Chapter Text
The summons catches him off guard. Of course it does; it is, after all, meant to. Kata had only come rushing through the door a few minutes ago, happy to be done with her school courses for the day, when his comm gives an insistent ping, alerting him to an important message. Kata is in her room now, putting away her bag, while Bode stares at the message and forces himself not to throw his comm at the wall.
It’s a simple message. ‘Come to my office as soon as possible.’ The fact that Denvik didn’t bother to abbreviate means it’s not an emergency. The fact that he has written as soon as possible means he’s expecting him to haul ass anyway. And the fact that it’s not an official summons but a private message means that he’s playing at something. Whatever this meeting will consist of, it won’t be pleasant.
Bode breathes out through his nose and tries to brush his frustration away, just for a moment. Long enough to give Kata an apologetic smile when she emerges from her room and tell her something’s come up. Hopefully she’ll still want to talk about her day after Denvik’s done with him. Hopefully she doesn’t mind him leaving her even when he’s finally allowed to be with her for a while. If Denvik is summoning him to send him off on his next mission without a goodbye again—
He scoops Kata into his arms for a tight hug and ruffles her hair before he’s out the door and on his way to Denvik’s office. His bad mood must be evident, as junior officers hurry to get out of his way and senior officers send him dirty looks. Force, how he hates these people.
Only once he’s standing in front of Denvik’s door does he take a moment to breathe and settle himself. It wouldn’t do to let the commander know he’s hit a nerve. He’d just do it again.
The door to the office slides open, and Bode steps inside.
Denvik looks up from his paperwork at his entrance. “Ah, Bode, you’re here.”
He can’t help the stiffness that crawls up his spine at the sight of the commander. “Sir.”
A smile tugs at Denvik’s mouth. “No need for formality today. This isn’t official business. Besides, I’d like to think we know each other well enough by now, don’t we, Bode?”
Bode forces himself to relax into a slight slouch. Look friendly, unthreatening. Docile. His feet carry him to the desk without conscious input. “We’ve known each other for a while,” he admits.
“That we have. How long has it been now?”
“Twelve years.” Not that he’s been counting the years since his world crumbled for the first time, ten years ago, then burned again, eight years later.
Denvik smiles properly now. “Twelve years. A long time. But we hardly saw each other for a majority of it.” He leaned back languidly. “How long now, since you’ve come to me looking to make a deal?”
Bode swallows. “A year and… something.”
Denvik grins. “Two years, today. Happy anniversary, Bode.”
His stomach sinks. It’s been two years already. Denvik called him to his office to… what? Celebrate? Rub it in his face? Bode sighs and forces a wry smile onto his face. “Two years…” Lets himself sound pensive, as though the time has just rushed by. Terrifyingly, it sort of has.
Denvik hums, playing commemorative. “How the time flies. Speaking of—I’m sure you’re eager to return to your daughter. I don’t want to keep you.” He stops, like that’s it. Bode waits for the but. Denvik’s eyes narrow for just a moment when he doesn’t turn away to be called back like a dog. “I have something for you. An anniversary present, if you will. It took me all of two years to acquire—or perhaps reacquire is the correct word.” He produces a box from under his desk, neatly wrapped with plain red wrapping paper and a yellow tie. It’s laughably cliché.
Bode doesn’t feel like laughing. Denvik nudges the box across the desk, closer to him. “Go ahead.”
His fingers seem frozen when he lifts his hand to the box. They feel stiff against the wrapping paper, clumsy. He runs the ribbon between his index finger and thumb, glances up at Denvik. He’s smiling at him. There’s anticipation in his eyes. Bode swallows. The ribbon comes loose with an easy tug, leaving only the red wrapping paper.
A few days ago, Kata told him about color theory. Her art teacher had taught her that colors have meanings and evoke emotions. They can differ across cultures, but to humans, red is a passionate color. Symbolising love, anger, fire.
Blood.
He lifts the box from the desk and slides his fingernails into the gaps of the wrapping paper. Denvik’s eyes are bright. Focused. Predatory. Bode tears into the paper. The box inside is a dark blue, almost black. He lets the paper fall to the desk. Takes hold of the lid. And lifts.
