Chapter Text
Davijaan ended up at the door of the Yang’s hangar.
He didn’t have a shift today, he had no business showing up at work. But he’d left the house without his jacket and it was freezing outside, the blue sky covered over in thick grey clouds, and he knew he had to go somewhere. Maybe not here. Definitely not here. Mr. Yang would ask so many questions.
But if not here, where?
For the first time he wished he’d wandered around the village more often, if only so he could think of some place people would let him just. Be.
As he was standing there frantically trying to come up with a reason to be standing there, the door slid open. Mr. Yang stuck his head out, squinting in the wind. “Odd Ball? Come in, come in. What are you doing standing out in the cold, come in!”
He went in.
Mr. Yang ushered him into the small office off the main hangar and made him sit down in the chair closest to the heater.
“What can I do for you, son? What brings you here on your off day?”
“Oh, you know.” He smiled. “Didn’t have any plans. Didn’t want to spend the whole day cooped up inside. Figured I’d come down and see if you had anything for me to do.”
Mr. Yang gave him an odd look, but didn’t say anything about his missing jacket. “Well… I suppose you could always load up Glimmer so she’s ready for tomorrow.”
Davijaan shot out of his chair. “Sounds good, I’ll get right on it, sir!”
“Make sure to sign in!” Mr. Yang called as he darted out of the office.
***
There wasn’t a lot to load up, so he moved slowly, trying to drag the work out. Nobody else was around. Mrs. Yang had a passenger flight and Mrs. Maraso was down in the village office, so he had the whole empty echoing hangar to himself.
On his next day off he would have to go to the library or the hardware store or somewhere– somewhere there were people– and then keep going, so he could become a familiar face. So he had a place he could go, next time, a place that wasn’t work. Only there wasn’t going to be a next time. There shouldn’t have been a ‘this time.’
Kote had run out on him many, many times before. Davijaan had never once run out on Kote. Then again, he'd never had anywhere to run. Kote could sit in a corner and sulk for hours, but Davijaan couldn't stand the thought of sitting alone and just. Thinking about it.
He worked for thirty minutes or so, determinedly undercutting the silence of the hangar by thumping crates and containers down harder than he should, thoughts tangling and twisting and tightening around him until it was hard to breath.
He tried to remember the last time he’d let himself be really, truly angry. He couldn’t.
As he was debating asking Mr. Yang if he could take Glimmer out– just for an hour, just so he could be close to the heavy emptiness of the sky, the fuel could come out of his paycheck– the office door opened and closed behind him. Footsteps whispered across the duracrete. Too light to be Mr. Yang, sounded more like–
“Hey,” said Loren, voice soft in a way that made him grit his teeth. He turned to her.
She must have only just arrived; she held her gloves in one hand and her face was flushed, her hair tucked under an embroidered headscarf. Frost-brittle leaves tangled her bootlaces.
“Hello,” he said, sharper than he’d intended. “You’re not working today.”
“Neither are you.”
He shrugged. Picked up another crate and made for Glimmer’s hold. She followed.
“Came by to say hello. Pa said you were in here. Need any help?”
He set the crate down with a thud, paused in the hatch to peer down the gangplank at the few scattered containers he had left. “Not really.”
“Are you ok?”
Davijaan opened his mouth. Closed it. Smiled, bright and perfect.
Loren’s brown creased. “Do you need– can I–”
“I don’t need anything, I’m fine. Just. Had to get out of the house for a bit.” He stomped down the gangplank.
“Did something happen?” She stayed right at his elbow, voice too loud and too quiet and too much. “Is Cody alright?”
He shrugged again. Picked up a container. Loren stood at the foot of the gangplank, blocking his way.
“Did you two… have a fight?”
“No.” Didn’t count as a fight if only one of them was screaming.
