Chapter Text
-Cody-
It had been a year or so, if Cody remembered correctly, after the order. A year or so blindly following whatever they told him with mechanical precision, the gold seared from his armor and the memories locked forcefully into the back of his mind.
It was to be a simple mission, a short-term stationing on Tatooine while he and some others waited to be transferred to a more problematic area. The search for a troublesome citizen had brought him and another trooper out farther than they had expected, and apparently the Tusken Raiders did not like men covered in shiny white plastoid (their armor hadn't changed too terribly much, but the dwindling number of vode made the overall style more adapting to the variations in natborn physique and physiology, although they were all trained the same) anywhere near wherever they had ended up, and the last thing Cody saw was the blunt end of a rifle.
The next thing he saw, to his disbelief, was a familiar brown robe, and he felt weirdly calm, although he was sure there were a myriad of injuries across his body. Cody felt himself being picked up and carried off; and for a time he had no measure of, he continued to dance around full consciousness, his sleep stuffed with haunting images of bloody armor and burnt wounds, and peppered with short waking moments containing blue eyes and graying auburn hair. Despite most of his instincts, he felt safe.
-Obi-wan-
Obi-wan was lonely in the desert, sure, but he was doing fine with his bi-monthly trips to town and occasional run-ins with the Jawas, Tuskens, and faintly passive aggressive conversations with one Owen Lars, who did not like his help protecting a certain small someone, no matter how much he insisted he wasn't doing any harm. So, when he came across two (well, one, one was dead already) troopers fighting some rightfully pissed raiders, he didn't quite register why the one still standing was so familiar, or why he started running at the painfully well-known crack of plastoid helmet, and quickly grabbed the sand-covered stranger and began to carry him back towards his hut. The raiders, not interested in the humming saber in his hand, which he had not realized he had drawn until he deactivated it to pick the trooper up, decided that one shiny plastic man was good enough for them, and left him to his business.
Once Obi-wan got back to his hut, the source of familiarity became known when the removed helmet uncovered a face that he never thought he would see again; and he laughed out loud at the sight of his former commander. Cody was bleeding only slightly from where the shattered bucket was sandwiched between the butt of the rifle and his head. Obi-wan set the broken helmet aside, now devoid of the old 212th gold that had been so carefully painted on many years ago. He propped Cody up on his cot, and cautiously cleaned the most pressing cuts, then removed the remaining armor. The torso and chest plates proved most difficult, as Obi-wan would hardly ever use the force on anyone without asking first, on top of Cody being slightly larger and possessing at least one broken rib. He was able to get it off though, and laid him down, then stuck some bacta patches on and went to put on the water for tea.