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Quinlan Vos had been the one who taught him to shoot during his intelligence days. A Master known for unorthodox behaviour he’d gone about it with the kind of arrogance most would say wasn’t appropriate for a Jedi – hell, if it hadn’t’ve been for the war he probably would’ve been gently encouraged into the path of a Wayseeker years before. To this day Bode knows he picked up most of his bad habits from Vos.
Handing off his backup blaster to Cal he’s sorely tempted to pass them on. Since his mission rapidly changed from infiltrating the Partisans to find the Jedi they had working with them to searching for the only planet in the galaxy that might keep Kata safe from the Empire Vos has been on Bode’s mind. Not least of which because, when he’s been haunting Cere Junda’s Archive waiting for Cal to come back, he’s pretty sure he’s heard the name whispered when Hidden Path discussions are taking place. He’s not surprised, if anyone was going to make it through the Purge it was going to be Vos.
Feeding Cal a line about the blaster being his first blaster is instinct by now, personalising something you give over to the mark helps cement the relationship you’re building, because there was no way he could give him anything that was actually personal without running the risk of Cal’s psychometry being set off and exposing him. Of course he’d had the luck to run into the only Jedi in a century who could read your past from what you touch. Bode’s had to be more fastidious about his belongings than he’s had to be since he was living in the Padawan dorms during his Temple days.
It’s nice listening to Cal and Merrin dance around each other, it’s obvious Merrin’s just waiting for Cal to catch up to her but he’s too busy banging his head against the brick wall of the Empire to realise it. Another reason Tanalor will be good for him, it’ll give him time to feel his feelings for once.
Cal proves he knows how to handle a blaster – or at least knows how to make it look like he does – and Bode backs off, joking about how he’d been hoping to teach Cal something for once. Cal looks at him with that clear-eyed speculative look that brings heat to the back of Bode’s neck. He can feel Cal trying to read him through the Force when he does it, guy never got a chance to learn how to be subtle about Bode guesses, and even though he knows his technique is solid for a moment he feels like Cal can see right through him.
It leaves him on edge and sleepless in his bunk on the Mantis, Cal gave him Bravo’s old quarters – which used to be Cere’s before that – and the man’s belongings are still strewn about the room. It’s a reminder that Cal hasn’t even had a chance to grieve the team he lost on Coruscant and that Bode’s using that to his advantage to draw him closer.
He’d told Denvik beforehand that it didn’t matter that there was a Jedi on this team, that it was just a mission like any other, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that he was wrong. There’s something magnetic about Cal, about all that shining hope he gives off despite the darkness that’s seeped into the very fabric of the galaxy, and Bode’s starting to realise how easy it would be to find himself following him him anywhere.
He gets up to get water, hoping a bit of movement makes him feel less restless, and cocks his head to one side when he sees that Cal’s not bunked down in the engine room where he should be. BD is still tucked into his charging station so he can’t have gone far - and that’s when he hears the blaster fire. In the adrenaline rush he nearly runs back to his quarters to grab his blasters before he realises he recognises the sounds as familiar. He huffs a breath at himself and heads down the Mantis’ ramp until he can see Cal standing in front of the target he set up for him before giving him the blaster.
Bode leans against a landing strut and watches Cal drilling, shooting from the hip like an Outer Rim Marshal or a Bounty Hunter from a holovid. He’s using his offhand which must mean he’s thinking of dual wielding his lightsaber and the blaster at the same time. Vos would’ve loved showing Cal the ropes if he’d ever had a chance. Who knows, maybe he still will one day if everything works out the way Bode needs it to.
Cal’s hitting the target he wants once in every four shots and a quarter chance isn’t going to be enough to save him in a fight. Plus – he’s still firing from pretty much point blank so he can’t even blame the accuracy of the blaster. Bode needs him alive if the plan that’s slowly forming at the back of his mind is ever to come to fruition so he leaves the relative safety of the Mantis and approaches him.
