Chapter Text
The Bastards took him again early the next morning; pulling him up and off Loren by the arm before he was awake enough to hold in his scream as every wound in his back tore open.
Before the ray-shield went back up he caught a last glimpse of her face, terrified and furious.
I’m not dead yet, he wanted to tell her.
***
They returned him to Loren with four fingers on his left hand broken, and still without whatever information they thought he had about local settlements.
He had no doubt the session would have continued at least through his right hand if the Colonel hadn’t been called away suddenly. That could mean any number of things, but the messenger was anxious, and the last he’d seen of the GAR, the 212th and 501st had been in the process of flanking the capital.
Thinking about it was a waste of time. He would face whatever happened when it happened.
The Bastards had taken Loren’s shirt– after they’d made a mess of his hand, and with several less than polite remarks on how close they’d gotten so quickly– so there was a dearth of clean cloth in their cell. Loren still insisted on at least wrapping the hand in the remains of his uppers, and cleaning his back as best she could.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about letting her clean him up. On one hand it was easier than doing it himself, and on the other hand it kept her focused on something besides impending doom. All in all it was a win, but it still didn’t sit right in his gut.
“I don’t understand,” she said, quietly, wiping blood and water away with the inside of her jacket sleeve. “Why would they do this?”
Davijaan snorted. “Why not?”
“What do they have to gain from hurting you?”
“Less than they think they do.” He started to shrug and thought better of it. “It’s fine. I was expecting this. It’s just. Part of war.” They’d spent two months on what Kote had cheerfully called their “don’t snitch” training. That had been the most grim he’d ever seen ‘17, and a handy reminder that war wasn’t just about killing and waiting to be killed.
She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, she said, “In holofilms it’s always… the bad guys torture people for information, or for fun, because they like causing pain. It’s just evil.” Her hand stilled, and her voice took on a hard edge. “How is this any different?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slow, mind racing.
She was a civilian. She didn’t know anything about war because she didn’t need to know anything about war. The whole point of the clones was that they faced the war while the civilians went on with their lives.
But she was facing war, now. And for all the aspects of war he didn’t like to think about, he knew ignorance only made them worse. Hell, he’d already given her the scared shiny speech last night, because she’d needed to hear it, and because he’d been too out of it to think of all the reasons he shouldn’t. Might as well keep her informed.
“They are after information.” He cleared his throat, glad she couldn’t see his face, glad he was alert enough to mask his pain. “I’m… I’m an officer. Low rank, but still. But they don’t even want to know anything about the GAR, they want to know what the GAR knows about them. So they’ll probably leave you alone. You’re a civilian. You don’t have to worry.”
“Oh.” The hand resumed. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
They lapsed into silence that wasn’t quite comfortable. She was upset, and he didn’t think any of the usual things he had to say would be a comfort.
When she deemed his back as clean as she could get it she tried to get him settled on his stomach again, but after spending the better part of two days sitting or lying down he was restless. He walked a few laps around the cell, disaster hand cradled to his chest and right hand braced against the wall. When the ache of movement became too much to ignore he gave in and sat on the pallet next to her.
“You’re not wrong,” he offered, cautiously, glancing at her face and away. “About causing pain for the sake of causing pain.”
She didn’t say anything, but when he looked over again he found her looking back, steady and serious. Waiting. He swallowed.
“The Colonel’s probably realized that even if I was going to say anything, I don’t have anything to say. I think… Part of it is that I’m here, in their power, and they can hurt me and I can’t do anything about it, while the rest of the GAR is making a mess of their militia just outside the city walls.”
She nodded slowly, and if she was surprised or shocked by that she did a good job hiding it. “So the GAR is here?”
He blinked. “The GAR is sitting right in front of you.”
“No, I mean the whole army. They’re here? They’re through the blockade?”
“Last I knew the 212th was marching on the capital from the south, with the 501st moving to join them from the north.” And maybe he should have mentioned that sooner, if the look of relief on her face was anything to go by. She was stuck in a cell waiting for rescue too.
