Chapter Text
Bode's been doing his best to cause problems for the Empire for a few years now, driven to it by his desire to see Tayala and Kata again as soon as possible, so it's not a shock when he's approached by a friendly, cheerful antiquities dealer for a chat and he comes away with an invitation (a demand, really) to join a small cell of people for a Coruscanti mission. It's- confusing, the way the efforts against the Empire are so disparate and disorganized, and yet the man he spoke to feels so much like a spider at the center of the web.
But that's none of Bode's business. If it's working, he doesn't care. Coruscant is the center of the Empire, after all, and having a spider right inside it is the best they can hope for.
‘Why me' was his initial question, and the answer was simple. One, he's good at getting in and out of places without standing out and, two, he knows Coruscant very well: not just the buildings, streets, parks and alleys (such as they are) but the people, their behaviors, and most importantly, the Coruscant Security Force.
Infiltration falls right into the center of Bode's skill set, so he's mildly surprised to find that he won't be interacting with any of CSF; instead, he's just going to impersonate them. Why?
That's a question for your team. Here are the coordinates for the meeting. Come with a bouquet of starblossoms, and wear green.
So he does. What else is there to do?
The first member of the team he meets is a dark-skinned human with a sweet, open smile. Bode is practiced enough at his craft to tell when an open smile is really a pretense towards friendliness; there's a story lurking in the corners of that mouth that should only be told in the dark after a shared bottle or three.
None of Bode's business, really. Who, fighting against the Empire, doesn't have one or six of those?
"Hi," the man greets him, loping over to Bode's bench with an easy gait, "I'm so sorry I'm late," he says, right on time, "I got caught up on the dropfliers. You know how they get."
"Sticky, dark, messy to pilot and impossible to repair," Bode answers with a fond smile creasing the corners of his eyes. He stands from his bench, transferring the bouquet to the stranger's hands. They're out of prepared lines at this point, but Bode's in a mood to test his situation as the man links his arm into Bode's and starts to lead him down the path under the carefully manicured trees. "How's Jeppah doing? Still sick?"
"Way better," the man laughs, a warm and dry sound like a sweet autumn breeze on a world far from here. "Though you couldn't tell from the coughing."
Bode's smile deepens at that, and he folds his fingers over the ones on his bicep. "That's what happens when you smoke for sixty years." The man laughs and leans over to kiss his cheek just as they pass a contingent of Imperial troopers, squeezing his arm.
—
Their meandering walk leads them to a cute little apartment in the middle levels, wedged between a noodle shop and a droid emporium. Their easy conversation drops as quickly as he drops Bode's arm, beelining deeper into the room to punch a button. Bode feels the faint tremor of electricity in the air, and he licks his lips nervously. A complicated series of switches and buttons later, the man flops down into a worn-looking armchair, flowers abandoned on the console. Bode raises an eyebrow and takes a step further into the room. It's dark, metal shutters keep out the glitzy neon from outside, and it's filled with the dust of a safehouse often out of use. Definitely not a final destination. The man's smile is much cooler now, his eyes sharp as he looks at Bode with his head tilted.
"So what do you know already?"
Bode blinks, carding his hands through his hair. He perches at the edge of a metal table, consciously slouching, arms loose at his side. With his height and size, it's easy to be intimidating, and not so simple to put someone at ease. He has practice, though. "Not much," he shrugs. "You needed a man who could pass for CSF."
The man snorts, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a way that registers as real for the first time since they met, the Force calm as it settles between them. "That's Luthen for you," he chuckles, shaking his head. Bode can only shrug. He peers past the man to the shut door behind him, but he can tell there's no one beyond it. "Sometimes I think he just gets off on having all the cards."
"Why do you work for him then?"
That shocks a sharp laugh from the man. "Oh, I don't," he tells Bode eventually, shaking his head like a lothwolf shaking off water, "I work for Saw. But that's its own bag of worms."
"Saw?" Quite a name, that.
The man laughs again- at Bode this time, Bode thinks. He's not delighted by that; he usually prefers to be the one in the know.
"So, what's happening here," he asks lightly, keeping casual, "scoping me out before I meet the rest of the team?"
The smile eases off the man's face, and he's clear-eyed as he looks back at Bode. "Yeah." His head bounces in a nod. "Got it in one, newbie."