There’s a layer of fabric inside. He grasps it and withdraws it from the box, his heart in his throat as he reveals—
Nothing? There is only dark red velvet padding at the bottom of the box. The skin brushing the fabric tingles. He almost drops it. It’s soft. Pleasant against his skin. Thicker than a layer of fabric meant to conceal a present underneath would be.
His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he grasps the fabric with both hands and unfolds it. As the first petal of a beautiful, hand-drawn flower comes into view, he closes his eyes and wills his hands to stop shaking. He knows this. It’s one of the two headscarves Tayala and he made in a fabric painting class. Hers had been in tones of green, his in blue. He doesn’t want to know which he’s holding. He desperately wants to know. Which would be worse, hers or his? He opens his eyes.
It’s green. His throat closes up.
“For an institution so unconcerned with proper evidence handling, it was surprisingly hard to get this from them.” Denvik’s words take multiple seconds to register at all.
His brain hasn’t fully processed them when he croaks out a weak: “What?” His eyes widen. Evidence. Tayala. The Inquisitorius. His face must be white as a sheet. He feels sick. She’d been wearing this headscarf when— his fingers are numb, and the fabric slips from his fingers. He stumbles back as it flutters to the ground, spreading out.
The bottom edge is singed black. His knees threaten to give out. A cold shiver runs up his back. Lightsabers through fabric leave burning holes, eating away at the fabric and leaving uneven edges. Even so, this edge was never straight. Tayala fought when she died. He knows it. He’s always known it, but here is tangible proof. She fought till the end. She warned him away, and when it became clear that he was gone, that he’d abandoned her, she fought.
A hand lands on his shoulder. It feels heavy enough to punch him through the ground. “Your daughter is lucky to still have you.”
Kata. Kata. Tayala had made sure she’d be safe. He’d— he’d made sure she was safe. She’d fought. He’d traded Kata’s safety for his ability to fight back.
Tayala would be ashamed.
“Truly horrible how the Inquisitorius slaughters even innocent bystanders, isn’t it.”
Tayala would expect him to fight. Keep Kata safe, and then fight until the threat is gone. He’s become part of the threat. Why did he do that? Why didn’t he fight? Tayala would have fought. She did fight.
He drops to his knees and gathers the fabric back into his hands. How he loved brushing his hands over it, teasing at the edge, drawing it from Tayala’s head once she’d unpinned it and tangling his fingers into her hair. She was so beautiful. So strong. Stronger than him, always. She made him a better person.
Denvik is still talking. Blathering on about… nothing of importance. Bode struggles back to his feet, the headscarf clenched in his hands. He gathers the length of it together. The petals of the green flower fold together. Denvik looks oh so self-satisfied.
His eyes go wide as Tayala’s headscarf wraps around his throat and pulls tight. Reality comes back into focus when Denvik starts fighting back. Bode grits his teeth and pulls as tight as he can, trapping Denvik as close as possible. Keeping him away from the desk where he could hit a button to call for help, away from the windows where people might see. Bode goes slack and lets the weight of his body carry both of them to the ground.
A sharp elbow lands in his ribs; a hand claws for his head. Fingernails dig into his cheek, wander towards his eyes. He throws his head to the other side. He can’t let go. Denvik’s other hand comes up, and Bode snaps at it with his teeth. Denvik finds a grip on his hair and pulls. Bode shouts and bucks, throwing Denvik to the side and rolling on top of him. With a knee to his lower back, he has more leverage. Denvik bends back so far it looks like he’ll break his spine. The hand in Bode’s hair releases to claw at the headscarf. He takes the opportunity to plant his knee between Denvik’s shoulder blades and pull back as hard as he can. A panicked wheeze escapes Denvik. Bode grits his teeth. Slowly, Denvik’s struggle turns sluggish, then ceases completely.
He keeps up the pressure for another full minute, to be sure. The first time he goes to check for a pulse, he forgets to pull off his glove. Even without it, he’s not sure whether Denvik’s still alive or if it’s his own heartbeat shuddering through his fingertips. It’s only when the adrenaline leaves him and he almost falls over right then and there that he dares to lift his fingers away from a cooling neck.