Cal’s presence brushes up against him as soon as he hears him, as usual, and Bode is finally at a point where it doesn’t make him twitch slightly when it happens. He’d forgotten what it was like in the years since the Order was destroyed, to feel another mind reach out to him with intent, and he’s had to bury the urge to reach out in return deep into himself. It’s harder when he’s tired, when he’s injured or when they’re fighting together because now he remembers what he’s missing not meeting that gentle touch is making him ache down in his bones.
It’s all for Kata, he reminds himself. Every moment of his life since the first time her tiny, forming, wonderful, presence first touched his mind when she was a baby seeking comfort has been for her, to keep her safe.
He cloaks himself in that determination and joins Cal where’s he’s staring down the beat up Stormtrooper armour like it’s a real trooper.
“I think my Master was right,” Cal says, staring down at the blaster like it’s directly responsible for his failings. “Jedi aren’t supposed to use blasters.”
Vos would’ve laughed that big laugh of his and given a short lecture on blasters being nothing but tools and how a Jedi should use every tool they had at their disposal to protect Light and life, before throwing the trooper helmet into the air with the Force and shooting it five times before it hit the ground.
Bode isn’t Vos.
“Maybe I just need to show you how to do it properly,” Bode says, adding a dry chuckle to take the sting out of the words.
“I think I’ve watched you show off enough to get the idea,” Cal says grumpily, but he still hands the blaster over when Bode reaches for it, and isn’t that interesting. Watched implies something a lot more active than just seeing Bode in action alongside him in a fight.
Bode checks the thermal clip and the iron sights, which are still as perfectly aligned as they were when he handed the blaster over. He swings it around his finger once and shoots the helmet off the dummy without looking. The expression on Cal’s face is a war between his irritation at Bode showing off and his automatic admiration of any skill he sees someone show.
It makes something go warm in Bode’s chest that he ruthlessly stamps down on.
“It’s about being steady,” Bode says, stepping into Cal’s space and putting the blaster back into his hand. “And there’s no point practising that at point blank.”
He puts his hands on Cal’s shoulders and steers him away from the close range mark he’d set for himself. This close he can feel the coiled strength in Cal’s frame, like a lot of human Jedi Cal’s tougher than he looks, and it’s almost too much of a reminder of Bode’s dead friends. He just manages to stop himself from flinching away and lets his hands drop when Cal starts walking.
“That’ll do,” he says when they’re a metre shy of the hangar wall. It puts them on an angle to the target but with the Stinger Mantis in there with them it’s the best they can do. Maybe when they get back to Koboh he’ll set up a proper range, Mosey’d probably be willing to help, never hurts to have something like that around.
He pauses for a moment and shakes his head. Listen to him planning things out like he’s a real Rebel. Eyes on the goal, he reminds himself, schooling his face into something easy going when Cal turns back around to face him.
“Try again,” Bode says, stepping to the side and jerking his head toward the dummy. Cal’s face creases in a frown looking at the target then nods.
He stands square on to the target and brings his left arm up in front of him to aim. He squints down the sights and holds his breath before firing, the kick of the shot jerking his arm off to one side. Bode doesn’t even have to look at the target to know Cal missed.
“Yeah, Scrapper, your form’s all wrong,” Bode says, shaking his head. “Lucky you’ve got me around.”
“Lucky,” Cal repeats, rolling his eyes. There’s humour there, though, and Bode can’t stop himself from smirking a little.
Bode moves behind him and unthinkingly puts his hands on Cal’s hips to put him side on to the target, backing up his shooting arm with his body weight. He kicks at the back of Cal’s heel until his feet are shoulder-width apart. Then he drags a hand up to Cal’s shoulders to make sure they’re set, before lifting his arm by the bicep and stretching it toward the target.
He’s quite impressed with himself for doing all this without giving into the sudden and powerful urge to lick at the nape of Cal’s neck and taste the sheen of sweat he can see there. He already knows that he’s attracted to him but he doesn’t want to use sex unless he absolutely has to, that always gets messy and he can’t afford mess when a Jedi’s involved.
Maybe Bode should take up climbing instead of using the jetpack because Cal’s arm is solid with muscle as he tries to position it in as professional a manner as possible. It takes more time than Bode would like for him to keep in shape as he ages, not relying on the Force to help regenerate his energy and stamina, and he’s honestly a little jealous of Cal right now.
