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Quinlan lurches awake as something dense slams into the door of his cell. The room isn’t completely soundproofed, maybe for the added ambiance of other prisoners screaming in anguish while you waited for your turn with the interrogator. Or maybe the Separatists were just cheap when they built this prison; there’s really no way to know. But it’s not soundproof, and he can hear the sound of distant blaster fire rapidly drawing closer.
He tests his cuffs again, but no luck. If someone in his presumed rescue party had thought to hit a control room and disable the suppression field he could bust the cuffs open with sheer muscle or a more delicate application of the Force, but perhaps they’re all busy. If they are here to rescue him, he won’t be too picky about their methods.
Something screams nearby, high and metallic—a B1 overreacting if he’s ever heard one. Quinlan closes his eyes and breathes through his nose; he may not have access to the Force, but he can still meditate on his senses.
Another slam against the durasteel walls. Blaster fire. More B1s screaming. Heavy boots slamming into duracrete, echoing off the walls and floor.
Quinlan opens his eyes and grins, all teeth, just as the cell door clunks open.
The low lighting of the corridor beyond catches and gleams on the edges of white and gold armor. Quinlan swings his eyes up to meet the gaze of the dark visor and says, “Excellent timing as ever, Commander.”
Commander Cody pauses in the doorway, then shakes his head and huffs, breath echoing oddly in his helmet comm. He checks back over his shoulder, swings up his blaster and shoots something before stepping fully into the cell. He says, “Don’t give me that crap, sir. I get it enough from General Kenobi.”
Quinlan rocks back as far as the chains on his cuffs will allow, affecting mock offense.
“You wound me, Commander.” He wishes his hands were free so he could lay one over his chest. “To compare me to Obi-Wan—never have I been so insulted in all my life.”
“Can it,” Cody tells him, not even bothering with the sir , but he still steps close and fishes a spike out of his utility belt to stab into the joint of the suppression cuffs. He makes no comment when Quinlan slumps forward as the Force washes over him again, only reaching out a hand to steady him.
Quinlan breathes through the rush. He can feel the rest of the clones in the prison, moving through the upper levels, clearing a path for his extraction. The organic supervisors of the prison have already fled or been killed in the fighting, and he doesn’t feel any other conscious minds in the prison. He levers the Force against the weak spot of the cuffs and they fall away from his wrists.
He lets himself lean into Cody’s support as he pulls himself to his feet. His ribs ache, but his captors took his gloves, and now that the suppression cuffs are disabled he doesn’t dare press a hand to his ribs to check what sort of condition he’s in. He doesn’t often catch echos off his own clothing, but he also doesn’t often get the shit beat out of him either.
Cody would probably disagree, but Quinlan isn’t interested in his opinion right now.
He steps forward and oh, shit, that hurts too. Sprained ankle, at least. To cover it, he says, “All this fuss just for me, Commander? I’m flattered.”
He’s aiming for dry, but it comes out slightly strained.
“Can it,” Cody says again, more forcefully this time, but his hand on Quinlan’s shoulder remains gentle as he guides them to the corridor.
Quinlan glances at him and can feel Cody’s unimpressed stare, even through the helmet visor.
He steps forward towards the cell door, only to pull up short, caught by Cody’s hand still on his shoulder. He glances back and smirks a little. “Afraid you can’t keep up?”
“Afraid you’re forgetting something, General?”
Quinlan cocks an eyebrow in question, then laughs in disbelief as Cody pulls his ‘saber off the back of his utility belt.
“Where’d you find it?” Quinlan says, and he’s genuinely delighted. This crystal is quiet and understated, but it’s a good fit for who he is now, and when he’d thought he lost it he hadn’t looked forward to having to find another crystal that resonated as well.
He reaches out a hand to call the ‘saber to him, but Cody tightens his fist, his will immovable.
Cody says, entirely self-assured, “If you want it, you’ll have to catch me first.”
Then he steps out into the corridor, Quinlan gaping after him. The hum and buzz of his lightsaber igniting precedes a B1 yelling, “A clone with a lightsaber? That’s not allowed!”
What a little shit. Quinlan laughs, wild and bright, and hopes he one day gets to see Obi-Wan’s face when Cody finally uses his sparring lessons against him. That will make every snarky comment about poaching Obi-Wan’s commander worth it, he’s sure of it.
He steps out after Cody, teeth bared.
He has to get his 'saber back, after all.