When Rex opened his eyes to the blank grey light of the tent, he listened, and took stock of his body. The rain was gone, the chirping of the feather-lizards a barely noticeable background chorus, and the bruised feeling in his chest and throat didn't ease up when he shifted onto his back. The empty mess of Cody's blanket caught his eye.
Rex threw himself upright, staring at the spot. "Cody?" he breathed out, the nervous rush subsiding when he realized that there was no sign of a struggle.
Quickly, he pulled on his boots and left the tent, squinting against the unexpected sunlight peeking through the cloud cover and glinting off the many puddles. Cody was at the edge of the trees, returning from the latrine.
In the seconds before Cody noticed him, Rex watched, filing away signs of Cody's improvement: he was walking on his own, but slowly, pausing for a second or two every few steps.
"Rex!" Cody took a few quicker steps when he saw him, but slowed again after that.
"I didn't hear you get up," Rex said.
Cody's voice sounded bright but forced. "Well, I thought you might need the rest." His face was massively bruised, even his good eye narrowed in pain.
"I guess that means you're healing up a bit," Rex noted. But the sense of relief was dim. "Just be careful. I don't want to find you passed out in the mud."
"I'm being careful," Cody reassured him with a gentling movement of one hand. He looked awful, despite his weakly optimistic tone. "I'll rest again after this, but I had to go, and I was pretty confident I could do it on my own this time. Besides, you never know when it might start raining again."
Rex glanced up at the sky; the sun was already hidden again. As fast as the clouds were moving, he was glad for the windbreak of the trees. He tried to refocus on the tasks of survival for today. "I've got to go set some traps and see what other food I can find."
"Traps?" Cody blinked, squinting at Rex.
"Just dug some wires out of the wreckage… I figured they're not useful for much else now."
"I thought you said there wasn't much big enough to bother hunting, here." Cody's mouth twitched.
"Well, I'll take whatever we can get. We've got blasters, may as well use 'em."
"Is there anything I can do?" Cody asked.
"You can rest." Rex frowned.
"I meant something I can do while resting. Isn't there… I dunno, a fire to tend or something? How were you cooking those tubers anyway?" Cody looked around for evidence of a cooking fire.
Rex sighed, pulling from his pocket a small, sharp bit of metal he'd salvaged and been using to cut wires free. "Not unless you want to use this to continue trying to shave enough dry kindling from the inside of sticks to start a regular fire, once the ship's fuel and battery run out. But I don't think we can keep a fire going in these conditions anyway, even if we do find dry fuel."
"You rigged up a way to cook our food inside that mess?" Cody's mouth twisted in an almost-grin as he glanced toward the ship incredulous. "Well, maybe I won't bother shaving kindling, but I wish I could shave something else," he mumbled, rubbing his chin.
"Yeah… I wouldn't try using this on your face." Rex pocketed the makeshift knife.
"Ahaha, right. So, let me guess, more tubers for lunch, meat for dinner if we get lucky?" Cody tone was light, and he gave a wistful sigh. "Maybe I'll get lucky, and feel so much better tomorrow that you can sit back all day while I treat you to the finest roots the Pzob jungles have to offer."
Rex looked over at the jungle, trying to decide which direction to explore and set traps in. He'd rather avoid the area just downstream of where he'd left the bodies, if possible, but most animals visited bodies of water to drink. Upstream of the bodies was best, then, and close to the river.
"Hey," Cody's voice broke into his thoughts.
Rex turned his eyes back to Cody.
"You still tired?" Cody asked.
"No." In any case, not tired enough to justify resting when there was work to be done.
"You just seem distracted."
Distracted from what, Rex wondered. He thought back on his behavior since leaving the tent and realized that Cody was probably expecting a bit more excitement over his progress. After all, Cody had barely been able to walk the day before. For a moment, Rex felt curiously aware of how, even though his surroundings felt close by—the distant rush of wind that didn't touch them yet, the smell of the jungle mud all around them—Cody's mood didn't reach him.
Taking one step closer, Cody looked him in the eye. "You're thinking about the other guys."
Rex was going to say no, but then again, he had been—thinking about their bodies, at least, lying far off in the jungle, but still too close. "Yeah," he sighed.
Cody echoed the sigh. "I guess Fort's prediction turned out to be right this time. Remember when he gave you that look, the second day we were training together and… what was it he said? 'It's always the quiet ones. I bet you're gonna do something shocking by the time we graduate.' And then he told me I was gonna be the one with the most injuries by the end of training." Cody gave a ghost of a chuckle and crossed his arms self-consciously after lowering himself onto an overturned crate.