He clears his throat to push the thought aside and moves to look at Cal’s grip, the hand he’d left on Cal’s hip all that time trailing across Cal’s lower back without his permission. He curls his fingers into his palm as if he can hold onto the warmth of touch for a little longer.
“Here,” he says quietly, intent on Cal’s hand where it’s gripping the blaster so tight his fingers have gone white at the knuckles. “You gotta relax.”
He gently pries Cal’s fingers into a softer grip, nudges his index finger away from the trigger to avoid any accidents and flexes his wrist couple of times to make sure Cal’s got the give to handle the slight kickback of the blaster.
“Better,” Bode mutters to himself, stealing a glance at Cal’s face. There’s a red flush high on Cal’s cheeks but his eyes are focused keenly on everything Bode does in the way Bode remembers watching his Master when he was a Padawan.
He moves back behind Cal and decides putting a hand on top of his head to turn it towards the target is safer than touching any other part of him right now. He ruffles the hair Cal insists he doesn’t spend time styling with fancy Coruscanti product in the mornings and Cal huffs at him and shakes his head to get away.
“Yeah, that’ll do,” Bode says, taking a step back to look at his work. Cal shoots him a sceptical look over his shoulder.
“You don’t stand like this when you do -” he waves his free hand around in a way that suggests Bode’s airborne activity “- all that.”
“That’s because I’ve been doing this for a long time,” Bode says. “And you’ve just started. Surely one of your Jedi teachers drummed it into you that basics come first.”
The humour that had been flickering in Cal’s eyes dies out in the single still moment that follows the first real mistake Bode’s made. He lost friends and the only family he’d ever known in the Purge but at least he hadn’t been a kid whose master died to protect him, he’s managed to come to some kind of peace in himself but Cal clearly never has.
Bode hadn’t realised how used he’d already gotten to the warmth of Cal’s consciousness bumping up against his own, even if he couldn’t reach back, until it was gone. He curses himself for the misstep them curses himself for feeling so bad about it. You make a mistake you reroute and try again.
“What next?” Cal asks and it’s not even that his tone is hurt or angry, it’s that it’s flat and toneless and makes that something warm in his chest that Bode’s trying not to think about ache.
He might be in trouble.
“Look down your arm to the sights,” Bode says, aiming for coolly professional again. “Hand steady, wrist relaxed. Both eyes open.”
Cal follows the instructions and the next shot buzzes the shoulder pauldron of the armour. Cal’s smile breaks out reflexively, the one he gets when he’s pleased with himself, and Bode’s heartbeat slows down a little. Cal looks to Bode as if checking that he saw and Bode can’t stop the corner of his mouth tilting up at him.
“We’re you aiming for the pauldron?” he asks, and laughs when Cal scowls at him. “Hey, close is better than nothing at this point.”
He steps back in again, nudging Cal back into the basic stance he’d shown him. This time he gives into himself a little, indulges himself because he’d fucked up earlier, and moves close enough that Cal’s shoulder blades touch his chest when Cal breathes.
Bode runs a hand along Cal’s arm and puts it back in position before gently wrapping his hand around Cal’s on the grip. Cal’s shoulders have tightened up so he uses his other hand to press down until Cal forcibly relaxes himself with a long outward breath. He drops that hand to Cal’s hip, holding him in place and looks towards their target to adjust Cal’s aim.
He’s spotted for his fair share of snipers since turning mercenary and spy and it’s never felt like this being so close. It’s nearly overwhelming, the heat of Cal’s firm body and the warmth of his presence in the Force at the same time – did no-one ever teach him to pull back within himself when he was a Youngling? He remembers Master Yoda’s backwards talk about the importance of having permission to entangle yourself up in someone else’s presence. And the kicker is that he can’t even ask Cere or Cordova if Cal’s like this with everyone because that’d blow the whole operation given non-Force Sensitives wouldn’t know what the feeling was.
