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nattastic · 16 days ago

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that thing you used to be

(read with tags and characters on AO3 instead)

“I’m gonna go record a bedtime story for Kata,” Bode says, and Cal reaches out to snag his sleeve before he can turn.

“Stay,” Cal says, emboldened by their hug. “You can tell me a story too. Force knows I need some sleep.”

Bode looks down at Cal’s hand, his whole posture stiff. When he looks up at Cal, his lips are pressed so tight the skin around them turns white.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Bode says, finally, and Cal feels like there’s something he’s missing. The Force is silent around Bode, even when Cal reaches out for him.

“Stay,” Cal says, and pushes himself upright, so he can take Bode’s gloved hand. The leather is soft under his fingertips, worn smooth in the divot between thumb and forefinger where the grip of his blaster would rest. Cal traces it and smiles, thinking of the callus that’s forming on his own gun hand.

Then he looks up at Bode, lips parting as he catches the intensity in the older man’s eyes. Cal doesn’t know what he’s done to merit such a look, but he tries to match that dark gaze, stroking over the leather. A relter calls from deep into the ruins, and Cal is glad of the excuse to tear his eyes away. His cheeks are warm, even though the Jedha night is cold as it edges toward dawn.

“If you really wanted me to stay you wouldn’t ask me to give up Tanalorr to the Hidden Path,” Bode says, his voice so quiet he might have just been talking to himself.

Cal’s mouth falls open, but he’s not sure what to say. Bode had been so accepting of the idea earlier, he’d thought, and the joy that coursed through him then, that he was doing the right thing, for the Jedi, for the galaxy, what had gone wrong?

Bode shakes his head as if he can hear Cal’s confused thoughts. “I have to keep Kata safe,” he says, staring past Cal into the desert. “There’s no way she’s gonna be safe if the Empire finds out about Tanalorr. And they will find out, Cal, if we’re flying the hyperlanes with fugitive Jedi. The Empire already knows about this planet, and they’re so close to finding the Jedi right under their noses. All it takes is one stray transmission, one spy in your ranks—you don’t know, one could be here already.”

“What are you saying? Bode, no one here is a spy,” Cal says. “And it’s not like we’re going to blast a map of the route to Tanalorr all over the holonet. We’ll keep folks safe there. Even Kata. But I thought she was with friends? Someone’s taking care of her, makes sure she gets those bedtime stories you send all the time, right?”

Gloved hands suddenly squeeze Cal’s shoulders, tight enough that he wonders if he’ll bruise. Bode’s expression is wild, broken, the remnants of the fire flickering across his face. “You don’t understand, scrapper. I made a deal to keep her safe. And I thought that Tanalorr was a way to get out of that deal, but not if you want to open up this haven. If it was just us—then we could survive. But the moment we start ferrying more people there—void, the second we start supplying the place, because we don’t even know what in the seven hells is on that rock—you know the Empire will find us.”

Cal frowns. “I don’t think it could be that bad,” he says. “We’ll be careful, disguise our movements, vet the people we work with; they haven’t found us yet.”

Bode closes his eyes, exhales, the breath stirring Cal’s hair. “They already have, scrapper.”

He drops his hands from Cal’s shoulder and reaches into one of the pockets on his belt, holds out the holopuck he’d shown Cal on Coruscant. Cal takes it, brushes over the control to send the wavering blue image of Bode’s daughter spinning in the air. But there’s something else shining on the puck, an echo, tightly curled against the duraplast. It’s a bleak and angry one, Cal can tell, without even touching it, and dread curdles in his stomach. But he can’t resist an echo, so he lays a finger on it, because he has to know.

“...there, Denvik, you know everything about Jedi terrorist Cal Kestis. He thinks we’re best friends. Now let me talk to my daughter.” It’s Bode’s voice, the echo burning his anger through Cal’s veins.

Denvik chuckles, and Bode imagines the man to be steepling his fingers in that metal-filled Imperial office, and Bode wants to reach through the commlink and choke the life from him. “It sounds like you’re more than friends,” Denvik says, the words oily even through the spotty connection. “I find myself wondering if you’ve lost your way, Bode. If you’ve fallen back into old habits.”

Bode seethes, but he can’t say anything in protest, or Denvik will realize just how close to the truth he is. “Remember, Bode, the ISB is not an organization to be trifled with. I took you back because I trained you, and it would be such a shame to lose your skills. But if you continue to string out this...this infatuation with the thing you used to be, well. I’m afraid your daughter will just have to wait a little longer for her bedtime story, hmm?”

Cal is quite surprised to find the holopuck still intact in his hands as the echo breaks. Bode’s rage shudders through him, and there’s only one thought swirling through the white haze in Cal’s mind. Bode is an ISB agent. It’s on repeat, a holoprojector stuck in a bit of code. Bode is working for the Empire.

He realizes he’s shaking when his knees buckle, but Bode’s strong hands are there to catch him, to hold him, and Cal wants to sink into that hold, but he keeps thinking Bode=Empire like he’s a glitchy droid and pulls away.

The rock wall at the edge of the platform is right there, and Cal sags against it. The holopuck echo still pulses in his hand and he wants to throw it away, smash it to the ground, let it shatter against the boulders far beneath, but it’s Bode’s only link to Kata, and no matter how much he hates—yes, hate is the right word here, even if it breaks Cal’s heart to think it—at this moment, Cal can’t bring himself to destroy that tether.

Cal sets the holopuck on the rock, so gently the duraplast doesn’t even click against the stone. The Jedha sands stretch out before him, red rocks turned purple in the false dawn. False. More than friends. Lost your way. To think, Cal had wanted him to stay, the longing thick in his voice however he tried to hide it. Bode is working for the Empire.