"You can call me Bode."
"Bode," he grins. "Well you can call me Bravo."
That's a call sign if Bode's ever heard one. He wonders if his friends call him Bravo, too, or if it's a secret he keeps for himself and the dead. There's definitely some dead in Bravo's past, because there's no one taking on this bloody, crushing, losing fight without any. In Bode's case he's trying to protect life- trying to get back to his own family as quickly as he can, though he knows it's years away. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his own dead.
A whole order of them. A muscle in his jaw twinges, but then he smiles.
—
The interview, if that's what he can call it, goes on for a while. It meanders and dips, glossing through excuses and circling around things of no importance as far as Bode is concerned. Whatever he says must be good enough for Bravo, though, because after a while he peers through the metal slats at the sky - the buildings - outside, declares them safe, and leads Bode out elsewhere.
They make it to a mid-level shipyard without incident, and Bravo leads him down through a maze of parked crafts to a Latero-made yacht with a recent geometric paintjob in silver and blue. Bode only has a moment to admire the tall fin- it seems able to independently rotate around the ship's body - before Bravo hustles him inside. There's four people within; two, both human, are having a conversation that seems full of inside jokes and snarky commentary, prodding each other with fingers and elbows in ribs and knees and feet knocking at each other. The other two are far too busy eating to engage with any of that, working their way through a veritable mountain. Klatooinians, he thinks. They come from a lush world, and burn through calories famously quickly, so he's not shocked to see that.
He is shocked to see that he recognizes one of the humans, though, a young man with bright orange hair and brighter green eyes, a scar cut into his lip and slashed across his jaw that Bode always privately surmised had been given to him in his escape from a clone trooper, in the event that single-handedly destroyed the Jedi Order. Cal Kestis, Jedi Terrorist, Empire's Most Wanted.
He blinks, still in the doorway. Bravo laughs in his ear and clasps a hand on his shoulder, pushing him further into the living space before waltzing past to join the others at the counter island. "I see you recognize our bait." All four look up as Bravo approaches them. The two humans go ‘Bravo!' simultaneously; the Klatooinians look up, and their faces scrunch in a way that Bode would approximate to a smile if they weren't so busy eating. When they look past Bravo to Bode, their faces flatten into something unreadable, and they stare at him as they eat. Bode is not often a man that feels intimidated, considering his size and power, but with those twin gazes locked on him he feels himself start to sweat.
"Don't scare the newbie," Cal Kestis tells them, laughing, his boot lightly kicking one of them in the shin. "We need him for this."
They both look at each other, holding a wordless conversation. They shrug simultaneously and go back to their food. The woman, slim and dark-haired, leans back to grin at him. "Don't mind them. They're the muscle. Being protective is their whole thing."
One of them snorts, the other grunts. She laughs bright and high and Bravo's smile is so real it knocks all the others Bode has seen straight into either ‘false' or ‘sardonic.'
A small droid leaps up from the counter, where it had been hidden behind Cal Kestis, and jets its way over to the low, round table in front of Bode to scan him. He shields his eyes from the light, quirking a quizzical eyebrow at Bravo just as Cal Kestis says "don't be rude, BD, let him come in at least," like he has no questions about Bode being there, and Bode staggers farther in.
—
He doesn't join them for dinner, in part because they're most of the way through it already, a portion set aside for Bravo but no one else. He finds it curious - surely they knew that Bravo was fetching someone new - but he's not particularly perturbed by it. They're clearly a unit, and Bode is an outsider. A single-use part-timer. "Don't take it personally," the woman tells him brightly as she drops down onto the curved couch at an angle from him, all relaxed, sprawled limbs.
"Bravo's discerning," Cal Kestis grins over his shoulder; he's clearing both his and the woman's plate.
"Someone has to be," Bravo snorts, sitting down at the kitchen island next to the Klatooinians.
"What about you, new guy," the woman smirks, one eyebrow raised as she tilts her head at him, her clumping bangs hanging across her face. "Are you discerning?"
"I usually work alone," he answers with a casual shrug, pretending he doesn't notice the way they're hemming him in. The droid leaps up on the table, its face turned up towards him, flicking its gaze occasionally to Cal Kestis like a dog checking in with its owner when it wants to play with a new friend. "What's up, little guy?"