He shifted his feet, willing her to move. He wanted his own noise, not hers. He wanted the silence of the sky and he wanted the sounds of strangers. He wanted to get his work done and he wanted to abandon the job and the Yangs and the village and just wander off into the mountains and stay there forever. He wanted to be alone. He wanted his brother.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Stop asking me questions.
“No.” He cleared his throat. Adjusted his grip on the container. “I said I’m fine. Rough start to the day, but I’ve had worse.”
“Odd Ball, I don’t think you’re fine.” She looked so concerned, and maybe a little bit scared. Something cold and hard settled in his chest.
Stop thinking you know anything about me.
“You’re– I can see something’s wrong,” she pleaded.
Stop looking at me.
“And you’ve done so much for me, you’ve listened every time I needed to talk, and it’s the least–”
– you can do. It’s the least you can do. After everything else you’ve done, this is the least–
Stop–
“I don’t owe you anything!”
Loren took a half step back, mouth open in shock, and–
He did owe her. He owed her so damn much, but he didn't know how– he couldn't–
He turned and slammed the crate down and took a few steps towards the door, and stopped dead. Because leaving meant going through Mr. Yang’s office, and he hadn’t finished his work yet, and he didn’t think he could bring himself to walk out on both the people he cared about in the same morning.
So he stood in the center of the room for silent seconds that stretched into an eternity, shaking and ashamed and terrified to turn around and see Loren’s face.
“No, you don't,” she said at last, voice even and calm and so much easier to listen to when he didn’t have to look at her. He took a deep breath in, held it, let it out slow.
“You don’t owe me a single thing. I’m the one who owes you, when it comes down to it. But friendships don’t run on debts and favors, they run on gifts,” she said, firm. Like she was reminding herself, too. “And I want– I know you’re not comfortable talking about yourself, and I’m not trying to– to guilt you into sharing things you don’t want to share. But I can see that something is wrong, and I’m happy to listen if you need to talk.”
For a long moment he breathed, and she waited.
“I shouldn’t have come here.” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know why…”
“You’re always welcome.” A cold hand slipped into his, and squeezed. After a moment, he squeezed back.
Loren tugged him over to the crates and pulled him down to sit next to her, not letting go of his hand, so close their legs were pressed together hip to knee. It was good. Grounding. She didn’t say anything else, and that was good too. He’d stepped over a line and wasn’t sure how to step back yet. And he wasn’t sure what he would do if she kept asking questions.
As soon as he relaxed, exhaustion hit, and he remembered why he tried not to be angry. It always left him empty and aching and on the verge of tears. He hated feeling– being– so out of control.
Kote had maintained a careful rage for the entirety of the war, and Davijaan had often wondered how. Maybe that was why he slept so much these days; the war was over and the anger was gone and all it had left in its wake was bone deep tiredness.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry. For shouting. I don’t usually…”
He still couldn’t quite look at Loren, but he felt her shift against his side. She ran her thumb over the back of his knuckles, calluses catching on scars.
“I didn’t think so. You never struck me as much of a shouter.” Her voice was rueful and light. “I’m sorry for pushing like that. You really, truly don’t owe me anything, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you did.”
Huh.
He… wasn’t sure what to think about that. There were responsibilities that came with relationships, he’d always known that. Being siblings or being friends meant obligations and duties and debts– on both sides.
He didn’t love many of his brothers. He didn’t even like most of them. But he’d had a responsibility towards them that he’d done his best to fulfill. That responsibility of care and protection and loyalty had kept the clones alive on Kamino; kept them alive during the war.
He owed Kote everything. He could spend the rest of his life trying to repay that debt to no avail.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but,” her grip tightened. “Do I need to go yell some sense into Cody?”
“Ha. No.” He shook his head, guilty and bitter. “Already tried that.”
“Ah.”
She was still waiting, he realized. Waiting for him to either start talking about it or to make it clear he didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it meant thinking about it.
But, at the end of the day, Kote would be waiting for him in their house on the mountain, and pretending nothing was wrong wasn’t working anymore.