The man is a strange warmth at Cal’s back, close enough to feel but holding an artificial tension between their bodies. Cal could break it with a breath, could draw his saber in a Force-quick motion and spin before Bode could stop him. Bode would heave back, hands up, the yellow blade close enough to crisp the leather of his holster. All this time, Bode was a spy.

“Was any of it real?” Cal says, and hates the way his voice breaks on the last word. A scrape of boot on rock and Cal sees Bode come up next to him, placing a hand over the holopuck, his fingers millimeters away from Cal’s. It might as well be parsecs, Cal thinks, as streaks of light appear over the horizon. His eyes slide to the gloved hand next to his, and he wonders if the Empire provided those gloves, if anything about how Bode presents himself is real, or just a skin provided by the enemy.

“I never lied to you, Cal,” Bode says, rough. “but I never told you everything, either. I was just trying to keep Kata safe, and at first the way to do that was to feed my handler information. But you, and your crew—I made myself into the person you needed, and it felt good. And then I made a mistake, Cal. I fell for my own line. And for a while I let myself believe that it didn’t matter, that I could keep going that way, that I could let myself fall for a while. But then you wanted to give away our haven, and—and I couldn’t pretend. My life’s in your hands now, Cal. Mine and Kata’s. I have to hope that it’s enough to at least make you think about the consequences about opening up Tanalorr.”

Cal closes his eyes against the brightening dawn, against Bode’s revelations, against the chill that rushes over his skin. He’s been spying on us since the beginning. But he won’t be able to do that anymore. Can’t spy on your mark when the mark knows you’re spying. Bode is useless to Denvik now, not that the man knows it yet. He’s lost, and a tiny smile sneaks past Cal’s guard to think of it. A blow to the Empire without having to fire a shot.

Sunrise is nigh; Cal can feel it in the Force, a held breath planet-wide. He narrows his focus to the man beside him, testing the borders of nullity. Bode feels the same to Cal’s senses as he always has. Nothing about him has changed since Cal’s learned the truth, only Cal’s understanding of him.

So Bode has likely reported on their movements, given his handler their profiles. So far, nothing has been done with that information; there’s been no chatter to suggest anything in the works. But soon enough, if Bode stops reporting, there will be, Cal is sure of it. And Kata will pay the price of her father’s defection. Determination rises in his chest. He won’t let that happen.

But not using Tanalorr as a base for the Hidden Path? It’s not up to him anymore. Preparation has already started. Maybe—maybe Bode was right, though. They really don’t know anything about Tanalorr other than it exists, and is presumably habitable to most species, from Cal’s dizzying walkthrough of Dagan’s memories. Maybe someone should go check it out first. Makes sense that a Jedi should do it, especially one who’s been there before, even if it was only in echoes.

Fog rises around them as the incipient sunrise warms the rocks, and everything turns soft and dreamlike. The two of them seem like the only solid things on the planet, and even Bode’s form, so close to Cal’s, seems to waver, a void in the Force where there should be light.

Needing assurance that this is real, Cal lets his pinkie finger move just that little bit so flesh meets the tiny strip of skin between Bode's glove and his sleeve. Even Denvik noted they were more than friends. Maybe Cal can figure out a way to move past Bode’s lies—or omissions, as it were. But that oily voice had also said old habits, and the thing you used to be, and what is that supposed to mean?

He stares down at their barely-touching hands, and sighs. “What was the thing you used to be, Bode?” Cal says, his voice lost in the fog. It seems important to know, if Cal is going to try to trust the mercenary again. “You owe me the truth, I think."

Bode inhales beside him, but doesn't say anything for a long moment. Call realizes he can feel the man's anxiety, but before he can parse that, Bode seizes his hand and pulls Cal toward him. Cal can't resist his strength, doesn't want to, but all he can muster is a palm to Bode's chest. Which doesn't really help the dizziness he's feeling, honestly.

Because Bode cradles his face in his hands and touches their foreheads together, and Cal's senses are filled with Bode, as the man opens himself to the Force.

Cal gasps, fists his fingers into Bode's collar, his other hand flailing until it lands on Bode's waist, holding on like his belt is an anchor in rough seas. The sensation washes over Cal like a wave as the sun finally breaches the horizon and makes him squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden brightness, and he revels in the glorious connection and loses his breath to it and asks why why why as his throat closes over hurt cries.

“I couldn’t tell you before, scrapper, and you know why,” Bode says, so quiet. “But you asked for the truth. Stars, you reached out so many times and I couldn’t reach back, as much as I wanted to. But if you’ll—if you’ll just think about what I’m saying, like I think you are, then it’s worth it, to stop hiding.”

How and how could you and you know I wanted to find other survivors swirl in Cal’s head and into the Force and wrap around Bode in a complicated cloud, and Bode chuckles wetly. “So many questions, scrapper, but look—it’s dawn. Things are already moving. What are we going to do about it?” he says, and Cal can feel his uncertainty in the Force. He can feel Bode in the Force, and Cal swallows his anger and disappointment and betrayal and just soaks in the sensation of a fellow Force-sensitive as the fog burns away around them.

Of course the sun has come up again. Of course time moves forward. Cal can only sway there in Bode’s arms as they embrace like they did before the sunrise, feeling like everything has changed.

Bode tightens his hold on Cal, then releases him and steps back, a wondering smile curving his lips. Cal keeps their hands tangled and knows he has a similarly silly grin on his face. The rising sun halos Bode’s head and makes Cal blink away tears. Bode wipes them away with gloved thumbs, and places a gentle kiss on Cal’s forehead.

Cal closes his eyes and listens as they breathe together, coiling his aura around another, awestruck to feel Bode reach back the same way. The sun warms his forehead as the last of the fog drifts into nothingness. His questions can wait for another sunrise, he thinks, and captures Bode’s lips in a kiss.

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