Kote is coming to get me.
“I knew there was enough of a to-do around the withdrawal and the blockade for the GAR to get involved. And of course you’re here, but…”
“It’s good to have confirmation?”
“Yes,” she sighed, shoulders slumping. “I would have asked, but I was trying not to think about how far away they might be.”
He snorted. “First rule of not thinking about things is to know which things you can actually get away with not thinking about.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically, and he grinned as wide as he could manage, and the ensuing silence was much more comfortable than before.
***
She talked him into sleeping on the pallet again with her that night. He could have argued or insisted, but he’d already given in once, so he figured the line had been truly and thoroughly crossed already and he could worry about it if they got out of the damn cell. He slept much better than he expected to, at least, what with his expanding collection of injuries.
When he woke up, most of his back was red and swollen, and a fever had set in.
***
When the Colonel was called away urgently only ten minutes into the third session– lots of intense questions and lots of punching, very little actual torture– Davijaan knew he would not be in the tender care of the Umbaran Militia for much longer.
Something had shifted for the worse on the Umbaran side. With defenses, supply lines, casualty rates. Something. They didn’t need anything from him anymore. He was either going to die in his cell or be retrieved by the GAR.
The infection and accompanying fever made every muscle in his body ache, and once he was back in the cell it was all he could do to lay still on his stomach and breath. Loren sat by his head again, and he thought she might be humming, but really it could just be the static behind his eyes.
He tried to turn his head towards her and groaned as his split lip and bruised cheek rubbed against rough fabric. The noise stopped.
Well. That was one way to confirm his suspicion.
“Need anything?”
“Face hurts.”
“Not surprised. You look like one giant bruise.”
“Feel like it.”
“Is there anything else I can do to help you get comfortable?”
Maybe, but she was already doing so much more than he would have ever dared ask for. “... No.”
The humming resumed, and he lay still and listened and burned from the inside out until the promise of even temporary relief was too much.
“C’n you… touch my hair again?”
“Hm?”
“Hands ‘re cold.”
“Oh! Of course.”
And then there were five pin-points of blessed cool against the side of his face, and when he finally fell asleep he dreamed of the moment near the end of a storm when the thunder finally stops and the cold rain gentles.
***
He woke up shortly after their evening rations were dropped off, and forced himself to lean against the wall and eat and drink, the hand he was trying to pretend didn't exist resting gingerly on one thigh.
“Don’t think they’re coming for me again,” he said, and explained what he suspected of the battle outside.
“So we might not be here much longer?”
He grimaced. As much as he didn’t want to quash her hope, if worse came to worst and the capital was placed under siege… “Wouldn’t bet on it.”
Her face fell, but he kept talking, fumbling in his foggy head for what she needed to hear.
“There’s a chance! The 212th’s good at everything. 501st gets the job done. They’ll get through the capital’s defenses. With time.”
Neither of them voiced the fact that without some kind of medical attention, he likely didn’t have time, but he could see the thought in the worried crease of her sky-blue brow.
“Even if they don’t,” he continued. “I’m sure you’ve got– people. Who would push for rescue, or pay ransom. Your boss. Your family. You’ll get out of here.”
She snorted. “I doubt my boss could pick me out of a crowd. But you’re right.” Something in her face softened, but it seemed sad. “My family will find a way to get me back, if word of my arrest actually gets to Republic space.”
“Even if it doesn’t, they’ll notice you missing.” He couldn’t imagine she’d be easy to forget.
She looked up at him, sun-gold eyes bright and steady. “Someone will notice you missing too, Odd Ball.”
He mustered a weak smile, and turned away.
Kote is coming to get me.
***
They settled together on the pallet for the third time with surprisingly little fuss considering all the injuries they were trying to accommodate. On top of that, Davijaan knew he was a sweaty, disgusting mess and probably uncomfortably hot to the touch, but Loren didn’t so much as wrinkle her nose. Instead, she slipped her hand into his hair again, her cold fingertips a welcome counterpoint to the burning in his blood.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you’re out?” she asked, soft.
