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The sound of the priority channel was selected to be impossible to ignore, loud enough to wake the dead and annoying enough to move the lazy. But if life had taught Cody anything it was that there is no amount of discomfort that won’t eventually fade into the background.
The stormtroopers advance, the shimmering blue of the holotable casting twisting shadows up the wall. They advance, chasing fleeing rebels. Cody leans forward, the edge of the table digging into his palms. They overextend, confident in their victory.
Cody wets his lips. There. Right there.
The rebels turn, the stormtroopers are caught out in the open, advantage tumbling into the rebels favour in an instant. The stormtroopers die.
Something confusing constricts in his chest and he grips the table harder, sweaty hands threatening to slip.
He replays the clip. The stormtroopers advance, they overextend, there , the rebels turn, the stormtroopers die. The something in his chest winds itself tighter.
He plays it again. And then again right after, watching the loop as the comm screeches.
The door opens, spilling bright, artificial light all across the floor. Skywalker’s boots are heavy and distinctive.
“When I summon you, Commander, I expect you to respond.” He’s not a commander anymore. He’s a Purge Trooper. Vader’s pet clone. But old habits die hard in both of them it seems.
“I was busy,” he tells Skywalker.
Skywalker doesn’t lift him, but the pressure pushes him backwards, boots squeaking on the floor. There’s a flare of panic, the scared little cadet who doesn’t want to die. He can’t breathe.
Not breathing wouldn’t be what kills him. Lack of oxygen to the brain would kill him much faster. Skywalker's grip around his throat is preventing blood flow. Cody had seen diagrams; carotid arteries supplying blood, jugular veins removing it. No blood flow, no oxygen. Cody forces it to be academic.
He’s calm. Blood pounds trapped in his head, but he’s calm. Skywalker can’t kill him anyway. He needs Cody.
The pressure eases and Skywalker lowers his hand. His breathing is more distracting than the comm, something in it making Cody want to match his own to it. It’s distracting.
He steps back to the holotable, feet unsteady.
The screeching comm crunches in on itself, finally silenced. Cody resets the holotable.
“Look,” he says and Skywalker does, Cody can feel it in the way the hair on his neck stands on end even if the suit remains still.
Cody had heard that it hurts. He hopes it does.
The stormtroopers advance, they overextend, there, there . Cody looks up at Skywalker. It’s excitement he thinks, that thing in his chest. He’s excited. It’s an odd feeling. Skywalker says nothing. The rebels turn, the stormtroopers die.
Skywalker inhales and exhales and Cody’s skin itches.
“What am I looking at, Commander?” Skywalker asks and Cody slams a hand down on the table. It’s dangerous. Skywalker is volatile and disrespect hits him in a way he has never been able to handle. The suit only made that worse. But he allows it from Cody. Maybe because Cody never respected him and there’s familiarity in that. He needs Cody.
Cody plays it again, watching Skywalker instead of the holotable. It’s right there, Skywalker just has to look.
“All I am seeing, Commander, is failure,” Skywalker says, rasping through the suit. Thire saw what he looked like before they encased him and his recounting of events were never graphic enough for Cody.
Frustration burns up the suffocating excitement.
“It’s Rex,” Cody says. The holotable loops the clip again and Cody reaches out, brushing his fingers through the turning rebels.
“None of those men are Rex,” Skywalker says, with finality. Cody hates him.
“His tactics,” Cody says, and he thinks there’s desperation lurking behind the frustration. “Watch it again.”
Cody doesn't care if Skywalker watches, he watches, fingers still skimming the figures. It’s been years since he had a lead, he’d long ago been pulled onto more pressing projects. But this is proof Rex is with the rebels. Cody can find him.
The rebels turn and Cody aches.
The holotable turns off, the figures flickering away taking Rex with them. Cody thinks he could kill Skywalker. The Force wraps itself around him before he can draw his vibroblade. It’s tight and unrelenting and Cody doesn’t fight it. Skywalker was always taller than him, but he towers now.
“There’s reports of a Jedi in the Midrim. You are to take a squad and address the issue,” Skywalker says.
Cody bares his teeth. “I can bring him home.”
“Rex is dead.” It sounds like a threat, everything Skywalker says through that cursed suit sounds like a threat, but it reeks of resignation. Skywalker wants Rex, but he has to make do with Cody. He needs some part of his past to cling to before he burned it up with everyone Cody loved. Skywalker needs him.
Cody shakes his head. He would know. He would have felt it. He would have been undone. “Let me look for him.”
“You will go to the Midrim,” Skywalker says, and Cody believes him. He’ll go where he’s told.
The Force releases, and that desperation crawls up Cody’s throat and turns to ash in his mouth. He turns the holotable back on. He chokes in air past the ash.
He doesn’t look up as Skywalker leaves. Cody can see him, even if Skywalker can’t.
The stormtroopers advance, they overextend, Rex, his dangerous, clever Rex , the rebels turn, the stormtroopers die.
Skywalker will regret not sending Cody after him. If he doesn’t find Rex, Rex will eventually find them.
Cody smiles and plays it again.