite alright.”
“Next transport leaves in twenty minutes from bay 25.” Green supplied. “Direct to Aleen.”
The lieutenant shot Green a look, but both clones pretended they hadn’t seen. When Cody offered him a hand, the sergeant grasped it tightly.
“Thank you.” Green dipped his head.
Armed now with a destination in mind, Cody kept his head high and his shoulders squared until he was off—world, barely resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder at every turn.