He didn’t have to tell her everything. He didn’t have to go into specifics. She’d said he didn’t owe her anything, and if that were true then he didn’t owe her the whole story and didn’t intend to pay it over. But maybe, since she’d given so much of herself so freely, he could give a bit of himself in return.
Just broad strokes, just things most of the GAR had always known. Just the things he’d let himself think about and wonder about and put into words, before.
He didn’t have to look at her when he spoke.
“I wasn’t a good officer.”
She didn’t protest, didn't tell him he was underestimating himself the way Kote would have. She just kept rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, and he felt raw and sore and uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling. It was odd.
“Or, I’m not a good leader. Just in general. Any sop in a uniform can give orders, but whatever it is that makes people want to follow you, I don’t have. But Cody does. Half the GAR would follow him into hell with a smile. But he– he needs someone to watch his back. And that’s always been me. He leads; I watch his back. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember.”
That was the only reason he’d gotten into command track. The only reason he’d graduated, the only reason he’d gotten the post he had. Because Kote needed Davijaan behind him to function at his best, and during that first year of command track it became abundantly clear that the GAR needed Kote to be functioning at his best.
“But, now the war is over.”
“... And?”
“And, that’s it.” He shrugged, awkward in their cramped seating arrangement. “The war is over.”
And it’s finally starting to feel real.
The war had been the only constant in his life. The war, and Kote. The reason he existed, and the brother who had somehow stayed beside him and made existing worth it. And now the war was over, and Kote…
“Now Cody– he’s– He doesn’t want to be a leader anymore,” he continued, not sure how to voice this part but feeling he should try. “I’ve followed him my whole life, and now… Well. I might have yelled at him about it, this morning. And came here to get away. And just ended up yelling at you instead.”
She hummed in consideration and leaned further against his side. Maybe she really wouldn’t hold the yelling against him. “May I ask a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Deep breath in, hold it, let it out slow. “Yes.”
She squeezed his hand again, and she needed to get better gloves because her own hand was still freezing. “Whose idea was it to come to Pantora?”
He flushed, embarrassed. He considered not answering but couldn’t think of a good reason not to.
“Mine.”
She nodded, unsurprised. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Neither of us really knew what to do, after everything. And I… I guess I wanted to be somewhere peaceful while we figured it out.”
She straightened, and he could picture the way her eyes would flash and her features sharpen as she took that in and puzzled it out.
“I don’t think leading and following are as clear cut as leader and follower,” she said, thoughtful. Not like a fact– like a possibility.
“My siblings and I– Of course Maraso did most of the babysitting and helped Pa and Ma when the rest of us were little, but just because she’s the eldest, the example, doesn’t mean she’s the responsible one all the time. She has her moments of silliness, and we’ve all had to step up and help out. There’s no one role any of us fall into. We fulfill the role we need to based on circumstance.”
It didn’t seem very possible. In the GAR the chain of command reigned. Everyone had a defined role and everyone fulfilled that role to the letter and that was the way things were.
But, Davijaan hadn't been a good officer, and he wasn't a soldier anymore. And neither, he realized, was Kote.
“And besides,” she said, still not looking at him, still holding his hand gentle and close like something precious. “If you’re always busy watching his back, who’s watching yours?”
***
Eventually he and Loren untangled themselves and finished loading up Glimmer. They had lunch with Mr. Yang, and helped him file some paperwork, and cleaned out one of the back rooms that the whole family had been reminding each other needed to be cleaned out for months. Mostly, Loren talked about nothing and everything, and Davijaan listened.
Mr. Yang left as they were finishing up the back room, patting Davijaan on the shoulder and handing the hangar keys to his daughter with a smile. “Take your time, take your time,” he said, waving over his shoulder as he headed out the door. “You two have plenty of time.”
