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CC-2224 can see what's about to happen. They have the ability to duck, or to dodge or to evade. They don't. No such order has been given. Good soldiers follow orders.
The wild burst of force that radiates from Lord Vader pushes CC-2224 through a partially collapsed section of wall. CC-2224 obtains significant injuries focused on the back of the skull and the left side. CC-2224 falls through further levels of the Imperial Centre. Injuries are such that they will likely be decommissioned should they survive the fall.
Cody wakes up to pain. Blindly, he pulls off what he can of his armour. He's vaguely aware that there's more of it than there should be, and some of it is wrong. But he's a little more focused on - his hand hits a familiar shape. Did he land in a pile of bacta patches? He estimates that about ninety eight percent of his brain is occupied with internally screaming in pain, the last two percent is occupied with automatically ripping open the bacta patch and slapping it onto the side of his skull. He then promptly passes out again.
Towards the edge of the galaxy, Obi-wan makes a note to drink more water and be more careful keeping out of the sun. He hasn't had a headache quite this bad in some time.
Cody wasn't sure he'd expected to wake up again, but he has. The dreams of endless sand were a bit weird, but the headache is manageable now. The bacta has done its work. His arm and leg and the back of his ribs are heavily bruised, but they don't feel actually broken. And he's lying in a pile of something incredibly uncomfortable. He opens his eyes. A small amount of light is filtering in from somewhere, washing everything into greys. It's enough to make out what he's fallen into though. And it's a series of shapes he'd recognise anywhere. Armour. Not just the plastoid that he'd been wearing on the way down, some of which he'd managed to shed while concussed, but also some made out of metal. He picks a piece up. Beskar.
The Imperial Centre was built on top of the old Jedi Temple, and he'd probably fallen through enough levels to be somewhere in the heart of it. But why would a jedi have a full suit of beskar'gam?
Cody decides he does not want to think about that question, and ignores the deep feeling in his stomach that he knows exactly who it belonged to. That way, he doesn't have to wonder why the di'kut didn't wear it in the force damned war they'd been fighting.
The beskar helmet seems to have rolled onto Cody's stomach, spilling its contents everywhere. At some point someone had stuffed it full of bacta patches, and Cody is vividly reminded of the time he'd been waiting for his General in his rooms, and Generals Vos and Eerin had slipped in, sworn him to secrecy, and hidden bacta patches in the pockets of all his robes, in one of the boxes of tea, under a cushion on the sofa, and up in the light fitting. Apparently they'd made a game of it. Cody had just been glad his General had people looking out for him.
Cody digs himself out of the pile of plastoid, beskar'gam, bacta patches, and apparently ration bars as well, and looks around. He'd landed in some sort of storage cupboard that had collapsed open into what was recognisably his Jedi's rooms. There's still a cloak tossed over the back of the remains of the sofa, and the shards of his General's second favourite mug are scattered over the floor.
Cody sighs. Of course this is where he ended up after massive head trauma freed him from whatever the fuck had been controlling him. He's blaming his General for this. This has every single hallmark of force-oisk.
His next mission objective is to track down his General, because he'd be very surprised if he'd actually died from being shot off that cliff. Sure, being in the body that gave the order is going to take a bit of dealing with, but it's far from the worst thing someone who looks identical to Cody has done. Regs say crises should be scheduled post-mission, so he can ignore that for now. Well, the 212th amended regs that Waxer and Boil drew up, anyway.
There's been no news of his General popping up to annoy the current regime, so he's hiding. Protecting someone. Jedi can mostly look after themselves, so padwans, probably. That means his General won't be much help in freeing the rest of his brothers from whatever Sith fuckery is going on with them. But neither will Cody, given that his sum total knowledge of the situation is that it's some sort of Sith fuckery. Which he is not an expert in. He swallows. He doesn't like this at all, but there is nothing he can do right now. It's a long game, and he needs help. So. The General.
Cody needs to think about where he's most likely gone to ground, but first, he needs to get off Coruscant.
His eyes slide over to the heap of stuff he just climbed out of.
A suit of beskar'gam that his General would probably insist he takes if it kept him safe. Enough ration bars and bacta to last him a couple of months. And Cody's definitely heard somewhere that beskar blocks the force. That should help with avoiding any Sith. That might actually explain why he's still alive right now, if he'd passed out in a pile of it and it had hidden his force signature.
Cody replaces the bacta pad on his head, slaps a few more over the worst of the bruising, then straps on his General's armour. The straps need adjusting somewhat, but it fits surprisingly well. He expected it to feel strange, invasive even, to be wearing someone else's armour. It's a highly personal thing. But it doesn't. If anything, it feels like coming home. With an undercurrent of eager anticipation.