“Bode?” Cal’s voice is very, very quiet and Bode realises he’s effectively just been holding him in place without speaking for, well, definitely for too long. He clears his throat.
“Aim,” he says, he voice definitely deeper than it ought to be, and tilts his head closer to Cal’s so he can sight properly. “Relax. Eyes open. Breathe and -”
As Cal breathes a slow breath out Bode squeezes his finger on the trigger and the blaster bolt his dead centre mass, black scoring immediately marking the white plastoid. He feels Cal thrill at the success and is already grinning when Cal turns to look at him this time. Cal’s so close he has to tilt his head up to meet Bode’s eyes and his breath puffs against Bode’s cheek. There’s no mistaking the way Cal’s eyes dip to Bode’s mouth, lips parted to praise him, and Bode watches the pride in Cal’s eyes go hazy and calculating just before he presses up into the awkward angle and kisses him.
Bode shouldn’t – he shouldn’t - but he lets it happen; lets Cal lean back against him, lets Cal put his free hand on his cheek and brush a thumb over his late night stubble growth, lets out an uncontrolled hum of pleasure when Cal’s lips part on a gasp, lets Cal slip his tongue along the seam of his mouth and opens to him like a flower seeking the sun.
It’s good. It’s toogood. Bode is kriffed seven ways from Sunsday.
The sharp retort of the blaster startles both of them and they jump apart. Bode’s hand must have squeezed Cal’s around the trigger again. The bolt, unaimed, pings off several metallic objects in the hangar before disappearing somewhere by the bay doors high above them. Cal’s cheeks are flushed high and his eyes are wide and almost too bright to look at, Bode is helpless.
Cal starts laughing first, folding an arm across his abdomen and bending over with it. Bode gets caught up in it, hands on his hips as he watches Cal drop into a crouch to stop himself from falling over. There’s a slightly hysterical edge to Cal’s laughter that speaks of the tension everyone’s been running with since Cal woke up an ancient Jedi.
And that’s why Bode has to stop this before it starts. Sex and Jedi don’t go well together, especially a Jedi like Cal who already feels everything too much. It doesn’t matter how much Bode wants it, not if it’s going to screw his plans for keeping Kata safe. And Kata always comes first.
After a moment Bode moves over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. Cal’s shaking stops and he looks up at Bode like he already knows what he’s going to say. He takes Bode’s hand and leans on it as he stands, like he’s trying to take everything he can get.
“We shouldn’t,” Bode says, because he has to say it out loud to remind himself. “I shouldn’t.”
“I know,” Cal says, eyes shuttered but still openly brushing up against Bode with the Force.
“Besides,” Bode says, trying to summon up some of their normal banter. “You and Merrin -”
“Yeah,” Cal says, nods once, face turned towards the archives and the Anchorite’s sleeping chambers.
“Well then,” Bode says with a shrug. “Water under the bridge.”
“I guess so,” Cal says, watching Bode too closely.
“We should probably both get some actual sleep,” Bode continues doggedly, an unexpected desperation to escape the conversation starting to get the better of him. “We’ve got a new home to find.”
Cal stares at him for a long moment, long enough that Bode starts to feel the urge to fidget under his eyes – something he hasn’t done since he was a Padawan. Then the corner of Cal’s mouth turns up very slightly, making Bode want to lean in and steal the smile away with a kiss.
Cal’s hand squeezes his, a reminder that Bode’s completely forgotten he had helped him stand a moment ago, and pulls him into an embrace. Cal’s other hand cups the back of Bode’s neck and Bode barely catches the sound he wants to make when Cal’s fingers slide into his hair and grip enough to tilt his head down. Cal’s mouth ends up beside his ear and Bode can’t stop the shiver that runs down his spine at the feel of Cal’s breath there.
“We’ll talk about this again when we reach Tanalor,” Cal says. He pulls back enough to press a gentle kiss to Bode’s cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth, and then his warmth is gone as he pulls away and walks back to the Mantis.
Bode can still feel Cal’s mouth on his, and the tingling brush of his presence in the Force against his mind, and something deep within him cracks just enough for him to feel something he hasn’t felt in a very long time.
Hope.