Loren flushed and rolled her eyes and picked up the pace. Even if they did have time, it had been a long day for both of them and they had actual work the next day and didn’t want to linger too long. In short order they finished their cleaning, closed down the hangar, and collected their things to leave.
When Davijaan stepped outside, it was snowing.
He’d seen snow before– fought a few sims in snow and flown through blizzards more than once– but he'd never been outside in it. Never felt it falling against his skin.
He stood on the hangar steps and tilted his head back and stared up into the white-grey sky, and little pieces of it broke off and drifted down and scattered across his forehead and nose and lips. It was soft and cold and stung as it melted.
He wondered if kissing Loren would feel like snowflakes.
And then he shook his head sharply, to dislodge both the thought and the snowflakes, and turned to his friend.
The snow didn't melt all at once when it landed on her face. Instead it blanketed her features and sort of, settled there. Several snowflakes had clustered over the upper curve of her tattoo. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and brushing it away.
“Did you walk here?”
He blinked. “Hm?”
She gestured to the parking area, empty except for her own speeder. “Did you walk here?”
“Oh, um. Yes?”
She frowned, and the snowflakes slid off her cheek. “Well, you can't walk home in the snow. Come on!”
She led the way to her speeder and he obediently climbed on behind her, hoping she wouldn’t notice how badly he was already shivering. She didn’t seem affected by the cold, even though she was barely better dressed for it than he was. Just gloves and a poncho. Which frankly wasn’t fair.
The sun was setting somewhere behind the clouds, and by the time they were on the main road it was night. The wind stirred up by the speeder spun the snow into white plumes, violently roused up in a whirlwind and gently laid down in drifts, glittering in the headlights. He tucked his face in Loren’s neck and closed his eyes and felt the sky fall on his head and shoulders, and wondered if being snow-covered was a kind of drowning.
***
When Davijaan arrived home the house was dark. He found a ration bar in the back of a cupboard and choked it down in the empty kitchen, and then crept past the breakfast mess and down the stairs. A sliver of light stretched out into the hall from under the bedroom door.
Kote was sitting in the center of the bed, back to the wall and legs pulled up against his chest. He blinked when Davijaan stepped into the room; opened his mouth. Davijaan cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Don’t. Say anything.”
He changed into sleep clothes in silence, and then flopped face forward onto the bed with a groan. After a moment, a tentative hand started rubbing the back of his neck. He shivered at the warmth on his snow-stung skin.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“Alright.” Kote’s hand continued uninterrupted.
Davijaan shifted around until he had his head pillowed on his arms, facing the far wall instead of his brother. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to lay still, and think.
He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slow.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Please. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Kote’s hand pulled away. Davijaan waited, his chest aching.
“You’ve always had times when you needed to be still and quiet and alone,” he finally continued, watching the shadows cast by the lamp shift along the wall as Kote’s movement rustled the blanket.
“I know that. I understand. Or, I thought I did. I thought you just needed to take breaks from the war; from yourself. I thought this was the same thing. I thought you just needed a break, and when you were done taking a break, you’d go back to being yourself. But it’s been months. It’s been almost six months, and apparently you don’t want to be yourself anymore, and I’m– I’m…” He swallowed. “I’m scared.”
“I’m sorry.” Kote’s voice was distant, flat and emotionless the way it had been more often than not since the war ended. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It is like taking a break, I think, except I didn’t get to decide when it started and I don’t think I’ll get to decide when it ends. Too much was changing all at once and I just couldn’t…”
“Our whole lives changed,” he muttered, pressing his face further into his arms, not sure if he was annoyed or sad. “Maybe it was silly to hope we wouldn’t.”
The hand settled on his shoulder, light and hesitant. “You can still call me Kote, that doesn’t have to change.”
“Do you want me to call you Kote?”
“I don’t know.” He pulled at a loose thread in Davijaan’s shirt. “It doesn’t feel like my name anymore.”
“You picked it yourself.”
“But I didn’t pick it for myself.”
