Chapter Text
Obi-Wan lays his hand on the mirrored glass and closes his eyes, lets his awareness spread like a gentle breeze, unobtrusive, imperceptible.
Below the observation deck, the Marshal Commander of the Third Systems Army is being divested of his armor and weapons, shackles heavy on his wrists. He doesn’t struggle, only a mulish stubborn twist to his jaw showing his displeasure at the situation.
A skim bares so much already. Steadfast, integer, loyal to a fault when it’s deserved. Just as expected. He shines like a sun, it makes Obi-Wan want to turn his head towards his light, bask in it, devour it. So much strength. Protective with a heart big enough to hold every single one of the clones close, dead or alive.
Obi-Wan opens his eyes, steps back from the observation window. “I need a week.”
Next to him, Dooku hums. “Very well. That can be arranged.”
“They think he’s on Serrenno?”
“Yes. I left enough clues and Qui-Gon will look there first anyway when he realizes I’m behind the kidnapping.”
Obi-Wan can feel his jaw flex at Jinn’s name. He rolls his shoulders. “Alright. Give me an hour,” and turns to go. Messing up his hair he points at the guards, “you two, with me.” He throws a sly grin over his shoulder at Dooku. “See you at dinner, Pops.”
Being kidnapped, Cody decides as he’s thrown into a cell, karking sucks every time. The air in his lungs breaks for freedom when he roughly lands on the stone floor. He lays there for a moment, shoulder throbbing, getting his breath back enough to see through the ringing in his head.
Rolling onto his back is a pain but at least it grants him a view of the situation. Old fashioned and connected barred cells lined up on both sides of the corridor, locks that need keys - Cody has only seen those in history holos.
And a cell neighbor, it turns out, when his eyes have adjusted enough in the dark to check the cells in vicinity.
Cody can’t make out much at first besides pale dirty hands gripping the length of chain between shackles much like the ones Cody is wearing. Dirty ginger hair, torn and bloody tunic and pants over bruised skin. Very bright storm blue eyes, as he suddenly finds out, even if one of them is almost swollen shut.
At the eye contact the redhead violently flinches back, gasping when their head connects with the stone wall.
Cody winces. “Hey, hey,” he soothes, gentling his voice, “it’s alright. It’s okay.”
The figure slumps with a awful sounding heave, shackles clanking together.
Cody slowly raises his hands. Unarmed, see? Same cuffs as you, same boat. The redhead uncurls just a tiny bit, one knee shaking, and Cody’s chest gives a painful twang. “I’m Cody,” he offers, keeping his tone gentle. He’d rather establish trust with the civilian now than rescue a struggling and confused victim later. People are unpredictable when it comes to rescue efforts, Cody has learned.
The silence stretches. He’s almost given up getting an answer at the moment, when a swallow clicks through the redhead’s throat. “I’m—,” hesitant, quiet voice with a surprising core world accent, “I’m Ben.”
“Hey, Ben,” like he’s dealing with a skittish animal, “I’m going to get us out of here. I’ll make sure.” Or die trying, he adds only in his head.
“I don’t think I can go.” Ben hunches into himself. Judging by the dirt under his fingernails, he must’ve been here a while already.
How long though, and for what reason? Cody tables the questions for later, says instead, “The GAR is looking for me. I will get you out of here.” The more his eyes adjust to the dark, the less whole skin he can make out on Ben. “Just hold on until back up arrives. Can you do that for me?”
Ben’s eyes search his for a torturously long moment. He looks away first, fiddles with a chain link. “Okay,” said so unconvinced, so quietly Cody strains his ears even in the echoing silence of the cells.
During the night of the first day, when he can’t sleep because every noise makes Ben flinch and the chains rattle, Cody asks why he’s here.
Count Dooku is looking for potential apprentices. And isn’t that disturbing intel. Ben is just the latest in the line unlucky enough to have survived long enough to intrigue. Barely force-sensitive at all, he doesn’t know what they want from someone like him. Says he’s been here what feels forever but might be closer to a ten-day.
After the first day Cody loses track of time. Meals are provided but irregularly, confusing on purpose to mess with the perception of how much time passes, if it’s night or day. They get taken out of their cells just as irregularly. Sometimes both of them together, separated in the hallway leading to the lock-up. Sometimes just one or the other.
The silence in the cells, the meals half thrown on the floor, the interrogations, it all streams together to an endless unpredictable routine. They start talking just to escape the monotony.
Cody would even say they get to know each other.
There’s more interrogations. More—
“Marshal Commander. Third Systems Army,” Cody glares, spits blood on the floor like he’s seen in holos, just for something to do . “CC-2224.”
“Commander Cody,” Count Dooku says from the shadowy corner, bored and bordering impatience. “You could at least vary with your chosen name sometimes. Obviously I already know it.”
“Marshal Commander,” he smirks, “Third Systems Army. CC-2224.” He gets a backhand to his cheek for the trouble.
The Count sighs, steps closer into the light of the lamp hanging over Cody’s head and making him sweat through his blacks. The Count mutters something about having to leave Cody’s head in one piece, looks at his comm, and waves at his henchmen to find more vulnerable places on Cody’s body with their fists.
And more torture.
They deposit him back into his cell, and he can barely breathe through the pain.
Sometimes Ben gives him the water he saved from the measly meals, when the guards are distracted enough to notice. Quietly urges Cody to take it, please, you need it more than me.
Cody— starts feeling protective.
Sometimes Ben comes back out of his mind fighting something trying to get in. Soothing doesn’t work, touch makes a dent. Talking, distracting him from the— voices, or something in his head, that seems to do the trick. Giving him something else to focus on.
So Cody starts talking. The silliest anecdotes he can think of. He doesn’t think he reveals anything. He’s nonplussed how much bantha shit his brothers get up to now that he’s exclusively focusing on that.
The days go by and in between wondering how much more his ribs and kidneys and… everything else, really, can put up with and talking with Ben, he— Yeah, maybe, when Ben laughs at his stories, a curious hysterical little edge to it, eyes lit up, shoulders touching through the bars, he’d like to find out if they can still make each other smile while not slowly bleeding out in cuffs. He gets the feeling Ben would like to find that out as well.
Sometimes, more and more often and Cody cannot figure out why, Ben looks almost guilty at the strangest moments. Maybe he fears the torture starts working.
Cody tries his best to comfort him, says the Light will be here for him, as his General likes to say.
Close to a week must have gone by and Cody seriously starts to wonder where his kriffing exfil is hauling ass if it’s not here. He’s telling the story of Waxer’s unfortunate endeavor into befriending a baby gundark and its acquaintance with a power spine when—when he— when he says something and Ben easily rolls to his feet from his painful slouch. Shackles falling away. Stretches as he crosses the cell, opens his cell door, opens Cody’s cell door, and crouches down.
His eyes are different.
He cups Cody’s jaw, thumb carefully brushing the split open skin on his cheekbone. “Thank you,” he says, “that’s everything I need.”
Cody goes still in absolute, hands clenched, fingernails driving into his palms
Ben tips his head forward, Sith eyes burning Cody alive. “Understand, Commander, that you cannot die now. I’ll make sure.”
The constantly active, analyzing part of Cody, doesn’t know if it’s a threat or a promise, doesn’t know what’s more terrifying. The rest is still free falling into betrayal.