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Bo-Katan Kryze knows all too well that this is a bad idea.
There’s the simple risk factor of flagrantly committing treason in a tapcafe filled with Imperial officers. There’s the chance that one of Saxon’s men will recognize her and report her presence to the viceroy, if they don’t arrest her outright. And then there’s the more basic, but unavoidable truth that mixing insurrection with feelings never goes well.
Ever.
She’s sure Satine would agree, if her sister was still alive.
Bo-Katan wants to tell herself that she’s capable of putting feelings aside. That it shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t matter, but the moment she steps through the door he’s all she can see. It’s a dangerous thing, in this crowded room full of Imperial goons and Saxon loyalists, for her to be caught so off-guard.
The clone commander who goes by Cody has exactly the same eyes, nose, mouth and chin as his brothers do, but the moment she sees his face she’s thirteen again and watching Jango Fett leave her father’s audience chamber. His helmet tucked beneath his arm, his eyes fixed ahead, his stride practically daring anyone to get in his way.
“Fett,” her father sneers, almost exactly the same way Pre Vizsla will and damn, she never drew that connection before. Whether she’s the forgotten younger daughter of House Kryze or the Death Watch lieutenant, Jango Fett always exemplified everything she shouldn’t want.
Her eyes scan the room. Belated caution is better than none at all. Not that many Mandalorians are here tonight, and the Imperial forces that came to train Saxon’s commandos are new enough that she might be able to go unnoticed. She makes her way over to the circular bar and sets her helmet next to the white plastoid helmet of the former Grand Marshal Commander of the Galactic Army of Republic. His armor bears the Imperial Academy insignia now, his rank a First Marshal Commander.
He's a trainer. That's what that means. A non-combat role.
She makes a point of not looking at him as she hails the bartender and orders a drink. When she does finally turn her head, the commander seems completely oblivious to her presence, which of course, he isn’t.
He’s also trying his damnedest to get completely karked. Bo-Katan is no stranger to the pleasure of drinking away a stressful day, but this man is downing tihaar with the single-minded determination of someone with a death wish. She waits until her own drink comes, and then puts her arm on the bar beside his.
“You might want to slow down there,” she says, her voice husky and just a little bit playful. “You’re no good to me soft.”
Two sharp brown eyes find her over the rim of his glass, and just as quickly dismiss her. “Lady Bo-Katan.”
“You did your homework.”
“I always do.” He barely stops drinking to talk.
“Well then, I guess we don’t have to pretend. Are you enjoying your stay on Mandalore, Commander?”
“Can’t kriffing stand it.” He pushes his empty glass towards the bartender, who knows the drill. “Nothing like I thought it would be.”
“What were you expecting?”
He gave a rough laugh. “I don’t know. The way the trainers talked about it on Kamino, it seemed...different.”
“It was different then.”
“Better, or worse?”
Bo-Katan shakes her head, unwilling to be drawn into the comparison trap. “Just different.” She takes a sip of her own drink and watches him swallow half the contents of his glass. “Seriously, could you stop a minute? You’re ruining alcohol for me.”
“You could do your drinking somewhere else.”
“Or you could leave here with me now, with your liver still intact.”
He stills, the glass almost to his lips, and there’s a quick flicker of challenge in his eyes. “What do you want, Lady Bo-Katan? Because it sure as hell isn’t my old shebs.”
“I want to talk to you about Mandalore,” she says, leaning closer. “But not about the past. About what Mandalore could be. With the right leadership.”
He sets his glass down. “You have a leader. And you don’t have to like it, but the majority of your clans back Saxon.”
“We’ve been at war for a long time. Order is...attractive.”
“But not to you.”
“Nothing is worth having a boot on my neck.”
His eyes drop to her throat, and then he looks away. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Am I? Call me crazy, but you don’t seem like a man with a high degree of job satisfaction.” She nods at his glass, and his brow lowers in irritation.
“I could have you arrested with a word.”
“You could, but tomorrow you’ll be right back here. Drinking yourself into a stupor.” Boldly she takes his glass and raises it to her lips. Raw liquor burns down the back of her throat. “You’re trying to escape. I know the feeling.”
“Did you? Escape?”
She can hear the cynicism in his voice. The scorn. “No,” Bo-Katan says, meeting his hard gaze. “And I never will.” She sets his glass back down. “Last chance, soldier. I can show you the Mandalore you heard stories about.”
He regards her a moment in silence. Then he picks up his glass. “There was a saying I learned on Kamino. ‘The only thing a Mandalorian man should be afraid of is a Mandalorian woman.’”
“Ha. It’s not complete osik.” She stands and picks up her helmet. She knows a “no” when she hears one. She also knows that minds can change in time.
She knows that firsthand.
“You’re wrong, you know. About your old shebs.” She keeps her eyes on his face. “Cody,” she says. His name feels like tihaar burning her tongue. “I hope we’ll meet again.”