And it was questions like that, to Davijaan, that illustrated the point of the “don’t think about it” rule. Because if you thought about maybe living when you knew you were probably dying that made facing death a whole lot harder.
But he swallowed down his annoyance, and offered a trite, “Don’t know. I’ll be in medical for a while. Maybe hug my siblings.”
Hugs were nice. Grounding. He didn't get many of them as an officer, but he knew he’d get at least one if he left this cell alive. He held the memories close in the meantime.
‘17 had given him a hug, once. He couldn’t remember why anymore– if he’d asked or if ‘17 had just given it to him– but he remembered it had been warm and solid. A hug from anyone felt nice, but a hug from someone that much bigger than you felt safe. That was a good memory.
The cold hand left his hair, but he didn’t have more than a second to miss it before an arm settled over his shoulders, careful of the worst of the mess.
“How’s that for now?”
“Nice.” He swallowed. Time to re-direct. “How about you?”
“Oh, probably the same thing. Get out of the hospital and hug my parents. My siblings if they bring me cake. Eat my pa’s cooking. Wander around the tundra for a bit.”
“There’s tundra on Coruscant?”
“On Pantora.”
“Oh. Sounds...” Odd, but intriguing. “Good.”
“Maybe… Maybe I’ll wake up early one morning, before the stars have set, and climb to the top of the tallest mountain.”
Something in her tone had shifted, but he couldn’t place it. “In the dark?” He pushed.
“Oh I’ll bring a light, don’t worry. I know the trail like the back of my hand, but I’m not dumb enough to walk up a mountain in the dark.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’ll turn off the light once I get to the peak. And then I’ll sit on the rocks by the cliff edge, and wait. And the stars will fade and the sky will brighten and once I’ve sat there long enough for time to slow down, the sun will rise.”
Davijaan could almost see it, if he focused on the rise and fall of her voice.
“The sun will be a brilliant orange splotch– a glow on the edge of the horizon. And then as it peaks over it’s going to send out streaks of pink and peach into the clouds, and purple if I’m lucky, which I will be. And then, once the sun is over the trees, the light is going to turn golden, and shimmer as it burns away the mist.”
And suddenly it was hard to breathe as old memories surfaced; memories of sunrise burning over the Kamino sea and of sunrise caressing the curve of a planet and of sunrise fracturing through the sparkling skyscrapers of Coruscant. Of one particularly precious sunrise rendered in bright orange paint.
“I’ll be able to see the whole valley, all lit up from overhead. The village. Speeders on the roads and animals on the slopes. The way snow and rock turns to grass and scrub turns to pine trees and the riverbed. The whole world, ready for the day.”
He breathed out in a long, slow sigh. “That sounds… peaceful.”
“It is,” she whispered, and he wondered for a moment if she was going to start crying again.
They lay in silence, their breath falling into the same rhythm, trying not to lose their grasp on those memories.
Before he could fall asleep, Davijaan summoned his courage. “I… Thank you.”
“Hm? For what?”
For helping with my injuries. For making sure I sleep comfortably. For the humming, and the hand in my hair, and telling me I would be missed. For sharing your sunrise with me.
He just shook his head.
For not making me face this alone.
***
Davijaan dreamed of lying still in a lab, white lights bright in his eyes and durasteel table so cold it burned, voices all around him but no-one in sight, and he tried to sit up but he couldn’t, he was frozen solid, ice creeping up his arms and legs and around his chest–
– and weighing him down as he sank into the black depths of the sea, shadows circling and waiting for him to take in that damning breath of water, but he couldn’t, no matter how badly his lungs burned behind his ribs he couldn’t open his mouth and the burning crawled up his throat–
– and through the rest of his body, and he was burning as he fell, the controls dead in his hands and the escape hatch jammed and blue sky and brown earth whirling into each other through the viewshield as he spun out of control, but he couldn’t do anything except scream as his flesh melted from his bones–
– and he was shaking, but he couldn’t tell if it was from impact or the cool hand gripping his arm or the voice in his ear begging–
“– ease wake up. There’s something happening, someone is screaming and I don’t know–”
– and then the cold hand was replaced by a warm one and he wasn’t shaking anymore he was rising, a voice as steady and familiar as his own saying–
“– hang in there, soldier. We’ll get you settled and taken care of as soon as–”
Oh.
