in case anyone wanted a sneak peek of what my month looks like, my husband wrote ‘have sex’ on the calendar in our kitchen on December 11th. So, I’ll be busy that night. Sorry
a/n: hey everyone! Now that I finally have time to write again, I wanted to do some more with Cody. Enjoy! <3 (previous part) (masterlist)
warnings: language, graphic description of injury, blood
word count: 3.1k
There are three simple rules when it comes to scavenging.
Number one: be smart. This means a couple of things. Know who will deal with whom. How to keep yourself safe. Always wear clothing that protects you - you never know what you’ll have to be tearing through to get the goods, and injuries can set you back. Additionally, always wear something that covers your face - scavengers are not above snitching on fellow scavengers to create less competition.
Number two: be practical. Scavenging is always a gamble, and while it’s tempting to grab every little thing in sight, you have to make choices. Getting greedy could mean losing everything.
And number three: be quick. In and out. A good scavenger can scan a site, pick out the stuff of value, then get out, before anyone can show up to ruin their day. It also means you can hit up more places.
All of these rules apply as you weave your way through the dilapidated backstreets of Kijimi. You’ve tugged the hood on your cloak up over your head, and you’re moving as quickly as you can without flat out running. You’re already rehearsing what you’re going to say with your buyer, already know how you’re going to appeal to him.
Your favorite buyer is a Toydarien displaced from his home world, who came to Kijimi to be himself. Or so he claims. Really, you’re pretty sure he’s running from the law, and this shithole is the best hiding spot the galaxy has to offer.
He’s brash and rude, but he’s also fair. You know he’ll give you a good price for the detonator. By the time you reach his shop, there’s a line - other scavengers have been hard at work while you’ve been hovering over Cody.
You’re tempted to leave, to get back the trooper, but you also know that this is your best shot. So you settle in, shoulders tense and eyes scanning the shadows, just waiting for the other stormtroopers to descend down on you.
Maybe he was just waiting for you to leave. The thought is sudden and apprehension settles low in your gut. Maybe he was lulling you into a false sense of control, and even now, he’s receiving the best medical care Kijimi can offer while his team comes after you.
You start to step out of line. Forget it. You can just go home and hide the detonator; come back another day and pawn it for something more useful than a cauterizer.
The buyer shouts. You jump, and realize in your worry, the line cleared out. Quickly, you step up to the counter. He doesn’t know your name and you don’t know his name, but he recognizes you well enough.
“I was, eh, wondering when you’d be back,” he says, “Usually you are early. Much earlier.” You shrug. He doesn’t need to know details.
“Got something good. But it comes with conditions. I need a cauterizer and no questions asked. And I need you to forget you saw me.” He scratches his head, then shakes it.
“No deal. Not unless you have a whole ship hidden in there.” You glance around, making sure no one’s watching.
“Better.” You plunk the detonator on the counter, and his hand shoots out, intending to take it. You’re faster, drawing it back.
“Ah, ah. Cauterizer first.” Now he narrows his eyes at you.
“Where did you get that? It’s not something the troopers would, eh, leave lying around.” He needs to take it, and take it now. The longer you stand here, the more attention you’re going to attract.
“Take it or leave it. There’s plenty of other people who will buy.” He scowls and leaves the window. You hold your breath, waiting. He returns, holding an old, beat-up cauterizer. It’s worth much less than the detonator, but you’ll take it. Anything to get out of here.
You put the detonator on the counter.
“Remember: you never saw me.” He smiles, sleazy and thin.
“For you and this little, eh, beauty? Anything.” You don’t hang around, instead darting back through the streets, stopping at your hovel long enough to grab some other supplies. When you round to corner to the old bar, you stop short, seeing a group of troopers congregated outside the door.
“Shit,” you hiss, turning away before they can see you. How could you be so stupid? You should have trusted your gut, realized that he was waiting to call backup.
Something makes you stop. You hang out just around the corner, watching as the troopers stand at attention. Two of them emerge from the bar, and you wait, searching for Cody.
They move on.
The area clears out and they head away from you. Still, you remain in place, unsure if this is all a trap. Maybe they’re waiting for you to implicate yourself.
The sun sinks lower and the air gets colder the longer you stand there. You feel exposed. Sooner, rather than later, you’re going to have to move. Because, for one, you can’t stand out here all night. Two, if the troopers somehow didn’t find Cody or aren’t actually working with him, you’re running on borrowed time.
You take a cautious step forward. Then another, and another and another, until you’re slipping into one of the cracks, braced for troopers to fall on you and the whole charade to be over.
But nothing happens. It’s obvious where the troopers searched, with dirt and dust strayed everywhere, mixed in with water puddles from the melted snow. The hidden tunnel remains concealed. You heft it open and drop the supplies on the other side before sliding in yourself and tugging it closed behind you.
It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but there he is. Right where you left him.
You laugh once, short and sharp in the silence, before falling to your knees beside him.