That feeling hits him full force when he slides the bucket on. It feels like mischief and kindness and that first sip of tea. Like reaching to pick up a lightsaber, dropped in battle. It feels like his General. Cody suddenly wonders if instead of blocking the force, beskar absorbs it. His General's force spirit or whatever had better kriffing not be haunting this armour.
...he definitely imagined that faint chuckle.
Obi-wan feels a renewed sense of purpose, now that his headache is fading, but he's not exactly sure what that purpose should be. He takes up training again, trying to burn it out of his system, and he looks around his hut and decides that if he's going to live out in the desert, there's no reason why he can't do so comfortably. Doing it up will keep him occupied, and stop him from dwelling on things he can't change.
Cody passes easily as a Mandalorian, and takes a job as security for a random freighter off planet. Guarding is not a particularly mentally taxing job, and it leaves him a lot of time to think.
He's never sworn the resol'nare, so he's not technically a Mandalorian. But can you even swear it if there's no Mand'alor? Cody decides he doesn't actually care. He's a vode, and he'll do whatever the kriff he likes. He doesn't think he's Mandalorian, and he doesn't particularly want to be Mandalorian, given the ones he's met. The vode have their own culture, and just because they've stolen most of it from the dar'manda that trained them, then warped it to suit them, doesn't mean they're the same. Before the sith fuckery, there were probably more clones than mandalorians anyway.
The second thing he thinks about, is Vader. Vader, who fought like General Skywalker when he was in one of his moods. His body is different, as is his gait, but Cody's not sure how much of Vader is prosthesis now. Natborns use so many visual clues to tell each other apart, they're completely useless when those clues are taken away. Cody is ninety three percent sure that Vader is Skywalker having an extended temper tantrum. Skywalker falling means that Cody's General is going to be a mess. He adored his vod'ika. And raised him, so there's no possible way he's not swimming in self blame right now. Self blame and sand. Because if he's hiding from Skywalker, he's on Tatooine. Kriffs sake, that's why the fucking beskar is making him dream of sand. And - oh. Amidala was pregnant, wasn't she? Cody has no idea how Jedi reproduce, but if she gave birth to a Jedi tubie...
Cody runs his hands over the front of his bucket. It might technically have been his General's bucket, but it's Cody's now. If his General wanted to keep it, he should have worn it. His stupid di'kut of a General who is hiding from his Sith of an ex-apprentice, on Tatooine, with said Sith ex-apprentices tiny Jedi tubie. Great. Cody is definitely blaming the force for this. And he is also absolutely ignoring the fact that his armour, which should be an inanimate object, is laughing at him.
Either that, or his head wound was worse than he thought.
Obi-wan is carefully building the frame of a structure he's hoping to turn into a shelter for plants, when he's struck by sudden realisation.
Strangely, though, he has absolutely no idea what it is he's just realised.
Light glints off something amongst the dunes. The force is strangely quiet, it's been humming near silently all day, but Obi-wan can't quite get a read from it. It's not warning of danger, though, so he's content to leave it be. Curious, but content.
The shiny thing moves slowly closer, about human walking pace, and eventually resolves itself into a figure wearing armour. A Mandalorian in beskar'gam. How curious. Obi-wan queries the force again, but there's still no danger. If a bounty hunter has managed to find him, then he's going to have to up and move again. He releases a wave of annoyance into the force. He'd just planted his first seedlings.
When the Mandalorian is close enough for Obi-wan to make out the paint on the armour, he frowns. It seems... familiar. There's green for duty, a stripe of black for justice.... Wait. That's his armour. What in the force?
The figure wearing Obi-wan's beskar'gam comes to a halt in front of him. They settle their weight, fold their arms, and tilt their helmet, Obi-wan's helmet, in a way that is breathtakingly, awfully, familiar. Obi-wan fights down a reflexive impulse to deny everything.
"Sucuy'gar." They say. So, you're still alive. An apt greeting if what Obi-wan is beginning to suspect is true. The modulator in the helmet doesn't do anything to hide the flatness of their voice.
"Come to finish me off?" Obi-wan asks lightly.
"All due respect, sir. Shut the fuck up."
All of the breath in Obi-wan leaves him in one single exhale. Relief pouring in to fill him up and take its place. That's Cody. Actually Cody. Alive and himself, and standing in front of Obi-wan. Wearing his beskar'gam.