"I think Snapper—" Rex cut himself off. He'd been about to say, I think Snapper had you outmatched when it comes to the number of injuries, but the natural conclusion of that competition was one he didn't want to reach.
"Yeah, I lost count of how many times he pulled a muscle or sprained something." Cody's voice was fond but heavy. "Always on the move… and he even got you to wrestle with him.
"Couldn't quite beat him," Rex recalled in a dull voice. "Always expected we would have a rematch someday."
"I still remember the cheers from everyone in our group when you strung the other officer cadets along on that same ridiculous story you told us on Rothana after we all got back."
"They all swore I was too much of a 'droid' to tell it with a straight face twice," Rex remembered. "And Snapper just laughed and said maybe now I was confident enough to face him."
"Couldn't let that challenge slide." Cody's voice was quiet.
For a moment, Rex made the mistake of letting himself get lost in that memory. The mixture of embarrassment and pride as his brothers crowed in delight at his poker face, the thrill of doing something he'd once scoffed at as a childish waste of time—hearing their cheers as he struggled to pin Snapper to the floor, and a breathless laugh escaping him because suddenly, he was a part of the group in name, not just in number.
Maybe that had all been temporary.
"You guys bantered for a solid minute before you even started." Cody was still reminiscing. "I could hardly believe it. You were having so much fun."
The bruised feeling in Rex's chest expanded quickly, spread through his spine, his jaw, his temples. Suddenly the sounds and feelings of that day on Kamino were sharp around the edges, the exultant looks on his brothers' faces like a bitter taste in the back of his throat. He had let himself step into a world that would never last, and tricked himself into believing it would always be home.
"We'll have to tell Quickdraw when we get back." Cody's low voice broke in.
"I'll do it," Rex said, not meaning to whisper, but his voice didn't come out right.
"It wasn't your fault, you know."
Rex lifted his head. Cody was looking at him seriously. "I know. Five-Eighty-Eight was already dead when I got to him."
"You just looked… angry for a minute, I guess." Cody frowned. "You've already done more than most cadets could manage on their own."
Rex tried to change expression, wondering what his face looked like right now.
"For example, rigging up what's left of the ship's electrical systems instead of trying to build a fire? That's a great idea."
"Just common sense," Rex shrugged. Even if it might not last forever, it should get them through however long it took Kamino to contact them.
"Oh, he's intelligent and humble." Cody folded his arms and twitched his mouth.
A warm pain filled Rex's throat, like a mild electrical burn. He had to look away from Cody's face. "I'd better get a move on finding more food."
"Hey," Cody said, grabbing his arm lightly before he could step away. "I mean it."
"I believe you," Rex said.
"You be careful too."
"I will." He let himself take a good look at Cody's intent, squinting eye, and patted his shoulder twice before he turned away and grabbed the blaster from just inside the tent. Temporary as the pressure of Cody's hand on his arm; that was the truth of whatever it was he'd discovered through Cody by now. That spreading, open, sustaining feeling of truly being seen and known… it had never been meant for him to keep. The burning spread up from his throat into his cheekbones, and the light dimmed by half when he stepped under the trees.
…
It had been a mixed sort of a day, frustrating but productive enough in the end. Less preoccupied with Cody, Rex had set his traps and laid in wait near the water about a kilometer off from them, lying under a bush for hours hoping that the creature who'd left fresh-looking tracks would be back this way soon. After what felt like hours had passed, Rex moved on to dig up some more tubers, and when he went back to check the traps, some kind of small but stout hoglike creature had taken the bait of the tubers he'd left there. Rex quickly silenced the creature's shrill squawks and hauled it back to the wreckage.
They'd gone to bed early after a quiet dinner with only a small serving of the meat, just in case. It tasted fine and had smelled fine during its preparation, apart from the all-too-familiar scent of blood. Now, in the late morning of the next day, Rex came back into the tent with some freshly sterilized water in packets, surprised to see Cody still sleeping.
"Cody," Rex prompted as he knelt down next to him. "You haven't had anything to drink since yesterday afternoon."
Cody didn't move other than the rise and fall of his chest, and a twitching of the closed, swollen eyelid near the bacta patch.
"Cody," Rex called, touching the better half of his forehead gingerly. "Wake up."
Cody groaned. His forehead was slick with sweat, and felt warm even though Rex's fingers had already been warm from handling the tubers. Alarm flitting across the surface of his mind, Rex laid his palm, his wrist, and then the back of his hand against Cody's temple.
"Do you have a fever?" Rex's voice almost sounded accusing to his own ears. "Cody, wake up!"
