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Cody has a stash of tihaar behind a loose tile in the fresher connected to his batch’s room. Fett gave it to him as a graduation present.
It’s one of the only two things Fett ever gave to him, along with his name, and he’s pretty sure he only got it because Boba is too young to drink.
He settles the ear coverings on and snatches his preferred blaster from the ammunition table. He’s trained not to need ear coverings, just like all of them are, in case they lose their buckets on the field, but today is a trained practice and he needs to work off steam.
He has a stash of tihaar that only he and his batchmates know about. None of them dare drink it.
“Sloppy,” one of the trainers snaps, and there’s the tell-tale sound of a solid slap against the face. “You might as well be decommissioned at this point, little defect.”
Cody checks the charge of his blaster, the safety, the sight, the hammer, as he waits for the glass to lift and allow him into the range. He’s one of the few clones that have decent clearance to do what they want, and one of the few CC’s to choose to start shooting anyway.
The clone being chastised doesn’t respond. Smart choice. That particular trainer likes to make cadets run laps for speaking out of turn.
The glass lifts, and Cody makes his way inside, gun at his side and eyes away from the trainer.
They don’t notice him. He’s glad.
They smack the cadet on the back of the head one more time, berate him a bit more, then move across to the other cadets firing at their targets.
This batch is quiet, and one too big, if Cody’s counting correctly.
The cadet the trainer was singling out is blond, and a fair bit smaller than the others, not yet hit the rapid growth section of their maturity. They’re brushing their hand against a quickly swelling bruise and glaring daggers at the trainer like it’s not going to get them called out.
Cody eyes their target. The shots are spread out, but not uncorrectable.
He steps up beside the cadet and aims at his own target.
He doesn’t look down at them, but he can feel their eyes on him, analysing his form. He stays calm, technically correct, breathes in, and breathes out.
He’s got a stash of tihaar and a name from the man who calls himself the Jetiise Kyramud. He doesn’t know why he has either.
His shots all land in the centre two rings. Sloppy. He scowls as he changes the mag.
The cadet watches him, then silently takes up their own aim, subtly adjusting their form to match Cody’s.
All their shots are in the centre three rings. Better.
“Watch your rebound,” Cody mutters, and the cadet tilts their head in acknowledgement, changing out their own mag. “The blaster’s heavier than you’re giving it credit for.”
They nod, and Cody straightens and aims again. Breathes in.
The centre ring, except for two. Satisfactory.
The cadet gets most of them in the centre two. Good.
Too good. The trainer looks over at them with a frown. Cody grabs one of the cloths provided to wipe the ash off the front barrel.
“7567!” the trainer calls, “Who’s your new friend?”
A couple of the cadets giggle. Poor form. The trainer doesn’t glare over at them, though.
Cody keeps his face blank. “CC-2224. Kote.”
The trainer blanches slightly. Cody doesn’t allow himself to smile.
He has a stash of tihaar and a name. He’s the only clone allowed either.
He finds him in the hall. The little cadet is holding onto his leg, and pauses when Cody does, blinking up at their donor.
He meets Cody’s eyes, then glances down at the cadet.
“Oya, Kote.” Fett says.
Cody places his hand on the back of the cadet’s head and guides them past him.
“Kote.”
Bly got caught in the storm on his way back; his hair and clothes are drenched. His tattoos shine even more than usual.
Cody flips to the next screen of regs on the holopad, frowning.
Wolffe leans around Bly to look into the room. He looks like he got caught in the storm as he was climbing out of the ocean. “Cody, you should have told us if you were catching dinner tonight.”
7567 glances up (down?) from his place contemplating life on the floor to watch Cody’s batchmates.
“Kote,” Bly repeats, “You did not kidnap a cadet. Tell me you did not kidnap a cadet.”
Ponds throws his legs over the side of his bunk without sitting up. “All this attention on Cody, all he did was capture one CT.”
Bly groans, and Wolffe walks past him to dry his hair in the fresher, chuckling.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cody deadpans, “7567 is with his batchmates, as he has been for the past four hours, isn’t he?”
“Four hours,” Bly echoes.
“They’re not my batchmates,” 7567 grumbles.
Cody glares at him. “Aren’t you, cadet?”
“Yeah, I am,” 7567 answers, flopping back onto the floor. “We’re learning about Coruscant festival weeks.”
“And all this time I thought Kote was the responsible one,” Wolffe jokes, emerging from the fresher with his hair freshly mussed and his face dried.
“You thought the one with a stash of tihaar was the responsible one,” Ponds echoes, falling over his bunk a little more so his head’s visible hanging from it. He’s holding a datapad, too.
“You have a stash of tihaar?” 7567 asks, pulling himself up from the ground and sitting on the stool.
“No,” Bly interjects, “We’re not showing the ik’aad where the alcohol is.”
Cody meets his eyes with a bit of a smile. 7567 frowns around the room, squinting.
“You’re not going to find it, ad’ika,” Wolffe tells him, hopping up on his bunk. “It’s lasted four inspections.”