Kote did come to get me.
He managed to open his eyes. He was being carried into a hallway crowded with white and orange painted soldiers, but no sunrise in sight. A flash of sky-blue caught in the corner of his eye and he turned towards it, and watched Loren disappear down the hall.
***
After Yikes had cleared him from medical and he’d gotten his hugs from Kote and his flight squad– Mitts and Fiddle had tag-teamed a tackle hug that he was a hundred percent certain had not been medically advised, but it was good to know he’d been missed– he tried to put some of his thoughts in order about Loren.
He wasn’t very successful.
***
Davijaan wasn't involved with the end of the war. Kote was, because wherever there was chaos Kote could be found in the thick of it.
No, Davijaan heard about the end of the war after the celebrations had already started. After the Supreme Chancellor had been killed and the Separatists droids shut down and every medic in the GAR sent the information they needed to start removing bio-chips.
As the highest ranking officer in his flight squad, he’d been first called up for the surgery. He hadn’t felt any different afterwards. He’d attended one of the parties in the common area after he was released from medical, and had been surprised by the joy and excitement of his siblings. He wasn’t sure what he felt about the end of the war. All the rules of what to and what not to think about had been upended.
Eventually he’d left and found Kote sitting on the bunk in his quarters, and sat down next to him, and they’d sat in silence together for hours, Kote with nothing to say and Davijaan with too much.
***
Now that they didn’t need the GAR, the Republic wasn’t sure what to do with it.
As his first act as Supreme Chancellor, Bail Organa pushed a Clone Rights Bill through the Senate, granting the clones full citizenship, veterans benefits, and custody of their younger siblings still on Kamino. That was all well and good, but neither Davijaan nor any of his siblings knew how to be civilians, and Coruscant wasn’t exactly welcoming her new influx of immigrants with open arms.
There wasn’t enough space in the on-planet barracks, so most of the GAR stayed on the venators they’d lived the last three years of their lives on, orbiting Coruscant from a safe distance. Davijaan went planetside every day he could.
He had nothing in particular to do, so he explored. Wandered through alleys and market places and parks and dared to spend some of his severance pay on new foods and trinkets. He’d spent most of the war in space, in starships of various sizes, and being free to roam a city was something he didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of. Civilians especially were fascinating to watch and converse with when he had the chance.
Though he didn’t often have the chance, because while some found him as interesting as he found them, the vast majority would rather he didn’t exist. It was somewhat grating, after a while. Really put a damper on his outings. It was better to go with another clone so he'd have someone to talk to. Jesse or Hawk from the 501st were usually a good bet, or Sinker from the 104th. Gregor never needed much convincing either.
Kote never came.
When he was alone Davijaan usually found a bench in a park and spent the day with his head tilted back, trying to get a glimpse of the artificial sky.
***
“We need to get there earlier than I thought,” Kote called through the open door of the tiny fresher attached to his quarters. “We’re meeting Fox and Wolffe.”
Davijaan looked up from where he sat in the desk chair fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
“... Oh.”
Kote finally stuck his head out of the fresher, eyebrow raised. “What was that for?”
“What was what for?”
“The little… the ‘oh.’ Thought you were excited to see them again.”
“I am. I just…” He shrugged. “I thought it was just us tonight. You said we were meeting up with them tomorrow.”
“We were,” Kote moved to his equally tiny cupboard, pulling out the jacket Davijaan had bought him. “But I commed Fox and asked if we could move it to tonight.”