A soft breath of a groan left Cody's throat, and his good eye opened barely a slit before he closed it again.
"You have to say something," Rex directed, holding himself still on the threshold of fear. Cody had been improving—maybe he was just tired. But half a minute passed with no response. "Come on. Anything!"
Cody's mouth opened, and Rex noticed Cody's irregular breathing as he gulped and his lips struggled to form words. "I'm….dizzy…."
Hopper had said the same thing. Rex took a sharp breath and refocused.
Carefully, he leaned over Cody's head. The bruising was still there, shiny and colorful, but a red inflamed area had spread out from under the bacta patch that felt hot to the touch. Stomach hardening in anticipation, Rex carefully pulled up the edges of the dressing to look at Cody's wound. There were no abscesses, no noticeable drainage… by all appearances, the stitches seemed to be doing their job.
Rex pulled the patch off all the way and fetched another from the medkit in the corner of the tent, reviewing what he'd learned in basic field medicine. Abscesses were noticeable… and some infections were truly grisly to look at. But hadn't there been some fleeting mention of another type of infection, deadly but easy to overlook?
Infections could lead to sepsis: fever, rapid heart rate, dizziness, confusion. That was two out of four symptoms already. Rex put the fresh bacta patch on, took a deep breath against the feverish feeling spreading in his own nerves, and moved to kneel behind Cody's head, pulling his head and shoulders up onto his legs.
"You might just be dehydrated. Here, drink something." Rex carefully positioned the water pack at Cody's lips, and Cody drank, weakly. For a few seconds, Rex watched him, listened to him breathing through his nose, but then Cody stopped trying, and breathed through his mouth. "Go on, that wasn't enough," Rex urged.
Cody tried again, but again he stopped, a little water spilling on his chest, and Rex repositioned it in his mouth, squeezed the water pack just slightly—Cody coughed and groaned, taking ragged breaths.
"Sorry," Rex said immediately. "I was trying to help."
Cody's coughing gradually petered off, but his breathing remained too rapid. Rex put two fingers to Cody's neck and felt his pulse: it was faster than normal, especially for at-rest. Three out of four.
"Cody, which direction is the river?" Rex asked.
No reply, just breathing—shallow, pained breathing and eyes screwed shut. The shadow of stubble on Cody's face made the sickly paleness even starker.
"Cody," Rex said in a patient, insistent voice. "I know you're in pain. But I need you to focus, and tell me which way the river is."
Cody just lay there. Rex had the distinct feeling that Cody could hear him, but couldn't summon the energy to even speak.
"Cody," said Rex, softly pleading.
At last Cody gave a weak, faint groan. "W… river…?"
"Nevermind." Maybe Cody hadn't been paying attention when Rex had brought him there. "Tell me how many of us there were, before the ship crashed."
"How many…?" Cody breathed. Rex had never heard him speak so slowly. "I thought… twelve… twelve in our training group…? Six, if we're in two teams…."
Confusion. That was four out of four.
Rex sat for just a moment, trying to persuade himself that he was wrong. It was just normal swelling and dehydration. If Cody would just drink….
He tried one more time, pressing the water pack up against Cody's open mouth. Cody took two sips and turned his head weakly aside.
"I'm going to give you an antibiotic," Rex said. He put his hands beneath Cody's arms to lift him up off his lap, and Cody took a quick breath.
"Rex," he said tightly.
"What?" Rex paused mid-lift.
"I…" Cody struggled to open his eye again. The fabric of his shirt, under Rex's fingers, was soaked through with sweat, and he was shivering. "Maybe… you should… just… take care of yourself."
"What?" It came out hushed. Rex stared down at him. "What do you…."
"I have this… feeling," Cody gulped, voice barely above a whisper's strength. His eyelid squeezed shut again. "I don't think… it'll help."
Rex stared at Cody's swollen cheek, a sensation like poison spreading, knotting up his stomach, his lungs. Just as soon as the furious explosion forced his mouth open, ready to yell a retort or cry out a question, it died, collapsing in on itself like a sinkhole, dragging everything inside him toward it, and it was all Rex could do to ease Cody off his legs and stumble blindly out of the tent, away from the body, the brother who would soon be another corpse to move.
…
There was just enough light that when he leaned over the water, Rex could see a reflection of his own silhouette. But he didn't want to. Instead he sat with his back pressed as hard as he could against a tree, arms wrapped around his stomach to try and steady his breathing.
His own limbs felt heavy and cold even though it was muggy here under the trees. He knew that behind him, Cody was in the tent, the infection slowly killing him.