7567 hums, then makes his way into the fresher and starts tapping on the tiles. Wolffe very slowly turns his head back to Cody.
“What can I say?” Cody asks as 7567 scrabbles at the edge of the loose tile. “He’s observant.”
Bly squints. “You don’t get to be smug.”
“Found it!” 7567 cheers. Cody deliberately turns back to his regs.
“I had a nightmare,” 7567 whispers, shielding his eyes from the light of Cody’s bunk.
“I know, ad’ika,” Cody whispers back, and shuffles over slightly to make room.
7567 crawls in, curls up in Cody’s arms and buries his face in Cody’s chest.
“Everyone else is gone,” he whispers. “I don’t have a batch anymore.”
Cody runs his hand over 7567’s golden hair. “I know, vod’ika.”
“Cody, this is getting ridiculous.”
Cody glances up from his holonovel at Ponds. “How?”
“We’ve been harbouring the little vaar’ika for how many weeks, now?” Ponds grabs 7567 by the back of his collar and hauls him up like a misbehaving tooka. 7567 doesn’t bother moving, too caught up in his own holonovel. “We haven’t even given him a name.”
He shakes 7567 a little. 7567 allows it.
“Well, ad’ika?” Ponds flicks 7567’s nose. “You want a name?”
It’s not much of a question. 7567 snorts, which is the appropriate response.
“Finder,” Wolffe suggests. Cody gives him a look and he shrugs. “I never said I was good at naming things.”
“Eyes?” Bly suggests. “He’s a good shot, too.”
“Okay, Feet,” 7567 jokes. Bly reaches across to poke him in the side and he wiggles out of the way. Ponds heaves him up over his shoulder.
“What about King or something?” 7567 offers with a shrug.
“I’m sorry, your majesty.” Wolffe dramatically bows, sweeping one of his hands across the floor. “You might be worse at naming things than me.”
Cody tilts his head.
“What about you, Kote?” Bly asks. “You’ve got a thinking face.”
“Grace, Eminence, Overlord, Emperor,” Ponds suggests, bouncing 7567 with each, smiling at his laughter.
“Nah, those are too elegant for our little chaavla,” Wolffe argues, kicking Ponds in the shin and sending both of them down.
“Runt,” Ponds offers, groaning as 7567 collapses on top of him. “No? Pipsqueak? Vaar’ika-- Ow , okay.”
“Rex.” Cody looks up from his holonovel. “It’s a term for a king.”
“Rex,” Wolffe tries, tasting it. “I don’t hate it. What about you, ad’ika?”
7567 tilts his head. “Rex,” he says, then smiles. “Rex. Yeah, that sounds right.”
Rex crashed on Wolffe’s bunk covered in sand and cursing deserts, jetiise, and existence. Then he promptly demanded alcohol, and Cody was kind enough to chip into his tihaar stash for his poor little brother.
“The little kriffing green fuck was jumpin’ around like a…” He trails off, glaring at the bottom of Cody’s bunk. “They killed Fett.”
Cody knows that. He received the report two minutes before Rex arrived.
“The war’s started,” he tells Rex, squinting through his swimming vision and waving his bottle. “Really started. I got my assignment.”
Rex groans and rolls over to scream into Wolffe’s mattress. He promptly gets a mouthful of sand and spits it out, sticking out his tongue.
“The jetiise aren’t ready for this,” Rex mutters. “For us. They’re bloody good fighters, but they aren’t tacticians. They’re going to die out there.”
Cody considers the mouth of his bottle. He remembers the jetii, with pale skin and fire-gold hair sticking to his face like a wet loth cat. He’s too small, Cody remembers, and wears too much fabric for it to not work as protection. Damn pretty, but had a lost look in his eyes as he looked out over the vode.
“The war’s started,” he repeats. “They’ll learn or they’ll die.”
Rex bursts into Cody’s chambers on the Negotiator and goes straight for the malfunctioning light.
“You know, you could ask if you wanted the tihaar,” Cody calls from his place at the table, finalising his report. “Maybe I would have told you how to get up there without climbing on the table.” He flicks Rex’s ankle.
“Jare’la jetiise,” Rex grumbles, “Gonna bloody kill themselves and take me along with them…”
Cody fully takes out the back of Rex’s knees and he falls on the table with an oomf .
He holds out the bottle of tihaar and Cody pops the cork.
“How’s yours?” Rex asks, slinking off the table and into his chair.
“Stupid, apparently,” Cody answers, safe in his quarters with his vod’ika, “Since he seems to think four broken ribs, a broken hip, a concussion and a dislocated shoulder isn’t a good enough excuse to stay out of the fight.”
Rex whistles, passing the tihaar over for Cody to drink.
“Yours?” Cody asks, bringing the bottle to his lips.
“Insane,” Rex answers without hesitation, thunking his sandy boots on the table. Cody lets him have it. It’s not like there isn’t sand everywhere else at this point. “Bloody fucking insane.”
Cody raises an eyebrow as he drinks.