"His name is BD-1," Cal Kestis introduces brightly. "And I'm Cal Kestis."
"Pretty sure he knows that already, Cal," Gabs grins, a little mean.
"It's polite to introduce yourself," he shoots back, his eyebrows raised and a mystified little smirk playing in the corner of his mouth.
"Doubt anyone is looking for politeness from a terrorist," she bounces back cheekily.
"He's on our side, Gabs."
"Yeah? So is Parsons. Should I be polite to him?" Her mean grin broadens, a clear tease.
Bode doesn't love being trapped between two people having a playful volley like this. He'd rather be watching from a place where he can see both their faces, where he can decode their expressions and body language without swinging his face from one side to the next. He relaxes back into the couch in as comfortable a pose as he can find, his hands loose in his lap and one foot on the edge of the table.
< Appearance: human. Proportions: Klatooinian. Fit: appropriate. >
Bode laughs in surprise. He doesn't miss the way Cal's head whips around to him, his eyes widening, mouth half-open, but it's nothing compared to the sharp and bright spark of delight in the Force.
Bode was behind enemy lines during the Clone Wars, far from any Force sensitives. It's been 13 years since he's felt anything like that, and it punches him right in the chest. He takes several heartbeats to regain his breath, swallowing thickly.
Really, he should have known. ‘Jedi Terrorist,' it's right there in the title. There's a difference, though, between walking up a ramp to find yourself face to face with someone you intellectually know to be a Jedi and to feel it.
Bode is a trained shadow, though, so the only slip he has, really, is his processing time. Instead he grins brazenly at the droid- at BD-1. "I'm not sure that's a good way to determine if someone should be on your team."
"BD-1 isn't discerning either," the woman - Gabs, was it? - tells Bode, but it's Cal she's grinning at.
As one, Cal and Gabs pull their feet back, each to give room for one or the other of the Klatooinians to slide past them; they sit down heavily on either side of Bode.
He doesn't move so much, but he does let his shoulders come up a bit around his ears, his hands folding together. It would be suspicious to be too relaxed in this situation, and if Bode knows how to do anything, it's how to avoid suspicion. It's an instinct at this point.
There's a reason Luthen Rael came to him.
Despite BD-1's assessment, they're taller than Bode; broader, too. They're also very warm. He feels himself sweating almost immediately as their arms press to his. "So what's the plan?" He asks casually.
"Aren't you skipping steps?" Gabs asks with a sly smile still on her lips. Her eyes aren't quite as friendly though, certainly not as warm, as they move to him. Bode isn't invited into their inside joke.
"Am I?" he asks placidly. He keeps the shape of a smile on his face - he's learned it goes a far distance keeping himself in people's good graces - his expression soft and undemanding as he turns it towards her.
Her face goes blank and hard, her eyes half lidded and her mouth flat. "Who are you?" It's the sort of tone he'd expect her to use if a stranger approached her drinking at a bar.
"Bode Akuna," he answers without blinking.
On his other side, Cal sighs. "Gabs. Bravo already did this."
"It doesn't hurt to have two discerning people," Bravo injects from his higher vantage point in the kitchen.
Make that three, Bode adds to himself. He's starting to regret this. He works much better alone, anyway. People… other people make things dangerous. Painful.
Bode has come to terms with the likelihood that he'll die alone, but he's not so relaxed about anyone he cares for dying.
"Why are you here?" she continues, clipped.
"You need an infiltrator that knows CSF." He stares back at her brazenly, the friendliness slowly draining from his own tone. "I seem to be your best option."
How many people, he wonders, did Bravo turn away first?
"Why are you here, on Coruscant?"
"Shitty luck, I guess." The sight of the Jedi Temple, draped in Imperial red and black… it hurts in a way he can't describe and can't explain, like someone scooped out his guts and replaced them with rancid slime.
"Why are you fighting the Empire?"
"Because it needs to fall."
"Why are you fighting the Empire?"
A spike of anger tightens his throat as he thinks of Tayala and Kata, of the last time they saw each other. The way Kata couldn't understand why he was crying into her hair, the way Tayala wordlessly let him squeeze her to his chest. That was three years ago. He's talked to them eight times since then. Tayala's birthday, Kata's birthday, their anniversary. The only three days he gives himself a year. The farther he stays away, the safer they are. His hands squeeze together, knuckles creaking. "That's none of your business," he answers icily, making no effort to disguise his ire.