Dying. It's already happening, Rex told himself, all his skin and bones aching as if he were infected too. He should have known. Cody's listless, empty voice repeated in his head like a nightmare. If Cody was giving up, there truly was no hope of saving him. He was already gone.
A familiar, childish voice rose up inside him, shouting NO, as if that could change anything. A voice bent on naive heroics, and the belief that sheer will alone could prevent the most likely end. His mind was running down a list of what he could try to do—he could give the antibiotics, he could boil compresses, he could call for help again—but even if he could do all that, gather enough food and tend Cody closely, continually until help arrived…if Cody had given up, that effort would be useless. A waste of precious energy and time.
Rex stared at his muddy knees, feeling sick with—anger? Fear? He listened to his own rough breathing—see, I knew it. He'd braced himself, he'd imagined Cody's breathing stopping over and over, the stillness of his body, and yet now it came down to it being real, and still the future closed on him like a collapsing building. Cody, nothing more than a memory. Rex shut his eyes against the dull glint of light on the river, the mockingly peaceful reptilian chirping. Cody, an expression, a gait, a tone of voice he'd always be looking for and never experience again.
In the memory of Snapper, the wrestling and the laughter, there was Cody, the brother he'd most wanted to surprise by doing something different. There was Cody, giving him a name, making sure it stuck, sticking with him and arguing with him and infuriating him and making him laugh, bringing out something the others began to notice. They were his friends, yes, but without Cody they might never have seen enough to call him that. He might have continued, his only goal to be the perfect soldier, protecting himself from this.
Against the solid rock that seemed to have appeared in his throat, Rex swallowed and tried to accept what was happening with some kind of dignity. He was alone, yes, but he would survive. The first step would be to move the body—the body, not Cody. Just a body—and then everything would be the same as it had been before.
Set traps, secure secondary fuel, gather food and water. Wait.
Wait. Wait for Cody to die? How long would the infection take to kill him…?
There was something the Kaminoans often preached to command cadets when considering strategies and battle plans: try to think ahead in detail, and you're more likely to anticipate the moment-to-moment choices you must make. What they didn't often say was the part that Rex had always found most valuable: if he could visualize it with enough clarity, he could train himself against whatever fear or other emotional reaction might disrupt his aim.
He couldn't stay out here forever. Soon, he would have to return to the tent. With a deep breath, Rex visualized himself getting up, walking through the mud, lifting the tent flap, and seeing Cody there on the ground, listless but breathing. He imagined kneeling again by Cody's head, making note of the deep pain evident in Cody's drawn, pale face and the trembling of his jaw. Cody, his imagined self said calmly. I don't want you to suffer.
A sudden spasm made Rex's lungs convulse—an involuntary cry of pain was barely muffled by his teeth, and he pressed his fist against his mouth on the inhale. He couldn't remember if the medical kit had a hypo for euthanasia or not.
He tried to move on to the next option, but found it impossible to imagine himself even picking up the blaster. Not in detail. His mind turned it into a laughably simple diagram: computer-generated clone cadet crouches, picks up the blaster, approaches the unmoving fellow cadet.
You were trained for this, Rex told himself. The words echoed in his head, seeming strangely meaningless. He heard his breath hissing, catching on the way out. He remembered the alarm he'd felt the first time he'd ever truly been in pain and not been able to gulp it down. The sounds just came out of him no matter how he tried to hold them back. He'd gotten better, over the years, at maintaining his composure—a brief scream was normal, but not this.
And so he let one out, one scream all at once, like he'd been taught. It didn't echo or hang over the water, but it lingered in his ears for a moment. Pain leaving the body. Then, with effort, he focused on nothing but regulating his breathing for a moment, until he'd stopped shaking so badly.
Cody, in pain. The blaster, or a hypo if he was lucky. Pain leaving the body.
Or, pain continuing, for both of them. Until at last Cody was ready to go join the others in the trees. Rex imagined himself sitting in that tent, day after day, just waiting for Cody to stop breathing on his own. Bile rose in his throat.
He pushed his head back hard against the rough bark, and tried, and tried to imagine himself going back to Kamino alone, reporting to them what he'd done. Their smooth, white faces told him that he'd shown appropriate judgment and resolve. He was walking the bright halls of Tipoca City, the commander he'd imagined being since he was five years old. There should have been some hope in that.
But Cody was supposed to be there. If not beside him, then somewhere, just some place out there in the galaxy where they might meet again. Not here. Not yet. Not just left for dead by the brother sharing a tent with him, not left to rot into the dirt of some inconsequential world.