His breathing is ragged and gasping, and every inhale seems to catch and hold before he lets it out. If he lives, you decide, you’ll give up being a scavenger. No, you’ll figure out how to get off this shithole. Something big.
You click on the light you brought with you from your hovel, the injury not looking any better now than it did before. Time to get going, you remind yourself.
Carefully, you peel more of the black clothing back, then examine the wound. He mentioned something about shrapnel. Maybe you should check to make sure the wound is clean.
Probably a good idea. Except all you have is your fingers.
“I am so sorry about this,” you whisper, then plunge a finger into the wound. He cries out in pain and tries to twist away from you. You use the hand not currently prodding the wound to press his shoulder down, then hook your leg over his lower half. There’s definitely something in the wound, and with some maneuvering, you’re able to force it out.
“Just kill me,” he moans. Tears stream down his cheeks, and his teeth are clenched so hard you’re afraid he’s going to shatter them.
“Almost got it all,” you say, doing one more sweep. When it turns up nothing, you remove you hand, wiping it on the end of your cloak and picking up the cauterizer. It’s easy enough to figure out how it works, and the beam glows purple in the tunnel. Cody’s head rolls to the side, and you hear him sigh.
“Get it over with.” You pat his shoulder — still half holding him him down, half sitting on him — and lower the cauterizer to the injured flesh. He hisses and bucks his hips, writhing in pain.
“I know, I know,” you murmur. The cauterizer is agonizingly slow, cracking and snapping as you pass it over the wound. Even though your hand is back away from the laser portion, you can feel the heat, and you know it has to be excruciating on Cody’s wound.
His hand comes up and grabs yours, forcing it away. His grip is like durasteel and unrelenting. It hurts, but you can’t shake him free, so you bite your lip to keep in the cry of pain.
“Shit, jus’ hold on a tick,” he chokes out around a sob. His body convulses under yours, and you wait until he stills. Ever so slowly, his grip eases, and he takes several shaky breaths.
“We’re almost done,” you say, lowering the cauterizer again. He nods, once, then clamps his hand over his mouth.
“Ready?” you ask, just to be sure, and then put the cauterizer back to his skin, trying to go quicker this time. His hand moves from his mouth and covers yours, which is still holding his shoulder down.
He squeezes, gentler this time, but no less firm, and you allow him the contact, sensing he needs the comfort right now. His head falls to the side again, and you can feel the pants of his breath on your skin.
You pull your lip in between your teeth, concentrating, making sure you’ve closed all of the wound.
Finally, mercifully, you’re done. You click off the cauterizer and the ensuing silence is nearly deafening. Cody takes a deep breath, then sighs. His grip on your hand loosens, as he passes out again.
You peel yourself off him, having ended up nearly laying on top of him, and you tug off your cloak, arranging it like a blanket. With the setting sun, it’s going to get colder, especially lying on the cold floor.
But you’re not going anywhere anytime soon; not until he wakes up. You shiver and settle in beside him, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dim tunnel. Your eyelids feel heavy and you can’t seem to keep them open.
Cody’s breathing pauses. You snap yourself awake, and without thinking, lay your head on his chest, listening for his heartbeat.
There. He’s still breathing. Under your cheek, his chest resumes rising and falling. You debate sitting back up, but now that the crisis has been averted, your eyes are slipping closed again, and Cody is very warm, despite his current position on the ground.
“Well,” you reason, “I saved your life. You can consider this paying me back. And we did spend last night holed up in a tiny locker.” He says nothing, so you curl up closer to him. This way, you’ll wake up if something goes wrong. It’s only practical, after all.
~~~
CC-2224 is a good soldier. He’s been a good soldier all his life. He’s served his masters well, has listened to every order, even when it hurt him.
So Cody isn’t sure why he’s in this situation. Really, he isn’t. As far as troopers go, he’s older, definitely more experienced, so this little excursion shouldn’t even be on his radar.
But sometimes everything just boils up, even if it’s been years in the making, and it overflows before you can stuff it back down, and you wonder: how can I go back to the way it was before?
When he wakes up, it takes him more time than he’s willing to admit to calm down. His mind races as he stares up at the ceiling of the tunnel. Everything is a little fuzzy and he’s a little unsure how he got here.
For one, there’s something pressing on his chest, but in a pleasant way he’s never felt before. It takes his eyes adjusting to the darkness to realize it’s you, laying on his chest. After that, awareness slowly but surely returns to him, as he recalls the events leading up to this moment.
The rebellion. The shots. The explosion. And then… you.
The first thing he notices is your eyes - not any particular color, necessarily, but the kindness in them. The worry, even as you shift towards escape.
But then you turn around and help him - no, not just help him but save his life - and he sees something in you. Someone he can trust, after so long spent wondering who really has pure motives and who wants to use him for their own advantage.
Your head shifts slightly, and your breath brushes over his neck. Cody tenses. It’s not that he’s never been in a situation like this but also… he’s never been in a situation like this, having spent his entire life fighting in one battle after the next.