Rex places his blasters - two light ones, since he was always more comfortable with those - on the table, next to his boots. “Y’know the great big wall in between where we were and where the bugs were?”
Cody hums his agreement and passes the bottle back.
“Well, I was on that wall, getting in the destroyer droids’ shields and shooting ‘em down to help the Generals,” Rex continues, gesturing with his hands. “Once we’re done, I’m preparing my grapple to get back down, and they say-- fuck it, it doesn’t matter what they say - they throw me off the kriffing wall.”
Cody startles, then scans his vod’ika for injuries. He was limping slightly when he came in, and now that Cody’s looking for it, that’s probably the reason Rex put his boots up. He’s mainly been using one arm, but not enough for it to be noticeable, and he--
“Kote, I’m fine,” Rex interrupts. “The bastards caught me.”
“They…” Cody pauses. “Caught you.”
“Yep.” Rex takes a long drink. Cody decides he’s entitled. “Would’ve appreciated some forewarning, but, y’know, I’m just a clone.”
That startles a laugh and Rex grins.
Cody knows the Generals don’t really understand their humour. If Rex had said that to one of them, there would have been shock, a rush to convince him otherwise.
Cody just gestures for the bottle of tihaar and Rex underhand throws it.
“We’d follow them into hell, though,” Rex mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes.
Cody thinks of fire red hair and impractical robes, scuffed armour treated with the utmost care and striking blue eyes that never fade.
“Yeah,” Cody says. “We would.”
He drinks.
The only way to reach the light without getting on the table is to lean on Cody’s bunk.
Cody’s perfected it by now, well enough that he can grab the tihaar in one movement.
Kenobi’s still shaking at the table, hands wrapped around himself, bacta patches still drying. Flask hadn’t wanted to let him leave medical, but Cody hadn’t left him much of a choice.
“Drink,” Cody says, offering a bottle. “Forget.”
Kenobi stares at it for a moment, before taking the bottle in hand. “Tihaar,” he mutters. “It’s Mandalorian.”
“Fett gave it to me before he died,” Cody answers the silent question.
Kenobi pops the cork and grabs a cup from the kitchen area, refined even as he’s limping and shaking and has a scarily vacant look in his eyes.
Kenobi drinks. Cody drinks. They both drink in silence for a long time.
“Anakin was a slave once, did I tell you that?” Kenobi asks, barely there.
“It’s in his report,” Cody answers. Rex had been furious when he’d found out. He’s even more furious now, Cody’s sure, by the way his dark eyes had burned as he handed Kenobi off to Cody.
“He was eleven,” Kenobi says. “Eleven, when Qui-Gon found him. How did he…?”
Survive. Smile. Stay sane. Cody’s not exactly sure what Kenobi’s asking.
“Well, sir, when you’re born into it, I don’t think he knew anything could be better. You don’t have that liberty.”
Kenobi looks at him. Really looks at him, with those bright blue eyes, and Cody struggles not to fidget.
“It’s much the same for you, isn’t it?” Cody’s General asks.
Cody drinks. Kenobi drinks. Neither of them say anything until their bottles are empty.
“They killed so many because of me,” Kenobi whispers.
If Cody weren’t drunk, he might’ve been able to come up with something to say. If Cody weren’t drunk, he might’ve sat at the table and responded calmly.
But Cody’s drunk, so when he hears Kenobi breaking, he stands up, walks over to his general, grabs the back of his neck and pulls their foreheads together.
“They killed because they’re them,” Cody tells the air between them. “They just used you as the excuse.”
Kenobi blinks up, bright blue eyes meeting Cody’s for a moment, before he finally sighs and falls into Cody’s touch, shaking against him.
Their empty bottles of tihaar can wait until the morning.
Rex is sitting on Cody’s table, a bottle of tihaar in hand, and that’s how he knows something’s wrong.
“Who?” he asks, toeing off his boots at the door.
“General Kenobi,” Rex answers. Cody’s heart sinks to his feet.
“How bad?” he asks, his voice even.
Rex pops the cork himself and takes a drink. “Commander Tano just got back from his funeral.”
Oh.
Cody collapses to the floor, puts his head in his knees.
It had to be Rex. It had to be Rex, because if it were anyone else, Cody wouldn’t be able to break. It had to be his vod’ika, or he would shatter.
He holds out his hand for a bottle and ignores how it shakes.
He doesn’t pull out the tihaar for the General, not that there’s much left.
He digs out the cheap brutal shit from the laundry chute, sets it on the table, and waits.
Kenobi sighs, pulls out a chair, and takes the first drink.
Rex finds his way to Cody’s bunk. Cody barely wakes, just enough to see a head of blond, before he’s opening his arms and letting his vod’ika curl up against him like he did when he was small.
“She didn’t do it,” Rex whispers into Cody’s chest.
“I know,” Cody mutters into his hair.
Rex curls up further, hiding his head in Cody’s shoulder.
“I’m going to desert,” he breathes, a dangerous secret.
Cody runs his thumb over the back of his vod’ika’s head. “I know, Rex’ika.”