Rex unfolded, pushing himself to his feet, the only thought he could stomach pounding in his skull: just as he'd rather die fighting, he'd rather fail while trying. "Foolish" or "unlikely" had nothing to do with it—I have to keep Cody alive, so I will. There was no other course of action he could visualize.
As he headed back, plans were already crystallizing in his mind for treating Cody, falling into place in an orderly schedule—his feet moved faster, breaking into a run, and even though he knew the odds were slim, as he headed for the tent, the pain eased just a little.
Cody was as he'd left him, eyes closed, barely moving. Rex dropped to his knees by the med kit—there was no hypo for euthanasia—and loaded one up with antibiotics. As he discharged it, Cody barely flinched, and Rex wondered if he was awake enough to wonder what decision Rex had made. Maybe he didn't care.
"Sorry, Cody," Rex whispered, gently pushing Cody's sweaty hair back with one hand. "I'm the closest thing to an officer here, so you'll just have to hang on a little longer. Those are my orders."
The crease between Cody's eyebrows deepened, but he didn't say a word. Rex stood up and left the tent. It was time to get to work.
…
Rex crouched awkwardly over the burner he'd rigged in the cockpit from a cannibalized control panel, breathing with relief as once more the stripped wires turned gold with heat. His makeshift pot sat on top of the heated metal as he poured water inside, just enough to submerge one of the rags he'd torn from the lining of his jacket.
The shallow water began to boil almost immediately. Rex fished out the cloth with a stick, wrung it out a little as soon as he could touch it without severely burning his hands, and stuffed it inside a clean glove from the medkit before hurrying back into the tent.
Cody was in worse shape than ever, trembling and possibly unconscious. Rex knelt beside him and positioned the hot glove over Cody's wound. He held it there with one hand while he fished through the med kit for the tiny scissors and tweezers.
If the infection wasn't on the surface, it had to be drawn out. At this point, so many close stitches were doing more of a favor to the infection than to Cody. He had to give the wound a place to drain when the time came. Rex shifted the compress up a bit, and carefully pulled up on one of the knots with the tweezers before snipping. Slowly, the thread eased out of the flesh, and he went for the next. A small noise came from the back of Cody's throat, but his eye didn't open.
When a number of stitches were gone on each wound, Rex put the compress back in place and secured it with a length of gauze. It was already cooling, so he got up and went back outside with another glove to fill.
The day passed in a circuit of chores: replace the compresses, check traps, cook whatever he gathered, offer Cody water and food, repeat. All Rex managed to get Cody to swallow was a thin mixture of mashed tubers and water, the equivalent of a few spoonfuls every hour, but at least it was something.
In a break in the constant cycle, while Rex chewed his own meal, he kept a hand on Cody's chest.
It started raining in earnest again later as Rex ventured into the trees, digging up roots which turned out once again to be rotten. Already soaked from back to front, he stood up and let the fat drops spray his hands clean. His stomach already ached and his hands felt rubbed raw. It would be dark soon.
Rex pulled his blaster from the mud, water dripping in a steady stream from his chin, fingertips, and the improvised shovel he held in his other hand. Waves of rain washed over him, visible sheets striking the ground. Just pretend we're on Kamino. He tried not to think about bodies left exposed to the elements, just following his internal compass back to the tent.
…
Was it the first night or the second night since Cody's infection? Rex felt like he'd been awake for a week. He shifted where he knelt beside Cody; all he could see in the dark were dim silhouettes. A roar like static came from the warm, damp air around them, the walls of the tent quivering in the wind, sagging under an endless barrage of water.
It was warm, so at least his own soaked clothes weren't chilling him, but with the tent flap closed all the way, the air was so thick he could barely breathe. With it open even just a crack for air, as it was now, half the tent was wet—their sleeping area and supplies were crowded together on the opposite side from the door.
Rex rubbed at his face, trying to force his eyes to stay open. His other hand stayed resting against Cody's sweaty neck, feeling the pulse that was still a bit too fast. The rushing buzz of the rain on the tent seemed mirrored as a dull blurring of his nerve endings, fatigue as thick as the air. He took another long sip of water—the refilled water pack collapsed in his hand, spent, and he tossed it away, feeling for the one he'd set aside for Cody. It was still there by his right leg, which was starting to fall asleep.
If he lay down, he might not wake up for hours and miss any window where Cody woke and could take another sip of water, another bite of food. If he slept for hours, the compresses would cool for too long, and Cody's immune system might lose whatever progress it had made in walling off the infection, and let it spread….