Gabs holds his stare for several long heartbeats, her face stone — and then she collapses backwards into the couch with an easy, relaxed laugh. "Alright, I'm good. Welcome aboard, Bode Akuna."
His hands relax, but he can't quite swallow down the knot in his throat.
—
It's unlikely that Cal Kestis's crew, of all people, would give him up… but that doesn't mean he trusts them with his secrets. It's better if nobody knows. (Not even the only other Jedi Bode has met since the Order fell- the only Jedi that wasn't twisted and tortured into working for the Empire, that is.)
There's still so much to lose, and Bode, well. Bode couldn't leave Tayala's name behind. It doesn't matter that Kata is Force Null; that won't stop the Empire from hunting everyone Bode is related to in an effort to flush him out, if they catch even a whisper of him. It's easier, really, to keep silent, to keep still, to pretend he doesn't feel the way Cal is so loud in that sense. He must've been young when the Order fell, one glance at him can tell you that, and either he never learned to shield or he forgot how, because Bode is privy to every shift of emotion the redhead has. It keeps distracting him as Bravo and Cal explain the plan: excitement, curiosity, certainty, hope, pride, worry, love, devotion. It's a wonder he survived long enough to join the fight, like that.
Maybe it's something else. Maybe he locked himself down so tight he couldn't feel the Force anymore, and once he reconnected to it he didn't know how to shield himself anymore. Maybe there was no one around to tell him they could feel it. Bode can sympathize with that, even if he can't empathize. He never had to learn; hiding came as naturally to him as breathing.
"Akuna."
He lifts his head towards Bravo, blinking placidly at him. "Impersonating a CSF officer is pretty easy if you know the lingo," he answers smoothly, his hands twined together in his lap. "It's mostly about being certain of your own power and getting annoyed whenever you don't get due deference."
There's a moment of silence. Cal grins crookedly at him, Gabs smirks. The twins shift, one of them pats him on the head. Bravo chuckles under his breath, crosses his arms as he leans back into his chair. "And that's what we pay for."
"You're paying me?" Bode quips with an easy grin.
"It is so nice," Gabs teases back, winking at him, "when they send us a rebel and not a mercenary. Much cheaper. I get to keep more spoils."
"Ha!"
Cal throws a wadded up napkin at her with a grin, and they resume the explanation. They don't really need to. Bode knows how to follow someone's lead without effort, knows how to improvise without a pause to think. It's what he was trained for.
—
"The captain's quarters are mine, so don't bother going in there," Gabs tells him as they move deeper into the Mantis. It's really one long hallway with seven doors, including the fresher and the one they just passed through from the engine room. He surmises the quarters in question to be the last door at the end of the corridor. She grins in that way he's learning she does when she has an advantage over someone. "Because I get my own fresher."
He guesses it's more to do with her being the only woman than anything.
"The twins share the next biggest room." She points at an open door. He peers through when they pass. There's a gauzy maroon curtain, and he sees a messy heap of blankets beyond. "Bravo's in here." She raps her knuckles against the next door once. "You can have either of the other two."
His eyebrow arches as he looks at them; closed, they seem identical, but he's guessing the one across from the twins' would be larger. He opens both doors just to check- he's right. But that's odd. "What's Cal's berth?"
"The engine room."
He frowns at her, tilts his head as he pictures the room they passed through. There was a set of bunks on the wall, sure, most likely intended for a mechanic, but both beds are covered in clothes and spare parts, sheets stained with oil and paint. He grins, and plays dumb. "So it's true Jedi meditate instead of sleeping, then?"
She laughs. "He does meditate a lot, that's true. But no, he sleeps."
"Where?"
"Wherever he feels like that night." Bode looks over his shoulder at Bravo, who is standing in his doorway. "Did you need something, Gabs?"
"Nah, just showing Bode around."
Bravo nods, then glances at Bode. "Spare blankets are in the twins' room if you need any. Ask them, though. Trying to grab them yourself is a bad idea."
Bode grins blithely. "Thanks for the warning."
Bravo's head bobs again. "Well, good night." He steps back into the room. The door whooshes closed behind him, but not before Bode spots a flash of copper hair inside.
Interesting.