Obi-wan stumbles forwards, vaguely aware that his eyes are a little wet, and reaches up to the clasps on the helmet. It comes free with a familiar hiss, and he lifts it up, the force flooding with the sunshine brightness of Cody's force presence. There's a choked sob that Obi-wan thinks probably comes from him, but he's too busy sliding his hands round the back of Cody's neck and pressing their foreheads together to care.
Cody's force presence flares with concern and care, and armoured arms wrap themselves around Obi-wan's back and tug him gently closer.
Cody tuts chidingly. "You've not been eating, you're all bones. I assume you're remembering to feed Skywalker's tubie, even if you're not feeding yourself?"
Obi-wan huffs out a wet laugh, force he has missed Cody.
"Are we going to have to move?" He asks, because that's the most pressing concern. He needs to know how Cody managed to find them.
Cody shakes his head slightly, foreheads brushing.
"I got control of my body back after massive head trauma. Put the pieces together because I'm not a di'kut. If nobody else has yet, then they likely won't."
Obi-wan breathes out a sigh of relief, and tilts Cody's head down so he can press a kiss to his forehead. His fingertips catch on the curled edges of a dried bacta patch, and he pulls away slightly, but leaves his hands where they are.
"Come inside, my dear. Let me take a look at your head."
Cody's eyes are fond, molten warm, and he shivers as Obi-wan's hands slip free of his face. Heat swells, deep and low, and Obi-wan reaches a hand behind him as he turns away. Gloved fingers tangle with his, and he tugs Cody towards the house.
"You should keep the armour." Obi-wan tells him once they're inside, and he's checked over Cody's now healed head wound. It's a practical consideration, Obi-wan reassures himself. The fact that just the sight of Cody wearing it is enough to leave him a little short of breath, is inconsequential.
One of Cody's eyebrows rises slightly.
"I was intending to." A statement of fact. A hint of fight. Cody wanted to keep Obi-wan's armour. "I'd fight you for it."
Obi-wan is well aware of the Mandalorian culture the vode had used to build their own upon. Where courtship could be offered with a spar, and armour was exchanged with the marriage vows. But equally, any of the vode would fight for any armour that ranked better than plastoid. Cody wouldn't let go of actual beskar easily.
"Besides," Cody adds casually, "It's not as if you were wearing it."
"It completely blocks the force," Obi-wan moans, the argument over the practicality of armour old and familiar. "I was worse than useless in it. I've never understood how any of you can move."
Cody's eyes have narrowed, but thoughtfully rather than combative.
"Does it?" He asks lightly, and Obi-wan can feel the edges of a trap.
"Yes." He answers, because that's a yes or no question, and only springing it will tell him what this trap is.
"Does it block the force," Cody asks, still in that same tone, though there's a hint of genuine curiosity as well now. "Or does it absorb it?"
"Is there a difference?" Obi-wan asks, genuinely confused.
And that must have been the trigger, because the tiniest hint of a smug smirk twists at the corner of Cody's lips. Obi-wan is suddenly quite aware that in the past couple of years, he's lost all immunity to that expression. It's much more effort than it should be to rip his eyes from it.
"Because," Cody starts, and he's sprawled in his chair, confident and loose-limbed. "Strapping on your armour felt like coming home. When I'm wearing the bucket, I feel like I have a com line open to you, and you're standing just behind my shoulder. It feels more like you than your lightsaber does."
Obi-wan takes a breath, breathes through his emotions, and focuses on the question at hand.
"I've been feeling echoes of you for the past tenday." He realises. And then, because Cody isn't the only one who can make ambiguous statements, raises an eyebrow and says "like we're one while we're apart?"
Cody's grin is bright and vicious. And only a little bit smug.
"Exactly."
"What I had originally intended to convey," Obi-wan says, trying to get them back on track "was that the armour is anonymous. No one alive knows I have it. Or, well, had it."
"Oh, no," Cody interrupts, voice low and mischievous, "it's still yours, I'm just wearing it."
Obi-wan shuts his eyes for a long moment, then tries to pin Cody with a glare. Cody, the bastard, just smirks at him.
"Unless you want me to slowly and carefully peel you out of my armour while reciting the riduurok, you will stop that."
Cody's gaze darkens, and his force presence flares, but his smirk just grows.
"Sorry, cyare," he says, in the exact same tone he used to say "Sorry, sir" when he wasn't remotely sorry. Obi-wan considers abandoning all dignity and just climbing over the table to kiss him, but doesn't. He's enjoying Cody just being here too much. He reaches a hand across the table instead, palm up, and Cody abandons his lazy sprawl to link their fingers together.