Rex's head jerked up and he caught himself against the floor, rubbed his knuckles against his forehead with a groan. How long had he shut his eyes? The rain had stopped. The silence was like a ringing in his ears.
"Come on, Rex," Rex told himself under his breath. "You can do this."
His back ached from hunching over Cody at this angle.
"Can't lie down," Rex ordered. The sound of his own voice might bring some alertness. "Not until it's light." The light would be enough to tell his body to wake after one REM cycle. He started to push himself up to walk off the drowsiness, but he ended up on his back with a gasp of disorientation and dizziness. The relief of lying down rushed over his muscles so powerfully that for a moment his eyes burned.
Rex counted twenty breaths out loud, and forced himself to reposition, lying by Cody.
"I wish you were awake," Rex whispered, checking Cody's pulse again. He left his hand curled there, by Cody's neck. "Then at least I could talk to you."
Cody said nothing, of course. His breathing didn't even change. Rex sighed into the darkness, the sound both comforting and lonely.
"I guess I could… talk to you anyway," Rex muttered, clearing his throat. He wondered, for half a moment, what his last words to Cody would end up being—the last words Cody heard, that is. "You know," Rex said fiercely, "this will make quite a story, when it's over."
Even his voice was tired, and he hadn't used it for… he couldn't remember. Hours, at least.
"You remember how I used to tell you… that you'd never make it as a commander, because you were overconfident, and inconsistent, and immature?" Rex pushed out a bitter laugh, shifting the backs of his fingers against the sweat-drenched hair near Cody's neck. "That's not true." Rex sighed. "I'm sorry." He reached up to feel how cool the compress had gotten. It was still warm, though only just warmer than the skin around it. "I'll be back."
Like a droid he rose automatically, but staggered a little as he made it outside into the rain. The faint, ghostly glow of the heating element he'd rigged emanated from the broken cockpit, a small patchwork of gold in a black nest like the void of space. He forced himself to walk back through the dark mouth of the wreckage and into the cockpit; the cloths he'd set aside came into focus, and the pot was already half-full of rainwater that had blown in when he'd picked it up at the entrance. It took effort to stand again once he'd crouched on the slanted floor.
It still smelled like blood and crash in here, though the rain was certainly doing its best to wash it away where it could reach. Rex headed back to the tent with the fresh compress as fast as he could, the dark prickling at the back of his neck irrational but hard to shake.
"There," Rex said quietly as he knelt beside Cody again and replaced the compress. As he laid it on the wound, Cody's head moved a little in his sleep, his breathing changing for just a moment before he settled. "Hm." Rex sat back with his hands loose in his lap, and looked toward the tent flap, wishing he could open it without getting Cody drenched too. "I know it's not exactly cool and refreshing, but… it's better than nothing."
Cody's forehead was damp to the touch, even after Rex had wiped his hands on one of the driest cloths in the corner. His fever refused to die down.
Rex sighed, arms resting loosely around his knees. "I tried sending out another transmission today. No response." He paused, as if giving Cody a chance to reply. The temptation to lie down was weighing on him again, pushing him toward the floor. His head felt too heavy for his neck. "I'm not going to fall asleep," he promised aloud. "Not yet."
"Rex…."
Rex lifted his head from his arms and all but fell on top of Cody in his haste to shift position. "Cody! Here, you need water." He propped Cody up, relieved to hear his voice, hoarse as it was.
As Rex held the pack and listened to Cody gulp down mouthfuls, he expected it to stop after one or two, but it didn't. It went on, the pack shrinking in his hand. As it shrank, relief grew in Rex's chest like a long breath of fresh air.
"Food next," Rex insisted when Cody was done, fetching some from where it had been rolled up and stored in the corner. For a moment, he forgot the aching exhaustion dragging him toward the floor.
"Were… you… talking to me?" Cody's voice was faint. "I thought…."
"Yeah." Rex propped Cody up, scooped the mashed tuber up with his fingers and pulled Cody's mouth open. "Here, try to eat this. You have to keep up your strength."
Cody let him scoop a little bit into his mouth, and worked to swallow it, struggling after the first bit but managing alright with the second and third. "Rex," he whispered, and Rex waited on the fourth scoop. "I thought… I'm dying…."
"No," Rex said stubbornly, self-condemnation for the possible lie rattling his ribcage when he breathed in, but he didn't correct himself. Cody was speaking. Cody was eating. "Not yet."
"Even if… I do, though…." Cody struggled to raise an arm toward Rex's head, and grasped his shoulder weakly instead, nearly whispering. "You are going to be… such a good commander." His voice shook.