He said it so casually, back turned to Davijaan, the tension in his shoulders almost invisible if you weren’t looking for it.
“So, what?” Davijaan straightened, trying to match his casual tone but unable to hide an edge of bitterness. “So you can get all your brotherly obligations done and over with?”
Kote stiffened. “That’s not–”
“Have you even left the ship since we got here? Because–”
“I’m leaving now!” Kote turned, slamming the cupboard door shut. “We’re leaving in ten minutes–”
“– as far as I can tell you haven’t even left this room!”
“I leave–”
“To get food, and then you come right back!”
Kote glared at him, jaw stiff and back straight. “What’s the point of going planetside,” he said, low and hard and furious. “What’s the point of spending hours every day wandering the city without any sort of– of reason, or plan? I got my fair share of that on leave, thanks, and I–”
“The point is to be around other people! Is to be outside!”
Kote scoffed. “I’m around you!”
Because I hunt you down.
“I just spent three years running every which way across the galaxy, I think I’m allowed to sit in my quarters and– and breathe for a damn minute!”
That’s not what you’re doing. I don’t know what you’re doing but that’s not it.
“And you don’t get to come in here and tell me off for not being around people or leaving the ship when we’re about to go planetside!”
For the first time in a month.
When Davijaan didn’t respond, Kote looked away and took a deep breath. “We need to go,” he said.
Davijaan stood, offered him a smile, and opened the door.
***
Fox and Wolffe had known something was wrong immediately, but Kote was determined to ignore it, so they ignored it too.
It’d been a while since they’d all seen each other. They’d changed so much over the war, and seen each other so seldom, and Davijaan for one wasn’t sure where he stood with Fox or Wolffe anymore. All in all the evening was stiff and awkward and nobody even got drunk.
Kote was silent on the transport back to the ship, and didn’t say anything when Davijaan followed him into his quarters and sat on the bunk.
He started to change, but Davijaan patted the blankets next to him and said, “Come here.”
Kote glanced over and away. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Yes you can.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Too bad. Sit.”
So Kote sat, and allowed Davijaan to hold him and run a thumb over the sliver of uncovered skin on the back of his neck. It took him a while, but eventually he relaxed enough to hug back; shifting around until he was clinging to Davijaan, trembling.
Davijaan didn’t try to say anything, because there wasn’t anything he could say.
We're not dead yet. And I don’t know what that means anymore.
Whenever CFS-7 had worked directly with the 212th– and directly under Kote’s command– Davijaan had always found Kote before the battle got underway and hugged him. Because you never knew, really. You always had to be prepared, because you never knew. And if Kote died–
If Kote died, that was it. He would be alone.
Oh, he had friends. He and Wolffe had been close during command track. He had drinking buddies in the 212th and 104th and 501st, and there was always CFS-7. And, scattered among millions of other clones, were the rest of his and Kote’s batchmates. He’d always had the clearance to find them in the GAR databases. Never the courage.
But the thing about Kote, was that Davijaan had been following his lead and watching his back since they were decanted, and through luck and carefully pulled strings they’d managed to stay beside each other their whole lives. Not close beside each other– the Open Circle was a big fleet, and his and Kote’s command postings were on opposite ends of it– but within reach. Close enough to find each other and hold each other for a few minutes, or even just a few seconds, before their next battle began.
The war was over, but it didn’t feel like it was over, and Davijaan had no idea what the next battle would be but he knew he didn’t want to face it alone.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” he whispered.
After a moment, Kote cleared his throat and asked, “Where’s here?”
This ship. This room. This moment. Orbiting a planet that won’t let me land safely.
He shook his head.
“Hm. Well. Where do you want to be instead?”
And Davijaan…
Davijaan hadn’t seen much of the galaxy, for all he’d flown all around it. He couldn’t even remember the names of half the planets he’d been to. But he’d been given a memory of a memory of peace, once, and he’d carried it with him through the last months of the war.
“Pantora.”