"I am very glad you're back." Obi-wan tells him, quiet.
And Cody smiles, soft.
"I know."
"So," Obi-wan says, sending Cody a glare that's all amused warning, "no one is going to look twice at a Mandalorian bounty hunter making regular trips to Tatooine. Actually," he remembers, "I think I might have seen Boba once, or someone in what I'm pretty sure is Fett's old armour, anyway."
"I'll keep an eye out, sir." Cody promises, the sir seems to be mostly ingrained habit, and Obi-wan wonders if Cody knows quite how much it's always sounded like an endearment. Then he pauses. It's Cody. Of course he does.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you want to," Obi-wan says, just so it's absolutely clear, "forever if you wish. But I assumed you'd be off trying to find out what happened to you and your brothers, especially now you know it's possible to be free of it."
Cody's smile is impossibly fond.
"I'll visit often." He promises. "You don't know how it happened either then?"
Obi-wan shakes his head.
"It was so sudden. One second you were all there, and the next... You all went utterly blank in the force. All at once." He pushes the memories away, and looks up into concerned eyes. "I'd start on Alderaan." He tells Cody. "Speak to Bail, he might have found out more."
Rex is walking through the market, hood up, scarf obscuring his face, when a glint of metal catches his attention. Beskar. Shit. He does not need a bounty hunter on his tail right now. He strolls casually behind a fruit stall, trying not to draw attention, but the shiny bucket swivels, and tracks him with laser focus. Shit. Rex slips into an alley, and the Mandalorian follows with a purposeful stride. A familiar purposeful stride. Rex freezes. Which is a mistake. Because he's dragged into a familiar headlock, and an armoured fist rubs his hood into his hair.
"Ori'vod!" Rex whines, and Cody lets him up. "Where the fuck did you get beskar?"
"Who do you think owned a whole set of beskar'gam they never wore?" Cody asks, and even through the modulator on the helmet, he sounds smug. Kenobi then.
Rex just scoffs. "Trust you two to be so dramatic you swap the whole damn set, not just the vambraces."
He dodges a swipe at his head.
"How did you get the chip out?" He asks, curling a hand around his brother's wrist and leading him further into the alley.
"What chip?" Cody asks.
Rex frowns at him over his shoulder. "The control chips they put in our brains."
Cody hums his plotting hum. "Oh, I just woke up after massive head trauma." He shrugs casually. "Must have broken."
"What are you planning?" Rex asks on a sigh. Best to find out sooner rather than later, that way he might be able to head off the worst of the insanity. People thought Skywalker was crazy during the war, but he had nothing on Cody and Kenobi.
"We're going to need a lot of med-droids." Cody muses.
"Vod..." Rex starts, cautiously. Cody tilts him a look.
"I was hoping it would be something easy," he says, "like taking out the sith, but I'm pretty sure I can work with stealing all my brothers and setting them up for surgery."
"Easy, like killing a sith?" Rex repeats with a raised brow.
"Sure." Cody says. Utterly confident. Rex would be worrying about that head trauma, but Cody's always been like this.
"Vod," Rex points out, "you've fought Sith loads of times, and you've never won."
"Vod," Cody mimics, "Beskar blocks the force. And lightsabers. Of course I can kill a Sith." And... he might have a point there. "Once I've freed the vode, I'm going to paint his armour white, and," he taps his chest plate, "put my sigil right here, then, I'm going to walk right up to Palpatine and snap his scrawny little neck. Then, I'm going to strap Vader down so he can't hurt anyone else, and ask him what the fuck he thought he was playing at."
Rex pauses, because that's... oddly merciful for Cody going after someone who's hurt someone Cody cares about.
"Vader..." Rex asks, not sure he wants to know the answer to the question he can't quite ask.
Cody pauses, and Rex knows it's going to be bad.
"Skywalker." He says.
Rex recognises grief and rage, but not surprise.
"That would explain all those calls he got from the Chancellor then." He manages, voice dry. It also explains Cody's reaction. He wouldn't hurt his riduur's vod'ika.
Cody chuckles.
"So," he says, thoughtful, and Rex braces himself. "I need space for an army, infrastructure to house and feed them, credits to fund it, and a large medical center."
"Count me out of any planetary invasion plans." Rex says immediately, hoping to head this off at the pass.
He realises his mistake when Cody goes still.
"I hear there's a laser sword floating around somewhere that grants you all those things." Cody muses.
"Cody, no."
Rex knows exactly which grin Cody is wearing under his riduur's bucket. He sighs. Running a planetary system can't be too different from running an army, right?