"Cody, don't—"
"I believe you," Cody said, with something like a wet laugh too weak to take form through his shallow, hitching breathing. "When you say that. You know. I believe e…everything will work out. Even though I know…."
"Don't push yourself," Rex urged, not liking the way Cody's voice was shaking. He sounded almost delirious. The effect yanked Rex's stomach into a knot, even as the sound of Cody's voice pulled at him, trying to ease him back into that reality where this last loss would always be forestalled.
"Just… become the… the commander I know you are. Show them." Cody's voice was pleading in its own right. "You're always… like this, Rex." Cody's hand was grasping for purchase near Rex's neck now. "You believe… and it all works. I wish… wish I could…." He inhaled sharply, as if speaking hurt.
"Don't say that," Rex cried, surprised by the desperation in his own voice. He grabbed Cody's arm but didn't push it away. "'I wish.' You can! Don't you ever give up on life! You can't just roll over and die when there's… so much—" He nearly stopped himself, but if ever was there a time not to hold back, it was now. "There so much life in you," Rex lowered his voice. "There's so much you can do to affect the galaxy."
"Me?" Cody's voice was soft, surprised. "I'm just another clone…."
"You're not," Rex said fervently, feeling as he said it the rush of admiration and respect that had lain quietly in the background, building up over these years of training. "You're a commander in your blood. It's who you are. It's…."
"We're the same," Cody half-whispered. "You're the one who—"
"No," Rex insisted. "No… Cody, you… you've always been the one who can inspire your brothers. You have that… you don't even have to try. And you dare to do things that—"
"It's—you're—that…. You never doubt. You never…."
Rex couldn't clearly see his expression, could only listen for the subtle changes in his voice, feel the tentative grasp of his hand on his neck.
"Take some more food," Rex murmured. "Then I'll let you argue with me as much as you want."
Cody didn't say anything. His hand left Rex's neck, drifting back to settle on his stomach. Rex fed him a little more food, felt his throat gently to make sure he swallowed.
"It's a good sign you're talking this much," Rex said. "You must be feeling a little better." Hearing himself say the words was reassuring. He knew he was grasping at whatever desperate idea would keep him going, but what else was there to do?
"I feel terrible," Cody murmured. The effort of swallowing had forced him to control his breathing a little. "I can't even think straight. What was I saying, before?"
"I don't know. Can you eat any more?"
"Maybe… one more."
Rex managed to get him to swallow three more scoops before Cody gave a shuddering sigh.
"I can't," he finally creaked. "I'll throw up."
"Water?" Rex prompted, lifting it to his lips. Cody took a tiny sip. Rex felt Cody swallowing, breathing—living. Through the haze of exhaustion, the trembling in Rex's body took on a new meaning as he gently felt Cody's forehead, his cheek. Still feverish. But the fatigue buzzing in Rex's head was pushed to the periphery, a strength filling his limbs like a cleansing rush of cold water. To hear Cody's voice, to find him in this moment, and stay here in this moment regardless of how long or short it might be—it took Rex a few slow, vulnerable breaths to recognize that what he felt now was gratitude.
Carefully, he eased Cody's head and shoulders off his legs, the weight of him no longer merely painful to touch. No longer just a corpse waiting to stop moving, but Cody, irreplaceable. For however long it lasted, Rex thought. And the thought alone lifted him, to stay awake and alive. Every second mattered.
"After we graduate…." He spoke it daringly into the darkness, hoping to turn Cody's will toward a future that would keep him fighting. "What do you want?"
"What?" Cody's voice was quiet and confused.
"What do you want your life to…." Rex hesitated, shifting his thoughts into a form that felt easier to say out loud. "When you imagine being a commander, what is it you look forward to?"
Just breathing answered him. Maybe it was too much for Cody to think about through the pain and the fever.
"I'll be back in a second," Rex said.
Another step took him out into the night air, to heat another compress. In the quiet, every sound—the crackle of raindrops fizzling out on the heated metal, the whistle of air through the trees—felt sharp to his ears, and the glow of his improvised stove was hard to look at directly. When he came back into the tent he had to feel his way back to Cody's side, night vision temporarily worsened by staring at the light. His eyes throbbed, begging for sleep.
"I want…." Cody began, breaking the silence as soon as Rex had tied the new compress in place. "I want to know… that I made some kind of mark on the galaxy. A good one. That I changed something…."
"Yeah," Rex agreed. He rubbed his eyes with hot fingertips, and it only pressed the fog of weariness further into his skull.
A pause. Then, hesitantly: "Do you think I'll lose my eye?"
Rex's heart sank. "I… don't know." He hadn't seen any direct injury to the eye, but the infection might cause damage after the fact.