He’s not used to this kind of gentleness.
You twist just slightly, hand brushing over his side and the now-healing wound there, and he unintentionally tightens his arm around you, intending to roll you off him.
But then you do this little… hum sound? It’s hard for Cody to describe, but he knows that the sound goes straight to his core, like a blaster shot to the gut.
Cody holds his breath, silently warring with himself. Part of him wants to see where this will go, but the other part of him knows he needs to reign in his thoughts.
You bury your cold nose in his neck, and he grits his teeth, feeling trapped on his back. When he was a younger man, back when he served with brothers and not just soldiers, it wasn’t uncommon for relationships like this to build on the sly.
But Cody is a good soldier, and he never let himself form attachments like… that. He tries shifting away from you, suddenly too warm, despite the chill in the air. His side protests immediately, and he freezes.
He has no idea where his chest piece went, but he feels exposed without it. The blacks he’s got on underneath are torn too; at least, near as he can feel under the cloak you put over him.
His mind is racing again, and it feels like he’s got a tentative hold on reality, as memories bombard him. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s been conjured up by the Empire.
“Stop,” he hisses at the air. “Just fuckin’ stop.” But his mind gets stuck on the past, on the people and faces he’ll never see again, and he does what he always does.
He recites his name, his number, and what he is. To the Empire, he’s no one. Just another solider. But he used to be someone. He still is someone.
Your head shifts on his chest, and he feels the loss of weight as you lift yourself up.
“Hey,” he hears you say. “Are you okay? Are you hurting?”
Cody shakes his head, unable to speak. His body trembles, and damn it, he hates himself for it. Soldiers are not weak like this. Soldiers don’t have such a shaky grip on reality.
“I realized I never put bacta on your wound,” you say, turning away to root through a bag he missed earlier. Without the cloak, you present a nice figure silhouetted against the light.
Tired of laying on his back, Cody grits his teeth against the pain and scoots himself upwards until he’s sitting back propped up on the tunnel wall. He grips his head in his hands and tries to reign in his breathing.
You’re there, touching his shoulder, even as instinct tells him to shrug you off, to put distance between the two of you so he can think and come up with a plan to execute.
But he doesn’t. He can’t. And it’s killing him.
On you’re part, you can see the way Cody is struggling. Obviously, he’s been struggling, but you can tell that he’s going through a new struggle.
Now that he’s propped up on the wall, it’s easier to see the closed wound on his side. You scoot the light closer and kneel beside him, putting some bacta on your finger to spread on his side.
Cody lifts his head to watch you, his eyes riveted to the way your finger trails over the lumpy scar. It’s not the best patch job, and the skin around it feels weirdly hot. But at least he’s no longer breathing raggedly. And hey, he has some color back now, which is a good sign, right?
Once you’ve put bacta on the wound, you make a makeshift bandage out of scraps from his clothing, leaning him forward to wrap it around him. Cody goes where you lead, letting you practically manhandle his body around with minimal sounds.
When you’re satisfied with the doctoring of his side wound, you turn your attention to his head, which is still sporting a gnarly would and dried, crusty blood.
“You might have a matching one of those on the other side,” you say, pointing to the older scar on his face.
Cody rolls his eyes.
“Head wounds bleed a lot. It’s not that deep.” Still, you use another scrap of clothing to try to clean the wound, dabbing bacta on with your finger as you go. He seems more coherent and lucid now, something you’re glad for.
The longer you’ve sat down here in these tunnels, the colder it’s gotten until you fingers are trembling and your teeth are chattering.
“Once I get this fixed up, we should be able to leave. Troopers already searched this area, so as long as we stick to the shadows, we shouldn’t run into any problems.” You pause, finishing up with his head. Cody watches you the whole time, face unreadable.
“Unless…” you trail off, stepping back out of his reach. You’re about to enter rocky territory again.
“Unless you want to just head back to the other troopers. I’m sure they’re still looking for you.” His eyes narrow and one side of his lips curls up just slightly. You aren’t sure why you’re bringing this up again. Maybe you hope that he goes away after this. Does you a favor for saving his life and gets the hell out of yours.
“I already told you: we’ve had some irreconcilable differences as of late.” You turn your back on him, focusing on putting everything back in your pack, including the light.
“Yeah. But death troopers aren’t exactly the most common. I bet they’d be willing to ignore some things for you.” Your tone is easy enough, but Cody is smart enough to hear the bait in it.
“Maybe.” He doesn’t offer anything else. Your lips thin, and you tug the bottom one into your mouth, thinking.
“So… If I bring you back to my hovel, what are the odds that your boys come knocking?” You turn to face him, expression hard to read in the now shadowy tunnel.
“Slim to none,” he says. “I’m as good as dead to them.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.
Just a reminder that Stefan resisted Klaus’ compulsion purely due to his love for Elena, and Elena could only resist Silas’ compulsion ordering her to kill Damon by thinking about Stefan.