Davijaan rolled over onto his back and folded his hands over his stomach, staring determinedly at the ceiling. Part of him wished the lamp was off. They’d had so many conversations laying side by side in the dark, and he wondered if this one would be any easier if they were pressed close in a pod under the same blanket.
For a moment he missed his pod back on Kamino. Not the one in the command barracks, in the Gen-One barracks. He’d hardly ever slept in it; more often than not he’d waited until the lights cut off and then climbed in with someone else. But when he did, he slept with Didja or ‘38 or Tapper curled next to him.
After Tapper died, their whole batch had slept in their own pods. He and Kote had started sharing again in command track. Out of sheer desperation, probably. The assurance that he wasn’t alone in this, in any of it, in command track or war or life, had been the only thing that kept him going that first year. The year when he’d made his name.
“I’m still Davijaan,” he said, firm. Like he was reminding himself, too. “That hasn’t changed. I don’t think it ever will.”
“Well. You didn’t choose your name for war.”
No, he thought. I chose it for you.
He closed his eyes, took another breath. “Is Cody what you want to be called?”
“Eh. If it was good enough for the Jedi it’s good enough for me.”
“That was a serious question, asshole.” He flailed in his brother’s vague direction, smirking when his hand made contact with a smack and a yelp. He accepted the foot to his ribs as his due and moved on. “Didn’t you just, see it randomly on the holonet?”
Teeth flashed in the corner of his eye. “And that was a serious answer. I looked up a list of common human names, back when Kenobi kept insisting I give him something to call me that wasn’t a number or a rank. So I found a name that was my name, but not.”
He fought the urge to smile at the teasing tone that had crept into his brother’s voice. “I still think it sounds odd.”
“It sounds boring, is what it sounds. But. I think I like that. It’s just a normal name. A normal human name for a normal human.”
Davijaan swallowed hard. “Hmph,” he grumbled. “Well. I guess if it was good enough for the Jedi…”
He huffed something that might have been a laugh, and Davijaan smiled, and for a moment their room felt almost peaceful.
Eventually Davijaan rolled out of bed to turn off the lamp. He poked at his brother until he unfolded himself from against the wall and crawled under the blankets, and then climbed in beside him. After the usual sorting out of elbows and knees and who had the good pillow, they lay side by side in the silence and breathed for a time.
Davijaan stared up into the black and imagined smooth plastisteel curving over his head and around him and his brother, enclosing a space that was just theirs. Private and safe.
“I’m sorry I don’t know how to help you,” he whispered.
The blanket rustled. A hand brushed his and pulled away. “It’s alright. I don’t know how to help me either.”
“It’s not alright. It’s not. There has to be something…”
“Having things to look forward to helps. Being around people one or two at a time helps. Making things helps. Maybe other things will help.” He paused, and tensed. Davijaan could picture the way his jaw would tighten and mouth would thin, defensive.
“I’m trying. I am,” he said, firm. Like he was reminding himself, too. “I promise I am. But it’s hard. I don’t know why it’s hard, but it is. It’s so, so hard. Just breathing hurts sometimes. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and I don’t know how to make it stop.”
Davijaan shifted around and pulled his brother into his arms, holding on to him like he always had before a battle. “Gar shuk meh kyrayc,” he said, and tried to make his voice authoritative and threatening like ‘17’s, but just ended up pleading.
He laughed, wet and hitching. “I’m no use alive either.”
“I need you,” Davijaan said, feeling like his chest was being cut open, like he was falling out of the sky, like he was sinking alone into the sea. “I still need you. Why isn’t that enough?”
Cody didn't say anything.
The last of Davijaan’s control gave way, and he wept silently into his brother’s shoulder until he fell asleep.
***
When Davijaan woke up the next morning and reluctantly untangled himself from his brother and his blankets to get ready for work, he had two comm messages waiting for him. One from Loren, asking how he was.
And one from Wolffe.