"It hurts, when I move them. Either one." Cody's voice was tight.
"Why are you moving them now? There's nothing to see."
"I'm not. I just noticed… earlier." Cody's tone was dulling as his breathing calmed even further. But he was still speaking, still lucid. "It's not going away. It's getting worse. Do you think… I'll still be worth anything? On the battlefield?"
"It'll be just fine, Cody," Rex said, glad when his voice sounded calm and low. "Even if your eye doesn't heal fully, you can still see out of the other one."
"But—"
"Come on. You're too much of an asset to throw away that easily. You've still got your arms and legs. And as long as you can speak and think, you're worth something."
"What if I can't?"
"Cody."
"I just wonder," Cody said, distantly. "If I couldn't be a commander, couldn't even be a soldier…."
Rex frowned. Then what good am I? his mind finished automatically.
"Who would I… even be?" Cody finished.
The question hung between them, not the one Rex had expected at all to hear.
"You would be Cody," Rex said, because it was the only answer.
"And you would be Rex," Cody murmured. "I know…."
Rex's legs were falling asleep under him again, his back aching despite the way the sound of Cody's voice kept him upright.
"But who…?" Cody's voice was getting tired and breathless again.
"The one who can't resist a challenge," Rex tried, hoping it would be encouraging. He thought of how, back in the beginning, Cody had decided to befriend him, the cadet who was arguably the least friendly of their cohort.
"Mm." It was an uncertain sound.
"Look, Cody. You are who you are." Another check to Cody's forehead coated Rex's hand in sweat. "Anybody who looks at you can see it."
"I don't think that's true," Cody mumbled. "I don't know…."
Rex sighed. "What are you talking about? Everybody in our group knows you're one of the best. And so does Master Chief… isn't it her opinion that matters most?"
Cody didn't say anything to that, just made another noise of uncertainty.
"Don't doubt yourself," Rex insisted, needing Cody to speak.
"I just know… it's not… when we're… we're alone here, Rex… maybe we've always been."
Rex frowned. "Always been what?"
"We can't rely on Master Chief… to see… anything, who we are, if… it's not what she wants us to be. But…."
"That's…" Rex warned uneasily, "not something you should say around her. What matters is what we are. What we can do."
"I know. But that's what… I mean, Rex." Cody took a deep shuddering breath. "I keep thinking… who am I, if I'm not… anything else…." Another. "It's not her opinion… I can rely on, for that. For anything. For our life. What we mean. Not any Kaminoan. We can't. But I know… who we can rely on."
Rex blinked hard against the tired ache in his eyes, opened his mouth to ask who Cody meant, but Cody's hand collided softly with his chest, and Rex lifted his own hand to catch it. He swallowed the rawness in his throat. As he pressed his thumb into Cody's palm, he knew the answer.
"I know," Rex echoed under his breath.
"So… what about you?" Cody breathed.
"Mm?" Rex lifted his eyes from his knees, realizing suddenly that the outline of Cody's body was emerging from the dark. The night was turning grey, like waters growing shallow. He could almost make out some of the details on Cody's face.
"I know who you are," Cody nearly whispered. He was getting tired, Rex could tell. "What do you want… it all to mean?"
Rex tried to think about it. Who was he, besides the imperatives that drove him to become better, better, the best soldier he could be? Didn't they all have that, at least to some degree? The more he tried to think about what his life meant beyond it, the more his mind settled stubbornly in the here and now, preoccupied with the growing light as it outlined the edges of Cody's face, the familiar shape of his nose, his eyes, the compress over his wound casting a blurred shadow around its edges. It was the same face as thousands of others, but it didn't matter. It was still Cody's.
"I just… want to know I tried," Rex said quietly, testing the words for truth. They were almost, not quite, what he really wanted to say.
"Tried…?" Cody's focus was fading.
"Maybe it already means something," Rex tried to reassure himself. He guided Cody's hand back to rest, and eased himself down onto his side, one arm loosely over his brother's chest and shoulder to feel the air move in and out of Cody's lungs. He tucked his other arm under his own head, finally giving in to the weight dragging down his eyelids as his whole body ached with relief. The light was soft enough still, even as it was growing, and Rex took a deep, grateful breath full of rain and sweat, felt the warmth of his exhale reflected back at him from Cody's head, close enough that his nose nearly touched it.
He wanted to stay awake, to watch over Cody as the light grew. But even if it turned out this was their last moment, it meant something. Rex felt Cody's chest moving under his arm, heard his breathing. It all meant something, even if only to him.
